The Night Predator's Guide to Fine Dining

The Night Predator's Guide to Fine Dining 

Jackson, Wyoming is a great place to be a werewolf. 

 My name is Giles Garnier, born in 1343 in the Burgandy region of France, purportedly burned at the sake in the 16th century and came to the mountain west with trappers in 1708. Jackson holds a ski resort near Teton and Yellowstone parks, and you cannot swing a dead cat without hitting a billionaire. The woods and the rich folks make it ideal for us. 

You humans may be wondering why you never hear of night predators, that is werewolves, or vampires, or incubui and succubui, or other “supernatural” beings in the news. No murder victims appear with their throats ripped out by a werewolf or drained of blood by a vampire, simply because we don’t do that anymore. It tends to bring out the “grab the torches and pitchforks” element in you humans, forcing us to relocate. We don’t like to move and relocate any more than a human.  

And to be honest, human meat doesn’t taste that good and it makes me fart (and if you thought your dog’s farts were bad, wait until you smell a werewolf’s). Orcs recommend it, but they hardly have the most sophisticated pallets.  

We night predators have far more refined tastes than Orcs and we have worked on ways to feed that keep humans secure in their beds at night and not out hunting us. My friend Vlad, a vampire, stopped impaling people when he had the munchies and now runs a kosher butcher. He has all the blood he can drink, and his customers won’t be putting a crucifix into his face on a regular basis. 

For werewolves? Our sense of smell opens many possibilities. Currently, I am using that sense of smell as a sommelier selecting wines for restaurants and businesses and pretentious rich people here in the backwoods for billionaires that is Jackson. Living in Jackson allows my wife, Lilith and I to lead a quiet life, access to the finest wines, whiskeys and brandies the world has to offer and enjoy a decent living under the radar of the occasional monster hunter. Sasquatch is very jealous of my ability to appear human for that reason alone.  

And living in Jackson allows me to hunt as a wolf. When the urge for fresh raw meat kicks in, I simply change into my wolf form and hunt down the deer, elk, or whatever else may strike my fancy. We just need to find a quiet place to strip out of our clothes, change to wolf form, hunt, then change back to human and put our clothes back on without getting spotted changing form or running around as a naked human. 

Our wilderness for the wealthy attracts... well, wealthy people. Most are pretty decent folks who just want to get away from crowds. Some, however, are just plain assholes. They buy wildly expensive houses, brag about how rich they are then stiff the local contractors and suppliers. 

Last August I got a call from Jason Chasinghorse. He is Dine (Navajo to you) and knows Lillith and I are werewolves, or shapeshifters in his traditions. Jason ran a remodeling business and had a contract to build out a wine cellar and walk in cigar humidor for the latest rich tkele-cho-gi (jackass) to acquire a piece of our beloved town.  

Edward Chazer was straight from the “born on third base, thinks he hit a triple” mold. His grandfather had made a small fortune in mining, his father made it a very large fortune and passed it on to Edward. All he had to do was watch the money pour in while his company destroyed mountains (ever seen a molybdenum mine?) or used kids to mine cobalt in Africa.  

Mr. Chazer had purchased a 9000 square foot architectural gem for $18.5 million. It was built from polished lodgepole pine logs, had 25 foot tall windows with a wonderful view of the Tetons and, of course, antler chandeliers, de rigueur for the rich of Wymong. As Chazer was into conspicuous consumption, he had to have a wine cellar stocked with “nothing but the best”, as Jason told me when he called me about the job.  

“How much budget we talkin’ here, Jason?” I asked. 

“$300K” he responded. 

“That include our fee?” Lillith asked. 

“Nope. He’ll pay you your normal 25% finder’s fee on top of that.” Jason smiled as he conveyed that good news over Zoom. 

“Any theme? Type of wine? Region, like France, or the west coast?” I queried. 

“Nope. The only thing this guy cares about is price. He wants to brag about expenses.” 

“A real connoisseur.” Lillith’s sarcasm dripping from the words. 

We told Jason we were on it and went on a buying spree with the best vineyards and collectors we knew. We were able to buy on credit because we had worked with some of these vendors for centuries – literally. Some of the finest vineyards in France are run by werewolves. Like I said that sense of smell opens many opportunities. 

We followed our usual arrangement with our Jackson clients. I delivered the wine as it arrived over the course of a month. Chazer was at one of his other houses – Dubai, I think - so his household staff took the delivery. Lillith sent the bill to Jason, who sent it to Chazer with his final invoice. 

I could hear from the kitchen as Lillith took the call with the bad news in the office. 

“Chazer won’t pay.” Jason cut right to the chase. He was pissed. 

“Sorry. What?” 

“We’re getting stiffed. He said the wine is not up to the standards he expects, and the lighting and woodwork are all wrong.” Jason slipped into a string of Navajo curse words.  

“What the holy fuck!!!” I shouted as I stormed in from the kitchen. “We’re on the hook for $300 K! How the hell are we supposed to get that? 

“Can we call Jack?” Lillith suggested. 

“He’s just one lawyer. Chazer’s legal team will beat him into the ground before we get anything, and it will cost us a fortune.” Jason moaned. 

“We’re screwed.” Lillith sighed. 

After promising to have Jason over the next day to drown our sorrows in some excellent bourbon and watching some classic movies (our passion) we signed off Zoom.  

“I need to hunt.”  

“You and me both” I answered. We needed to work off our anger and nothing is better for that than chasing prey and rending flesh. 

__________ 

It was early evening, and we were not going to get anything done, so we got naked – because we trip all over ourselves when we wear pants in our wolf form – then shifted. We lived at the edge of the Jackson Hole ski area, so it was easy to slip out our back door unnoticed. We took a route that led under the hill dominated by Chazer’s 10 acre property, stopping to pee on the gate to his driveway. 

“Wait! Smell that?” The hair on the Lillith’s back was raised. That is not a good sign. 

“You mean the 2009 Chateau Lafit Rothschild that we dropped $1500 on?” I sighed. 

“Yeah. The one that doesn’t meet his standards.” We could hear the clinks of glasses and the laughter of dinner party conversation.  

“Wonderful wine, Ed.” said a female voice. 

“A 2009 Rothschild! Worth $1500! Very good and I paid nothing.” said Chazer 

“Stiffed someone again” said a male voice to general laughter. 

“Just a good businessman” replied Chazer. 

“I can also smell some dry aged rib eyes from Laura’s ranch.” Lillith continued. 

“Maybe we can ask Vlad to make a meat delivery?” I suggested. 

“He’s in Brooklyn and he’s sworn off human blood.” 

“Yeah. Shit. Maybe we could do that Nordic Volsungs thing...” 

“Don’t even think it!” Lillith ordered, not wanting to repeat a Norwegian “food fest” (you would have been on the menu) my drunk ancestor had gone on in 1100. 

We sat stewing in our anger and financial worry when the sound of many dogs barking was heard in the distance. 

“That’s Laura’s sled dogs.” I said thoughtfully. 

“They're bored and restless because they’ve not had much exercise this summer. No sleds... annnnnddd what are you thinking?” Lillith saw the red light hunting gleam in my eye. 

I did not respond. I turned and headed off to the yard where the dog sled teams were kept in the summer. Lillith trotted beside me. The elk grazing on the 16th fairway of the nearby golf course looked up as we passed but stayed with the good grass. We slipped around the front of the ranch without spooking the horses and found ourselves outside three large fenced in areas, each holding a group of sled dogs. 

For those of you with limited experience with sled dogs, these animals have the energy of a four year old who drank a gallon of coffee to wash down a pound of candy. And they are dumber than a politician from Georgia talking about space lasers and machines that control the weather. 

“Hey Ralphie” I said to the lead dog. 

“GILES! LILLITH! GILES! LILLITH! GILES! LILLITH!” Ralphie greeted us with his usual energy, jumping up and down and chanting our names. 

“Chill Ralphie! Laura will hear!” hissed Lillith.  

“Oh yeah, right!” Ralphie toned things down to excited panting. 

 “Smell that?” I asked 

A chorus of dogs answered with “Steak!” with an occasional “Elk!” or “Squirrel!” thrown in. 

“Listen Ralphie, we need your help. Wanna do a wild rumpus? Maybe get some steak?” I asked. 

All the dogs on Ralphie’s sled team got excited. We were met with a chorus of “Yeah! Please, can we?” while the team lead dogs in the other two enclosures jumped with excitement asking “Can we go too?” 

“Ralphie, will they follow our instructions?” Lillith did not trust excited dogs. 

“Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!” Ralphie was jumping again. “We good dogs!” 

“All of you?” Lillith asked in an abundance of caution. 

"Good dog! I good dog!” cried the ensemble. 

I did my wolf shrug. “Best we’re going to get.” 

“Listen! I’m going to let you out. You need to follow me. We’ll have a wild rumpus chase. And if you’re good dogs I’ll take you to where the steaks are!  

“Yes! We be good!”  

That was the best I would get.  I transformed back to human form because an opposable thumb is a requirement for opening latches. I was naked and glad there were no security cameras around. 

“SIT!” Lillith commanded 

“Good dog! Sit!” they answered.  

I flipped the latches so the gates could be opened with the push of a snout, then transformed back to a wolf. 

“Follow me!”  

Ralphie had his team behind me in a pack as we headed toward the elk herd.  

“Smells squirrels! Can we get squirrels too?” Ralphie whined. 

“Not if you want a wild rumpus and steak.” Lillith replied.  

“Yes! Yes! Want steak! Good dog!” 

We quietly approached the elk herd. When we were within 25 yards of the elk I yelled.  

“Let the wild rumpus start!” I yelled. To human ears it sounded like a howl. 

The sled dogs immediately started the chase. As expected, the elk started in the direction of the Chazer’s mansion. Lillith and I swung to either side of the herd, herding them (as it were) to keep them headed up the hill and toward the house. The elk, followed by barking dogs having the time of their lives, charged up the hill.  

Two guest, a chubby middle aged man and a woman in an overpriced Louis Vuitton stood at the stone wall when two huge 8-point bull elk broke from between the pines. They dropped their wine glasses and scattered, screaming for help as the first elk jumped a small rock wall and headed toward the patio. 

“STEAK! AND CHEESE!” came the cries of very happy dogs. Platters of various cheeses were scattered across the grass. Onto the table they leapt grabbing steaks, cheese, and whatever other miscellaneous food they took an interest in. The guests had been knocked out of their chairs trying to avoid the elk and now some of the dogs raced among them, wagging tails and licking grease off human faces. The serving staff were huddled off to my right, waiting for the chaos to subside. No one had been hurt, as we had planned. 

Meanwhile the elk charged back and forth across the backyard, panicked and seeking an escape. I obliged, driving the largest bull towards the 25 foot window. Bull elks use their heads as battering rams during the rut. The window never stood a chance. The elk blasted through the window then through the (very expensive) Tiffany stained glass front door. The other elk followed, running across furniture and generally destroying the living room, then running across the hoods a Mercedes and BMW parked in front as they headed up the mountain and away.  

The dinner guest had recovered enough to start running around the house to get away from the rumpus leaving Chazer on the ground yelling for help and excited dogs jumped on top of him. 

Time to do some bill collecting. I pounced on Chazer’s chest, knocking the breath out of him. The dogs moved away, whining and showing submission. Lillith took up a position so that she was growling into Chazer’s left ear. Our eyes flared into the bright red of werewolves on the hunt. We let our canines grow, the better to scare a human. Chazer looked up at two sets of sharp teeth backed by hundreds of pounds of supernaturally enhanced muscle, wrapped in fur. I smelled the shit and piss as he lost control. 

“Listen! Are you listening?” I snarled. 

“You talk! Oh fuck! Oh God help me!” Chazer said in a panicked whisper. 

“Too late for God. Now listen asshole!” I growled. Chazer glanced back and forth, not sure who to be more afraid of and looking for a way out. 

I pressed his shoulders into his perfectly manicured lawn. 

“You mother fucker! You will pay Jason Chasinghorse DOUBLE what you owe him! You will pay him by noon tomorrow. If you don’t or if you EVER stiff another person in Jackson we will find you and eat your liver! No fava beans but with a nice chianti. Have I gotten my point across?” The last line in the best mild mannered sarcastic business tone I could muster with a wolf’s larynx. 

Chazer simply gasped and nodded yes. His eyes bulged with fear. 

“Seal it in blood!” I said as Lillith bit Chazer’s ear lobe, liberating a few drops. 

“Don’t eat me please!” Chazer screamed. 

“Not yet. But we better not need to come back here.” Lillith growled. 

Lillith and I jumped over the rock wall and headed back to the woods, leaving Chazer laying in his own shit and piss while sled dogs yapped and played. 

“Why do I always bite these assholes? They taste like shit, and it puts me off my appetite. Lilith complained. 

“Let’s go get some elk. You’ll feel better.” 

___________ 

The next morning Jason Chasinghorse was pinging us on Zoom.  

“I got a call last night from Chazer. He’s paying us double.”  

“That’s fucking fantastic!” I exclaimed, faking surprise. 

“Yeah. He said he was attacked by talking wolves. He said the wolves would eat his liver with a nice chianti if he didn’t.” 

“Was he tripping? Do some magic mushrooms? Wolves don’t talk.” Lillith smiled innocently. “Ask any park ranger.” 

Yeah... but yee naaldlooshii, ya know, skin walkers, do talk. Throw in a reference to wine and classic movie references... Gets a guy thinkin’.” Jason mused. 

“Let’s just say we got in touch with our spirit animals.” I laughed. “Still on for tonight?”