Friends Down Low (ONC2022)

Chapter 5 - The Hairy Finger

The same waitress that served Amelia and I sat us at the table we'd used before. The surface was still damp from her wiping it down. Her raised eyebrows indicated she recognized me, but she possessed the couth to not inquire as to how or why I'd swapped the attractive local funeral director for a giant, homeless Viking. I ordered a beer and Clancy requested a pitcher. When the libations arrived, he waved off the empty glass and proceeded to hold the pitcher like an oversized coffee mug.

He took a long drink of the brew, downing more than my twelve-ounce glass held, and wiped the foam from his bushy beard with the back of his hand. "Ah, a little flat, but still heavenly. When you live on your own in the wilderness, it's the little things you really start to miss. Beer in big pitchers." He glanced up. "A roof. It's hard to build a good roof."

I had so many questions that they just clogged up in my brain and the result was that I sat there silently. It felt akin to the commonplace nightmare of showing up for an important test without studying. I didn't even know where to begin.

"Those men..."

"Followers of the Saint of Shadows. Typical cultists. Weak-willed assholes looking for someone else to make up for their life inadequacies."

"And the Saint?"

Clancy frowned. "She's the real deal, unfortunately. Part vampire. Part witch. She's had a blood feud running with your Uncle Simon for decades. Now that he's dead, I'm guessing she's making a quick run at taking you out before you consolidate power."

I started to inquire about so much of what he just said but decided to take a long drink of beer instead. The booze didn't help. "You can't expect me to believe in vampires."

He shook his head. "I get it. It's a lot to swallow. My advice—keep it simple. You don't believe in any of this magic yet? That's fine. Just remember that there's a whole cult coming for you that do."

That simplification made sense. I couldn't argue that I'd been the target of a kidnapping and Clancy had saved my ass. Even if the big man was a lunatic at least he was my lunatic. Opting to play along I said, "But I'm not an apprentice. I haven't seen my uncle in decades."

This surprised him and he rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "The communication I received said that Simon had died and had asked for me to defend you if the Saint came for you. I assumed that meant he'd taken you on." He shook his head. "No matter. It doesn't change my purpose here. Whatever the case, the Saint is after you."

I took a swig of beer. "All I did was come for a funeral," I mumbled.

"How was the viewing? Sorry I didn't make it in time but did I mention that I live in the woods? It took me a while to march back to civilization and catch a bus."

"It was...weird."

He laughed, deep and heavy. I imagined that if Santa Claus had a down-on his-luck, hard-living brother, his laugh would sound like that. "I assumed it would be. Not sure I would have been comfortable anyway. I don't do well with crowds."

"There wasn't a crowd. Only two other people showed up. And they were..." I struggled with the next word before settling on, "weird" again, as we'd established that as a safe description.

Clancy's eyes narrowed. "How so?"

I described McGavin first, as his oddities were more believable than a floating woman with changing skin tones. Throughout the rundown, Clancy seemed to be smiling, although it was hard to see past the beard.