*Just for the record, I had nothing to do with this. I'm just the innocent delivery boy.
“Yap, yap, yap. Yappity yap, yap.” That was what I heard when I awoke wet and hung-over. As I pulled myself out of the tub of ice water, the insistent yapping resolved itself into the stark tenor voice of my sometime partner in mayhem, Haggis.
Fortunately, I speak Chihuahuan.
“Jay, Jay, Jay! Jaycinth, Jay, Jay. Come on Jay. Wake up!”
Haggis knew I’d worked for days to reach a level of inebriation that would make Poe jealous. If he hadn’t seen me do it, the empty bottles of Captain Morgan should have made it obvious. There are only two reasons for him to disturb my recreational indulgences. One: he needed money and two: the world was in danger of ending.
I grabbed him by the collar and shoved him head first into the tub I’d just vacated. When I was sure he wasn’t going to come up for air anytime soon, I slipped into a black organza skirt with matching leather bustier, laced up my boots, and went to the mission next door for coffee.
I own the Comedy Cabaret. It’s on the other side of the tracks in a part of town that makes inner city Baltimore seem like a divine patch of heaven. It’s gritty and filthy, but no one ever asks about the bodies that tend to turn up out in the alley. If they don’t wander off by sunset, Bernie buries them in the empty lot across the street.
Bernie’s a great gardener. He’s got a dozen varieties of roses growing over there, and some veggies. The lot’s prettied up quite a bit since Bernie started working it. I wouldn’t eat the carrots, though.
“Afternoon, Jaycinth,” Sister OFG said as I walked through the doors.
“Afternoon, Sister,” I said helping myself to the fortified brew that keeps the good sisters at Saint Barbara’s going. One of the trestle tables in the mission was covered with an amazing assortment of weapons. I pushed a wimpy looking revolver out of the way, put my cup on the table and sat. On the wall, a beatific picture of Saint Barbara holding a classic Kalishnikov looked down on us all.
I know a little about St. Barbara. She lived in the third century and never owned a gun. Barbara was a nice girl who had the misfortune to be locked in a flimsy building when her dad smashed it with boulders. He didn’t like her choice of religion, I guess. So now she’s the patron Saint of those who use guns for a living. Go figure.
“Impressive pile of hardware,” I said looking at the equipment on the table.
“Sister Susie and I jacked Robbie and his ‘homies’ last night. In addition to the arsenal, we liberated a box of C4, close to thirty-thousand Euros, and a half pound of the worst pot I’ve ever had.”
“Really?” I asked. I was becoming more awake with every sip. The ‘Little Sisters of ‘Whoop –Ass’ have a secret recipe. I don’t ask what goes into it as long as it wakes me up. They’re a good crowd to have next door.
I chugged my coffee, poured another and oooh’d and ahhh’d the Sisters’ new toys until the brew was gone.
I heard the commotion long before I set foot back into the Cabaret. It sounded like someone was about to be murdered. Dashing in, I saw a twisted, evil witch yelling at Shadow Ferret. Ed. He’s a nice guy who accidentally pissed off a Fairy Godmother. The lady was at least a century past senile. She hexed Ed into a were-ferret. She then promptly died, sticking Ed with the hex for the rest of his natural life. Which, for were’s is a few centuries. I think Ed got the better part of the deal.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked stepping between ‘Twisty’ Witchy and Mr. Ferret. Any more property damage and my insurance will go through the roof.
“I want to know where muh daughter’s at!” ‘Witchey’ yelled. I could smell the gin on her breath. I don’t like gin.
“Tsuki’s not here. She goes to school, you know.” Tsuki is a good kid. Half witch and totally random, that teenager is going to be running this town some day. In the meantime I get to entertain momma. Again.
I ran my fingers through my hair then flicked fairy dust in her face.
“Oh...wow...the colors....” Twisty sank to the floor with a smile on her face. She’ll be that way for hours.
Dusting people without consent is illegal, I know. But I can get away with this one. ‘Witchey’ used to be married to Tsuki’s dad, Sable Durdan. He’s the mayor of our fine city and the only human to best a demon and live. And Durdan loves his little girl and she loves the Cabaret. ‘Witchey’ can ‘bitchy’ until her eyes fall out; no one’s arresting me.
If you haven’t guessed, I’m a fairy, and not one of your sweet-tempered Bright Court- ‘kiss–up-to-the–humans’ Seelie either. I’m the fairy that shows up a day late, hung-over, and blesses the occasion with kneepads, magical salamanders, or recalcitrant farts, depending on my mood. I’m not a bad fairy, per se. Just feed me good booze and don’t piss me off.
“Jaycinth, Mel’s gone. G.O.N.E. Gone,” Haggis said. He was still wet, but had shifted from Chihuahua to human form. He’s a were, too, but, unlike Ed, Haggis’ parents were both weres. He takes after his grandpa, a feisty little soul who was friends with Montezuma. Haggis is Montezuma’s revenge.
“What do you mean Mel’s gone? He’s never gone.” This is true. Mel is the Cabaret’s chef. And... Mel hates us. But... he’s passive aggressive with a guilt complex. Everyday he cooks up a big pot of poison then dumps it in the river before we can eat it. He then spends the next six hours staring at the ceiling, wailing dismay in some dead language.
Did I mention that Mel is obsessed with the ceiling, too? He may leave for an hour, three at the most, but the second he comes back, he apologies to the ceiling, then talks to it for hours.
“Check the deep fryer?” I asked
“Cray dumped it while you were drinking breakfast. We found his lice, deep fried to crispy goodness, too... but no Mel.”
A loud metallic clang announced the two-ton deep fryer was back in place. A moment later Cray bounced out of the kitchen, greasy, but no worse for wear. Cray is like a giant battery; I don’t know where the guy gets his energy.
Cray grabbed a bottle of Jack, bit off the top, and guzzled half in one sip. I swear the guy could drink pure acid and still keep going and going....
“You know, Haggis,” Cray said “Mel’s gonna be real pissed off when he sees all his grease gone. He’s been collecting in that vat for two years now.”
“Well, you certainly didn’t expect me to swim around in that muck looking for him again?” Haggis barked.
On occasion Mel gets on the wrong side of an itinerant chef named Werencole. When that happens Mel always comes out thrashed, then sulks in the bottom of the fryer for days. Last time Haggis had to drag him out.
We love Mel as much as he hates us... and life isn’t the same without him trying to steal it away.
“Anubis’ bloody balls. Someone stole my habaneras!” Bernie boomed across the Cabaret. Bernie is a Minotaur... or, more properly...a MinoYAK. He’s the doorman, bouncer, and gardener extraordinaire.
“What?” Haggis asked. I could tell he was agitated. He was starting to go Chihuahua again.
“Every last plant yanked up out of the ground--my cayenne’s and jalapenos, too!”
I turned and stared at Bernie. Even a complete idiot with a death wish wouldn’t fuck with his garden. Something wasn’t right.
“Something isn’t right,” I said.
“I smell a skunk,” Haggis said. Cray pulled the angry critter from his pocket and tossed it back into the kitchen. “There’s a link here,” Haggis continued, getting that thoughtful look he reserves for thinking and nicely cooked bacon.
“Think about it, Jay. Mel GONE! Bernie’s peppers disappear on the same day. That can’t be a coincidence. It is a rudely hatched nefarious plot!”
“Who would hatch such a rude thing?” Shadow Ferret asked.
“Ben Panced is back in town,” said a sultry voice from the shadows. Inky. The blonde bombshell that put the VAMP back into vampire. Her canines glittered in the dim light as she strutted out of the darkness and over to the bar. If there is anyone on the planet I’m jealous of, it’s Inky. Her rack makes me look like a ten year old. Boy. Fairies aren’t known for their boobs.
I turned to Haggis, shock splattered on my face like a well-thrown pie.
“Ben Panced!” I exclaimed.
"Look at the size of those breasticles! Haggis said.
Next week's episode: Haggis speaks his mind. Which takes very little time.
Fajita Sunrise - Chapter one
“Yap, yap, yap. Yappity yap, yap.” That was what I heard when I awoke wet and hung-over. As I pulled myself out of the tub of ice water, the insistent yapping resolved itself into the stark tenor voice of my sometime partner in mayhem, Haggis.
Fortunately, I speak Chihuahuan.
“Jay, Jay, Jay! Jaycinth, Jay, Jay. Come on Jay. Wake up!”
Haggis knew I’d worked for days to reach a level of inebriation that would make Poe jealous. If he hadn’t seen me do it, the empty bottles of Captain Morgan should have made it obvious. There are only two reasons for him to disturb my recreational indulgences. One: he needed money and two: the world was in danger of ending.
I grabbed him by the collar and shoved him head first into the tub I’d just vacated. When I was sure he wasn’t going to come up for air anytime soon, I slipped into a black organza skirt with matching leather bustier, laced up my boots, and went to the mission next door for coffee.
I own the Comedy Cabaret. It’s on the other side of the tracks in a part of town that makes inner city Baltimore seem like a divine patch of heaven. It’s gritty and filthy, but no one ever asks about the bodies that tend to turn up out in the alley. If they don’t wander off by sunset, Bernie buries them in the empty lot across the street.
Bernie’s a great gardener. He’s got a dozen varieties of roses growing over there, and some veggies. The lot’s prettied up quite a bit since Bernie started working it. I wouldn’t eat the carrots, though.
“Afternoon, Jaycinth,” Sister OFG said as I walked through the doors.
“Afternoon, Sister,” I said helping myself to the fortified brew that keeps the good sisters at Saint Barbara’s going. One of the trestle tables in the mission was covered with an amazing assortment of weapons. I pushed a wimpy looking revolver out of the way, put my cup on the table and sat. On the wall, a beatific picture of Saint Barbara holding a classic Kalishnikov looked down on us all.
I know a little about St. Barbara. She lived in the third century and never owned a gun. Barbara was a nice girl who had the misfortune to be locked in a flimsy building when her dad smashed it with boulders. He didn’t like her choice of religion, I guess. So now she’s the patron Saint of those who use guns for a living. Go figure.
“Impressive pile of hardware,” I said looking at the equipment on the table.
“Sister Susie and I jacked Robbie and his ‘homies’ last night. In addition to the arsenal, we liberated a box of C4, close to thirty-thousand Euros, and a half pound of the worst pot I’ve ever had.”
“Really?” I asked. I was becoming more awake with every sip. The ‘Little Sisters of ‘Whoop –Ass’ have a secret recipe. I don’t ask what goes into it as long as it wakes me up. They’re a good crowd to have next door.
I chugged my coffee, poured another and oooh’d and ahhh’d the Sisters’ new toys until the brew was gone.
I heard the commotion long before I set foot back into the Cabaret. It sounded like someone was about to be murdered. Dashing in, I saw a twisted, evil witch yelling at Shadow Ferret. Ed. He’s a nice guy who accidentally pissed off a Fairy Godmother. The lady was at least a century past senile. She hexed Ed into a were-ferret. She then promptly died, sticking Ed with the hex for the rest of his natural life. Which, for were’s is a few centuries. I think Ed got the better part of the deal.
“What the hell is going on?” I asked stepping between ‘Twisty’ Witchy and Mr. Ferret. Any more property damage and my insurance will go through the roof.
“I want to know where muh daughter’s at!” ‘Witchey’ yelled. I could smell the gin on her breath. I don’t like gin.
“Tsuki’s not here. She goes to school, you know.” Tsuki is a good kid. Half witch and totally random, that teenager is going to be running this town some day. In the meantime I get to entertain momma. Again.
I ran my fingers through my hair then flicked fairy dust in her face.
“Oh...wow...the colors....” Twisty sank to the floor with a smile on her face. She’ll be that way for hours.
Dusting people without consent is illegal, I know. But I can get away with this one. ‘Witchey’ used to be married to Tsuki’s dad, Sable Durdan. He’s the mayor of our fine city and the only human to best a demon and live. And Durdan loves his little girl and she loves the Cabaret. ‘Witchey’ can ‘bitchy’ until her eyes fall out; no one’s arresting me.
If you haven’t guessed, I’m a fairy, and not one of your sweet-tempered Bright Court- ‘kiss–up-to-the–humans’ Seelie either. I’m the fairy that shows up a day late, hung-over, and blesses the occasion with kneepads, magical salamanders, or recalcitrant farts, depending on my mood. I’m not a bad fairy, per se. Just feed me good booze and don’t piss me off.
“Jaycinth, Mel’s gone. G.O.N.E. Gone,” Haggis said. He was still wet, but had shifted from Chihuahua to human form. He’s a were, too, but, unlike Ed, Haggis’ parents were both weres. He takes after his grandpa, a feisty little soul who was friends with Montezuma. Haggis is Montezuma’s revenge.
“What do you mean Mel’s gone? He’s never gone.” This is true. Mel is the Cabaret’s chef. And... Mel hates us. But... he’s passive aggressive with a guilt complex. Everyday he cooks up a big pot of poison then dumps it in the river before we can eat it. He then spends the next six hours staring at the ceiling, wailing dismay in some dead language.
Did I mention that Mel is obsessed with the ceiling, too? He may leave for an hour, three at the most, but the second he comes back, he apologies to the ceiling, then talks to it for hours.
“Check the deep fryer?” I asked
“Cray dumped it while you were drinking breakfast. We found his lice, deep fried to crispy goodness, too... but no Mel.”
A loud metallic clang announced the two-ton deep fryer was back in place. A moment later Cray bounced out of the kitchen, greasy, but no worse for wear. Cray is like a giant battery; I don’t know where the guy gets his energy.
Cray grabbed a bottle of Jack, bit off the top, and guzzled half in one sip. I swear the guy could drink pure acid and still keep going and going....
“You know, Haggis,” Cray said “Mel’s gonna be real pissed off when he sees all his grease gone. He’s been collecting in that vat for two years now.”
“Well, you certainly didn’t expect me to swim around in that muck looking for him again?” Haggis barked.
On occasion Mel gets on the wrong side of an itinerant chef named Werencole. When that happens Mel always comes out thrashed, then sulks in the bottom of the fryer for days. Last time Haggis had to drag him out.
We love Mel as much as he hates us... and life isn’t the same without him trying to steal it away.
“Anubis’ bloody balls. Someone stole my habaneras!” Bernie boomed across the Cabaret. Bernie is a Minotaur... or, more properly...a MinoYAK. He’s the doorman, bouncer, and gardener extraordinaire.
“What?” Haggis asked. I could tell he was agitated. He was starting to go Chihuahua again.
“Every last plant yanked up out of the ground--my cayenne’s and jalapenos, too!”
I turned and stared at Bernie. Even a complete idiot with a death wish wouldn’t fuck with his garden. Something wasn’t right.
“Something isn’t right,” I said.
“I smell a skunk,” Haggis said. Cray pulled the angry critter from his pocket and tossed it back into the kitchen. “There’s a link here,” Haggis continued, getting that thoughtful look he reserves for thinking and nicely cooked bacon.
“Think about it, Jay. Mel GONE! Bernie’s peppers disappear on the same day. That can’t be a coincidence. It is a rudely hatched nefarious plot!”
“Who would hatch such a rude thing?” Shadow Ferret asked.
“Ben Panced is back in town,” said a sultry voice from the shadows. Inky. The blonde bombshell that put the VAMP back into vampire. Her canines glittered in the dim light as she strutted out of the darkness and over to the bar. If there is anyone on the planet I’m jealous of, it’s Inky. Her rack makes me look like a ten year old. Boy. Fairies aren’t known for their boobs.
I turned to Haggis, shock splattered on my face like a well-thrown pie.
“Ben Panced!” I exclaimed.
"Look at the size of those breasticles! Haggis said.
Next week's episode: Haggis speaks his mind. Which takes very little time.
... You guys crack me up.