Beyond the Backstage - To Cry Wolf

January 2068. Two not-so-friendly rivals meet in a not very neutral territory to discuss the consequences of an underworld auction gone awry. Despite being the farthest thing from friends, Reno Gattonero and Frida Igarashi put aside their feud to share information...

“How does it feel to become a GILF, Gattonero?”

“Shut the heck up, Igarashi.”

A puff of smoke, the cloud flowing from his tight lips, amorphous shapes spreading in the wind. The acrid smell of burnt catnip, a little hint of nicotine and herbs mixed in. Reno Gattonero inhaled, exhaled, kept the cigarette firm among his fingers, slowly bringing it back to his mouth. Inhale. Exhale. His eye bags were deeper than usual, a violet seldom seen on his pale, almost cadaveric complexion. And yet his dark eyes had a spark of life, of excitement that was usually buried under thirty layers of annoyance. Said excitement, though, had nothing to do with the person he was talking with. If anything, she was an ever greater source of distress than the circumstances that (once again) had turned his life upside down. Gattonero squared her once again, trying his best not to roll his eyes at that smug face of hers. Frida Igarashi. Around Twenty-five years old. Owner of a rival detective agency. A woman of mixed German-Japanese heritage that somehow was brought up in Italy by her uncle. As such, she shared marked Asian traits, while also sporting a palette of fair skin, azure eye (singular) and long, ash blond hair that was typical of Northern European people. All complemented by a remarkable red crescent tattoo turned ninety degrees to the right, with the moon’s filled side pointing up and the empty one going down. The prongs of the figure crossed her eye sockets (plural), giving her a somehow tribal flavor. Not that she wasn’t a feral troublemaker – quite the contrary, in fact – but that tattoo immediately signaled the danger to every onlooker, much as the yellow and black markings of a wasp’s abdomen. Even wrapped by an elegant Mezzalenco navy suit, even with her hair fashioned in a ponytail, even while wearing semi-transparent sunglasses, that woman was a walking, breathing hazard. A hazard Gattonero had the good luck of not meeting for a whole year, much to his relief. But all good things must come to an end, and even his Frida-less time had to, much to his chagrin.

He gazed at his surroundings, at the decaying plaster once protecting the walls of Caffè Cavallo, a small establishment at the outskirts of Esperia. It had seen better years, no doubt, and probably more customers in its golden years – if they ever existed. Now, only that obnoxious woman and he were gracing its tables, as if the rest of the world forgot about it, sipping an espresso that might have as well been dirty water. That made it a good place to talk about sensitive matters. Nobody would barge in all of a sudden to eavesdrop on them, nobody would care about a middle-aged neko and a weird woman in her twenties exchanging mean looks. Even the bartender was decrepit, an old guy that might have witnessed the last world war, for how ancient he looked. Of all questionable places Gattonero had been too, including the Original Sin and the Blueballs, Caffè Cavallo won the award for being the most boring and uninspired. No drugs, no alcohol, no strippers, no prostitutes. Just tasteless coffee, plastic sweets and ham tramezzini expired by at least two years. The perfect place to meet with someone he despised that much, he thought. He bit the butt of the cigarette, crossed his hands under his chin.

“So, why have you called me out of the blue for a meeting?”

“Why, obviously to compliment you for achieving certified GILF status! From fuckboy, to DILF, to GILF and you’re just… what, forty-eight? That’s quite the achievement, gramps!”

Gattonero growled, keeping his meowing under strict control. Igarashi truly had a talent for twisting her knife in his still bleeding wound.

“Compliment my daughter and that idiot of her boyfriend. Or, better, teach them how to use condoms. Or, even better, just don’t bother me about it. Do you have any ideas on how much diapers and baby formula cost?”

“No, but that’s what you’re good for! When our kid’s born, you’ll be the perfect single dad to take care of her!”

Our baby. That expression froze every single one of Gattonero’s neurons that still had a grip on reality. He heard those exact words too many times before. Too. Many. First Colette, when she showed up at his place to drop Corinne to his care and run away. Then, Pamil, after she did almost the exact same thing with Beatriz (bar the running away part). Then, Colette again when introducing Claire to him, not even three years before, before being arrested after their usual motel night. Those words were his kryptonite, the only capable of making him shiver. Our baby. Surely, Frida was jesting. There was no way, no way in heavens that one-night stand they shared one year earlier had caused that to happen. If anything, if that was the case, the kid should have been born already for several months already. He blinked twice, growling something under his breath, cursing against himself. Only to be welcomed by a dumb, gremlin smile.

“HA! Got ya! You should have seen yer face, gramps! But, nah, not a chance I’m pregnant of you now, yes? That’s not gonna happen, pussycat!”

“… much appreciated, thanks.”

He let out a sigh of relief. A kid from Igarashi was the last thing he needed in his life. As if he hadn’t enough trouble with his three daughters, the other two sisters they weren’t aware of, and even their one, lone brother. Fortunately, the mothers of the last three cubs had been discreet enough to keep him out of the loop. He was just told he fathered them and what their names were, but his knowledge ended there. He often caught himself wondering whether he’d recognize his own estranged kids, if he ever met them again. They should have been thirteen to fifteen years old, at that point – all of them sharing his cat traits. Because, apparently, that’s how neko genes worked. To avoid being diluted by a human gene pool, neko gametes were designed to carry extra RNA that rewrote part of the genetically makeup of the zygote to always generate a neko, no matter how many generations had passed. Claire’s two children were evidence of it: a healthy boy and a healthy girl, just a couple months old, both sporting short cat ears and tails. The color of their fur was mostly black, like that of their mother, but splashes of Renzo’s trademark red hair could be spotted on their mane. They looked cute, those now three-months-old critters that he begrudgingly called grandchildren. Despite his first reaction to the news (searching for the sharpest object he had at his disposal to cut off Renzo’s balls and prevent future offspring from ever existing), he had somehow softened at the sight of the progeny of his progeny. Myrike and Liam Alessandro were their names, and he was extremely thankful their parents didn’t consider calling them Colette and Reno, as he originally feared.

His eyes went back to the present moment, to the weird woman staring at him behind her sunglasses, the scar on her right eye peeking out of the frame. Theirs had been a fierce cold war, started when Reno solved a case for which Frida had been hired first. That was enmity at first sight, an enmity that, after several ups and downs, resulted – as was usual with Gattonero – in a joint night in a cheap motel room in Esperia. A one-night-stand that devolved into a full-scale wrestling match, a race to topping the other, which ended with their rivalry now rising to a whole new level, while netting several hundred euros of property damage. The only saving grace had been that no child was born from their brief (yet intense) encounter. On her side, Frida smirked once more, also crossing her hands under her chin, meeting Reno’s inquisitive eyes.

“I’ll cut the chase, kitty GILF. Remember the underworld auction back in December, yes?”

She slid her hand on the table, tapping on what looked like a polaroid picture.

“Has any of your lackeys seen this logo anywhere, while they were there?”

Gattonero scanned the picture. It was of very low quality, but clear enough to recognize the gist of it. A circle, divide in eight equivalent sectors, black and white alternate, a bright white star at the center. And, around it, two shapes that reminded him of stylized wolves. One brown-reddish, the other grey-black. The wolves were turning in opposite directions, hugging the disk’s border, chasing each other, in a never ending loop. Gattonero squinted his eyes, followed the pattern, trying to remember if and where he had met something like that before. A spark in his brain, a match coming up – with one significant difference, though, one element not overlapping at all. Yet, the similarity was striking and couldn’t have been a coincidence. He played coy, prepared the most generic answer he could concoct without resulting in an outright lie.

“Might have. Why you interested?”

“You heard of the Broken Moon Circus, I take it?”

Gattonero’s ears bent down, his eyes narrowed. So that was Igarashi’s concern. A bunch of pirates stalking the Asian Sea on a retrofitted Italian illegal fishing vessel, led by a mysterious figure that went by the name of Lucia Lunarossa. She was rumored to be the same Lucia as Reiner Greschnik’s former seventh angel, gone AWOL in Tokyo around one year before, in the aftermath of the collapse of the Kiku apartment complex. The few pictures leaked online seemed to build up to that unlikely outcome, to the point that even Renzo and Claire claimed to have recognized her. Whatever the case, the captain of the Mattanza was known as “la Regina Lupo”, the Wolf Queen of the sea, and was on a wanted list for several crimes, mostly connected with assaulting container ships and stealing their goods. Yet, as infamous as she was, she was still a small fish in the grand scheme of things. Igarashi’s sudden interest in her whereabouts felt suspicious. He decided to play her game, if anything out of sheer curiosity.

“Yep, I have. They say its leader is a former Angel turned werewolf.”

Werewolf. At that word, Frida’s eye brightened, shone of own light. Gattonero sighed. Of course. Of course it was the werewolf part that got her. He felt dumb for not realizing it before. Frida snapped her fingers, grinned wildly.

“Yes, yes! A werewolf! And a hot one at it! Have ya seen that almost nude pic of her, the one taken after an explosion in Hong Kong? Boy, she’s such a cutie! If I had her here, I’d tie her to my bed and fuck her till we both pass out!”

Gattonero’s brain skipped a beat, as if something didn’t register. As if something went missing, a key piece of information that was nowhere to be found inside bis brain.

“Wait. Weren’t you…”

He tried to find the words, stuttering a little in the process.

“… weren’t you hellbent in, you know, killing all werewolves and – I quote – eradicating them from the world at large?”

“That’s still the plan, yes. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun before.”

Gattonero shivered. As usual, Igarashi was a psychopath – nothing had changed since their last meeting. Yet, one thing was clearer. It was all connected with her past, with her obsession. With La Legione and the neo-Lightist scum that tainted their host country. He tapped his finger on the table, drew another puff from his cigarette.

“Okay, I get it. Werewolf hot, werewolf bad. I get it, really. But if you already know this much, why did you call me here? Seriously, just fly to Indonesia, rent a motorboat, bring your friendly coghead with you, and storm her ship. You’d be crazy enough to do it, and we both know it. So why? Why are you still here, bothering me on a frickin’ Sunday morning?”

“Alright, alright, stop right there, fuckboy. If it were just a question of one werewolf, I’d barge in, sword in hand, and slice her to kingdom come, but it ain’t that simple! Look at the logo again, yes?”

Her index traced the contour of the logo on the polaroid, stopping on the black wolf.

“Was the picture exactly like this, back at the auction?”

“Why should I answer?”

“Listen, sugar cat daddy… I mean, Reno. I know we ain’t on the best terms, but even I am not stupid enough to fight an enemy I don’t know enough about. There are exactly zero clear pictures of the Broken Moon Circus logo on the internet. And, frankly, I dunno anybody alive who has seen that up close. I could ask my usual source about it, but… that comes with a cost I ain’t wanna pay. She’s… become too much to handle – hot wax, bondage and all that jazz. But I know your daughter’s toy boy saw it. He was there, at the auction. He must have had a good look at it. What I ask you is just… to tell me what you know ‘bout it. One favor, just for this one time.”

Gattonero stared at her, stared at the logo, stared at her again. That was the part where he needed to put something on the plate. That was the part where playing dumb didn’t do him any favor. The idea of helping Frida Igarashi made his skin crawl, but that inquiry was intriguing, to say the least. So, he made peace with himself and decided to talk, against his better judgment.

“The black wolf wasn’t there. The old logo had only the red one. It has changed. And… there are rumors, yes. Rumors that her Circus has become much more powerful, attacking ships twice the size they used to and disposing of them with too much ease. I’ve been investigating them, of course. I don’t have a clear picture yet, but something happened among the Angels, a sort of internal conflict… But a wolf? I don’t get it either.”

Frida rolled her eye without saying a word, simply caressing the shiny paper the picture was printed on. She shook her head, brushing her hair with her free hand in the process.

“Darn it to hell with your Angels! That ain’t just a stylistic choice, you see that, right? This Lucia’s a primadonna, someone who thinks she’s the protagonist of a furry porn movie with an action plot! Think like her, gramps! Think! Why add another wolf other than her to her own symbol, if that ain’t got a meaning? No, it’s deeper than that, that’s not one of your goddamn winged, haloed thots!”

Reno met her gaze, the gaze of a woman lost in thoughts, gritting her teeth.

“I’ll say it, Gattonero – I agree she ain’t alone anymore, but I got a better explanation: There’s a second werewolf, one as tough as her. One she’s sharing her lead, maybe her bed, with. And we’re talkin’ about a creature that survived the collapse of a whole ass building, plus an up-close bomb detonation almost unscathed. UGGGGH!”

Frida shoved her head among her arms, guttural noises splashing out of her throat. Gattonero simply drew another puff, let the catnip work its magic through his brain. He savored the quiet, that moment of silence after the revelation. A second werewolf. Possible, if a bit unlikely. To be on par with Lucia, that had to be at least Angel-level of a threat. That felt like a bit of a stretch, but it was somewhat plausible. Enough to reconsider her plan of attack. Enough to be a threat for Mr. Magnifico himself, maybe. He went through his encyclopedic recollection of Lust covers. Of the original seven Angels, one was still not of age and three had disappeared. Of them, one was supposed dead, one had kickstarted a pirate crew and the last simply fell off the radars. If that second wolf was anyhow connected with them, Greschnik would have made his move. Gattonero put off his cigarette on the rough wood of the table, burning its surface without regrets, before meeting again Frida’s enraged eye.

“So, no flight to Indonesia?”

“Not… yet.”

“Good. It’s very expensive, not worth it. You can get a lot of stuff, for that money. Fun stuff too, if you’re that kind of gal.”

“How many packs of diapers, gramps?”

“Never enough.”

Frida adjusted her glasses, before gulping down what was left of the dirty water the bartender had the presumption to call “espresso”. She smirked at Gattonero, pointer her index at him.

“Alright, you know what? Wolfie can wait. I’ll gather intel about that second beast and when I’m sure about it, I’ll sink that goddamn ship, be it the last thing I do!”

“Don’t forget to write your will before, Igarashi. Please, though, keep me out of it, alright? No mentions, not even to diss me, like that ad you bought on the newspaper. I’ve had enough of your shenanigans. If you want to repay me for my favor, that’s the way, alright?”

She let her chin rest on her hands, with a smile that meant “trouble”, almost devilish, impish in nature.

“Oh, but you don’t have a choice, gramps. If I kick the bucket, ya gotta take care of Akane for me, will ya?”

A cold shiver ran down Gattonero’s spine before he could even begin to connect the dots.

“Akane…”

“Can’t really leave a three months old neko with Steinberger, can I? That guy’s good at many things, but children ain’t his forte. He’s better at squashin’ them than bringing ‘em up. Though he’s very sweet when he reads them good night stories.”

“… neko?”

Her grin turned into a bona fide nightmarish slasher smile.

“Yup. Akane will be veeeery happy to get to know her daddy.”

The shiver turned into a chill cold wave, seeping through his muscles, his bones, his vocal cords, erupting in a powerful, squealed, single-word question.

“DADDY?”

“But don’t worry, sugar grandpa, that’s just if Wolfie sends me to say hi to Big S himself, down there in the eternal fire. I ain’t gonna let ya ruin my li’l cub more than you already have!”

Gattonero’s jaw was barely holding up, as his eyes blinked first slower, then faster and faster. She wasn’t saying what he thought she was saying. That wasn’t possible. That was just a bad joke. No chance that was true. No chance. Absolutely no chance. Because, if that was the case, he regretted not getting castrated sooner. Three bastard children, all in their teens – that was still acceptable, from a certain point of view. But an infant daughter from Frida frickin’ Igarashi? That had to be classified as cruel and unusual punishment. His face lost color, as his mind raced back to that one night they shared. He used protections. He was sure of it. That was not even a question, he was painfully aware of what being careless could cost him, so he didn’t, couldn’t take a chance. But then… how? Was the condom defective? Was he too drunk to wear it properly? Did she purposefully pierce it?

Every single one of those options made his skin crawl. He couldn’t raise a new child, he would have no energies to do that at his age. Three legitimate, three illegitimate children and two grandkids were already way too much to deal with. He could already hear Claire’s bombarding him of décevants and Corinne asking him why he didn’t perform a vasectomy sooner. That felt like an awful nightmare scenario, a nightmare that was invading his brain, destroying his peace of mind, shattering his own little stable world.

Then, it happened.

Frida.

Frida was laughing.

Laughing like the idiot she was.

“HA! I got ya! I got ya again! That’s rich, that’s so rich! Your face lost all colors, gramps! All colors!”

Reno instinctively closed his fist, his knuckles eager to have a taste of Frida’s face, to break that bratty nose of hers and carve out a couple teeth too. Yet, he slowly calmed down, as his heart raced back to a normal rhythm. Having to respond to multiple counts of assault would have soured his day more than seeing Igarashi splashed on the floor and writhing in pain would have brightened it. So, he let his anger rest, his fist relax.

There was no Akane Gattonero.

There was no other daughter.

Everything was fine.

Everything.

Was fine.

Or was it?

That obnoxious woman went for the same prank twice, upping the ante every time. As if she needed to say it, to herself first and foremost.

“So, there ain’t no little new Gattonero kid, Igarashi? Meh, the joke was horrible, you should improve your repertoire.”

Frida stared at him for a long second, her blue eye mirroring in his irises, from behind the sunglasses. After a moment that lasted an eternity, she shrugged, stood up, shook her head at him.

“Alright, gramps, that’s enough acidity for today. Ya told me what I needed and I’m thankful for that. The bill’s on you, right?”

“As if. Leave without paying and I’ll be sure to find you, wherever you’ve hidden, Igarashi.”

“You stingy bastard! I ain’t shittin’ money, ya know?”

“And yet you’ve got enough for a new Mezzalenco suit every time you rip or burn one.”

Frida rolled her eye, cursed a little, before standing up and heading for the counter.

“This time you win, gramps. But remember that the boomerang’ll come back.”

“Whatever. Just leave me be.”

Frida left some greyed notes on the counter, one ripped and taped back together, one badly folded and missing a good third. The barman gazed at them suspiciously, had a long look at them, trying to remember how a real note was, in an age everyone else paid by chip or card. After twenty long, interminable seconds, he sighed, tucked them into a dirty drawer, scribbling something on a piece of paper. Frida grabbed it, before leaving the venue without as much as a nod in Gattonero’s direction. Reno watched her leave the bar, until the door crashed close behind her, with its broken glass and pointy shards on display. He rolled his eyes, grabbed a new hand-made cigarette from his pocket, lit it up. That woman, Igarashi, was a chore. Nobody sane would have ever dealt with her willingly. Unpredictable. Stubborn. The by-the-book definition of a psychopath. Despite that, her little investigation agency was pulling as many clients as his and Beldan Spazer’s combined – even after that disaster in quartiere Marengo that resulted in the loss of a whole-ass antiques shop. Despite that, he was willing to give her a shot.

Reno drew a puff, let himself lean on the crumbling chair.

“Akane, huh…? I wonder if she got my eyes…”

He stared at the ceiling, the cigarette kept between his lips, his hands crossed behind his nape. Maybe it was a lie. Maybe it wasn’t. If that maniac murderer of a wannabe samurai truly had a child from him, that would have been quite a spanner in his works. But, in hindsight, the solution was simple. Wait for the mad gal to kick the bucket and then have Claire and Renzo raise her for him, since they already got two pests to care for. That was a bomb-proof plan, yes. Provided Akane existed, of course, and that was a pretty large if. He closed his eyes, listening to his own breath, allowed his mind to rest, in a thoughtless, catnip-induced sleep. Whatever the truth, he wasn’t going to let that ruin his day.

He was getting too old for that.