I pushed through a weathered batwing door into an old west-style saloon. There was sawdust on the floor and a player piano tinkling in the corner. The saloon was empty besides the bartender and one man sitting at the bar with his back to me. The barman was wearing a white long sleeve shirt and a rough black waistcoat. He had well-oiled black hair and a neat mustache. He didn’t look at me and busied himself cleaning a shot glass with a rag. I stumbled forward and took a seat at the bar next to the man. The bartender slapped a shot glass down in front of me and filled it with a brown murky liquid from a jug. I took a sniff and was greeted with the scent of burnt sugar and stale tobacco. I fired it down because that’s what you did at a bar. It tasted worse than it smelled and I immediately regret the decision. I grabbed at the bowl of salted peanuts to try to wash away the taste.
“Tastes like shit, don’t it? Whiskey’s come a long way.”
The nuts crunched in my mouth as I slowly turned to the stranger. He was dressed in a nice suit that seemed strangely familiar. When I got to his face, I saw my father smiling back at me.
“I’m glad you could finally join me, son. We have so much to discuss.”
*************************
I awoke with a start. My father’s smiling visage was emblazoned in my mind and I could still taste the terrible tobacco whiskey. Although it might have been a bit of the ol’ cottonmouth from the night before. John and I had been biting the Bulleit with gusto.
It was an hour before the alarm went off and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I went out for a morning run and took my time drinking some coffee and watching the sun come up. I put on my favorite charcoal suit and as an afterthought dug to the back of my closet and pulled out an old waistcoat. Over this, I put on my Miami Shoulder holster. I opted against my Sig and pulled my Glock 19 out of the gun safe. I was of the firm opinion that every man in America should own a Glock 19. Every woman too, for that matter. It might be the finest all-around firearm ever made, for the money. The weight difference between my Sig and the Glock wasn’t too bad, but the Glock 19 had a smaller profile that was better suited to the shoulder rig. I slipped it in under my armpit and promptly forgot it was there.
Lastly, I strapped on the pair of Vaqueros. I stood in front of my full-length mirror and smiled like an idiot. I resembled my dream image of my father. I couldn’t resist doing a little quick draw and my mind had trouble comprehending how fast I was able to get those pistols out. I wondered what my father had meant by finally joining him.
As I shrugged my suit jacket on my eyes fell on the small ornate box on my bedside table. I sat on the bed and placed the box in my lap. Inside was the only thing I had left in the world that was owned by my father. The rest of the things of his I had were destroyed in the fire that claimed the lives of my family.
I opened the box and pulled out an old pair of pince-nez reading glasses. They were on a delicate gold wire frame and attached to a sturdy gold chain and loop. As far as I knew, my father had never worn glasses, but he had carried the pince-nez around with him regularly. He was gone before I was old enough to understand that it was an unusual practice. The night of the blaze I had been in my study looking at the glasses. I often did this as it was one of the things I remember him wearing. When I realized something was wrong, I had put the box in my pocket rather than put them back on the shelf. I was never sure exactly why I did that, but it had been fortuitous.
Making a split-second decision I snapped the box closed and tucked the glasses into the pocket of my waistcoat. I looked at myself again in the mirror and decided to fasten the loop to a button and let the gold chain hang out a little. Hot damn, I looked like Wyatt Earp. Or at least Kurt Russell playing Wyatt Earp. I might have to get started on a mustache.
I drove the Wildcat back to my new office. I pulled the RFID chip out of the folio that Tina had prepared and stuck it to the front windshield as she instructed in her notes. The heavy gate at the employee entrance opened dutifully as I approached. The guard looked at me and checked his tablet quickly before finally waving me in. He gave me a smile and wave as I passed him. I found my spot in the garage and noticed that Teddy’s Bentley was already there.
Tina met me in the lobby of the investigative section with a full cup of steaming black coffee.
“Good Morning Agent Renshaw.” She was way too perky for this early in the morning.
I gratefully accepted the cup and took a sip. It was tastier than it had any right to be. “Good morning Tina. Thanks, this is delicious.”
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“Thank you,” She beamed. “The stuff the office provides is pretty terrible, but Agent Ruthersford has beans delivered directly from Guatemala. Nice suit, you look very sharp. I love the vest.”
“Uh, thanks.” I looked down at my shoes.
Tina waited for me to say something else, and when I didn’t she continued, “Let me show you to your desk.” She led me through the glass doors into the investigative bullpen. The bullpen was empty except for one other agent working. The agent’s eyes went to my badge and he nodded at me before turning back to his computer.
“Here we are,” Tina chirped. She had stopped in front of a tiny half cubicle desk with a pair of very secure-looking locking file drawers, a new-looking laptop and docking station, and an outlay of office supplies, still in their wrappers. A smart nameplate announced that “Agt. Renshaw” sat here.
“I hope I covered everything in my notes. If you have any questions or trouble with your computer, I sit up at the front.” She smiled sweetly. Her brown hair smelled like flowers.
“Thanks, Tina, your notes were very thorough.”
Tina’s gaze lingered on me for a moment. She bit her lip and seemed ready to say something but then she turned and bounced off back to her desk. I took off my suit jacket and put it on a hanger attached to the low wall. I sat down and found a handwritten note sitting on the blotter in front of my computer keyboard.
Agent Renshaw,
I stayed late last night with a few of the guys to finish up your weapons. Stop by the armory sometime today to pick them up.
Dan Jones
More guns? Jesus. They must really be expecting trouble. I booted up my laptop and typed in my credentials from the notes Tina had provided. I had to enter a code off of my agency phone to get all the way in. and sipped my coffee. Guatemala, huh? Teddy knew his java. Speak of the devil, I heard a cultured laugh and Agent Ruthersford rounded the corner. He was leading two other agents and the three were discussing something.
“Ah! Agent Renshaw! Good morning. We were just discussing our warehouse issue.” The group stopped next to my desk.
“Hey Theo, how you doing?” I stood up.
“Tip-top,” he exclaimed, “tip-top. This is Agent Alicia Santiago and this handsome devil is Agent Lucas Faulkner. They are another investigative unit here. Alicia, Luke, this is Agent Renshaw, my new partner.”
I shook both of their hands in turn starting with Agent Faulkner. He was a tall man with sandy blond hair. Most striking were his eyes, of which one was a jade green and the other an ocean blue. His features were chiseled out of stone. He could have walked right out of a Ralph Lauren ad.
“Nice to meet you, Agent Faulker.” His grip was perfect, not too tight, not too weak. He wore an incredibly ornate silver ring on his middle finger.
“Please, call me Luke.” He showed me fifteen thousand dollars worth of smile.
I turned to the other agent, Alicia, and started. Up close, she was nearly as striking at Luke. Not pretty exactly, but something. Sexy. That was it. The woman was dripping with raw sex appeal. She was wearing a charcoal suit with a white blouse that set off her tanned skin. She had a narrow waist but muscular shoulders and arms. Her blouse was one button short of inappropriate for the office and showed off her silky smooth cleavage. There was a mole on one of her breasts that was absolutely hypnotizing. She had a mane of chestnut brown hair that looked like she had just rolled out of a bed that she hadn’t been sleeping in. I found myself staring at her plump lips as they pulled back in a smile. Something was wrong with her teeth. There were too many, or they were too big. Something. I started to get the Strange Feeling.
She looked me up and down and offered her perfectly manicured hand. Her eyes lingered at my waist. “Nice piece.” she purred. Her voice was crushed velvet.
“Thanks,” was all I could manage. I swallowed. Her hand was soft yet her grip firm.
“Jesus, ‘Licia. Why don’t you just piss on his leg?” Lucas chuckled. He pounded me on the shoulder. “We should have lunch after you get settled in.”
“Yeah,” I stammered, “that would be great.”
Agent Santiago gave me a slow wink and wet her lips as she walked by, but said nothing. The agents left through the glass doors.
I sat down to hide my growing, ahem, arousal. I didn’t quite understand my reaction to Alicia. Had it been so long since I had been near an attractive woman? Was she working some kind of magic on me? Wasn’t I immune to that?
“Pee on my leg?” I asked. “What was that about?”
Agent Ruthersford sat down at his desk across from mine. “Agent Santiago’s a were.”
“A where?”
“No, a were. A werewolf.” He pantomimed two hands clawing the air. “Big one too. As for the urine thing, I believe Lucas was making a joke about Agent Santiago marking her territory. You, namely. I swear, for such an attractive man, he certainly can be uncouth.”
“She’s a fucking werewolf? The Agency hired a werewolf?” I hissed, trying to keep my voice low. The blond agent sitting near us glanced over and rolled his eyes.
“Is that a problem Cash? Do you have an allergy or something?”
“What? Allergy? No. At least I don’t think so. No, I mean aren’t they bad?”
“What? Allergies? Quite dreadful. My aunt almost died from a peanut in her chocolate chip cookie. Who does that? And shellfish! They’re everywhere!” Teddy looked outraged.
“No! I mean werewolves. Aren’t werewolves, like, I don’t know, evil?”
Agent Ruthersford barked a laugh. “No Cash, they’re not evil. Not all of them at least. They are just like humans, morally. Some good, some bad. Most somewhere in the middle. Although, if you were to take Agent Santiago home. You know, for ‘festivities’. She might actually pee in a corner. I guess that’s a ‘kind’ of evil. But maybe you are into that kind of thing. I don’t judge.”
I opened my mouth. Then I closed it. Then I opened it again and put up a finger. I closed my mouth and put down my hand. “Did you look into the warehouse this morning?” I asked finally.
“I did!” Theo enthused. “Tax records show that it’s owned by a shell company, but I traced it back to another holding company. Aldopous Inc. And Aldopous Inc. is a front for a pack of werewolves. Er, criminal ones.”
“Organized crime lycanthropes.”
“Exactly!”
Fucking werewolves.