Exton

Man, dig that crazy sound…!

The shifter band - still looking for a name - has moved from rock and roll to smooth jazz tonight and I'm grooving' on it, swaying in my booth and tappin' my toes to the beat. If I just had a pair of shades to wear, I'd be like the Ultimate Cool, baby.

Rowan smiles as she passes by my booth. "Jack, you're something else. I don't think Mr. Ripley would believe it, though."

I give her a leer and my best impression of Wolfman Jack - which, predictably, is pretty awful. "Why don't you have a seat and have a brew with me, baby, and we'll see if the ol' Wolfdude can change yo' mind?"

She sits with a bemused smile. "And what does Jeb have to do with this?"

"ROOOOWANNNN!" The voice is like thunder. Whoever this uncool dude is, he's got a trained voice. "I see you sitting there, murderess! Do these people know you sacrifice babies at your unholy Sabbats, drink their blood and devour their flesh?"

"Oh, shit, it's him again…." Rowan goes as red as her hair and tries to climb into her glass.

"Who him? I mean, who's he?"

"Rev. Matthew Fisher," Rowan groans. "He's a fundamentalist Christian minister with a mad-on for anyone who doesn't believe what he does - and especially religions with 'occult' associations, like Wicca. He goes out of his way to harass non-Christians - and I'm his new pet project." She cuts off as Fisher bellows again, something about orgies. "I should go. Thanks for the drink."

"No." I reach out and capture her slender wrist. "This guy is a bully. Let him make you run and you'll never stop running. Just sit back and ignore him. Let me think a minute… I don't suppose you can turn him into a frog, can you?"

She grins unexpectedly. "There's three things wrong with that. First, it takes immense power to transmogrify someone like that; I don't have near that kind of power. Second, it's superfluous; he's already a toad. Third, it's against the Rede."

"The who?"

"The Wiccan Rede. 'An it harm none, do what ye will?' "

"I'm not sure that constitutes 'harm'. Now, maybe if you turned him into a frog and smushed him…."

"Sorry, Jack, doesn't work that way." She's still smiling, though; score one for the Cool Guy Without Shades.

"Okay, can you maybe just do a magical thingy where he realizes he's wrong about Wicca?"

"Mind control, you mean?" She shakes her head. "Also against the Rede. No can do, my friend."

"Why do you people have so many rules?," I grump. "I can always pick a fight with him and toss him out on his can. He's a preacher; he probably can't fight worth a damn…."

"No, Jack. I'm not sure I want rescuing from this troll, but you have to do it without violence."

"Like I said, too many rules… okay, lady, you have a deal. Just kick back and watch me work."

I swivel-hip my way to the bar and cadge a drink from Monty. Keon isn't here yet, or I'd borrow some of his Toxic Waste in a Flask. I guess old-fashioned rotgut will have to do…. I toss it down, then cadge another. Monty gives me a Look and I just grin my best shit-eating grin. "It's for a good cause." He rolls his eyes, but smiles and hands me another.

Okay, now I'm ready.

Fisher is bellowing like a bull at a slaughterhouse, so he's easy to find. He practically oozes sanctimoniousness from every pore. He looks so much like a young Billy Graham, it can't possibly be accidental.

I sashay up to him and smile wistfully. "Hi, sailor, want a date?"

He looks up, suddenly red-faced. "Wh-what?"

Oooooh, score another for the Cool Guy Without Shades! I lean over and whisper an obscene suggestion in his ear. I'm pretty sure he'd have to leave town to follow it; I don't think anyone in Exton keeps sheep….

Wow, if he flushes any redder, something's gonna pop. Wonder if he has high blood pressure?

"Aw, did I embarrass you, sweety? I have an alternate idea if you like that better…" I lean close and whisper it in his other ear, stroking my fingers through his hair and down his neck. Yecccchh, it's gonna take weeks to remove all this hair spray! What's he use, 3M Bonding Cement?

"You are an abomination, sir! An abomination before God and man!" He brandishes his Bible at me, a huge thing at least an inch and half thick. Must be the Extra-Large Print version….

"Oh God," I moan. "I think I'm gonna be sick…" And I proceed to barf all over his Bible, and his hand, all the way to the elbow. Wow, is that an actual Botany 500 suit?

Rotgut has that effect on me….

Fisher goes so red it looks like what we used to call apoplexy. "You - you - you…" He finds himself at a loss for words - and then, overcome by self-righteousness, he takes a swing at me. It connects and I make an "oooof!" sound, and then Jeb's there, escorting the malodorous minister out the door with one huge hand on his collar.

I risk a glance at Rowan. She's laughing so hard she's slid halfway under the table; and without that perpetually concerned look she wears, she looks five years younger. I sketch a salute her direction and go to the men's room to clean up.

When I return, she's straightened up, but her cheeks are still flushed and there's a hint of red along her neck. I slide in opposite her, smiling. "See? No violence - on my part, anyway."

"You did that on purpose," she says sternly, but the look on her face belies her tone.

"Guilty as charged," I admit cheerfully. "So, seeing that I freed you from the Wicked Bitch of the West, think you can buy me a drink?"

Her eyes are veiled and her face lightly flushed. "Play your cards right, sailor, and you might end up with more than that."

…and inside my head, the ghost of the Wolfdude goes "Aaaa-woooooo…!"