by Matt Rogers
Chapter 18
They were out back enjoying one of the rarest events in the city of Dallas; a summer day without triple numbers in the temperature index.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
“How am I doing it wrong?”
“You need to let them sear more.”
George was grilling and Philip was supervising. The fact George didn’t want or need supervision was irrelevant. Phillip was not grilling therefore he was, by default, supervising. Vivian and Trudy were lounging by the pool.
“Do you think it will work?”
“How could it not work?”
“I don’t know? The castle thing didn’t quite work out.”
“I still don’t understand how that failed.”
They’d been relaxing after organizing the Great Zombie Taco Blast and waiting for the results to arrive. The News had been receptive but they’d been burned before and wanted first-hand information before they proceeded.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting the cheese on top.”
“You don’t do that while they’re still on the grill!”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll burn the cheese!”
Werewolves were, by nature, confrontational creatures and outdoor barbecue always brought out the better in them. Whoever was cooking could do no right and the one watching would point it out. There was talk once of outlawing outside grilling altogether but the notion was quashed when it was discovered the one who proposed the idea actually preferred gas over charcoal. The other Wolves consulted, voted, then tore his head off.
“Hello everybody!”
“Nat!” Vivian screamed, rose from her lounger and jumped in his arms.
The molecular Alien from Heaven was glad he had no actual form. If he did, he knew the mate of Vivian would’ve torn his head off for the Vampire in question was wearing a bikini and though he was of Heavenly stock he was not made of stone.
He set the luscious Vampire down and made his way to a patio chair, sat down and relished the afternoon sky.
“Hey, Nat, you want a burger?” Phillip yelled.
“I wouldn’t say no if one was offered” he replied.
The answer seemed to perplex the Werewolf so Nat specified.
“Yes, Phillip, I would love a burger.”
The Wolf turned to the other Wolf.
“Nat said he’d…”
“I’m right here, Phillip, I heard what he said” George growled and Nat’s natural curiosity rose.
George and Philip were exceptions to the rule for they were two Alphas who restrained their innate need to dominate for the better of the whole. There was a bet on Heaven as to which would prevail and the line was split even across the board. Heavenly bookies were constantly evaluating but could not determine the odds, the two were impossible to judge. Both were of relative size, age and agility. Neither had ever lost a battle and were, at that moment, the top Wolves in Third Clan. They’d seeded authority to Johnny for the benefit of war and a merging of the clans but were not pacifists by nature. If, for some reason, they ever decided to fight for Alpha the population on Earth would rise exponentially as the crowd from above descended below to witness the event. Tickets had already been purchased far in advance and the going rate for those remaining exceeded the wealth of empires.
“Phillip!” Trudy snapped.
“Yes Mistress?”
“Let George cook!”
The Wolf who could be king followed the orders of who might be queen and went back to supervising.
“You should baste them.”
“Baste them?”
“Yeah.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know, basting powder?”
Nat’s curiosity dimmed as the Wolves returned to culinary competitiveness and he turned his attention to the visually pleasing half of the species.
“Trudy?”
“Yes, Nat?”
“I just came from a very interesting meeting with the Governor.”
“Oh? What did you discuss?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and feigned ignorance.
The fun in Superior games came from their intrigue. Vampires were ever plotting, always conceiving and continually conspiring with and against others to further their own interests. Wolves neither conspired nor plotted for they were used more bluntly. Vampires designed, Wolves destroyed.
“We discussed current events” he answered enjoying her subtleness.
Vamps were secretive by necessity. Information was power and the more one held the likelier one survived. Advancing another’s knowledge through revelation was not considered smart and generally left the revealer in a weaker position. Partnerships were temporary and fluid, trust was given and taken warily while motives were constantly questioned.
“What current events?”
“Oh, just the headlines.”
The media was having a field day. Newspapers were given a second chance as people once again bought them for in-depth reporting as opposed to digital bytes of mis-information. The local paper in Dallas led each day with a new declaration.
TACOS TAKE A TROUNCING!
FAST-FOOD FANATICISM TAKES A TACO TURN TO TERROR!
THE BELL TOLLS FOR THEE TACO!
FRANCHISES IN A FRENZY AS TACO PURCHASING PLUMMETS!
The owners of the restaurants were in a quandary for they were dealing with something out of their control. The bombs did little physical damage to their establishments but the psychological impact was lasting. The floors were polished, the ceilings washed clean but the air of body parts lingered and no amount of detergent could remove the memory of splattered remains when customers entered the doors.
“What was the Governor’s reaction to the bombings, Nat?” Vivian asked as George began spatuling ground-beef patties onto buns.
“He was livid, Mistress, but he didn’t know who to be livid with.”
The problem of blame arose when Mexico denied involvement and were emboldened in their decision by the very newspapers hoping to catch them with their lies. It turned out Mexico had no interest in bombing taco shops across the south because the truth was there were no taco shops across the south. There were restaurants serving food with the name ‘taco’ but that was about as far as the truth came when it got down to the nitty-gritty because what America called tacos Mexico called abhorations. To Mexico the things were nothing more than ground fatburgers in crispy cornbread. They posited, and most eventually agreed, if they’d wanted to damage America they surely wouldn’t remove a product already performing the service for them. No, they would’ve attacked something which was not a net gain for them when the discussion of gluttony, greed and self-inflation came to the forefront of political theater. Taco stands in America made their counterparts in Mexico look like health-food chains.
“What do you mean he didn’t know who to be livid with?” Trudy asked.
“Exactly what I said. He’s not sure who did it.”
“But… but the places were taco places. Surely he’ll demand some retribution from Mexico.”
Nat was always mystified why Superior minds were always confused by Inferior intellect.
“Mistress, they don’t know who did it. Okay, I understand why you did it. Mexico wants Texas back and is angered the northerners abducted their national food and Frankensteined the taco but, you’ve got to understand, the locals don’t think like that. They think they’ve got the original thing. They think their tacos are the real enchilada. Right now the prevailing thought among the elites is one of their own was responsible. Some nationalistic loon took the opportunity to exact a little payback for the Alamo by blowing up a symbol of Mexican heritage.”
Trudy and Vivian sat still, unable to get their heads around the problem. They’d been sure the plan would work. There was enough animosity between the two neighbors they felt it was a no-brainer. How could they not blame Mexico? It had just blown up their Alamo and was proceeding with eviction.
&n
bsp; “So the Governor’s not going to do anything?” Vivian asked.
“Oh, he’s going to rant and rave, he’ll probably even demand some sort of apology but he won’t get very far. Mexico knows they didn’t do it and those in power don’t have any proof so after a while things will return to normal. Except maybe for the taco business. It appears you’ve really done a number on them.”
George and Phillip sat the burgers down on the table and the two Vampires and lone Alien went to load up on the meaty treats.
“What do we do now?” Vivian asked.
No one knew what to say so the five remained silent pondering the problem. They needed something to send them over the edge, something neither side could ignore, something larger than the Alamo and taco shops. The silence was unsettling, the only sounds were munches of muscles and smacking of lips. Inspiration came by way of a luscious blonde’s taste-buds.
“I’ve got it!”