Chapter 9

The couch Lana sat on was comfortable, but she still shifted her weight frequently. This house, the place across town where she was supposed to collect her payment after the job was done, had the same layout as the one she’d just been in. She looked in toward the kitchen, and fought the impression that the door would be broken down from when she’d had to smash through it. And below there’d be a room full of stuffed toys where she’d begged for an assfucking by a werewolf and loved every second of it.

She was fucked, in more ways than one.

Soon, the men in imitation FBI outfits who were her contacts arrived, coming through the back door. Their big dark glasses and fake earpieces looked only a step above Halloween costume, but that was the point. They didn’t work for the government but it was hard to guess who else they could represent. The one in front, a black man built like a bouncer, took one look at her and scowled. He turned to the other man, a slightly smaller white version of himself.

“Bob, does that look like the face of mission success to you?”

“No Bob, no it doesn’t.”

Lana hated the “Bob” thing. Everyone was “Bob” to these people, even the women working for them. It had something to do with preserving anonymity but it was damn confusing. The Bob in front looked back at Lana. “Status Report, Bob.”

She steeled herself and spoke slowly. “Due to incorrect assumptions made --”

“Don’t tell me fucking ‘why’ Bob, tell me fucking ‘what.’”

Lana started over. “The dog has left the kennel.”

“Bob,” said the one in charge, turning again to his compatriot, “our vetting process appears to be in need of remediation.”

She stood up. “‘s not my fuckin’ fault --”

“Shut up, Bob,” he said.

She grabbed the lapels of his suit, forcing him to look at her. She was smaller than he, but strong enough. A soft click told her the other Bob’s gun was pointed at her head. She didn’t care.

“Listen shithead, th’ knives didn’t work. I got him an’ he barely felt it. He said he’s not ‘natural.’ And if y’all want to know anything else, my brains are more useful keepin’ inside my head.”

Big Bob looked down at her hands on his suit. She let go and sat back down. The Bobs also sat, looking sarcastically thoughtful.

“Do go on,” Bob said. Lana was about to begin, but Bob interrupted. “-- And I’m extremely curious to know if this tale explains why you’re in a frilly sun dress instead of your usual, badass attire.”

Lana looked down at the pastel-colored thing she was wearing, the thing she’d found upstairs and thrown on after abandoning the ribbons her clothes had become.

She began describing what happened, gaining Cameron’s trust, confirming his identity, his lightning-fast reactions and flight downstairs, and the ensuing standoff. She paused.

“Then what.”

“‘Then what’ indeed”, she thought.

“I fucked ‘im.” If a trained behavioral expert had been observing the room and had the benefit of video playback, they might have seen the two men’s eyes widen the slightest fraction of an inch, betraying the slightest, tiniest bit of surprise.

“Do please elaborate.”

“After he threw me, I couldn’ stop looking at ‘im. I jus’ suddenly wanted to jump his bones.”

“Just so there’s no misunderstanding, Bob, you found yourself attracted to the giant hairy werewolf you were sent to kill, and you acted on that impulse?”

“Well, uh, Bob, I would say I felt compelled. There was an overwhelming desire to fuck the giant hairy beast with the huge dick. I don’t think I had a choice.”

Bob turned his head again. “That’s totally hot, Bob. Is that making you hot?”

The other Bob nodded. “Bob, If I was a woman my nipples would be all pointy right now too.”

Lana couldn’t help but glance down, and it was true. She was getting turned on again.

“Y’all think I get a lotta work fucking my marks insteada killin’ ‘em? This is some part of his not bein’ a natural werewolf.”

“Maybe next time we should send a man to do a man’s job,” said Bob, narrowing his eyes.

“I don’ think that’ll work.”

“Are you speculating the boy is bisexual?”

“Per’aps, or maybe your man’ll jus’ become friendly and ferget what he was s’posed to do. Jus’ gimme a rifle and I’ll pop him from a mile away.”

Big Bob shook his head. “No no, we can’t do that, this has to be quiet and invisible. No one knows the boy is alive, and no one can know when he’s dead again.”

He turned back to other Bob. “I think we may need to go to Plan B.”

“Lemme get ‘im close range then, I can make it clean.”

Bob shook his head again. “If what you say is true, close proximity is too great a risk.”

“Don’t take this job away from me, there’s gotta be somethin’ I can do.”

The Bobs looked at each other, then back at her.

Big Bob spoke slowly. “Yes, I think there is.”

Cameron parked the bike in the alley behind Magick Within Reach, fumbling with the lock but getting it to work. He stood up and noticed that all of the shops on the block had doors to the alley for dropping off their trash. Magick Within Reach had such a door too and Cameron found it was unlocked. He opened the door and saw a dingy staircase leading up to the shop, and down to the basement.

He climbed the stairs and reached the shop’s door, which was currently being refitted by a workman. He grimaced inside the helmet. Ben was flitting about the shop, dusting the shelves again. He noticed Cameron, peering at him over his glasses.

“Hello there, Cameron,” he said.

Cameron moved over by the old man and leaned in close.

“You old fart,” he said in a low voice, “I’m supposed to be dead, you should call me, I dunno, Brandon or something. And how did you know it was me?”

“Cameron, my good fellow, you worry too much,” said Old Ben, just as loudly as before, “I don’t think Luis cares one smidge about your situation-- do you, Luis?” He leaned past Cameron, speaking at the man fixing the door.

“Casi hecho, señor,” he said, not looking up from the screw he was tightening.

“Excellent, thank you Luis.” He turned back to Cameron. “So, how is your quest proceeding, eh?”

“Uh, well, not well. Can we please talk about this somewhere else?” He indicated the workman again.

Benedict rolled his eyes. “If you insist. Allow me a minute.”

He walked over to the door behind the counter and gave it a knock.

“Wayne, can you, erm, disentangle yourself from your current studies? I need use of the room please.”

“Just a sec!” came a voice from inside the door. There were some noises, and soon Cameron saw a black goth kid emerge, tripping over his impractical strappy pants. It even looked like a length of rope had gotten caught in his pants and he was dragging it behind him. He looked at Cameron, smiled weakly, and quickly averted his eyes, tripping his way out the front door of the shop.

Benedict rolled his eyes and mumbled something to himself, then indicated the open door.

“Who was that?” asked Cameron.

“The summer intern. This way.”

Cameron went in the door and found a small, smelly room and sat on the old couch. He yelped in surprise as an errant spring inside the cushion poked him in the rear. Benedict chuckled and sat in one of the chairs that surrounded a small table.

“So, Cameron, what troubles have you been having?”

“The place I was staying, it’s not safe anymore. I think I’ll need your basement after all.”

“Ah, I see.”

Cameron thought about what to say. He didn’t want Old Ben to know that anyone was after him, then he might refuse to help him at all.