Hired Killer (Cryptid Assassin Book 1)

by Michael Anderle

  "How the fuck are you so cheery this early in the morning?" he asked and sniffed the coffee suspiciously before he took a sip. It wasn't great but it would do for now.

  "I've learned to keep myself up and alert for as long as possible without rest, then sleep for twelve to fourteen hours to recover all the hours I lost," Banks said, started the SUV, and pulled out of the parking lot. "That and I do a shit-ton of cocaine. Whichever you prefer."

  He shrugged. "I'm no fed so I don't give a shit what kind of chemicals you need to use to keep yourself in the business."

  "I tend to think the same way." She kept her eyes on the road. "But I guess that kind of thinking would have to stop if I were ever to work on a drug task force."

  "Right. Speaking of which, what the hell do you want from me? It's enough for you to be willing to take those hoods off my hands, so it must be good."

  "If you only knew how much work went into finding you and getting you to this point. But that can wait. I'm in the mood for breakfast. Do you know any diners around here where we can get food?"

  "Sure." He leaned closer to the touchpad between them and added the name of the diner he had gone to the day before. The food had been good, even if the service had been a little iffy, and it was the only place outside of Jackson's he knew and liked.

  They pulled into the parking lot, entered, and selected one of the booths in the corner.

  "So," Taylor said. "Here's the part where you tell me what the hell it is you want from me."

  She nodded and raised a finger. "Just a sec," she said and turned her attention to the waitress who approached their table with coffee mugs and a full pot. "Hi…yeah, black coffee, thanks. And I saw you guys have a special on waffles?"

  "Yes, ma'am." The waitress was the same woman who had waited on Taylor on his last visit. "And for you?" she asked him.

  "Black coffee works for me." He rubbed his temples. The day would need an endless supply of the brew so he’d give it a kick-start.

  "Should I give you two a moment to think about food?"

  "Sure," Banks said and the woman backed away quickly once she’d poured their coffees.

  "I hate repeating myself and don't want to ask again," he said and took a sip. "So maybe I’ll throw in a joke about you not having a dick and yet still being one."

  "Classy," she retorted. "Anyway, to the issue, then. I'm Special Agent in Charge of a task force in the FBI that's been given the fun opportunity to locate and dispose of cryptids."

  "Cryptids?"

  "Animals of a…shall we say, non-terrestrial origin?"

  "So, Zoo creatures," he said immediately. "But wait, the FBI only has jurisdiction on operations inside the US."

  "Exactly. Issues have arisen ever since the arrival of the damn goop. We have gathered the kinds of people who would be able to hunt these cryptids and use them to deal with the monsters."

  "Okay. What kind of setup do you work from?"

  "Are you guys ready to order?" the waitress interrupted. "We didn't have much time to talk the last time you came by, handsome. I didn't know you had a girlfriend."

  Taylor opened his mouth, tilted his head in confusion, and looked at the woman. Was she really trying to get them involved in small talk?

  "I…I'll take one those waffles," he said and ignored her attempt. "With bacon, eggs, and toast. Get me the works, if you don't mind. Oh, and apple juice."

  "I'll have the same," the agent said. "It's been a long night."

  "You can say that again."

  "Long night, huh?" The woman sounded less than happy to hear it.

  Taylor fixed her with a scowl. "Do you need anything else?"

  "Nope. I’ll…uh, get your orders in. Back in a jiff," she said, turned quickly, and headed to the kitchen.

  "So, what was it you liked about this place again?" Banks asked.

  "I wish I could say it was the service but it's actually the food. The special on waffles they've had for the past five years or so means they are actually really good."

  "Anyway." She shook her head and her expression grew serious again. "Regarding our setup, we mostly work with freelancers and bring them in on a bounty payment system to deal with the issues that have arisen. They're not always Zoo monsters, mind you. Sometimes, they can be regular animals going on a rampage, The Ghost and The Darkness style. At other times, it can be a human with a fucked-up head. We don't really mind one way or another, as long as it doesn't get too much press."

  "That makes sense. At least you don't have these people on an official salary with the FBI."

  "Quite. In your case, though, I will be your handler, which basically means I oversee you and make sure you get anything you need to get the job done."

  She paused and narrowed her eyes at him when the waitress returned with their plates, topped their coffee up again, and moved away. At least she didn't try to talk to them this time.

  "What?" she asked after a moment. "No lewd remarks about that? Something about handling or how I'll take care of you?"

  "Nah, I thought you would do a better job of it than I ever could," he replied. "Besides, I'm only after empty relationships that have no meaning and where we both go away happy, so there's no need for any handling like that. From you, anyway."

  "So, what does that make me?"

  Taylor paused to take a mouthful of food, which consisted of bacon and syrup-covered waffles. "A toxic attitude with delusions of awesomeness in high heels and a need to feel dominant all wrapped up in an attractive gift package that smells like a body that's been left to rot for a week."

  Her eyebrows all but reached her hairline. "Excuse you."

  Another mouthful of food meant a short silence before he continued. "I'm sorry, do you need me to make it more specific? Here, try this one then. You look like Eva Longoria except with more brawn than brains, you probably can't spell Latina, and obviously, you don't care about showers. Which is okay. The government only wants you for your brawn anyway."

  Banks narrowed her eyes. "Yeah, I smell like the three cretins you needed me to get rid of for you. Between the stench of fear and gasoline? Yeah, I guess that does make for a foul smell."

  He shrugged. "I showered, at least."

  She scowled at him. "You're a jackass."

  "Correction," he said with a grin. "I'm a jackass who can kill—what did you call them?—cryptids. A jackass who can kill cryptids who’s living here in the US, no less. The kind of jackass who has the experience you need to kill something that couldn't be handled by your average cop or SWAT officer."

  "Oh, great," the woman grumbled. "And here I am, stuck with a Jason Momoa wannabe Cro-Magnon Neanderthal with slightly better dental hygiene and a god-complex. I don't get paid enough for this shit."

  "What was that?" he asked.

  "Nothing." She sighed, the sound long-suffering. "So, are you onboard? Will you help us?"

  "Who is us?"

  "Well, there's me, obviously." She toyed with the food on her plate. "And there will be the Cryptid Research and Elimination Task Force, which is what you'll work as, by the by. I'll be your field agent, but your operations contact will be Desk."

  That caught his attention and he paused his loaded fork halfway to his mouth. "Desk?"

  "It's a code name since not all our operators in the office or who work from the desk, as it were, are comfortable having their names given out freely to the kinds of field operatives we use." She finished her waffle and focused on the bacon. "Think of them like the Moneypenny to your James Bond."

  "And that makes you…"

  "M, obviously," she snarked around the food in her mouth. "The one who runs the whole show. Desk will manage your day-to-day, get you any equipment you need, and generally keep you apprised of anything you need to know while in the field."

  "Wait, wouldn't that make Desk Q to my James Bond?"

  "Huh…I guess it would. I, in the meantime, have a group of other overly-testosteroned operatives who like to play with bombs I need to manage."
>
  "Boobs," Taylor corrected her.

  "Excuse me?"

  "You know…tits. Tatas. Feminine Fun bags."

  "I know what boobs are, moron," she retorted through clenched teeth.

  "Well, yeah. The thing is, I tinkered with bombs in the Zoo," he explained. "As fun as they were, I came all the shit-fucking way out here to get away from the explosives and dying and shit that are usually associated with them. I want to play with building things that save people and boobs. I have a company. You came to me, so let's lay this out straight. I don't care if you call me names, I find it funny. I want to be very clear that I'm not politically correct and will say what’s on my mind. I'm a contractor, not an employee, so feel free to fire me any time you feel like it and I can get back to the two things I want most—building things and boobs. Not always in that order."

  "So, you really don't care about lo—"

  Taylor shook his head. "Don't go there. Don't be that person. I know enough women who are adult enough to admit that all they want is fun, frolicking and f—"

  "Don't fucking say it," Banks warned.

  "I intended to say fornicating but fine, be a prude," he responded with a chuckle. "But it's good that we understand each other. I'm not politically correct as I’ve already pointed out. I'm here to help by killing shit that needs to be killed. I don't push myself on anyone but if she wants me, I have no reservations or regrets. I've almost died twice—horribly, I might add—and I've been around friends who have died horribly. Call me whatever names you want—"

  "On that topic," she said, drew a manila folder out of her briefcase, and put it on the table.

  He wiped his hands and lips on a napkin and pulled the folder closer to see the title written in marker at the top.

  "The Cryptid Assassin?" he asked and raised an eyebrow. "What, was the Grim Alien Reaper not available?"

  "As a matter of fact, it wasn't. Besides, the code names are given by people inside the Bureau. It would seem your reputation precedes you."

  "Fun times." Taylor put the file down and focused on finishing his meal. "Well, you can color me on board, Longoria-Adjacent.” The truth of that surprised him, as did his easy capitulation. Even a month ago, he’d have run like hell from only the idea of facing Zoo monsters again. But there was the fact that this wouldn’t be massed attacks because this was the US. At worst, he would face one or maybe two of the mutants. Besides, he hated the Zoo and the idea that it might have a foothold in the States already. He had to do what he was trained and supremely qualified to do. It was part of keeping the Zoo Armageddon at bay.

  With Bungees now working for him fulltime, he knew his business interests and the property renovations would be covered, and it wasn’t like he would be away for weeks at a time. Days, maybe, but they could stay in touch unless he was actually on the mission itself. Besides, the man was more than capable of taking care of most things. That was one of the reasons he had hired him.

  “I've always wanted to be a James Bond type,” he added with a grin, “even if it is only for the FBI."

  "Well, we all have to start somewhere," she retorted.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Breakfast was finished quickly once the discussion was concluded between them. It wasn't like they didn't like the food, after all. As Taylor had said, while the service was lacking but still passable, the food was close to fantastic and after the business part of their meal was finished, they could finally dig in.

  When the bill arrived, Banks was quick to pick it up and told him she would be able to write it off as a business meeting anyway. That meant he was stuck with the tip. He went with the twenty percent he had last time because he didn't really have any complaints that would justify cutting it.

  Once they were finished, they headed to the SUV and the agent drove him to the strip mall he now called home. The drive, like the tail-end of their breakfast, passed with little conversation between them. He didn't mind that, of course. There weren't many people in the world you could enjoy a nice long silence with.

  Maybe Banks felt the same way. Or maybe she was tired of talking to him and needed a break. She had what she wanted from him, after all, and since they clearly weren't cut out to be friends or anything like that, there wasn't much to say.

  It seemed reasonable enough, and if he actually cared enough down the line, he would think about maybe being a little more civil to her in the future. They would now work together, although maybe not directly if this Desk person had anything to say about it. He could understand why someone in their position would want to keep their actual names a mystery to the people in the field. It was a matter of protecting oneself, and he couldn't blame anyone for that, especially when they were used to being safe and protected behind a…well, a desk.

  With that in mind, Desk seemed appropriate as a name, but it wouldn’t roll easily off the tongue. Calling someone a desk simply didn't feel natural to him.

  They pulled up to the strip mall and Banks parked the SUV in the parking lot and stepped out.

  "I still don't know why you bought this property," she said as she studied it with a definite look of distaste. "I understand the whole need to own a piece of land for oneself, but it looks worse during the day than it did at night and believe me, that's saying something. I'm telling you this whole place looks like shit, by the way."

  "You don't have a lick of imagination," Taylor said and shook his head. "While I suppose that’s essentially mandatory for all government employees, it means that all you see is what it is and not what it can be with a little work and remodeling."

  "Fuck you," she replied. "How will this be anything but a heaping pile of shit, no matter how much work you put into it?"

  "It is difficult to make prefab look good," he admitted. "But the looks aren't what this is about. There's room for development here, work can be done, and improvements can be made—all while working on some of the highest-tech mech suits in the business. There are people in the world who have settled for less."

  "Okay, fair enough…I guess that makes sense." She still shook her head as though she might like to continue the debate. "Anyway, if you're interested in getting to work right away, I have one or two files on me you can look at—see if you can start getting a feel for the business."

  He nodded and they went inside and climbed the stairs to the area he had sectioned off for his living quarters, which had a desk and chairs for them to use.

  "These files are highly classified, so maybe keep that in mind when you're talking to your drinking buddies." She placed a couple of manila envelopes on the desk for him to look at.

  "How many drinking buddies do you think I have?" He picked one of the envelopes up, withdrew the files, and studied them. "I've literally just moved into town.”

  "I know that you have already employed someone," she said. "Robert Zhang, one of your buddies from the Zoo. We actually worked up a file on him, but he didn't qualify for the program since he didn't actually spend enough time in the Zoo."

  "It's one of those things," he said. "Heading into the Zoo is a traumatizing event that either breaks you or makes you, and it broke Zhang. He even had the courage to head back in a couple more times, but…I'm glad he stayed out. And I'm glad he was able to pull himself away from the fucking allure of that place. Aliens are such a romantic idea until they try to devour you while you're shooting at them. People kind of forget about that. I did more than once. But heading in there eighty-three times tends to drill the point home in your head."

  "I guess. But…do you see anything that you like in there? Something to start you off?"

  Taylor focused and examined a variety of the files before he decided a couple were more interesting than others. "You really should be more trusting of the people I take on as my drinking buddies, you know, especially Bobby. He's one of the best when it comes to mech repair and building. I'll probably need help from him anyway, at least to cover for me here while I'm hunting monsters for you. Actually, he can tell you all about it s
ince his truck just pulled up."

  Banks narrowed her eyes, stood quickly, and walked over to the window through which she could see a truck had, in fact, pulled up outside.

  "How did you—did you hear him?" she asked. "I didn't hear him. Do you—"

  Taylor kept a straight face for as long as he could before he broke into laughter. "Hah, no, I wish. How cool would it be if my time in the Zoo had honed my senses to allow me to detect shit normal humans aren't even aware of? But no, my phone buzzed to tell me there was a breach in the perimeter. He told me last night he could come in around this time to help me get started on the place."

  "You're an asshole, you know that?"

  "I'm a jackass. Don't get your insults confused," he responded with a grin.

  "You can be both." She followed him to the stairs and they both headed to the first floor and out into the parking lot where Bobby waited for them.

  "This place looks even worse than I remembered it," the man said and slid a pair of sunglasses on. "We have our work cut out for us here, let me tell you something, Taylor."

  "Right?" The agent shook her head with a smug expression. "I tried to tell him the same thing but he went on and on about potential or some shit."

  "Yeah," Bobby said with a chuckle. "Hey, Tay-Tay, who's the broad?"

  "The broad is standing right in front of you," she all but snarled.

  "Sure. I can see that. I didn't know you would have girls over this early in the process of rebuilding. Do you think she should head out before we get started on the renovation, or does she want to stick around?"

  "Actually, this is kind of a new client," Taylor said. "Our first. Show him, Banks."

  She pulled her badge out. "Special Agent Niki Banks. It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Mr. Zhang."

  Bobby's eyes widened. "Holy shit. You're getting us involved with law enforcement already?"

  "What? Fuck no. That's not what I wanted you to show him."

  "What did you want me to show him then?" she asked. "My tits?"

  "Yes," the other man said with a hopeful grin.