Tanned Hide

By R. A. Meenan

Neil Black is a run-down assassin desperately looking for his magic hit - the one hit on a drug lord or a dictator that might save thousands from addiction and oppression. So when he glimpses that magic hit in the form of a big time mob boss, he takes the chance and gets his dream hit. He doesn’t, however, predict the horrific cost that his parents and younger brother may have to pay after he succeeds. Now it’s up to Neil and his fellow assassin Trecheon Omnir to use all their skills and knowledge to fight the coming storm – before Neil’s family become the mob’s next victims.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. A. Meenan
• Release date: Jul 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311153883

R. A. Meenan

R. A. Meenan was born in London during the golden age of science fiction, but somehow time traveled to the Modern Era (some say a mad man with a blue box was involved). She was dropped on the doorstep of a house owned by anthropomorphic cats and though they were disappointed she didn’t have furry ears and a tail, they took her in to teach her the ways of elemental magic. After setting fire to her furry cat friends’ tails one too many times (final score – fire: 2612, cat’s tails: 0) they called an exterminator and sent her out on her way.Now an adult (physically, not mentally), she ride-hops intergalactic military spacecraft, combing the outer reaches of space and time, writing science fiction and urban fantasy stories based on her experiences. She’s also hoping to find the perfect cup of coffee and a better way to grow dinosaurs. Humans kind of look at her funny, but she’s managed to make herself an honorary ambassador for furry and anthropomorphic aliens and space dragons.She carefully feeds and brushes her wonderful husband Joe and the pair have four furry children (which are really cats, but don’t tell them that) and one small child named after a video game. She also spends her spare time teaching essay-writing haters, molding them into people resembling Actual Students and Lovers of English.She may not win the hearts of stiff military men or students who want good grades for no effort, but she certainly captures the spirit and imagination of time travelers, magic users, nerds, Students-In-Training, and fantasy lovers. Welcome to her nonsensical world. We hope you like it here.

Book preview

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Chapter 1

There is nothing noble about being an assassin.

Entertainment media likes to pretend there is. Video games will put out stories about the noble assassin fighting for the greater good. Movies make it look like assassins are necessary to cull the species or that somehow assassinating the Enemy-That-Is-Not-You makes your deeds noble.

It’s not. Nothing about assassination is noble. Only fools believe that.

But some assholes don’t get that. Trecheon Omnir, for example. He entered the profession, shed a couple of fake crocodile tears, all woe-is-me, complaining about his second hit like it was worst goddamned thing ever. Then he goes off becoming this White Assassin as if that suddenly makes him noble.

But that’s not what being an assassin is all about. It’s about pain. And he doesn’t know pain. Not really. Not like I do.

Let me tell you what pain is really like.

It had started with a visit to Red’s Garage. I pulled up in my battered old chopper motorcycle and ambled through the open doors of the Trecheon’s barely-afloat business, clutching a manila envelope. The manila envelope. The envelope that would change everything. If I could only get Trecheon’s help on it.

I walked through the hot, smelly workroom, counting two cars up on lifts and as many mechanics working on them, both humans. A third car was still on the floor, with a third mechanic buried under the hood. It was the busiest I had ever seen the place in all the years I had known Trech, which was both good and bad. Good, since Trecheon was perpetually considering leaving the business as an assassin and he could use all the cash he could get. Bad, since good mechanic business meant he’d be less likely to team up with me on a job.

And I really needed him to team up with me on this job.

The third mechanic swore as I walked by, giving up his identity; a twenty-seven-year old named Christian, one of Trecheon’s better employees. He stood up fully to set his ratchet down. I grinned at him, twitching my puma tail. He grinned back.

How’s it goin’, Neil? The tanned human asked. He moved with a practiced grace as he grabbed a magnetic pull rod. I see your tail’s still in one piece.

Not for lack of trying, I shot back. Choppers don’t really lend themselves to zyfaunos. Is the boss man in today? I need to talk with him about something.

Yeah, he’s in the office, Christian replied, looking at the blackened tip of a spark plug before tossing it into a trash can. Should be finished up with that blonde in a minute, so your timing’s pretty good.

I snickered. His favorite customer is in today, huh?

Yup, Christian said, grinning. Watch out, Trecheon might not be in the best of moods because of that.

I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Christian. I bounced two fingers off my black, rounded ears in a mock salute to the young mechanic, who absently waved back, already lowering his head under the hood of the car. He was nothing if not dedicated. Trecheon had a knack for finding good talent in his workers. Only way he was actually able to stay afloat on the outskirts of the grand bayside city of El Dorado.

I stepped into the small office and leaned against the wall, sizing up Trecheon’s favorite customer. The human customer, a woman, apparently refused the chairs, instead more content to lean over the desk. On the other side of the desk sat the proprietor of this establishment, Trecheon Omnir. The red, black-streaked quilar typed in a few last keystrokes before printing out a repair order. His catlike ears were slightly splayed out, though the woman didn’t seem to notice his irritation.

So, we went ahead and replaced the fluid for the transmission and the differential, and that’s on top of the spark plugs and the usual oil change. Trecheon looked up from the computer’s screen and looked directly into the human woman’s eyes, ignoring the obvious sway of her hips as he went through the RO. She appeared satisfied with the work, but to any straight man with a pair of eyes, it looked like she wanted more.

Mr. Red, I can’t tell you enough how much I appreciate your help. She produced a credit card and handed it to Trecheon, who slid the card through a reader and processed the payment. She had her elbows on the desk now, and turned her head slightly to one side. May I ask when the shop closes?

We close at six, so if you notice anything off with the car before then, bring it back and I’ll take a look at it. He held out the card with a receipt, not even meeting the woman’s eyes.

I smirked. Damn, Trech. That’s cold as ice as always.

The woman gave a slim smile and narrowed her eyes slightly. Oh, I’ll let you know. Thank you! She took her keys and turned to leave, walking out into the garage, her hips swaying with every step.

Trecheon put a hand to his face as he leaned back in his office chair. Will this chick ever learn? I. Am. Not. Interested. I’ve made that abundantly clear, but the flirting and borderline innuendo comes up every time she visits.

Just tell her to take a hike, Trachea, I put in with a grin.

Trecheon shot me a glare for the use of the hated nickname, then shrugged, his metal bionic arms catching a glint of sunlight from the windows. The prosthetic replacements were a constant reminder of the cost of our time in the War of Eons, though these particular arms were also