Monster Hunter Memoir: Saints

  “Moves?”

  “I can feel it moving now,” she said, her voice deepening again. “Traveling. Feeding. Defiling. The monstrous vessel is warded. The soul, though, the soul of the innocent cries out for release. For heaven. For peace. It is tormented within that vessel. It longs for heaven, for a rescuer. This soul I can find, Mr. Gardenier. This soul you can find.”

  She opened her eyes and shook herself again.

  “Them loas be all over this. Angry loas. I can see them warrior loas. They be shakin’ out their wings, shakin’ off the dust of centuries, ready to fly they so angry! Find these and you may have no job to do! The loas will rip their black hearts out with fiery hands! Come back in three days. I’ll have something you can track this soul down with.”

  The sooner the better to track down my stupid brother, but I could make use of those days. “Good. I have to see a woman about a horse.”

  * * *

  This time I wasn’t meeting in an out-of-the-way house. This time I strode through the halls of power unafraid. This time I was meeting power players right in the open. Because this time in DC, I going to bring a smack-down to MCB.

  Convincing Garrett to arrange the meeting with the senior member of the Republican side of the aisle, a senator from Oklahoma, as well as the chairwoman, a Democrat congresswoman from California, had been tough. My point was that it was do or die. Trying to duck and cover on slander like this only worked so long.

  “We’re nearly late,” Bert said, looking at his watch.

  “Nearly is not the same as late,” I said. “I have no intention of turning up forty minutes early.”

  “You’d better have something concrete,” the congressman’s aide said.

  “MCB doesn’t have anything concrete. I’m going to give the committee the same thing the MCB’s been peddling but with the details left in. And a week from now I’m going to hammer it home with a stake.”

  * * *

  “Honorable Chairwoman,” I said, shaking her hand.

  I cordially detested Congresswoman Jeanette O’Brien (D, CA) and the same could be said in reverse. She was a huge proponent of my mother’s side of the argument, “give monsters a chance.” Mostly, I was sure, because of round-robin funding. Give the monster advocates grants and they sent money back to fund the congresswoman’s campaigns. Then there was the fact that, like most members of the Select Committee on Unearthly Forces, she had never personally dealt with the aftermath of a group of vampires.

  When I’d started doing the same round robin with PUFF money, it had upset the apple cart. But since my funding had been “cross-aisle”—not one dime of monster-lover grant money ever went to Republicans—she had to give at least lip service to paying attention lest she lose support from the Democrat side. That was the only reason she was giving me the time of day. I had been allotted ten minutes in front of the Select Committee to make my case.

  “Mr. Gardenier,” she said, shaking my hand then taking a seat behind her big desk along with the rest of the politicians. “You begged for this meeting. Make it quick.”

  “As I’m sure you all know, I’ve recently been slandered by the MCB. I would like to point out that slander is their stock in trade. Often necessarily, but anyone associated with this committee should recognize that when someone uses slander on a daily basis for their job, using it for politics becomes second nature.”

  “Uh-huh…And you expect me to believe the MCB has been feeding us maliciously motivated lies?”

  “Far from it. It’s incompetence, which given that our country depends on the MCB for protection from the most heinous of all enemies, is far far worse. It was slander based upon incompetence and for purely political ends.”

  “You’ve lost me.” Senator Vaughn was one of the slower committee members. “Which was it?”

  “Both. I did the same thing MCB did. I went to a spellcaster and had a reading done on the location and status of some of the victims. I obtained hair samples from some of the victims’ families and took them to a very powerful White voodoo woman in New Orleans. She confirmed most of what the MCB said.”

  “Then MCB’s investigation could hardly be called slander,” the chairwoman said. “The only reason you haven’t been arrested is that Gary stuck his neck out for you. He’s rapidly run out of favors. This meeting is his last one.”

  Garret Terry didn’t look very happy when she put that out there so brazenly.

  “I said most. The alpha and omega part, yes, but that basic information, Madam Chairwoman, is useless without good analysis. Which MCB screwed up entirely. I’m sure they got a very strong reading that I was involved, but that is because spirits were practically screaming that I needed to be involved in the case. I’m the one who is supposed to end it. Get me involved. Make me a part of it!”

  She actually laughed out loud. “When hell freezes over.”

  “So you’re saying you’re not involved in the ring?” another congressman asked.

  “Do you seriously think I’ve got time to kidnap children?” I snapped. “No, I am not. But what the casting actually meant was that to stop the ring I had to become involved—in the investigation. I am the omega. He who shall end it. The only one who can end it for whatever reason.”

  “How?” Senator Vaughn asked.

  “I’ll do what MCB should have done two years ago. I’ll track the souls of the victims. Because I am not incompetent.”

  “You strolled in here thinking that we’re just going to take you at your word, just because some two-bit New Orleans parlor witch you dredged up contradicts the report provided by the multibillion-dollar federal agency.” The chairwoman snorted. “That’s pretty incompetent.”

  “Give me a week and I’ll find and shut this kidnapping ring down myself. I’ll do in two weeks what the MCB hasn’t been able to do in two years.” I sure hoped I wouldn’t come to regret that promise.

  “Ahem, Chad, I should probably point out that if you do so, the MCB will simply say that you were involved all along, and are now just covering your tracks,” Congressman Terry said.

  “I’m sure they will. Which illustrates the real problem here. Anything can be considered “being involved,” actual intent and actions be damned. Madam Chairwoman, all the illustrious members of the committee, are you aware that you are fundamentally in the same position as Congressman Terry?”

  “Excuse me?” she asked.

  “You take money from people who are involved in necromancy. You have close supporters who are potentially PUFF-applicable.”

  “How dare you say that!” the congresswoman shouted.

  “Because it is true? So does Congressman Bouvrier, Senator Coshan, Senator Vaughn—I can continue listing members of the committee, Republican and Democrat. And each and every one of you, daily, have interaction with those who work with the supernatural, just from MCB agents alone. They, in turn, have contact with necromancers. A casting about any one of you, even those who consider themselves sacrosanct, would probably turn up similar connections.”

  “It certainly isn’t on purpose, but I can guaran-damn-tee that all of us have gotten donations from some slimy individuals,” Congressman Terry said.

  There was some muttering, nodding, and shrugs. Most of the committee didn’t care about me one way or the other, but they didn’t like the idea that the MCB could hit them with the same hammer.

  “All and equally. Which brings up the real problem. MCB used a poorly done, badly analyzed casting to attack a member of your committee. Congressmen Terry has done no wrong, except associate with a falsely accused man. As MCB can do at any time they choose to any one of you they want.”

  “The MCB wouldn’t do that to one of us,” insisted Vaughn.

  “They just did. Are you going to allow MCB to jerk your leash? The way it’s set up, isn’t the leash supposed to be on them? Are you willing to relinquish that power and let MCB decide, through slander and lies which are their stock in trade, who is and who is not to be on your committee? Becaus
e the second you let MCB have that power, they will take it from you, and never give it back.”

  “Boy has a point,” Senator Bouvrier said thoughtfully.

  “That is a very serious accusation,” a congresswoman snapped.

  “I’m not making an accusation. I’m making an observation. I don’t care. This is politics. You choose your bedfellows; the congressmen and senators choose theirs. That’s how it works. MCB should not be deciding who is and is not acceptable on this committee based on that. If they made it on the basis of who has the worst contacts, many of your supporters could pass that test. Nor could you. So are you going to let them decide through whisper campaigns?”

  About half the committee seemed thoughtful about the idea of an out-of-control MCB. The other half wanted me to get cancer and die. That was a better ratio than I’d hoped for.

  “Your time is up,” the chairwoman said. “We’ll look into this.”

  “Please do,” I said, standing up. “In the meantime, I have a case to solve.”

  * * *

  I picked up the soul tracker from Madam Courtney after getting back from DC. Now I just had to make good on my promise to track them down. For which I would need help.

  “You want to take somebody else?” Franklin said.

  New Orleans seemed to be heating up again. The full moon was on the way and we didn’t need more people missing, but this was something that had to be done now.

  “I kind of told the Select Committee that I’d have the case solved by the end of the week.”

  Franklin groaned.

  “Which means tracking down and terminating a kidnapping ring that uses at least two wights that we know of. Can I take two wights? Sure. Can I take two wights, some armed humans and probably some other undead at the same time? Not so sure. I need backup.”

  Franklin groaned again, louder this time. This was why I didn’t ever want to be a team lead. “Damn it, Chad.”

  “Come on, Franklin. Just one good guy.”

  “Got a new guy arriving today.” Franklin sighed. “Fresh out of training. I need him here but maybe this will give him some more experience before the full moon.”

  “I know beggers can’t be choosers, but a newbie? I don’t have time to babysit a newbie. I promised Congress.”

  “He’s good. Or should be. Former SEAL chief.”

  “Great,” I said, grimacing. “A fuckin’ squid. What’s his name?”

  “Sam Haven.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Of course I got a fuckin’ cowboy.

  Don’t get me wrong, Sam Haven turned out to be a great guy, but it took a while for us to click. I’m sort of an intellectual though I can play the dumb game. I like the finer things in life. I’m seriously into martial arts and bushido. Sam was then and is now all about being the “rangy tough guy.” Born in Montana, raised on rodeo and pitching hay bales. If you’d tried to tell me that in a couple years he would be considered one of the best Hunters in the company, I wouldn’t have believed you. I felt like Franklin had stuck me with some tobacco-spitting, cowboy hat and boots wearing, ex-squid who clearly thought his shit don’t stink.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Sam drawled, spitting into his disgusting cup. It was a coffee mug with his SEAL team logo on it. “Some group has been abducting girls for the last few years and killing their families and the FBI and MCB can’t solve shit, but we’ve got only a few days to track the kidnapping cocksuckers down using bullshit hocus-pocus?”

  We were driving up I-10 towards 49. The tracker, a simple crystal pendant with Tracey Morrison’s hair wrapped around it, was swinging in a generally northwesterly direction. I’d just hooked it to my rearview mirror and off we went.

  “It’s not hocus-pocus. It’s hoodoo,” I said. “Magic. It’ll work.”

  “You say so, pal.”

  Sam’s SEAL team had been on a training mission when a nearby cruise liner had been attacked. They’d inserted by helicopter, only to discover that the ship had been swarmed by Deep Ones—monsters which were a “save the last bullet for yourself” type. Especially when they were breeding, which they were in this case. Sam’s team had mostly been wiped out. Only two of the SEALs had survived: the lieutenant by hiding in a locker, Sam by running around killing everything that wasn’t human. Total hero stuff from what Franklin had told me.

  Problem being, MCB, when they’d arrived, had just gone and killed everyone who was implanted and anyone who might be implanted. Was it overkill? Wasn’t there. Keeping Deep Ones down was a major concern. Probably something less drastic they could have done but MCB tends to work on scorched earth. Often it’s all they have time to do.

  Sam had complained about the murdered civilians, loudly and as officially as he was allowed. Which meant MCB had to take care of the problem child. My guess was SEAL high command went all weenie when they offered to off him. Instead, Sam’s career was trashed and the coward lieutenant was suddenly a hero. Sam quit in disgust. The lieutenant, unsurprisingly, joined MCB. He’d fit right in. Probably make director some day.

  Or maybe not. I’d met good MCB agents. I missed Higgins and Castro nearly as much as I missed Trevor and Shelbye. But I wasn’t going to poke that bull with Haven. And a good bit of the question would be based on who was on the committee and whether the chairwoman would allow it to be gelded or not.

  “Magic crystals…What kind of chickenshit mission have I signed up for?” Sam muttered as he looked at the charm. “If it’s so easy, how come the MCB never hired a magician to build them one of these?”

  “MCB’s got magic,” I said. “What they don’t have is Madam Courtney.”

  “Who’s Madam Courtney?”

  “One powerful-as-shit voodoo woman. White voodoo. If you’re going to be working in New Orleans you really should get to know her. She’s also one hell of a real estate lady. You should see the house she found for me…But I don’t think the loas—think of them as angels—would show just anybody the way. I’m supposed to be the one who ends this,” I said, nodding at the hair. “One of the cult’s undead is powered by the soul of that girl. Where it is, there will be its master.”

  “Uh-huh…”

  “Tracey’s soul is sort of bound in a tiny slice of hell, and she’s screaming to be rescued. Like I said, powerful-as-shit White voodoo. Madam Courtney says the loas are all over this and angry. That ‘magic crystal’ you’re sneering at represents a little girl who was murdered to power a strong undead, who is screaming for us to come kill it and let her poor tortured soul go to heaven. It’ll work because angels want me to find her.”

  “This job is fucking weird.”

  “You think this is weird? You might want to find another profession.”

  “Nah, I’m good. Let’s go rescue some damsels from the nefarious assholes of evil.”

  “Don’t get too wrapped up on that one. Most of the girls we save, they’re so mentally messed up you don’t want to get involved. On the other hand, Hoodoo Squad is pretty popular in New Orleans. Finding girls is not an issue.”

  “That wasn’t the direction I was thinking…but I’ve heard New Orleans knows how to party. The girls nice here?”

  “Who wants nice girls? Nothing better than a slutty elf chick.”

  “Elf? Now you’re just fucking with me.”

  * * *

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” Sam said, laughing.

  “I’d suggest you check the scars on my ass but I don’t let swabbies that near my butt,” I said.

  “Oh, you did not go there, jarhead!”

  * * *

  “That story is totally made up,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ve been to Rota! There is no way that is true! Bangkok, maybe. Not Rota.”

  “God is my witness.” Sam held up one hand and put the other over his heart. “And you’re one to talk. Next thing you’re going to tell me you rescued some princess from a tower…”

  * * *

  “Oh!” Sam said. “That is totally grody! Jesus! Did I just
say ‘grody’?”

  “I told you. Even at this range Fey magic is like totally pernicious and infective. You need to keep careful watch on that sort of thing in this job.”

  “So you play the violin?”

  “Got a problem with that, pinniped boy?”

  “Nah,” Sam said. “I play the banjo, sinker boy.”

  “Sinker boy?” I’d never heard that one.

  “One of our missions is to recover Marines killed in amphibious operations. Was. Whatever. SEAL mission. Amphib sinks, Marines are weighed down with all their gear. You know, sinkers. Great spots for a little spear fishing I might add. Fish just flock to a good jarhead sinker.”

  “That is so sick it might even be true,” I said.

  “Don’t get me started on newbie pilots in P’cola…”

  * * *

  I-49 sort of peters out in Texarkana where we stayed overnight in a fleabag motel. We had to unload Honeybear’s trunk ’cause I wasn’t going to leave all the dangerous shit in the parking lot to get stolen.

  “You carry LAWs?” Sam said.

  “That an issue?”

  “Naw. I love ’em.”

  “Stick those in the golf bag with the guns. I’d rather people not see them around here. There might be talk.”

  “Ya think?” Then he got towards the bottom. “That case is mil-spec. And it’s still sealed. Why’s it painted brown?”

  “So people won’t notice what it says is inside,” I said, pulling out another couple of ammo cans. “You going to tote or ask questions?”

  “What would it say was inside?” Sam asked as he carried the case toward the room. “If it wasn’t badly spray-painted brown, that is. Because from the size, weight and shape, it’s a case of claymores.”

  “Okay,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Are you accusing me of being stupid enough to carry claymores in my trunk?”

  “That’s what I thought,” Sam said, grinning ear to ear. “We gonna get to use ’em?”