Man's Best Friend

Is it odd that I never had pets growing up? I knew several others who did have pets, and they treated them as parts of the family. I guess since my family life was not normal in any way, I never felt the need to have companionship like that of a dog. Even though I have that now, in a really weird and twisted way.


We'll call him Mike. He can be quite a frisky fellow. He's got that really cool mottled fur you see on boxers or pit bulls, and his coat is very shiny lately. Mike's great, even when he misbehaves. But I don't get to see him all too often, especially when he's traveling or doing whatever illegal scam or gun run.


What? Your canine pal doesn't engage in illicit sales of magical artifacts? He doesn't keep a fully stocked armory in the trunk of his expensive car? He doesn't own a car? Well then, I guess you've never met someone like Mike.


In reality, he's a Cyno (aka cynocephali). Dog-headed man. Not like a werewolf, no. Those are lycanthropes. Think more like Anubis. This he tells me in an ancestor of his, and that he had no special powers, he was just a long lived undertaker and mortician. You can see where the mix up happens. Mike himself is apparently one-hundred and twelve, and the youngest of 7, most of which apparently are still alive.


I met Mike about 3 years ago, in Boston, in a ship yard in which I had been stuffed by some real nasty guys. They didn't know who I was, and thought that putting me in there would be a good idea. When I called for backup, in rolled this dogman Southie. Literally; he slammed his SUV right into the container and tore open the door for me. He took the brutes out with a shotgun while I gathered myself and work my way out of the container. I got the package I was there for in the first place, and Mike got em out of there.


Going back to his place was not what I had intended, though that's what was ordered. He lived in a rather quaint apartment, in the second story of a warehouse. He worked as a Procurer for us; he found things and people for us when we were either too lazy or too busy to deal with them. He apparently read a lot, practiced his culinary skills, and had some mean Xbox skills. I had a good mean, some fun blowing up and screaming at kids online, and a good nights sleep. I hadn't felt that safe to sleep in a long time. I spent a good week hanging out; nice little vacation.


Jump ahead 3 years to last month. I get a docket full of mission briefings. I've been tasked with hunting down this woman who specializes in looting reliquary. She got a hold of something that belonged to us, and though we were able to buy it back, the higher ups wanted her "captured, dead, or worse". I learned the hard way a few times to never go in on one of these alone. I have a handful of people i trust though, so it can make it a little hard at time to get things done. But this was the perfect op to bring Mike along on. He's a good tracker, a good shot, has nerves of steel, and can pick an expensive antique out of a room full of junk.


We worked the case for three months, following leads from one city to the next. She was quite the stealthy quarry, and to this day I think she knew someone was a step behind. It was almost month four when we finally gained some leverage, and cut to the head of the line. It was in Chechnya, at a cathedral about an hour outside of Grozny. It was said there was an entrance to some undocumented (or lost) catacombs which may contain the remains of an apostle. As you know, bones of dead holy-men can bring in a good amount in the right black market. For me, this mission could have a twofold reward.


Mike had time to get hidden away, just in case things went south; I wanted to bring her in alive. This is never an easy task, especially with someone who's known to carry a Tec-9 and doesn't even ask questions after shooting. Live catches lead to better interrogations, especially since I hate dealing with they whinyness of the recently-deceased. There was risks to be had, and the payout was good. It was a chance I took.


After about 15 minutes of adding bullet holes all over the courtyard, the front of the church, and my rental car, we finally had her pinned down, and she was out of ammo. I tried to give her an out, but she called my bluff; I was out of ammo too. But who needs ammo when you have a partner who can outrun any human? When she bolted for the tree line, it took Mike all of five bounds from where he was at to tackle her. He had her hog-tied with zippies before I arrived.


We not only get her alive, but she had written noted on the catacombs. Bonus! I checked them out while Mike secured her in the SUV. Easy Peasy; the door was where it was supposed to be, and the stale air inside the hall said no one used the entrance in decades, if not more. I dropped a GPS transmitter for the collections team, closed the door back up, and headed out. Mike has had sedated in the back of the car, and had put one of those large floppy hats on her to hide her, just incase any locals wondered who as driving by in a bullet ridden Lincoln. We didn't even need to unload her from the car, we drove right up into the perfectly timed C-130, and off we were.


She would've got away if it wasn't for Mike, and I wouldn't have been able to get in good with my boss. I've talked to him since, and was a bit surprised when he told me he was to be married. It was arranged, as is customary with his people. Selective breeding has kept their numbers manageable, but far from dangerously low. I'm invited. It's in Monaco this summer. I just have to do my research for gifts; I don't think matching diamond-studded collars & tags would be in good taste.

Random thoughts, and a little story.

No one likes to find out  that everything they've ever been told may have been a half-truth or a complete lie. It was like that for me, but much earlier on in life. I wasn't able to "go back to sleep". And from that fateful day, it's been one wild ride.


In recent months, dear reader, I've been quiet. It's not due to anything other than I've been brow-deep in It. Don't ask what "It" is. Doing so will either drive you mad, or get you dead. Never ask questions. There's no point in questions anymore. The answer to almost all of them is an emphatic "yes". That wasn't your imagination, there really is something there in the corners of your room. But knowing all is true isn't just enough. Not by a long shot.


So there was a huge part of last year I was in exile. It's an interesting place to be. Not sure if friends are enemies, and if your enemies can be used as friends. It forces you to use everything you've ever learned in your life that weighs anything. I was pushed to my limits, and found they weren't limits at all, but fucking spiky and razor sharp hurdles in a really fucked up race. I still have my smooth and supple thighs, just so you know. A few scars, but those are inside.


While in exile, I met some interesting people, and saw some interesting things. Did you know that the slums of Brazil is a hotbed for, not only a refuse of society, but also the host? Yup, being not of this Earth live in the gutters, some just as poor and downtrodden as the kids who play soccer with a ball made of rubber-bands.


On the other hand, some seem to proliferate in that situation. Like Miska Sievalth, who works as an assassin for various Bratva groups that setup in Brazil. She's not really Russian at all, not that they would care, she's a beast. They don't know that she's really a blood descendant of Mictecacihuatl, who was some old Aztec god of the underworld. Miska's old, like 320 years old, but she looks 30. I still think it's her diet and workout routine. They age slower, these "demi-gods". There's math in there somewhere, I guess like 10x slower than us.


Anyways, she's real buddy buddy with me, ever since I saved her ass from a very large group of thugs. She may have the genes of a deity in her blood, but she makes mistakes like the rest of us. Ends up, her mark wasn't what she was told, and had lots of friends in the bar. Extraction is my game, so getting her out was a snap, except for the 1/2 mile dash through slummy side streets and into the hills. I helped her out a few days later, cleaning up the mess; she got her mark. And she had me accompany her on her collection, where she got to again "get her mark". You don't fuck with being of a higher plane, even if they only have one foot in.


Anyways, I wonder. Debt. It's not just for money. It's for favors. I have my own White Book; my book of debts. Who owes me, and who thinks I owe them. I never really do, but when they think that I do, well, I like to write a little "lol" next to their name.

Let me distract you with music.

No, I'm not dead. Just spent most of the year in the Amazon. Don't ask, I'll explain soon. Dirty deeds were done dirt cheap, and I was the one left with mud on the boot.

Almost Halloween, which we all know is a busy time for me and my ilk. I can't wait. I've been in need of some action. They're letting me out of the archives; no more musty books.

Yea, it's been a weird year. Glad to be back and vocal.

But for now, click here and listen: RoninGeisha on 8Tracks