A Touch Too Much

by Theresa Glover

  The thong’s elastic fell off my thumbs. Silky fabric the same egregiously pink color as my dress slid down my legs and promptly snagged on my boot lace hooks.

  “Of course,” I said, staring at the beast as I lifted one foot and tried to kick free of the fancy death trap of satin and elastic.

  No matter how much I wiggled, the loathsome excuse for a garment clung to the metal hook, the elastic caught in the tread of my shoe.

  I swore.

  The gorilla cocked its head.

  “Not you,” I muttered, leaning forward to free myself.

  Everything would have been fine if I didn’t lose my balance at that precise moment.

  To be fair, the ringing scream of terror behind me more than contributed to the way I wobbled and fell against a car, my underwear tangled around my ankle.

  Of course, the woman behind me, the screamer, ran, and the gorilla lunged after her in a crashing, swinging charge.

  Human or not, predators chase.

  I swore, shoving against the car to launch myself into the gorilla’s path. Or, at least, to distract it. Making myself the more appealing option might be my only chance to save her and, perhaps, a large contingent of the city’s nightlife. I might not be Faye Ray, but I’d have to do.

  With an extra totter thanks to the thong, I nearly collided with the oncoming gorilla.

  It stopped.

  I considered my options, and my precarious balance.

  It snarled.

  “Nice gorilla.” I wondered what the hell to do next. “Are you…?”

  Words failed. How did you ask a creature, especially one capable of tearing your joints apart, a question that might piss them off? Or at least annoy them enough to make breaking limbs appealing? Would asking if it was human be…insulting?

  I couldn’t risk finding out.

  “Can you understand me?”

  One grunt and it settled on its haunches.

  I’d take that as a yes.

  If I could have taken a moment to enjoy the relief rushing through me, I would have. But if this went bad, I was so screwed. Without Marty in my ear, the likelihood of it going bad increased exponentially.

  “I mean no harm.” I held up my empty hands.

  Another single grunt. It approached tentatively, making a strange rumbling sound. Its gold eyes flashed, and suddenly, I couldn’t remember if I should hold its gaze.

  I hoped it understood I intended no challenge.

  Its nostrils flared as it leaned forward and sniffed me. Standing still, I submitted to the inspection. Maybe this opened negotiation. If nothing else, it bought me time.

  The gorilla’s teeth appeared between snarling lips.

  All the better to eat you with, my dear.

  We both tensed when it leaned down, gesturing at my ankle with its thick black finger.

  It must smell gun oil.

  I looked at my Docs, garlanded with the obnoxiously pink thong, one side still tangled on my boot lace hook, the other dangling like a perverse anklet. Think. Some magic combination of words had to get me out of this unmauled and unmaimed. “I can explain.”

  The gorilla and I locked eyes. It cocked its head like some gigantic dog.

  Nothing came to mind. At least nothing that would keep me alive. “Hi, I’m a monster hunter and trying to kill things like you,” kinda made me a target. So, we stared at each other. “Okay, maybe I can’t explain.”

  The gorilla moved slowly, cautious, and hooked a finger in the elastic dangling around my left ankle. Looking up at me, it tugged.

  “Yeah, they aren’t mine.” The implications made me squeamish. “Well, they are mine, but they aren’t mine. I’m only wearing them because of the dress. Not that I normally dress like this.” My mouth snapped shut so hard, I bit my tongue. Why the hell did I need to explain myself to a supernatural gorilla? And one possibly up to no good? One I might end up hunting? Get it together, Caitlin.

  It tugged the underwear again.

  Maybe it had some innate sense of justice and thought removing obstacles made for a fair fight. Or maybe it was just pervy and wanted my panties. Either way, I lifted my ankle.

  With unusual delicacy, the gorilla pulled the underwear off my raised left. Once free, I put my foot down, and lifted the other when it tapped my right ankle.

  What the hell is my life that some supernatural primate is removing my underwear in the middle of the street? In broad…well, twilight?

  My sleepy brain protested that regardless of hour, it was all weird. It took real effort to shut down the imaginary debate.

  I blinked as the pink elastic came free from the metal hook and the gorilla pulled the panties off my shoe. I held out my hand, but the massive paw retreated, the flimsy garment folded in it.

  Right.

  Pervy.

  I dropped my hand, overwhelmingly aware that I no longer had anything on under the dress. There’d certainly be no lines now, though I couldn’t imagine Sister Betty approving of this particular solution once she learned of their absence. Giant supernatural gorilla might pale in comparison to flying monkeys, even when you add in panty theft.

  What the hell was my life?

  I shook my head.

  Focus.

  “I’m not sure where we go from here. I know you’re supernatural, and that—”

  “You hunt the nightmare.”

  Startled, I blinked at the massive creature. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you speak.”

  “I don’t,” it said, its diction far more erudite and educated than I anticipated. “At least, not usually in this form, but what’s happening in the city makes the impossible possible.”

  Fan-freaking-tastic. “Right. That’s why I’m here. To help with…” my gesture turned into an awkward flail, “the strangeness.”

  It nodded. “You are a hunter.”

  “Yes,” I said. Lying would create more trouble than admitting the truth. Another question gnawed at me, and I weighed the repercussions of asking. Fleet-fingered Marty would have found an answer, or at least kept me from sounding like an awkward teenager asking for a first date. I shifted my weight from foot to foot wishing for pockets, a holster, or anything to occupy my hands. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what kind of supernatural cre—um, entity you are.”

  Its primal grin made me supremely uncomfortable. “You needn’t concern yourself with that. My kind does no harm to yours. There are more important things to address.”

  Surviving awkward and perhaps stupid question number one? Check. Next topic. “Do you know what I’m chasing?”

  “Yes, and you only have three days to catch it.”

  Why the hell was it always three days? Couldn’t a girl get a week? Ten days? Maybe a couple of weeks to research thoroughly, enjoy the weekend, and still get regular sleep? Abbreviated gigs weren’t a big deal, until they happened back to back with no down time between them to recover and think.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath. “Why three days?”

  Believe it or not, a gorilla’s smile can be as patronizing as the most condescending human. I braced for some inter-species mansplaining. “Have you not paid attention?”

  My back stiffened. “I’ve been a little busy.”

  “Too busy to see the world around you?”

  “What do you mean?” I resisted the urge to examine my memories for anything odd or unusual. That would keep me busy for days since almost everything I experienced qualified as unusual or odd. Sometimes, both. Like standing in the middle of the street having a conversation with a supernatural gorilla who had removed and kept my panties.

  He sat, settling in for a lecture, it seemed. “I presume you’ve heard of the nexus?”

  “Yes.” Bless Marty and Sister Betty.

  “Good. And you know it’s a source of power?”

  “Yes, one of the reasons so many supernats are drawn to it. And, I presume, why my team’s battling flying monkeys at Lafitte’s?”

  He snorted. “They
are not unrelated. Do you know of the Compact?”

  It didn’t even sound familiar. I shook my head.

  “The Compact keeps the peace between dimensions and within the city though it’s crowded with, as you crudely put it, ‘supernats.’”

  Great. I’d insulted a primate strong enough to rip my arms off. Go me.

  He perked at the sound of sirens screaming past on a parallel street. “The Compact regulates places where the veil’s thin. It keeps the borders intact, at least where it’s respected.”

  “Wait, what?” Sister Betty had mentioned the veil between worlds before, but in the most abstract terms. As in, not-anything-I-would-have-to-deal-with abstract. “How is that possible?”

  “How is it possible, Hunter, that you don’t know?”

  Embarrassment surged, immediate and hot. Had I come to New Orleans to work, I’d have prepared. I’d have extensive information on the inhabitants, the nexus, and the veil. But that’s not what I’d come for, and now a supernatural gorilla in the middle of Burgundy Street was making me feel inadequate. “I tend to deal more with the corporeal.”

  It sounded lame, even to me.

  He grinned in an ape-y way that felt more like a threat than an expression of humor. “Are you sure you’re a hunter?”

  “Last time I checked.” I reminded myself of my lack of firepower and back up.

  As if anticipating a challenge, he didn’t speak immediately. “The Compact is reaffirmed every twelve years. Last time, there were…” his leathery paw swept through the air in a graceful gesture, “disagreements.”

  “Disagreements?”

  “Disturbing the nexus with inter-dimensional conflict causes…problems.”

  I did the math. “Katrina?”

  After a moment, he nodded. “An unfortunate side effect.”

  “These ‘disagreements’ caused the most devastating hurricane in decades?”

  “Negative energy has to go somewhere. This time it spanned multiple worlds.” He shrugged. “In the end, it worked out.”

  “Not for the thousands who lost their homes, their livelihoods.” He didn’t react, but I pressed on. “Their lives.” Repercussions still reverberated through the community and not just for the lost souls of the most vulnerable who hadn’t been evacuated in time. Katrina changed everything, and survivors still bore the trauma, like Officer LaFontaine’s acerbic reaction to federal government credentials.

  “That’s not my concern.”

  “Must be nice.”

  With a grunt, he stood. “We’re wasting time.”

  “No shit. How about you finish your story about the Compact and how all this affects New Orleans, me, and my job?”

  8

  Sister Betty braced her arms against her knees, panting, a rough circle of gray, malformed monkey corpses strewn around her, their feathered wings askew.

  “I’m empty.” I slid my Derringer into my ankle holster and flicked monkey brains off my shoe. Another expensive leather cleaning. If these weren’t so damned cute off duty, I’d cave and buy regular combat boots. Combat boots just didn’t have the same flair, so I kept buying—and cleaning—Docs. If the pope knew about my shoe vice, and the associated costs, it might be the proverbial straw to break the excommunication camel’s back.

  Agent Cooper Hardin handed me a Glock as he toed one the dead primates to check for signs of life. “One in the chamber, should be three more in the mag. Extras in my pocket.”

  We turned, back to back, and I reached into his pocket for ammo.

  “See anything else?” Sister Betty asked, a hand on her side as she straightened. She shouldn’t have been in this fight, not with unhealed stitches, and had I not encountered the gorilla, she wouldn’t have been. Yet another protective responsibility I’d failed to uphold.

  Pushing the thought away, I scanned the sky and snapped the new magazine into place. “Nothing in the air. Ground?”

  “Nothing,” Cooper said, holstering his weapon. “We’re clear.”

  “How’s your side?” I asked Sister Betty. “Do we need to get you to a doctor?”

  “No. Busted stitch. Nothing serious.” Sister Betty sounded strained. “Glad you showed up when you did.”

  “What kept you?” Cooper nudged a feathered wing out of his way and revealed another dead monkey.

  In the midst of battle, I hadn’t noticed, but these things were uglier and scarier than those that terrorized my dreams as a kid. Like some brainchild of Jim Henson, Stephen King, Clive Barker, and Ridley Scott, their grayish teeth looked vicious but didn’t compare to the ferocity of their black talons. It was a wonder any of us hadn’t been shredded during the fight.

  “I got delayed by a gorilla.” I stepped around one fallen flying monkey and stepped to the next, the distant music of a second line reaching us. Whether a funeral, a wedding, or just a spectacle for the tourists, I hoped it wasn’t headed this way. Keeping spectators away posed enough of a challenge without the garish little parades drawing them closer, never mind all the inevitable videos, live streams, and other recordings people posted. When all else failed, concocting stories of a movie shoot worked, but the fewer exposed, the better.

  Both Cooper and Sister Betty turned to look at me. Cooper, bent over another primate corpse, found his words first. “A…gorilla? An actual, living, breathing gorilla? In the middle of the French Quarter?”

  “Yes, that’s what I said. A giant gorilla on Burgundy Street.” I ignored his incredulous look. “We had a little chat about the Compact.”

  Cooper straightened, rigid and staring at me. “What did you say?”

  Bingo. Cooper’s big secret.

  “You’ve heard of it, Agent Hardin?” I asked, gratified and trying to restrain my amusement.

  “It’s classified information—”

  “I should have known,” Sister Betty muttered. “It makes so much sense.”

  My jaw clenched. “You knew?”

  Her shrug ended in a wince. “We thought they’d fallen out of favor.”

  “How do you know that?” Cooper demanded. “Where did you get that information?”

  For the first time since Marty hung up on me, my headset beeped. I pushed the button, drowning out whatever Cooper said next. “DEMON’s records indicate they’ve been actively involved in Compacts since the late sixties,” Marty said. “The first agent delegate attended in 1981, but no records after that. Can’t find a reason.”

  “You know, it’s creepy that you know what we’re talking about,” I said.

  “You’re welcome. I’m on the way via Uncle Sam’s black SUV taxi service.”

  “How’d you swing that?”

  “Don’t you have an argument to interrupt?”

  “Yeah, but you’re answering me later, buddy.” I tapped the headset button to end the call.

  Sister Betty scowled, hands on her hips, obviously at the end of rant. “We’re on the same team, remember? Your words.”

  “Seems DEMON’s known about these Compacts since the sixties. And has participated.” They forgot their argument.

  Cooper gaped, unfazed by Sister Betty glowering at him. “That’s classified. How—?”

  “And at least one agent attended in 1981, but none since.” I stared at him. “Why?”

  “This isn’t the place to discuss it.” An alarming flush crept up his neck. “If your partner’s hacking the federal government—”

  “Don’t get your panties in a knot, Cooper.” I forgot what I intended to say, immediately distracted by another voice.

  “Why, Miss Kelley, we meet again.”

  My eyes rolled of their own volition, and a headache instantly bloomed behind my eyes. “Officer LaFontaine. How delightful.” I turned to face the rotund, red-faced police officer.

  “Not a sentiment I share.” His accent gave the venom-laced words a pleasant cadence. “Every time I see you, you’re mucking up my city.”

  His partner, Officer Boudreaux stood behind him, slightly shorter, but infinite
ly more pleasant. And attractive. He didn’t speak, but nodded, a restrained smile playing at the corner of his lips. My heart fluttered, and I looked at his superior officer’s shining pate, wishing for underwear as I tried to stifle my reaction.

  Officer Beau LaFontaine hitched up his utility belt and stepped over one of the dead winged primates without noticing my momentary distraction. “And today,” he continued, one hand hovering over to the unsecured Glock on his belt, “you’re holding the gun and not, allegedly, a member of the clergy.”

  I ignored the barb about our last encounter. “I’m armed, but,” I gestured to the carnage, “not without reason.”

  Cooper side-stepped a pair of entangled wings, his Glock holstered and hand out to Officer LaFontaine. “I’m Agent Cooper Hardin—”

  “I remember you, Federal Agent Hardin.” LaFontaine sneered, enunciating Cooper’s title an epithet. “One of them no-such-agencies Miss Kelley claimed to work for.”

  “I gave you contacts and credentials—”

  “Photoshop.” He interrupted me with a self-satisfied smirk. “Easy to fake.” He rocked on his heels. “I hope you all can take time out of your busy monkey-slaying schedule to come to the station because even federal agencies need clearance to operate in this city.”

  “Miss Kelley.” The new voice cooled my fiery rebuttal before it had a chance to escape. Officer Boudreau smiled at me.

  A shiver. “Hi.” The word came out without thought, immediately followed by the burn and irritation of instant embarrassment.

  “Looks like you’ve had an interesting evening,” Boudreaux said, still smiling. His hands rested on his belt, but in a far less threatening way. Naturally in control, a direct contrast to his partner’s bluster. And, my God, those eyes.