All-American Werewolf

Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

1

Garrou’s home was right on the Chesapeake Bay in Crisfield, a sprawling glass and steel modern house separated by acres of marshy fields from his neighbors, and he also owned a stylish brownstone house he lived in while working in Washington. He’d regularly entertain guests at both these locations, but when he wanted to have a large, formal dinner party set to show off his wealth and prestige, nowhere was better suited than Raven Hill Manor.

He sat now at the head of an immense dinner table in the mansion’s ballroom. The table, though oversized and easily capable of accommodating the twenty dinner guests that sat there now, was still dwarfed by the size of this ballroom in which Garrou’s great-grandfather had once held dances for hundreds at a time.

Cream colored, with a painting of blue sky on the ceiling and architectural details gilded in actual gold leaf, and an intricate parquet design in the hardwood floor with a gaping fireplace behind Garrou, it was a gigantic room in which to hold a dinner party. He felt the empty space was fine, though, because not only did it give the servants plenty of room to attend to the dinner guests it also seemed to focus the entire room on him, which he always enjoyed.

Garrou and his mother sat at either head of the table, and between them were some of the most powerful and influential people from seven important spheres: The news media, entertainment industry, government, education, banking, manufacturing, and the military. These important facets of modern American life were carefully chosen since these, more than any others, influenced what people were allowed to know, how they were taught to think, and how they spent their money. The individuals who represented each were chosen with even more care based upon their ability or willingness to support Garrou, as well as the overarching goals of the Coven Universal. Although only three of the dinner guests belonged to and knew the occult power of the Coven, all of them were receptive to its goals to one degree or another.

This was an extremely important dinner party for Garrou. He always used every interaction with a person as an opportunity to gain advantage, but tonight was a rare chance to gather a collection of influential people and then develop some power over them. Every detail of the dinner had been thoughtfully planned. The finest foods were being served after having been prepared by chefs flown in from Michelin three-star restaurants just for this evening, the best wines from their well-stocked cellar were offered along with the meals, and then whiskey, cigars, and other treats for a select group later, after dessert. A professional string quartet was hired to provide soft, pleasant live music during dinner. The entire mansion smelled of the delicious feast being prepared.

All their guests’ appetites had to be fully satisfied, and Garrou wanted everything to be perfect, regardless of expense.

As Garrou watched his guests slice their filet mignon and saw the blood-tinged juices ooze out of each cut, he was reminded of the fresh young girl they’d sacrificed earlier at a Black Mass in their hidden sacrarium just before dinner. He and Mariette had wanted to ensure their demonic companions were all well pleased, so they created evil spiritual energy for the evening to feed from. Having a steady stream of lost, homeless waifs at Garrou’s disposal was one of the benefits he enjoyed by volunteering as a director on the board of a national foster care agency.

“So, Congressman Garrou,” Nick Arnolds, the corpulent president of a large manufacturing conglomerate said, “what do you hear about a possible trade deal with China? Do you think that’s likely?”

Garrou chewed his mignon slowly as he thought, then, pausing with his wine glass half-raised to his mouth for effect said, “What I can tell you is that there will be a deal signed between our two countries by the end of the year.” To finish the dramatic scene, Garrou took a sip of his fine red as he looked at the industrialist through his wine glass.

The man lowered his fork, regarding Garrou slack-mouthed, his second chin wobbling heavily. “Are you serious? I mean, you are absolutely confident in this information?”

“Nick, I can guarantee it.”

The man’s face twisted into a hungry grin as he glanced at his wife, and he seemed almost to drool in anticipation. “This is the most perfect news I could imagine, Congressman. This means that market will finally be open to our products, and hopefully soon we can move production there, too. That’ll save us millions while we earn billions. The only thing better than more is even more. Do you have any details you can share?”

“Well,” Garrou said, taking another sip of his wine, “obviously not everything is agreed upon yet, but it now looks like China is willing to s***h their tariff rates for the United States, and to open all the various markets to our businesses. We’ll definitely come out on top in the agreement, though it’s a winner for everyone.”

“I understand labor is pushing back,” said Sam Cain, a high-ranking official in the Department of Defense. Cain represented a small but powerful cabal within the department, one that made most military decisions. Should America go to war it would be because Cain and his associates believed it profitable, not because of any decision the president made. “Any worries about that?”

“Actually,” said Mick O’Callaghan, a congressman representing the Boston area and long-time supporter of the Garrou family, “they’re not so much pushing back as they’ve expressed some concerns about industries moving overseas. They’re worried about potential job losses.”

“So, what will we do about them?” Arnolds asked through a large bite of steak.

“Same thing as always,” Mick said. “Assure them American manufacturing will remain strong. We’ll make sure the union leaders benefit financially if they only make a show of pushing back, and then offer them a hand in making some domestic laws. Something different, something high-profile and not related to labor laws, maybe something like the environment. Let them stick it back to the activists. Their blue collars will show, they’ll get a kick out of that.”

“Sounds like a reasonable plan,” Cain said flatly. “Garrou, are you worried about how something like this will play out with voters, what ‘Main Street’ will think about it?”

Garrou felt a sudden flare of anger and gave Cain a hard look for not using his title, something he felt he’d earned. He knew it was a deliberate slight on Cain’s part. It was a subtle way for the proud government official to remind the congressman that he was there before Garrou was elected and would probably be there long after.

If I didn’t want tonight to go smoothly, you’d already have your throat ripped out, dickhead.

The anger passed just as quickly as it arrived, as did the hard look, replaced by Garrou’s charming smile. “Well, Sam, to be honest,” he said, “I don’t really care. Oh, I’m sure there’ll be some people that complain, grassroot activism, action committees, so on and so forth, but I’m not worried about that. We’ll lose a few votes here and there as factories close, but it won’t affect enough people for it to really matter. And, honestly, people won’t care at all after a while because they can get their stuff for cheap, which is all most folks are really interested in.”

Arnolds raised his wine glass, and said, “Here’s to consumerism. Long may it reign.” He then took a large swig of his drink.

“Bottom line,” Garrou went on, “is that I don’t care about factory workers enough to worry about their votes. I’m certain they’ll still vote for us regardless because that’s what they do. Honestly, this is what they get for working in factories to begin with. Besides,” Garrou said, looking at two other dinner guests, “if our friends in the media play their parts right, we’ll be able to convince people this will benefit them in the long run.”

“As for my part,” said Hugh Pettibone, an influential Hollywood movie producer with a reputation for a perverse s****l hunger that started during his years with Garrou at Fairmont, “I’m eager as f**k to break into that market. It’s f*****g huge. We’re already developing scripts that take place in China or feature Chinese characters as the good guys and s**t like that. It’s going to be huge, f*****g huge, so I don’t want to do anything to threaten it. You can bet your ass we’ll add messages into some of the TV shows our subsidiaries control that present this in a positive light.”

“Excellent,” Garrou said. Then, turning to Emma Oscuro, a woman in an emerald-green business suit who ran a news media corporation with newspapers, cable news programs, and news magazines under its control, he said, “Em? What will the news have to say about this?”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Lou,” she said. “This deal will be heralded as being the greatest boon to the American economy since the Square Deal, the envy of the entire free market world. It’ll be written up as starting the new millennium in a whole different, and lucrative, reality.” She then popped a cherry tomato into her mouth, smiling at Garrou.

“Thank you, dear,” he said, raising his glass to her and winking. They had a long and passionate history together, having come of age in the coven at the same time.

“How are you feeling about Sim Thompson?” Mick asked, his timing perfect and just as they had rehearsed it earlier. He didn’t know about the existence of the Coven, but he’d unwittingly spent his long career in Congress working towards many of its goals, nonetheless. The older congressman had always been a supporter of Garrou’s despite the age difference due to a debt of gratitude he owed his grandfather; the elder Garrou had gotten Mick out of serious trouble when he was much younger.

“I’m glad you brought that up, Mick,” Garrou said, standing at the head of the table to give his practiced speech. “I appreciate all of your help with this important China initiative and having the chance to coordinate our message. Now, I’m going to ask for this same support and coordination for me personally. As you all know, I’m currently engaged in a killer campaign against Thompson, and so I could use all of your help, and the help of your colleagues to assist me to claim the Senate seat come the special election. So,” Garrou said, raising his wine glass for all to join him, “here’s to victory in the Senate… and to everything that comes after.”

“Hear, hear,” they all said in unison, his mother’s voice raising above the others.

“And what does come after, congressman?” asked Abiku Ogbanje, a professor, dean, and popular writer from Howard University, with a knowing smirk.

Garrou sat again, his most disarming smile in play. “Well, Dr. Ogbanje, you know our mother raised us all in the Episcopalian Church to be good and faithful servants, so I’m just going to answer that question by deferring it over to the will of God.”

“Amen to that!” said Mariette.

2

Later, after dessert and coffee had been served, Garrou took a select group into what was once called the men’s smoking room while his mother escorted the remaining guests to continue entertaining them in the drawing room. Together with Garrou were Mick, Hugh, Nick, Sam, Jerry Black, and Raymond Leonard. Black held a position of power and influence like that of Emma in news media, whereas Leonard was highly placed in the Federal Reserve. Of the six additional men in the room with Garrou, only Nick and Leonard were also part of the Coven Universal, although they conducted their rites at different covens.

The men sat on comfortable hunter green leather furniture original to the house, leather than had been oiled daily for over a hundred years and so was still as soft, supple, and squeaky as the day on which it was purchased. They sat smoking Cuban cigars and drinking a twenty-year-old bottle of Glenrothes whiskey in a room with coffered walnut walls, trophy elk racks, and an antique pool table beyond the setting on which they sat. At one end was a large fireplace, and at the other were French doors, currently obscured by dark red, velvet drapes.

“Well, gentleman,” Garrou said, loosening his tie, “as you all no doubt already know I will be running for president in 2000. Some might think it narcissistic to be a Senator for such a short amount of time before running for president, but I’m doing it. The support I mentioned out there, about the Senate race, I will really need next year, when I go after the White House. Are you men with me?”

Each man nodded his head as he either took a sip of smooth whiskey or puffed on his cigar.

“Absolutely,” said Nick, to which Black added, “Yes, absolutely.”

“Of course, I am,” agreed Leonard.

“You know I’ll always support you, Lou,” said Mick, slapping Garrou’s knee.

“Good,” said Garrou said with a smile, “because… I believe I’m looking at the core of my cabinet right here in this room.” Each man’s chest puffed out a little bit with pride, especially Sam’s, no doubt imagining themselves running the department of his choice and enjoying the benefits that come with such power, just as Garrou knew they would.

“One thing I can tell you for damn sure, Lou,” Mick said, “Is that I’ll be able to assure Massachusetts goes to you when you run for president, and I’m confident I can bring all of New England to you.”

“Good,” Garrou said. “And I assume we can count on the base coming out to vote?”

“Yeah, obviously,” Mick said with a chuckle. “That’s a lock. Look, bottom line, all you have to do is keep saying the right things, win the Senate, keep looking like older Brad Pitt, and I can guarantee you the presidency next year. Well, all that, and don’t completely f**k up on Meet the Press tomorrow.”

Garrou clapped his friend on the shoulder and said, “Thank you, Mick. I’ve always appreciated your wisdom and support. And, yes, I’ll try not to f**k up too bad. Russert’s a fair guy, though. Should be fine.”

“Yeah,” Mick agreed, “it should be.”

Then standing, Garrou said, “But enough work for tonight. Enough talk of politics, gents! Let’s have some entertainment, shall we?” and clapped his hands twice.

As soon as he did, a middle-aged woman accompanied by three young girls, scampered out from behind the drapes and starting lighting large candelabras full of long, black candles that had been positioned all throughout the smoking room. Once they were all lit, the woman turned off the lights, so the room was bathed in the soft orange glow of the many flickering candle flames.

“Lou,” Hugh whispered harshly, his excitement choking his voice, “what do you have planned, you ol’ bastard, you?”

“Shut up and watch, Hugh,” Garrou answered, then, turning to the woman, he said, “You may begin, Mrs. Tarma.”

She nodded to one of the girls, who pressed the play button on a portable stereo CD player, which started playing loud dance music. As soon as the music started, another girl, older than the other three, came out from the curtains and began dancing. Each man, enthralled by her shaking and gyrating and rhythmic grinding, slowly put their drinks and cigars down to watch her. Their placid faces hid the growing lust Garrou could see was gripping each in turn.

Garrou knew the girl dancing was only eleven, though she was far more developed than one would expect for that age. With how scantily clad she was, her heavy makeup, her long dark hair, and the provocative ways in which she sexually moved her body to the music, she easily could have passed for sixteen or seventeen.

As she inched her way closer and closer to the men themselves, her dancing became even more suggestive, until she was within reach of them. Once there, she pressed her body against each of them – except Garrou – in turn, bending over to grind herself against each, grabbing their crotches, rubbing their erections through their suit pants. The music grew more fevered in speed and tempo, as did her movements.

The girl’s dancing became ever more frenzied and lustful, as did her audience. Garrou watched his future cabinet with interest as he saw them loosening or taking off their ties, rolling up sleeves, and licking their lips. He could feel the energy and intensity in the room growing even as it became hotter and hotter from the many candles burning. He knew the growing tension would soon break, and it did.

Hugh Pettibone stood with a low growl and grabbed the girl by her upper arms, pinning them to her body as he kissed her violently on the lips, then moved to biting her neck and shoulders. He ripped off the small cloth she had covering her breasts, pulled down her tiny shorts, then bent her over the antique pool table and began to r**e her. The other men, as if coming to after being in a trance, stood and began pawing and playing with her as they awaited their turn.

Though very young, Garrou knew the girl was no virgin. She’d been instructed to expect this very thing and to silently accept whatever the men did to her because it glorified her coven. Garrou watched as the girl, trying to keep back tears, raised her head from the pool table and looked at her foster mother. Mrs. Tarma merely nodded to her, as if letting her know she was doing everything right. Sitting back in his comfortable leather chair, Garrou laced his fingers behind his head, smoked his cigar, and enjoyed the entertainment.