Carlos’ journal 6
We’d had a couple of days rest at most when an email comes through from the Corporation. Apparently we’re screw ups and they need to send over some dude called Ward to learn us some stuff. It may actually be helpful, so I’m ok with it.
Door goes within seconds of getting the email and I grab it. Turns out it’s an older black dude. Called Rufus Ward.
“I’ve been told you’re expecting me.”
I let him in and we have a sit down and a chat. Turns out he’s not quite what we thought he’d be. He doesn’t seem to be some corporate stooge anyway. Well, not for the Corporation we work for anyway.
Calls himself a Hunter. Apparently that’s what we called ourselves before there was a Corporation around. His best advice? Toe the company line cos the money’s damn good, and they didn’t get paid at all before. Toe the line even if it means lying to the Corporation to get stuff done.
He may had let a small detail out as well. He was covering all sorts of supernaturals. Werewolves, vampires, fey (like goblins and faeries and sh*t), demons and even angels. We thought it was just because he was a Hunter that he knew all this stuff. Demons and Angels both have to take over someones body to be on earth. Demons take over with force, while Angels have to take a host that gives them permission. Either way, the host person is still in there with them, being worn like a meat suit. It’s weird.
And Ward’s an Angel. And Rufus Ward is the Hunter he’s wearing. I told you, it’s f*cking weird. And he’s met God tons of times. So if I had faith, there’d be no need anymore as we’ve just had proof it all exists. What the hell man?
Anyway, he proved it by healing all of us with a touch. Apparently when he does it, it’s not magic but divine something or other.
We get a job as well to check out some kind of serial killer. Somebody has been killing people in a small town in Texas, one victim a week, for the last ten weeks. From the description, Ward agrees with Jazz that it might be a werewolf.
We head out and meet with our local contact assigned to us. The local Sheriff fills us in and tells us that they haven’t given the press all the details. It turns out there is a little bit more to the story. One girl a week, always blonde, always late teens or early twenties, have been taken, and the only link that has come up is they might have known and gone to the same club, The Blue Oyster, with some regularity.
We made rounds through each of the victims sites and found something else out. They weren’t killed at that site. They were deposited there each time, and bar once, where there was a second body found, it was a new site each time.
The night led to the nightclub. It was a damn long night. I haven’t been out clubbing in literally years and it feels like it. The noise is too loud, the lights flashing like they want to give me an epileptic attack, and the drinks are stupidly expensive. At least the doormen are cool. I hung out there and had a chat. Flashed my fake FBI badge and they were more than happy to have a talk. They didn’t know any more than I had already found out, but they did mention that the rich folk, Partingtons or something like that had been hanging out over the last couple of months, where they hadn’t before.
The group split up to gather more information. Max and I headed out to the rich folks ranch while Jazz and Aldo went round to see the local merchants, police station again and even the hospital.
Doesn’t look like Jazz and Aldo got much, and neither, really, did Max and I.
Max has become oddly reserved over the last couple of weeks. initially, he was extremely talkative, engaged in almost every conversation, and now, he sits mostly quietly, observing. It’s a strange shift in attitude.
Regardless, we got the meeting because Max had the balls to ring up and get a meeting. We rolled up and was greeted by three people. We were led inside and offered coffee, which I gratefully took after only getting a couple hours sleep last night, and we worked through the basic questions and even got agreement to bring back the rest of the group to search round the land.
One thing stood out though. When we were talking about the killings, they were referred to as murders by the ranchers, and neither Max or I had mentioned that these were murders. Leaving them for the moment, we headed back to the motel and caught up with the others, and planned our trip back out to the ranch the next morning.
Got to the ranch nice and early, fully expecting a long, boring and arduous day of looking through scrub lands for traces of this killer, but not expecting to find anything. The old man, Jeff, called me aside.
“Agent? Come with me please. Can the others head inside for some coffee and then we can go.”
He said he had something to show me, so we headed towards a large barn. Going into the barn was weird because it looked bigger on the outside than the inside, like a retarded tardis. He also called me out on being an agent, so I called him out on saying murders the day before when all the coverage was about killings by animal attack.
So we were at a bit of an impasse. I studied him for a moment and had a gut feeling he was a decent bloke and clarified for him that I was actually a Hunter working as a consultant for the Government.
He seemed a little concerned, but appreciated the honesty I think. Which is when he showed me a hidden space in the barn. There were numerous large cages, enough to house his entire family, and they looked very strong . He said that is where he and his family stay, all of them, when they need to, rather than going out.
Jeff called this thing doing the killing a mutt. Same as Ward actually. I had given him a call on the car ride here the previous day. Something about a werewolf without a pack. Dangerous. And in this case, stupid, because it is easy to track in a small town. Most mutts live in the big cities and pick on societies undesirables like the homeless so they don’t get noticed.
Jeff said they had ensured the mutt wasn’t on their land and that his son and daughter were periodically going to The Blue Oyster to try and sniff the mutt out, but had little success so far.
I took him at his word that his land was fine. Apparently they were trying to find the mutt so they could put it down, which suited me, so I guess we kinda just ended up co-operating.
I called off the search of the property and we headed back to the motel, but I waited until we were off the property and traveling at a decent speed before I said anything, because Max has made no secret of his desire to become a werewolf, and I didn’t want him bothering this family, especially when our job wasn’t even finished. Apparently, that doesn’t matter to him. he took off the first chance he could get. Came back a little pissy though, so he obviously didn’t get his way.
A long day of waiting around doing nothing followed, and then we headed back to the club as it was our only real lead. The two kids were there, and later on in the night, the daughter wandered up to me and told me the mutt was in the building somewhere.
Looks like we just have to sift out our killer. At least we know it’s a dude. 50% of the club crossed off already…