“Are you sure you’re old enough to go to the club?” I asked as I pulled on my new one hundred dollar “Kiss Me” jeans. You know the ones with all the sparkly bobbles on the ass? I always loved high fashion, but who can afford it?
Mogwai was mimicking me in the mirror as she turned this way and that. She was looking at how her new cargo pants fit. To be honest, she looked just fine with them.
If you ever wore cargo pants, you know that if your ass looks good in cargos, your ass is maybe a little big. Which Mog was into, because she kept arching her back and pushing her ass out.
“I have ID,” she said and puckered up her lips in the mirror and slathered on some green apple Chapstick.
Laughing and paused to look at her in the mirror. "you're unbelievable. You're what eighteen, you drive Uber for a living and you don't have a care in the world."
"I have a lot of cares. I have a business plan, Uber is just the first step. Next, the Kingdom." she said flatly, like it was a given.
Shaking my head I ran a brush over my mousy hair, and chuckled. “What, do you just go it alone Mogwai? You just run your life off will power and defiance?”
Mog shrugged, “What is will power? It’s a stupid concept. People think there is some magical pool of WILL POWER, but its just making a choice. I made the choice to do this thing, so I am doing it. I will do it. That’s will power.”
"So that's what you do? You just run a business, and torment clients?" I said.
“I like to get my moves on, sometimes,” she said in that flat tone that made me wonder if she was messing with me.
“I bet you’ve had ID since you were sixteen,” I sighed and put in my new diamond stud earrings. I’d had a little shopping trip once I deposited the check, and I admit I splurged a little. Hey sometimes, a girl deserves to spoil herself with a new pair of jeans, some IL Makiage makeup, and one-carat diamond earrings.
Okay, I bought a little more than just that, but hey how often you get twenty-five grand?
I bought some stuff for Mog, since she was driving me around. She was going for a punk-militia look. But since she was a smaller girl, we had to buy her things from the kid’s section. It made for an oddly adorable look.
"Are you going to take up Henry Holliday on the offer?" Mogwai asked distractedly.
She picked out Macie Bean, Youth Girls Cowboy boots in lavender, with daisies and roses stitched into the leather. Then, to complete the ensemble, she added a dark green t-shirt with an image of an AR 15 and the phrases, “Come and take it!” printed on the front.
"I don't know. It seems like I'm getting in over my head. I'm bruised all over, and that one under my boob is just ugly." I said skeptically.
In the mirror my reflect looked less impressed than I felt. Something in those dark amber eyes recognized this might be a bad idea, but it also sensed the possible adventure. "Un-Naturals? I'm still not sure I haven't lost my shit. As far as I know all of this is trauma induced hallucinations. Maybe killing that hooker threw my mind into a state where all this is what I think is happening to deal with that fact that I just blew some chicks brains out," I said, but Mog just rolled her eyes and pulled her hair into pig tails.
Mog was short to a fault. I mean she needs a seat lift in her Jeep to see over the dashboard short. Possessed of almond colored skin, and straight black hair, she was cute as a button.
I almost expected her to salute and say, "Private first class Mogwai, reporting for the Koala militia, Ma`am!"
Pausing, she looked at me in the mirror and seemed to think about it for a second. Just when that started getting awkward, she scooped all her things into her three-piece combat medic’s bag she used as a purse, taking special care to tighten the lid of her Smiling Panda, thermos.
“Fourteen, when I got my first ID, I told everyone I had a growth condition. Even bars don’t mess with the ADA,” Mogwai said and ushered me toward the door.
“You do have a growth condition,” I said truthfully.
“Why are we in a rush all of a sudden?” I asked as I grabbed my purse and shoved in The Judge with two speed loaders.
Hey, a lady needs to be prepared, don’t judge me!
"You don't have to rush, but Henry Holliday will need an answer soon. Its better if you say yes," she said and totally avoided my real question.
She decided she was driving, which was okay with me, my Cayman Green Ford Escort was still in the shop. Still, exactly how this Uber driver had become attached to me at the knee was more than a little unsettling.
Part of me wanted her to bug off, but something about her just made me comfortable. It was like having a best friend from childhood hanging out with me, even If I didn’t know shit about her.
“I’m tall compared to most of my people,” she blustered.
“Mog, what’s your deal, anyway?” I asked as I sat beside her in the Jeep, and strapped in.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“I drive Uber to expedite my credit card theft,” she said, as if that was normal.
“What?" I said baffled once more.
"You steal people’s credit cards?” I asked, but I had no doubt that she was being honest.
“Only the assholes. I have card readers in the seatbelt buckles, she shrugged, “it’s a living,” she replied and tore out of the parking lot fast enough to make me drab the panic handle.
“I don’t remember you driving like a maniac the other night,” I said, and as I looked over, I noticed Mog had her tongue out the left side of her mouth as she hooked a tight right.
“You said you’d buy gas, I have to make the most of this,” Mog joked, well I hope she was joking. From what I’ve seen so far, the girl had some real talent with technology, so I pulled my purse into my lap.
“Don’t be an asshole, Rhett,” Mog said, and I felt my cheeks redden as I put my purse back on the floor.
She pulled a sharp left and I swore the tires came up off the pavement, when they slammed back down I knew I’d been right.
Mog’s big brown eyes were scanning the road for a clear path between glances at the rearview and side mirrors. Something was clearly going on, but whether she was looking for cops, or just insane I couldn’t tell.
“Succubae,” Mogwai corrected me off hand.
“Succubae, Succupuss, whatever she was, I hit her hard and a lot. That’s normally enough to take the heat out of someone’s biscuits. She just laughed in my face,” I complained.
“Maybe you just have a naturally high tolerance to weird stuff. Why do you have a mannequin dressed up as David Hasselhoff?”
I felt the heat rise in my cheeks. “Hey, don’t judge me for loving, ‘The Hoff’ the man’s cool, a triple threat,” I said but I wasn’t feeling real cool at that moment.
Mogwai whipped around a Nissan, her left hand darting out the window to flip him off as we raced by. “Get off the road old man!” she called, but the young woman driving looked baffled.
“Yeah,” I said, then decided not to say anything as Mog whipped her head around and looked back, with a scowl on her face.
“Was Henry serious about all that? I don’t really understand it. Chance down bounties on un-naturals, what does that even mean?”
“Un-natural world.com says Un-naturals have been transitioning to this realm since the start of recorded history. They come here to level up their power, which they can use when they go back home to dominate their class,” Mogwai tossed out there like bait to a catfish.
I bit.
“Level up? Dominate their class? That all sounds really nerdy. What like some D&D adventure?” I scoffed, but Mogwai actually nodded her head!
“Porsha would have been a low level Succubae. In her class, seducing men and stealing their essence would have been like depression eating a pint of ice cream. She would have gained more than calories though,” Mog explained as she blew through a red light.
“Holy hell, Mog! You’re trying to kill me over here,” I growled, and grabbed the panic handle again.
Wait, so you’re saying supernatural monsters are real?” I gasped, and as I did, Mogwai took a hard corner, which made me slam my face into the window.
“I’m just telling you what the site says,” Mog shrugged.
“Can you slow the heck down, girl?” I asked, but Mogwai shook her head as a car blared its horn when we passed.
“That wouldn’t be a good idea, the Jeep is already warmed up,” Mog quickly looked over her right shoulder, then left, then took a big gulp from her coffee mug..
I followed suit, the looking around part anyway, but I could only see pissed off motorists behind us, and I’m pretty sure a few blocks back a cop car had taken notice of her daredevil antics.
“The site knows about Porsha?” I demanded, feeling like we were being perused, but not seeing anything, and Mog was acting weirder than normal, but then she was talking like it was a day at the beach.
I mean sure, she was talking about monsters and D&D realms, but she was doing it calmly.
“She might be listed as a subject, but that would be like listing the names of every extra in a movie. Pointless and demanding,” Mogwai assured me.
“No one cares who else is on the beach when the Hoff’s scene is playing out,” I nodded in agreement, then realized Mog was staring at me like I had two heads.
“What?” I asked.
“Your unhealthy obsession with David Hasselhoff is disturbing,” she said as if she wasn’t doing sixty-five miles an hour in a forty.
“Triple Threat,” I said with my brows raised, but Mogwai was back to feverishly driving and watching her tail like she was in a Fast and Furious movie.
"Then I motioned to the overly cute panda coffee mug and thermos, "besides what's your deal with coffee? You act like it's the elixir of life."
A sharp thud to my side of the jeep snapped both of your attention to the road. Looking to my right, a biker in a lamb skin vest glared at us. He was dressed mostly in black leather except that fuzzy lamb skin vest, and the helmet that had ram horns painted on the side.
“DROP BEAR!” Mogwai screamed, and swerved to her right, just as the biker swung his GetBack whip again.
The biker also swerved right avoiding us, but his whip went wild and wrapped around the biker and handle bars. With the tangle restricting his movement, he slowed dramatically, and Mog slammed her foot down.
“What the fuck is a drop bear?” I cried, but Mog was staring into the rear view mirror again. “My bad, it wasn’t a drop bear,” she said suddenly cool as a cucumber.
“Oh my god, did you just run a biker off the road?” I shouted, but before Mog could answer and Biker was pulling up on her side, a ballpeen hammer in hand.
“You did it now, Mog, it’s a biker gang!” I screamed, just as the biker slammed his hammer into the frame of the jeep, missing the window my inches.
“Worse, it’s Satyrs,” Mog groaned and as I looked at the man. Sure enough, the man was riding next to us wasn’t wearing a helmet with goat's horns on it, he had horns! His chest was bare and his legs were covered in thick dark hair I took for riding chaps on his partner.
Mogwai slowed down, and the biker shot out in front of us. On his back I could read his vest patch, “Bacchus Riders-MC” was clearly on display.
“Did you say Satyrs?” I asked dumbly, but in my head I was thinking, “What the hell, what the hell, what the hell!”
“Un-natural world.com says Satyrs are a minor danger in the Realms, but due to their anger issues, and violent nature, unsuspecting humans often are in danger in their presence,” Mog nodded and side swiped a biker sending him off into a ditch.
“Does Un-natural world.com say what should we do? Should I shoot them?” I asked and drew The Judge.
“Un-natural world.com doesn’t endorse of condemn violence. It merely informs,” Mog said like a board secretary.
“We are almost the club, I think we can lose them in the crowd if we can get inside, unless they have some super smelling ability like a bloodhound,” I said as Mog pulled into the club lot and backed into a spot.
“Don’t be silly, they’re goat people,” Mog said and I shot her a glare. I don’t know if she knew how insane that sounded, or If she was totally oblivious.
"Not Satyrs. They're Damn Chort!" Declared a strong male voice with a hint of a eastern Germanic accent.
"You better get out of the car, dearie, the Chort, will regroup quickly," barrel chested and with arms as thick as legs, Sergeant First Class Felix Fackler stood backlit by the entry way lights, but I'd know his voice anywhere.
bald black man, jovial, gun dealer [https://images.nightcafe.studio/jobs/5nknyLsmAVyvsG9YxXVY/5nknyLsmAVyvsG9YxXVY--1--pgvv8.jpg?tr=w-1600,c-at_max]