Milo came back and slid into the booth. He tore into his sandwich with a vengeance. "Don't let me forget to pick up a sub for Skippy too. He loves tuna salad," he mumbled with his mouth full.
"Milo, I've got to ask. Why did Harbinger and the Shacklefords freak out so bad in the meeting this morning?" I asked.
He hesitated. "I probably shouldn't answer that. It's Earl's job to tell the story about '95. I'm just the gadget guy. It's a touchy subject is all, what with all the death, and unimaginable horror, and rifts in the very fabric of reality, and whatnot."
Now I was really curious. "Come on, Milo. You're way more than just the gadget guy."
"True, I'm the guy that takes care of all of the little things. Hey, Milo, we need to make det cord pretzels. Hey, Milo, where can we find a thousand gallons of Holy Water at two in the morning? Hey, Milo, hurry up and build some new device that we need right now out of old junk A-team style. Hey, Milo, cast out these evil spirits. That kind of thing. But when it comes to a good suggestion, No, Milo, we won't go with your idea, because we’re sensitive."
"Everybody takes advantage of you," I said.
"Ha. Nice try. I'm still not talking. You want to know about the Shackleford family and what happened at the Christmas Party, you got to talk to Earl. He saved my life when I was only fifteen years old. I've been with them ever since." He chewed his food for another minute.
"You really rebuke evil spirits?" Trip asked. "Cast them out like in the Bible?"
"Sort of. Hey, I'm a Mormon. Every team has to have at least one person with a little faith. Not all problems can be solved by shooting the heck out of them. Well, most problems can. If not, then high explosives can really be your friend, but every now and then you just need to put your faith against the bad guys. For most Hunters that's a losing proposition, so that's why company policy is that if it don't have a physical body, take it up with the religious authority of your choice. Sometimes we don't get a choice in the matter though…" He slurped noisily from his straw. "Look guys, back to the subject, I grew up in Idaho, the youngest of fourteen kids. So family's important to me. When most of them got eaten, MHI became my family. And I'm loyal, so if Earl doesn't want me to tell you about '95 then I'm not gonna do it."
"Fair enough," I said. We all went back to our food and studiously avoided talking. Milo appeared to sink into his beard, deep into thought, chewing contemplatively.
After a few minutes of actual relaxation, Milo signaled that it was time to move out. We refilled our drinks and prepared ourselves to move back out into the stifling heat. Our group got a few looks from the locals saying that we obviously weren't from around them parts. I picked up a sandwich for Skippy and another foot-long meatball for myself. The senior Hunter waited for the other two to walk out the door before catching my arm.
"Owen." He looked to make sure nobody was listening. "I know you like Julie and that's why you're so intent on finding out what happened to her family." He pulled off his little round glasses and wiped them on his horribly ugly shirt.
"No, it's not that at all," I lied.
"Whatever. I didn't fall off the potato truck yesterday. Look, all I'm saying is that if stuff heats up, and this Cursed One turns out to be as bad as my gut tells me he's going to be, I'll fill you in on the details-provided you do me a couple of favors."
"And those would be?"
"Help me talk Julie into speaking with her dad. He might be the only person in the world who knows what's really going on. I don't want to go behind Earl's back, but this might be the only way. She might listen to you."
"Really? Why would she listen to me? Did she tell you she liked me?" My hope spiked temporarily. Milo quickly brought me back down.
"No. But she thinks you have visions."
"I'm not going to lie to her."
"I don't want you to. But if the choice comes down to having the world blow up, or having a painful Shackleford family reunion, personally I would rather have the reunion."
"Why don't we just go speak to him ourselves?"
"He's real particular who he talks with," Milo whispered. Holly sounded the horn. She actually held it down for a full ten seconds. "Just stop by my workshop tonight, and we'll talk then. And I've got a piece of hardware I want you to try out. I think it might actually suit your personality."
"Little green book-keeper visor that clamps to my helmet?"
"Nah. Full auto, magazine-fed, 12-gauge shotgun."
My earlier hunch had been correct. Milo Anderson was a mad genius.
The drive back to Booneville and the return flight to the compound were uneventful. The rest of the Hunters were busy reading through old books or making phone calls. I helped give a short debriefing about the information we received from the Elf Queen. At the end of the little meeting I was taken to task for not telling the others about the Tattooed Man from the dreams.
"You should have said something. We could have been researching him too. Who knows what clues that might have turned up?" Julie snapped at me. She was tired and discouraged from a long day of research. I couldn't really blame her.
"Sorry. I didn't know. I thought they were just normal dreams."
"Yes, but your dreams are somehow tied to this case. I don't know how, but until we figure it out, you need to report every single dream you have." She pushed away from the table and stood to leave. "I'll go see if I can find any records matching the Tattooed Man's description. If you will excuse me, I've got a hundred years of dusty garbage to read."
After she stormed off, Harbinger assigned me to go to the range and help coach the remaining Newbies with their pistol shooting. At least there was one thing that I was good at. I stopped by the armory and picked up another pistol on the way. I needed to replace my poor broken Kimber. Stupid vampire.
There was an absurd number of weapons to choose from. The armory was actually a concrete bunker with a bomb-proof door, filled from floor to ceiling with weapons. I could spend hours in that room fondling and drooling over the various guns. There was a wall dedicated to just.45 caliber handguns: Colt, Springfield, Kimber, H&K, CZ, Sig, S&W, Beretta and other lesser known brands. I picked out a lightly customized CZ 97B. I was always a sucker for a big.45. Ten rounds in the mag, plus one in the chamber. I could carry it cocked and locked; it would not be in the armory if it had not passed the reliability test with our ammo. I took the CZ, an inside-the-waistband holster, and several extra magazines. Dorcas would make sure that it came out of my check.
That evening I stopped by Milo's workshop. It was a corrugated steel building located behind the main office. All manner of tools and gadgets were hung on the walls. Drill presses, welders, machine tools and worktables filled almost every square foot of the large space, leaving only narrow foot trails to navigate through the mess. A large American flag was taped up on the far wall. Huge speakers mounted in the corners were playing Oingo Boingo. Sparks flew as Milo used a grinder on some sort of massive device that appeared to be a harpoon launcher. He lifted his plastic face shield when he saw me coming.
"Ooo-wen. What's up, my man?" He bobbed his head to "Only a Lad."
"Milo, what the hell is that thing?"
"Harpoon launcher."
"What for?"
"In case we need to harpoon something."
I nodded slowly. I think even by the bizarre standards of Monster Hunters, there were still a few of us who marched to the beat of a slightly different drummer. In another corner there was a stuffed head mounted on the wall. It looked kind of like an alligator, but it had antlers. I did not dare ask if it was real.
"Check this thing out. We can still hit the range while there is a little bit of light left." He led me to a workbench where a strange-looking gun was mounted in a vise.