James’s Note: And here we meet Ollie. I adore him, and his inspiration is a combination of Tom Bombadil and and a character from a Stephen King movie called the Mist, where in a guy named Ollie was a funny looking store clerk who was secretly a badass and also the only guy in the movie with common sense.
I sometimes forget just how freaking fast werewolves are. I barely had time to register what was going on before Damien had crossed the room and made to grab Ollie by the collar. The only thing more impressive than his lunge, was the speed at which Ollie rocked his enormous revolver out of its holster and moved back into a firing stance, giving himself some room. Damian was staring down the barrel of the ridiculous firearm before he had time to blink.
“Alright Fido”, Ollie said with a deadly sternness that hadn’t been in his voice before. “Let me explain a few things to you. One, this is a 500 S&W Magnum loaded with silver frangible slugs. Not only will it blow a hole in you that you could paddle a canoe through, you don’t even want to think about what all that pulverized silver would do to your bloodstream. Two, I don’t belong to your pack or anyone else’s. Fuck with me and I’ll deal with you like I would any street punk.
Damien actually staggered back, shocked and uncomprehending. “You would dare pull a silver weapon on another werewolf? What kind of a dishonorable coward are you?”
“The kind that doesn’t take your shit or play your games. I know werewolves are supposed to settle things with fists and fangs, but that ain’t me. I don’t belong to a pack, and I don’t play politics. You leave me alone, I leave you alone. Try to treat me like one of your bitches, and your pack will be able to bury you in a coffee can.”
You could practically see the calculus being done in Damien’s head. He was obviously dumbfounded. However, he was also smart enough not to pick a fight he had no hope of winning. Even though Ollie didn’t look like much, between the werewolf reflexes, and the impressive chunk of hardware, Damien must have decided that the funny-looking little man could make good on his threat of a .50 caliber decapitation. Damien stormed out of the room, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity, muttering something to me about how he’d be waiting in the car.
You couldn’t have knocked the grin off my face with a sledgehammer. “Ollie, have I ever told you how much I love you?”
Ollie holstered his gun and hopped up on the counter beside me. It was quite a hop for his short little legs. “Yeah you have, and to be honest I think it makes my wife a little jealous. So, did you need something from me, or did you just stop by to have my wife feel you up?”
I would love to say that I grinned lecherously and made some kind of smart-ass comment. I would love to, but no. What I did was blush like a twelve-year-old and quickly changed the subject.
“Um, okay, actually I was hoping to talk to you. For one thing, I’m going to be going back up against this loup-garou, and I would really like to have something that will get his attention without killing me.”
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Gray Matters: The Works of Sharon and James Gray 