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“Tearing ¡Olé!” by J. Z. Belexes
Content warning - Today’s story includes racial slurs, and violence toward Neo-Nazis.
Werewolves are real, and there's nothing cursed about them. One young werewolf, known to his adoptive pack as Samson Phoenix, has found himself under the mentorship of a centennial warrior known as Hatchet... whether he likes it or not.
Today's story is “Tearing ¡Olé!” by J. Z. Belexes, a self-contained part of a larger series known as Werewolf's Humanity, which is about an orphaned werewolf with PTSD from being experimented on by humans and social anxiety from trying to find his place in his adoptive pack. Another story in this series, "Favors," was chosen to be published in the charity anthology novel "Iron Doves," from The Dragon's Rocketship Publishing, and available on Amazon. J. Z. Belexes has the rest of the series available to read on FurAffinity, Wattpad and DeviantArt, at least until he gets them published in a novel... which he's working towards.
Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.
Transcript
Content warning - Today’s story includes racial slurs,
Speaker:and violence toward Neo-Nazis.
Speaker:You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.
Speaker:I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,
Speaker:and Today's story is
Speaker:Tearing ¡Olé! By J. Z. Belexes, a self-contained part of a larger series known as Werewolf's Humanity,
Speaker:which is about an orphaned werewolf with PTSD from being experimented on by humans
Speaker:and social anxiety
Speaker:from trying to find his place in his adoptive pack.
Speaker:Another story in this series,
Speaker:"Favors," was chosen to be published in the charity anthology novel "Iron Doves,"
Speaker:from The Dragon's Rocketship Publishing,
Speaker:and available on Amazon. J. Z. Belexes has the rest of the series available to read
Speaker:on FurAffinity, Wattpad and DeviantArt,
Speaker:at least until he gets them published in a novel...
Speaker:which he's working towards.
Speaker:Please enjoy Tearing ¡Olé!
Speaker:By J. Z. Belexes "This
Speaker:is a long drive just for some beer.
Speaker:We're not really going to some
Speaker:Order training center again, are we?"
Speaker:Sammy slumped his shoulders and rolled his head.
Speaker:"I'm not in the mood to fight four guys at once again.
Speaker:again." He knew Hatchet hated whining,
Speaker:but Sammy couldn't help it seeping into his tone this time.
Speaker:It was, after all, his birthday,
Speaker:and combat training was not how he wanted to spend it.
Speaker:"Kid, you know I don't bait and switch.
Speaker:I told you we're going out for drinks,
Speaker:so we're going out for drinks."
Speaker:Free beer or not,
Speaker:with the money Hatchet spent on gas driving his ancient murdermobile
Speaker:(known as "the Beast") out here,
Speaker:it would have been cheaper just to go to one of the bars back in Cedar City.
Speaker:But Sammy kept his mouth shut
Speaker:and assumed this was either a stubborn old man thing,
Speaker:or the owner of the bar would turn out to another old buddy of Hatchet's.
Speaker:For a man who a) couldn't get drunk, and b) scared the bejeezus out of most younger werewolves,
Speaker:Hatchet seemed to have no end of old buddies who ran bars.
Speaker:They had just crossed the border into Wyoming
Speaker:when Hatchet veered off the highway
Speaker:and turned into a nigh-imperceptible groove in the earth
Speaker:that could only generously be described as a dirt road.
Speaker:The only sign that he had a definite destination in mind
Speaker:was, well, a large sign
Speaker:with only two-thirds of its surface illuminated,
Speaker:displaying "tering ole"
Speaker:in big blue letters.
Speaker:The other side, once they drove past,
Speaker:provided the other pieces of the puzzle with
Speaker:"Water Ho." "Tearing Olé,"
Speaker:Sammy mumbled. "What?"
Speaker:"Nothing, just bein' stupid,"
Speaker:he said as they parked at the far end of the lot.
Speaker:"I'm confused. Isn't 21 the traditional year to take someone to a bar for their birthday?"
Speaker:"You spent that one making kissy faces with your girlfriend."
Speaker:Sammy grumbled. "Yeah well
Speaker:that sure was a waste of time."
Speaker:"Maybe, maybe not," Hatchet said,
Speaker:and then got out of the van without another word.
Speaker:Sammy had seen plenty of filth during his homeless years. He had
Speaker:eaten out of dumpsters,
Speaker:and one time had even slept on the floor of a public bathroom to escape a storm.
Speaker:Which said something about the grime on the walls
Speaker:when it made even him balk at the door.
Speaker:The bar must have been haunted by the ghost of every cigarette smoked inside its walls.
Speaker:Even the pool table looked sticky.
Speaker:This was how Hatchet wanted Sammy to celebrate his 23rd birthday?
Speaker:Of course, Sammy could have said
Speaker:"No, thank you," but...
Speaker:well, no, he couldn't.
Speaker:Hatchet planted himself on a stool
Speaker:and raised a pair of fingers in the air.
Speaker:"Two Sam Adamses," he said.
Speaker:Sammy started to reach for his ID, but the bartender,
Speaker:a portly bald man who looked old enough to have fought in Vietnam,
Speaker:placed a pair of dusty bottles on the table
Speaker:and returned to washing the dishes.
Speaker:Sammy watched the space between the two,
Speaker:but neither man acted like they knew each other.
Speaker:Either stool on both sides of Hatchet
Speaker:seemed just as likely to inflict tetanus, so he lowered himself onto the one to his elder's right and sniffed the drink Hatchet had not-bought for him.
Speaker:Truth be told, he didn't really see the appeal of beer.
Speaker:If something was an acquired taste, why go to all the work of acquiring it?
Speaker:But then, his elder packmate seemed
Speaker:to honestly want to spend time with him,
Speaker:if only just to "man him up.
Speaker:up." They had long ago passed the point where it had to be out of pity.
Speaker:Well, whatever the reason,
Speaker:it was probably a better idea to keep in Hatchet's good graces than fall out of them.
Speaker:He took a sip of the bitter,
Speaker:dark fluid. Honestly?
Speaker:Not that had. Not good, either.
Speaker:But not bad. "You don't belong here,"
Speaker:came a greasy voice behind them.
Speaker:"Go back to Mexico where you belong."
Speaker:Sammy's backbone went rigid
Speaker:when he realized the voice was directed at him.
Speaker:Mexico? The gaps in Sammy's memory had never fully filled in.
Speaker:Sometimes he got glimpses,
Speaker:echoes of childhood memories in his dreams, or perhaps they were just dreams.
Speaker:He still couldn't even recall his parents' names.
Speaker:He could very well have some Mexican heritage, but he was pretty certain
Speaker:he had been born in this country.
Speaker:Hatchet swiveled around in his seat faster than Sammy.
Speaker:"You got a problem with my nephew, kid?"
Speaker:he spat. Nephew? This merited a glance Hatchet's way before he gave his harasser any attention.
Speaker:While, yes, cubs were encouraged to think of any senior packmate they weren't actually related to as an aunt or an uncle,
Speaker:this was the first time Hatchet had called him anything other than "kid,"
Speaker:"cub" or "pup." He had seen glimpses of sentiment before from the old man.
Speaker:But did Hatchet really think of him as family?
Speaker:Was that why they were doing this?
Speaker:Back to the problem at hand...
Speaker:or rather, in his face.
Speaker:Sammy found himself under the permanent sneer of a greasy,
Speaker:drawn-out face with minimal chin
Speaker:and a shaved head.
Speaker:He aimed his sneer at Hatchet.
Speaker:"This is our bar. Whites only." Hatchet
Speaker:was, of course, completely unimpressed.
Speaker:"Y'know, if you boys bothered to read a history book, you'd know Mexicans are a hybrid race of the
Speaker:Native Americans and the Spanish who colonized Central America long before the rest of Europe came in here.
Speaker:So my boy's ancestors have been here far longer than yours have."
Speaker:"Doesn't matter," the smarmy face said.
Speaker:"Whites are the ones who made this land our own.
Speaker:Our blood, our soil. So get
Speaker:OUT!" "'Blood and soil,'"
Speaker:Hatchet repeated, unimpressed by the harasser's growing rage.
Speaker:"'Blood. And. Soil.' Seems like you boys have been studying history.
Speaker:Just not learning from it.
Speaker:The blood spent for this soil was Indian
Speaker:and black blood. Not your own." "It's
Speaker:natural selection.
Speaker:The better species beats out the inferior ones."
Speaker:Hatchet finally stood up so fast that their harasser stumbled back.
Speaker:"Who's filling your heads with that bullshit?"
Speaker:A fat, older man in a suit stood up,
Speaker:and all the other heads whipped around to watch him.
Speaker:It was then that Sammy
Speaker:noticed all nine humans in this bar had several things in common:
Speaker:white, shaved heads,
Speaker:and marked up with tattoos of some kind or another,
Speaker:a gallery of skulls and flames and Celtic knots and runes.
Speaker:Presumably their leader had some tattoos too, concealed under his suit. Hatchet
Speaker:hadn't come all the way out here for drinks.
Speaker:He had come out here to continue a job he had started in the 1940s.
Speaker:Even though Sammy's humanside hearing was not as keen,
Speaker:it was still sharp enough to hear the distant slam of the back door as the owner made his escape,
Speaker:then the sliding of a massive bolt sealing that route shut.
Speaker:Hatchet jutted his chin at the fat man.
Speaker:"Where d'you get off teaching a bunch of angry virgins they're better than anyone?"
Speaker:Oh, that did it. Every single one of the skinheads jumped to their feet.
Speaker:At this point, Sammy's heart was pounding in his ears...
Speaker:ears which wanted to migrate to the top of his head.
Speaker:He clenched his fists,
Speaker:willing his claws to stay buried under his finger tips.
Speaker:"Race traitor," the fat man barked.
Speaker:He pulled a gun out from under his suit,
Speaker:and handed it to the boy nearest him, a scrawny thing in a denim vest
Speaker:and celtic crosses tattooed on each arm.
Speaker:"Frank, make me proud."
Speaker:Sammy finally found his tongue
Speaker:and leapt onto his feet.
Speaker:"Hey now, what is this?"
Speaker:Murder. They were going to try to murder him and Hatchet.
Speaker:Which meant... oh no...
Speaker:Frankie stepped forward and brought the gun up.
Speaker:"Please," Sammy said.
Speaker:"You don't have to listen to him."
Speaker:"For god's sake, cub, no whimpering,"
Speaker:Hatchet growled,
Speaker:and then stepped forward,
Speaker:eyes boring down into Frank.
Speaker:"What d'you think you're doing, you little pissant?
Speaker:You think you got the balls?"
Speaker:The little pissant fired.
Speaker:Hatchet lurched back,
Speaker:falling onto a table and toppling it over with a horrible clatter.
Speaker:"HATCHET!" Sammy screamed,
Speaker:rushing to his packmate's side.
Speaker:Blood gushed out of his abdomen.
Speaker:A gut shot. Good. If it had been a shot to the head, he would have been finished.
Speaker:The fat man lurched over to Frank's side and patted him on the shoulder,
Speaker:prying the gun out of his frozen fingers.
Speaker:"Good work. Efficient.
Speaker:Now..." he raised the gun in the air.
Speaker:"Who wants to do the wetback?"
Speaker:Several of the boys jumped when Hatchet
Speaker:coughed up a wad up blood
Speaker:and spat it out.
Speaker:Reanimated, he reached out
Speaker:and shoved Sammy off.
Speaker:"You Nazis think you're better than everyone, but your standards are arbitrary bullshit.
Speaker:But there is one thing you're better at than anybody else."
Speaker:His shooter, in an impressively foolish display of bravado,
Speaker:asked in a voice that only trembled slightly.
Speaker:"Yeah? What's that, old man?
Speaker:Talk fast, you don't have many breaths left."
Speaker:Hatchet grabbed the side of the table
Speaker:and hauled himself onto his feet...
Speaker:just in time for the bullet to fall out of his body
Speaker:and fall to the floor with an audible ping!
Speaker:Hatchet was in front of the astonished skinhead
Speaker:before he could react.
Speaker:Long, sharp claws emerged from his fingers
Speaker:as he wrapped them around the man's head,
Speaker:digging them in. "You're best at pissing off the people who really are better than you.
Speaker:And... I have more breaths left than you." One downwards
Speaker:swipe, and Frank suddenly had no face.
Speaker:He fell to his knees, screaming in horror.
Speaker:The gun clattered to the floor.
Speaker:Hatchet didn't need to turn for Sammy to feel his mentor's attention on him.
Speaker:In a quiet, gurgling voice,
Speaker:he articulated through his transforming face. "Drrr. Ner one gertsh out. Ner ritneshesh." (Note for Khaki: He's saying
Speaker:"Door. No one gets out.
Speaker:No witnesses.") At this point, Sammy had no choice but to be party to the slaughter.
Speaker:He shoved the two men nearest him over one table
Speaker:and into another, then bolted towards the front door
Speaker:and landed on top of the fat man.
Speaker:Behind him, he could hear the screams and the tearing of flesh.
Speaker:Sammy hauled the ringleader onto his feet
Speaker:and tossed him into the melee to die with the boys whose minds he had corrupted with hate.
Speaker:He turned around just in time to witness Hatchet,
Speaker:the living legend,
Speaker:halfway wolfside,
Speaker:showing a white supremasist
Speaker:the color of his own innards.
Speaker:And it was all too familiar a sight.
Speaker:He shuddered and kept his gaze down,
Speaker:only looking up whenever he heard someone approaching.
Speaker:He looked up to see their original harasser coming for him,
Speaker:the sneer replaced with abject horror.
Speaker:Sammy grabbed him by the throat
Speaker:and lifted him off his still-pedaling feet.
Speaker:For a moment, a short, dark moment,
Speaker:he considered snapping the boy's neck.
Speaker:It would be a cleaner death than what Hatchet was dealing to the others. But... no.
Speaker:No, that wasn't who he was.
Speaker:Sammy respected the hell out of Hatchet,
Speaker:but he wasn't like the old man.
Speaker:He wrapped his other hand around the boy's neck
Speaker:and choked him until he went limp.
Speaker:At least he wouldn't be conscious when Hatchet got to him.
Speaker:And got to him Hatchet did,
Speaker:once he was done with all the others.
Speaker:With tattered clothes stained with viscera and blood, the werewolf took a moment to catch his breath
Speaker:before he returned to humanside.
Speaker:He calmly walked behind the counter
Speaker:and used the bar's water gun to clean his face.
Speaker:"This was the plan all along, wasn't it?"
Speaker:Sammy accused, his quiet voice barely piercing the grim post-massacre silence.
Speaker:"Bar owner's a friend of mine,"
Speaker:Hatchet said after he patted his face down with a wad of paper towels.
Speaker:"Couple nights ago, these kids beat a Mexican boy into a coma.
Speaker:A boy with a wife and a baby.
Speaker:Cops wouldn't do anything about it, because their chief's the brother-in-law of fatty there. So,
Speaker:my friend called me in to do what I do best."
Speaker:Sammy balled his fists again,
Speaker:but not to hide his claws.
Speaker:"So, I was bait?
Speaker:We're not even sure that I'm Mexican!"
Speaker:"You're dark enough for these racists. And you weren't bait. 'Bait'
Speaker:implies an actual threat to your life."
Speaker:"So I was an excuse, then,"
Speaker:Sammy snapped. "I shoulda known.
Speaker:Happy frickin' birthday to me."
Speaker:"Oh come on, cub. You've had worse birthdays."
Speaker:Sammy growled. Hatchet was not a man who cracked a joke often. But when he did,
Speaker:Sammy never appreciated it.
Speaker:"It'll definitely get worse when the cops show up and throw us in jail for murder."
Speaker:"I told you. No witnesses.
Speaker:witnesses." He picked up a bottle of alcohol and
Speaker:smashed the top against the counter.
Speaker:He could just as easily have twisted off the cap,
Speaker:but even Hatchet was not above dramatic effect.
Speaker:He splashed the contents of the bottle
Speaker:against its brethren on the countertops,
Speaker:then poured a trail leading to the center of the room.
Speaker:He dropped the bottle and started rooting through the fat man's pockets
Speaker:until he found a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
Speaker:He stuck one in his mouth and lit it,
Speaker:puffing the noxious stick
Speaker:just enough to get it smoldering.
Speaker:"Get ready to run."
Speaker:Hatchet dropped the cigarette,
Speaker:and flames did indeed spread across the decrepit bar with shocking speed.
Speaker:The two made all haste outside, where the owner was waiting for them
Speaker:with an empty furniture cart,
Speaker:leaning against the Beast.
Speaker:"Problem solved, Carl,"
Speaker:Hatchet said as he opened the back of his van
Speaker:and pulled out a clean set of clothes.
Speaker:Sammy noticed a metal keg that hadn't been in there on the drive in.
Speaker:"Problem solved? You just burned down his bar,"
Speaker:Sammy said. Carl chuckled.
Speaker:"Kid, I was barely making a profit as it was before those assholes turned up and drove away what was left of my business.
Speaker:At least this way, I'll get an insurance payout."
Speaker:The bar owner stepped closer to Sammy,
Speaker:and extended his hand.
Speaker:"So you're the latest model, huh?"
Speaker:Sammy shook it, but tilted his head at what he was called. "'Scuse me?" "Hackett the Hatchet may be the toughest, most ornery motherfucker I have ever met,
Speaker:but the man has a hobby of taking scared kids and making men out of 'em.
Speaker:If you're ever in D.C.,
Speaker:drop by Senator Phillip St. John's home and mention our mutual friend.
Speaker:Oh, the stories he could tell."
Speaker:"Stories which this kid doesn't wanna
Speaker:hear," Hatchet spoke up
Speaker:as he slipped his sock-clad feet
Speaker:into a fresh pair of Birkenstocks.
Speaker:"This one's not as much fun as you or Phil.
Speaker:Or even Gav, for that matter."
Speaker:Sammy gave Carl another sniff, pushing past the alcoholic vapors to make sure of his species.
Speaker:"But you're not... one of us?"
Speaker:he asked. Carl shrugged.
Speaker:"Not a werewolf, if that's what you're asking.
Speaker:But I can keep a secret.
Speaker:Especially for a man who saved my life more times than I can count back in 'Nam.
Speaker:Even got me a job for the Order when I shipped back home.
Speaker:Nothing as exciting as being an agent,
Speaker:but field medic work for you guys can be a challenge.
Speaker:"Anyway, I better call 911 now so investigators don't ask me why I took so long.
Speaker:You two better skedaddle.
Speaker:Robert... it was good seeing you again."
Speaker:"Always a pleasure, Carl.
Speaker:Carl." The two shook hands,
Speaker:then Hatchet pulled his old buddy in for a tight bear hug.
Speaker:And then they were on the road again,
Speaker:and the air inside the Beast was disturbingly normal,
Speaker:as if the night hadn't climaxed in violence.
Speaker:Sammy had a lot to process.
Speaker:For one thing, now he knew he wasn't so special.
Speaker:Just one in a long chain of protégées.
Speaker:And somehow, he felt better about that.
Speaker:At least if he didn't live up to Hatchet's expectations,
Speaker:the man would have his other successes to count.
Speaker:Words boiled up into Sammy's throat.
Speaker:"I'm still mad at you."
Speaker:Hatchet was utterly blasé.
Speaker:"Oh?" "I could be back home eating more cake, instead of watchin' you kill Nazis."
Speaker:"Ruth will make sure there's still cake for you when we get home."
Speaker:"That's not the point.
Speaker:I... I almost lost it back there, Hatchet.
Speaker:When I saw you tearin' those kids up,
Speaker:it was almost like...
Speaker:like BioPharm again.
Speaker:I almost lost it lost it."
Speaker:"But you didn't," Hatchet said.
Speaker:Sammy slammed his fist against the dashboard.
Speaker:"What's this all about, Hatchet?
Speaker:You didn't need me for this.
Speaker:What are you tryin' to teach me?
Speaker:Is there a method to your madness? Or do you just
Speaker:like havin' sidekicks?"
Speaker:When he drove, Hatchet never diverted his eyes from the road.
Speaker:But Sammy could feel the shift in old man's mental gaze.
Speaker:His attention was on him.
Speaker:"You don't need me to toughen you up, Phoenix. You're one of the toughest sumbitches I've ever seen.
Speaker:But you need to stay on your toes.
Speaker:I want you to be ready
Speaker:for anything." "Why?
Speaker:So I can be just like you?
Speaker:I don't want to be, Hatchet."
Speaker:"I don't want you to be me either, cub.
Speaker:I expect you to be better."
Speaker:Sammy slumped back into his seat.
Speaker:He had no idea how to respond to that.
Speaker:Or even what to make of it.
Speaker:"Olé," Hatchet muttered,
Speaker:and the duo rode the rest of the way home
Speaker:in silence. This was
Speaker:“Tearing ¡Olé!” by J. Z. Belexes, read for you by Khaki,
Speaker:your faithful fireside companion.
Speaker:You can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,
Speaker:or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.
Speaker:Thank you for listening
Speaker:to The Voice of Dog.
