Jack Dalton, Monster Hunter, The Complete Serial Series (1-10): The History of the Magical Division

by T S Paul

  “Are you sure you’re OK?” I asked Chief James. We were both in the back of the town’s ambulance.

  “I’m OK for now. Those were good boys with me. Without them, we both might be dead. No idea how I’m gonna tell my sister about her sons! Got anywhere I can hide, Dalton?” Chief James asked.

  I could only blink at him. Nepotism isn’t dead in New Jersey for sure. Shaking my head, I replied, “Just the van I drive. It’s a bit cramped back there. Besides, don’t you want to speak to the press? Mayor Watson has a whole flock of them around him.” I pointed towards the sand dunes.

  “Press?” Chief James pushed past me at a run.

  The local FBI boys gave me a wide berth once they found out who I was. Apparently, my adventure in Boston was making the rounds. Maybe the dumb ones would straighten up some.

  “Agent Dalton, do you want us to take control of the scene?” The local SAIC asked.

  “You can have what there is of it. I suppose you’re going to have to wrestle the locals and the Guard for it. One thing you can do for me though.” I stated to the man.

  “What would that be?” The SAIC asked again.

  I smiled and pointed toward the police vehicles. “Chief James has an entire case of Mark Two hand grenades on that truck over there. They look a bit unstable, and he may have acquired them illegally. Can you either confiscate them or notify the boys at the ATU about them? Firepower like that doesn’t need to be in his hands. If I could take the Thompson too, I would.”

  Glancing to where I pointed the man signaled the other Agents. “Was it that bad?”

  “Not really. I’m sad for the loss of life, but we needed to stop the killings. Chief James was more likely to hit me than the creature. Did Washington send me any orders?” I asked the agent.

  He shook his head negatively and spoke, “Nothing. You’re welcome to stay and work the scene if you like.”

  I laughed at the look on his face. “Thanks for the offer, but you and I both know you would rather I move on. I think I make these folks nervous around here. At least it wasn’t Demons.”

  Shouldering my SKS, I looked for someone to hitch a ride back to town with.

  “If only you could have taken it alive or even called us first! We could have captured this beauty for you.”

  I blinked at the voice and looked up. Several men in lab coats stood in front of me.

  “Captured it how? Only the Navy has anything big enough to do the job, and they weren’t here,” I replied.

  “You know nothing of the scientific procedure, young man. Trust me when I say we could have done a much better job than this atrocity!” The speaker took his group and headed toward the mass of people and cameras.

  Eggheads and squints. I was so glad that I didn’t have to deal with that part of the job. Kill the monster and move on. That was my priority now.

  “Good work on catching the sea monster, Jack,” Anastasia told me over the phone. “Expect to catch a bit of heat about killing it, but I’ve got your back here. I hoped you enjoyed your beach vacation because your next assignment is taking you west. It will be a new year when you get there, but keep your eyes peeled.”

  “Peeled for what?” I asked.

  “Werewolves. Local agents in St. Louis have discovered a rogue pack, and you get to confront them. Welcome to 1960, Jack.” Anastasia replied.

  This ends Book Four of Jack Dalton Monster Hunter.

  Jack Dalton, Monster Hunter

  Book 5

  My name is Jack Dalton, and I’m a monster hunter.

  Take the fight to the enemy. That was but one of the many things my step-father told me growing up. Something about the military changed a man. Both my fathers were like that. That’s what mom said, anyway. I only remembered my step-father. This job was similar to being in the military at least for assignments. Go there, kill the monster, and go home. Except that home, for now, is a black and yellow van. It’s not all bad.

  Giving the van in question a pat on the dashboard, I smiled to myself. Whatever the squints in Washington did to this thing turned it into the best vehicle I've ever owned or driven. Tight on the turns, nice get up and go, and it got me to where I needed to be. That's all I could ask of a car or truck.

  Driving from New Jersey to Missouri takes a lot out of a man. I hoped there would come a time they could just stuff my van into an airplane and fly me across the country. As if the FBI or the Army would allow that. Maybe one day when this division is more than a single person I'll be able to do that. I have been writing all my ideas down for the future, but I doubt the Director will read them. Anastasia tells me that Mr. Hoover is still pissed that I was even able to do the job. He and all his cronies expected me to fail. Nice to prove somebody wrong. I could still die though.

  My new assignment took me to the heart of middle America. Right after the Great War and before what folks are now calling the Demon War, the American people were scared. Monsters disguised as humans walked among them. It didn't matter that they might have known the monsters as the local baker, policeman, or librarian. They were monsters now and not to be trusted. Many were driven from town by mobs or in some cases killed. Running them out on a rail became commonplace. It was one such case of THAT that caught national attention.

  Freddie Kim was the town pharmacist in a speck of a town in Ohio. When the Great Reveal happened, he was just dumb enough to tell people what he was. They were his friends, his neighbors, and fellow members of the local Moose Lodge. None of that mattered when Fred announced he was a Werewolf. He'd been infected more than twenty years previously during a hunting trip. Unusually, he was a solo and not part of one of the local Packs. They ran him out of town on a rail after setting fire to both his shop and his house.

  Typically, the victim of such a thing would straddle a beam of wood while the townspeople jeered at him. Fred's friends did him one better. He was dipped in melted tar, covered in feathers, and dragged out of town tied to a large chunk of a cut-down tree. Fortunately for the people of that small town, Fred liked them. He kept his form and didn’t change. The hot burning tar stayed one step ahead of his healing factor leaving massive amounts of scar tissue all over Fred’s body.

  Pictures of the event fed the public's paranoia for weeks. One of the local Packs claimed Freddie before much worse could be done to him. The people cried out, so Washington responded. It didn't help that it was an election year. To assuage the public's fears and protect them from the monsters, all Were folks were ordered to report to the reservations being set up all over the Midwest and California. Like this country's native population, they were locked away to be forgotten.

  That came to an end when the Demons arrived in America. Conception, California was ground zero for something that could overcome the government and drive us all back to the Stone Age, an invasion. Battling a Demonic horde wasn't something the United States Army was prepared for. What few special forces troops available were already in the fight in France. For that was where the Demons first appeared. California was just the second front in a battle that would last for years. If not for the quick thinking of then Governor Huey Long, we might have lost. The Governor marshaled the National Guard forces of Louisiana and Texas quickly sending them west. With a stroke of pure brilliance, he also recruited every Were Pack he could find on the reservations. As the only Paranormal species under government control, the Werewolves were up for anything that would get them off the reservations. Even battle was acceptable. With their aid, the Demons were pushed back and destroyed.

  The Weres help didn’t get them off the reservations as a species, but any individual that served in the military was given a sort of parole. They were supposed to report to a government handler once a month, but it was an improvement over the reservation system. My Pack leader and friend in Texas was a veteran. Big Ron and his chief followers were all ex-military and could leave the res anytime they wished.

  Now I'm off to stop a rogue Werewolf. I grew up around Weres, and they don't go rogue ofte
n. The Alphas wanted their people off the reservations so they usually kept their problems ‘in-house'. As a member of law enforcement, I don't approve of vigilante justice, but I'm aware of the issues involved with putting Weres in prison. The standard judicial practice was to give them the death penalty no matter the crime. Only Crowley prison could hold them, but it's more for crazed, Demon possessed magic users than Weres who skipped town without telling anyone.

  For this mission, I'm to get a partner. That was a total surprise as the regular FBI, and I don't exactly get on well. Boston will forever hang over my head. But exposing that bit of corruption was necessary.

  “New assignment Jack,” Anastasia told me over the secured phone line in Atlantic City.

  “More Sea Monsters to kill?” I asked. I actually found and killed a gigantic monster just a few days ago along the Jersey Shore.

  “Sort of. There’s a rogue Were loose in St Louis. He’s already infected a couple of innocents. This threatens to become a public relations nightmare if we don’t stop it. The human public’s been warming to the idea of Weres living among them but if incidents like this one crop up… Well, you get the picture. Drop whatever you’re doing and get moving toward Missouri,” Anastasia directed.

  "Does the local office have any information about what set him off or anything that would help to find him? St Louis is a huge city," I asked.

  Anastasia grunted, “The local office has taken the hands-off stance on this case. The Director has stated that anything having to do with Paranormals is now the sole responsibility of the Magical Division. None of the locals want exposure to the Lycanthrope virus.”

  I could feel my jaw drop open all by itself at her pronouncement. Every Paranormal crime was mine to investigate? I was going to be in my truck for a long, long time! “Isn’t that a lot of cases for a single man to do, Ana?”

  "It's what you get for succeeding in your job, Jack. The Boss is a bit peeved that you actually found a Sea Monster last week. My contacts in both the Navy and Coast Guard tell me the reported sightings I initially told you about were bogus. You found a needle in a haystack on that one, Jack. This case puts you more into the public eye, so I need you to be careful." Anastasia paused for a moment, "I need you to take Interstate 64 through Louisville on your way west."

  “Sixty-four? Is that the most direct route?” I asked.

  "Not really but it's the one I wish for you to go. Outside of Louisville, Kentucky, you'll be picking up a partner for this mission, Jack," Anastasia answered.

  I pulled the phone away from my head and stared at it. Did she say what I thought she said? “Am I getting another agent?”

  There was a chuckle before she answered me. “Another agent? No. This man isn’t agent material, but he is an expert on rogues. He was recommended to us through one of my contacts in the Paranormal underworld. His name is Robert Moore, and he’s exactly what you need for this case. Trust me on this ok?”

  I nodded to myself. Ana hadn't steered me wrong yet. "I always trust you, Ana. Where do I pick him up and what does he look like?"

  So, now I'm looking for a hole-in-the-wall barbecue restaurant on the side road to nowhere. Personally, I'm starting to think this is a wild goose chase.

  The directions send me away from the highway and onto a single lane road. I turned at the red barn and then at the brokendown mill building which popped me out onto a small town street. Stopping at what looked to be the only stop sign in this town, I craned my neck around to see where I was. There was a small, almost tiny, town park to the right of me and a big white sign atop a house that read Ookami Barbecue.

  Pulling into the parking lot beside the house I could only shake my head. Even Big Ron wasn’t this bold. I wondered if the town elders knew.

  Climbing the broad steps, I opened one side of a double screen door leading into the house. Tables and chairs were scattered across the wide porch to enjoy the cool breeze. The front door was propped open, so I walked on in.

  The place was set up like a diner with a counter at one end of the room. Several families with small children were eating off to one side along with men that had a local feel to them. A man sitting at the counter matched the description of my ride-along.

  “Coffee?” The waiter asked me as I slid onto the swivel stool at the counter.

  Shaking my head, I replied, “Water and sarsaparilla if you’ve got it please.”

  The man nodded and turned back to the fountain counter area to get it.

  I wiggled my back and shoulders to relieve some of the road stress as I waited. The insides of the place reminded me of a favorite bar back in the city. It seemed strange to find it inside a house in the middle of nowhere in Kentucky. I think it was the sense of familiarity in the place that made me think of the only one that had ever made me feel that way before.

  "Need a menu?" The counterman asked as he slid a short bottle of soda in front of me with a water glass.

  For a split second, I watched a bead of water glide down the frosty glass. My entire attention was on that drop.

  “Menu?” The man repeated.

  Looking up I could see him staring at me, “Sorry. Not right now, thanks.”

  Grabbing the glass with one hand, I took what started out as a sip and turned into a gulp of the water.

  “Ahh. That’s the stuff.” I opened my eyes to see both the counterman and my possible contact staring at me. “Sorry. Long drive.”

  The man behind the counter turned back around but not before I heard his muttered comment, “City people.”

  My possible ride along continued to stare at me. I ignored the man and started drinking my soda. Sarsaparilla used to be a home remedy for hangovers and headaches more than a century ago. Big Ron, my friend, and Pack leader introduced me to it when I was a kid. They called it Birch beer in some parts of the country. Very similar to true root beer. Not like that sugary stuff everyone served now at all.

  “So, does the town know or do you just fake it?” I asked the man sitting next to me without looking at him.

  “Fake it, Agent Dalton? All of these are my people.” The man waved his hand at the other patrons in the room.

  All movement stopped behind me. The families in the corners were deathly quiet, and every head in the room was looking straight at me. Even the counterman, still in my sight, watched me with shrewd eyes. There was just the slightest hint of yellow to them. Not one agent in five would have caught that little clue. This entire town so far was nothing but Weres.

  Noting my non-reaction, the man I assumed was my contact spoke. “When did you know?”

  I chuckled and glanced to my right. It really was too easy. "When I stopped outside before pulling up. Other words would have worked as well. Japanese is a bit out of place for backwoods Kentucky after all. I expect that few catch it though.”

  Robert Moore smiled, his teeth were shiny white and gleaming. “I told Henrietta that name was too dubious, that she should have used an Indian name or something. Japanese is a bit out there for the FBI to be fluent in isn’t it?”

  “I had an eclectic education. My mentors made sure I knew lots of strange words. My suggestion if you plan to go with a similar theme is to use Susi as a replacement,” I replied.

  Robert’s eyebrow went up on his forehead as he looked at me. “Susi, like a girl’s name?”

  “It’s Finnish for 'wolf.' A double meaning. But it's your place, who am I to mess with it. I'm assuming you are Robert Moore?” I asked.

  The room came to life again with the families and others now ignoring me and my companion.

  “That would be me. A good friend of mine informed me of your situation and what you can expect in Missouri. Hunting down a rogue by yourself is not a task for a human to do. Didn’t you think to ask for help?” Robert asked.

  “From whom? Mr. Hoover himself said I was it for this division. Besides, most regular FBI Agents only shoot to kill Paranormals. Don’t we want this one alive?” I asked.

  “Hmm, you are an i
nteresting man, Agent Dalton. I was given details about you but didn’t believe them,” Robert replied.

  I cocked my head to one side. “Who is it that gave you information about me? Was it Anastasia?”

  "Ana who? I don't know anyone by that name unless you mean the Tsarina of Russia, but I only met HER in passing. The… person that sent me to you has connections but not that kind. Power isn't always political after all," he replied. Moore had a look on his face that my mother would call the ‘I’ve got a secret’ look.

  I had a secret as well and now was the time to use it. I smiled and replied. "No, it isn't. This is going to be such an interesting trip, Alpha Moore."

  Once again it was as if time stopped in the entire restaurant. Everyone froze. Only the ticking of the clock on the wall told me time didn’t actually end.

  Robert rotated his head to look directly at me. He stared into my eyes, and I felt a sort of pressure building inside my head. To me, it felt as if I suddenly had the world's most massive sinus headache. As if the only relief would be for my head to pop like a balloon at the circus. And then it was gone.

  "Interesting. By all the Gods in the heavens, how did they manage that? You really do have Pack ties. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't just seen it. Big Ron is to be commended," Robert commented. "Will you tell me when you sensed it?"

  Reaching up I rubbed my face. Right above the sinus channels on both sides of nose, my face ached like a gigantic bruise. "When I entered the room. This isn't MY Pack, but it has a similar feel. Whatever that was you just did was more powerful than anything Ron ever did to me. What was it?”

  “Just a test, Agent. Just a test. You must allow me some secrets. Are you ready to go? Or do I need for Patrick here to make you a sandwich or something?” Robert asked.

  It took a bit of manipulation, but we managed to move the file cabinet on the passenger side to the rear of the van. Washington didn’t configure my official vehicle for passengers. My small cooler sat between us filled with sandwiches and more of that tasty sarsaparilla.