Wolf Hunt (Book 2) (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

An Unhappy Crime Lord

George squeezed his eyes shut as the gasoline splashed against his face, but there was nothing he could do to keep it out of his nostrils. He couldn't stop himself from coughing, so some gas got into his mouth as well.

"Don't be stingy with it," said Mr. Dewey, as one of his men, a mean looking ginger, poured fuel from the plastic container directly onto George's head. "That's right, get him all nice and soaked."

The other two guys had taken Lou outside. While being tied to the wooden desk chair, George had listened closely for the sounds of his partner having the crap beat out of him, but hadn't heard anything. He hoped that didn't mean they'd quietly murdered him.

The ginger shook out the last few drops of gasoline, then let go of the container. It bonked George on the head and fell to the floor.

Mr. Dewey casually slipped a hand into the pocket of his coat. "Tell me, how does it feel to be such a fire hazard?"

"You practice that line on the way over?"

"No, George. I did not." Mr. Dewey took out a lighter. "Do you really think that now is the time to be disrespectful? My last memory of you is not going to be of you saying something clever. It's going to be of you shrieking in
absolute agony
while your body burns. Do you think you can be witty while your hair is on fire?"

George did not think he could be witty under those circumstances.

He had no intention of leaving this world begging for his life. At the same time, there was no good reason to let Mr. Dewey light him up without finding out if a sincere apology might help.

"I'm sorry we messed up," George said. "I'm not trying to offer excuses, but jobs go bad all the time, and this one involved a werewolf. If any job is going to go bad, it's going to be the one with the werewolf, right?"

"Do you have any cloth?" Mr. Dewey asked.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"We've got towels in the bathroom."

Mr. Dewey shook his head. "Too soft. I just want to make sure I don't get gasoline on myself." He walked over to the kitchen sink, unspooled some paper towels, and wrapped them tightly around his fist. Then he punched George in the face, almost knocking the chair over. He unwrapped his fist and tossed the paper towels into the sink.

"The werewolf was in a cage," Mr. Dewey said.

George's newly split lip felt like it had already been lit on fire. "Yeah, yeah, he was. But we weren't given proof that he was a real werewolf."

"You didn't
need
proof! He was in a cage! All you had to do was not open the goddamn cage!"

"I understand how it can seem like we were irresponsible," George admitted. "But we didn't just open up the cage for kicks. Nobody told us 'Hey, don't get too close to the bars, because he can change his human arm into a werewolf arm whenever he wants.' I'm not saying that Lou and I didn't screw up, but the disaster would have been avoided if we'd been given all of the information up-front."

"Are you blaming me?" Mr. Dewey asked.

George shook his head. "I'm blaming Bateman. He's the one who briefed us."

"Throwing a dead man under the bus. Very classy."

"It's the truth," said George. And it was, although George wouldn't have fallen into a deep moral quandary if it wasn't.

"Do you know why I wanted you to bring me a werewolf?"

George had a couple of theories, but sharing them would get him punched again. "I heard that you wanted to get bit."

"That's right. I'm dying. Brain cancer. Inoperable."

"Sorry to hear that."

Mr. Dewey smiled. "Yes, I'm sure you're heartbroken."

"So...you thought that becoming a werewolf could cure you?"

"Complete change in my body chemistry? Worth a shot."

"Fair enough."

"Which means that when Ivan escaped, and you failed to recapture him, you cost me my last opportunity at life." Mr. Dewey flicked on the lighter and waved the flame a couple of feet in front of George.

"Wait!" George said. He could not immediately think of a reason that Mr. Dewey might want to wait, so he said "Wait!" again as he desperately tried to come up with something.

"And why would I do that?"

"Ivan can't have been the only one. There's got to be another werewolf out there, somewhere!"

Mr. Dewey let the flame go out. "Actually, there is."

"For real?"

"Yes. In Minnesota, if you can believe it."

George didn't think that any one place was a more surprising werewolf location than any other place. "Lou and I have dealt with these things," he said. "You need us."

"And your experience is the only reason you're not going to die tonight," said Mr. Dewey, putting the lighter back into his pocket. "You're going to get the wolf for us, and you're going to bring it back. If you do this, we're even. If you screw it up again, I won't grant you the mercy of just burning you to death."

Mr. Dewey gestured, and the ginger cut the ropes. George stood up and resisted the urge to shake the gasoline off his body like a dog after a bath.

"Lou too, right?" he asked.

"Of course."

George's bullshit meter was going off in a big way. Yes, they had experience with Ivan the Werewolf, but that experience had involved frantically chasing after him while he went on a gleeful slaughter spree. Lots of innocent people had died before they were able to force-feed Ivan some silver. There was nothing about that day to indicate that George and Lou might be good candidates for a second werewolf-delivery assignment.

Still, he wasn't going to argue. He didn't care if there was more to the story as long as he wasn't going to be burned alive.

"So what's the next step?" George asked.

"You're going to take a shower at gunpoint. And then we will demonstrate how to properly transport a werewolf."

* * *

George and Lou sat in a cage in the back of a van.

It was the exact type of cage Ivan had been in, and though this was more than a little demeaning, George was not inclined to complain about his accommodations right now. At least the van had heat.

Mr. Dewey was in a different vehicle. Two of the men who'd kidnapped them, but not the mean-looking ginger, sat up front, no longer wearing their ski masks, listening to an audio version of a James Bond novel. The driver's name was Sean, or maybe Shaun or Shawn; he hadn't spelled it. The passenger was Brent. They were both ugly gentlemen in their late twenties, although Sean's perfect grooming indicated that he didn't wish to be ugly, while Brent clearly didn't give a shit.

"What did they do to you?" George asked Lou.

"Nothing, really. Took a blood sample."

George sighed. It made sense that they thought Lou could be a werewolf, since one bit off his hand. The first night of the full moon had been a long, sleepless night for them (even though the cycles of the moon had been irrelevant for Ivan, and there was no reason to believe it was relevant for anybody else) but Lou had shown no signs of lycanthropy.

"At least we don't have to hide anymore," said Lou.

George knocked on the cage bars to get the driver's attention. "Hey! How long until we get there?"

"About fifteen hours."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Nope."

"You're not really going to make us stay in this cage for fifteen hours, are you?"

"I sure as hell am."

"Do we at least get stretch breaks?"

Sean looked at them in the rear-view mirror and grinned. "Nope. And were you wondering why there's a bucket in the corner?"

"Aw, that's not cool."

"But please, feel free to try to talk us into letting you go. We could use the entertainment. And who knows? You might touch our hearts."

George adjusted his position, unsuccessfully trying to find a comfortable way to lean against the bars. This was going to be a long drive.

CHAPTER THREE

A Long Drive

Sean hadn't been entirely truthful. They were allowed out of the cage right before they crossed the Canadian border, and George and Lou were instructed to play along if they didn't want something horrible to happen. They didn't want something horrible to happen, so they played along. Then they went back into the cage.

George and Lou slept part of the way, so the trip wasn't as excruciating as it might have been. And a few hours in, Brent took pity on them and tossed a deck of cards into the cage. Sean and Brent did not take pity on them after going through a drive-thru; the two men up front gleefully gobbled down their cheeseburgers without sharing. George couldn't resent them too much for that behavior, since he'd done the same thing to Ivan.

George was very happy to see the "Welcome to Minnesota" sign, and even more happy when they were welcomed to Tropper. After driving down a ridiculously steep and icy road, they pulled into a small warehouse.

Sean shut off the engine, then both men got out of the van. George waited patiently for the back door to open, but after a couple of minutes it became clear that they weren't going to be released quite yet.

"Why do you think they really want us on this job?" Lou asked.

George grinned. "You don't buy the whole 'you've got experience with werewolves' angle?"

"Not really. That would be like hiring the designers of the Hindenburg because they've already made a blimp."

The rear of the van had heavily tinted windows, so they could only see through the front windshield, and nothing was happening out there. After about fifteen minutes they heard a sliding door open and then close again. A few minutes after that, the back doors of the van opened.

"Okay, freedom time," said Sean. "Try anything and you'll be kneecapped. Understood?"

"Understood," said George.

"Understood," Lou agreed.

Sean unlocked the cage and swung open the door. George and Lou crawled out, then climbed out of the van.

Mr. Dewey was there, along with Brent, the mean-looking ginger, and three other white men. Mr. Dewey was apparently not one to hire women or minorities. All of the men had guns. Not small ones. There was also a thin old man, wearing a dark blue suit and keeping his balance with a cane. The guy looked like he had to be in his nineties, and he quivered a bit as he stood there.

Almost in unison, the men pointed their guns at George and Lou. Without being asked, George and Lou put their three hands in the air.

"This is them," Mr. Dewey said to the old man.

The old man nodded and slowly walked over to them. He was so unsteady on his feet that George worried he might fall over, and George wondered why he didn't have anybody assisting him. A pride thing, probably.

The old man walked right up to George and looked at him closely, as if examining a horse. George almost made a smart-ass comment ("Should I open my mouth so you can check out my teeth?") but decided against it.

He turned his attention to Lou and examined him just as closely. Then the old man nodded with satisfaction and took a step back. "Yes, that's them."

"We're not here to con you," said Mr. Dewey.

"Of course not. That doesn't mean I shouldn't inspect them. We'll be off now." The old man turned and began to slowly walk away. Without looking back, he gestured for somebody to follow.

"So...do we go with him?" George asked.

"You do," said Mr. Dewey. "Lou stays here."

George shook his head. "No way."

"Surely you're not so stupid as to think you have a choice?"

"We work as a team," George said. "Case closed."

"Not anymore."

"I'm not going to leave him here so you can experiment on him. We do this together or not at all."

Mr. Dewey laughed. "Experiment on him? This isn't a Nazi death camp, George. But we can turn it into one, if you want to make this difficult for us."

The old man stopped walking. His shoulders slumped, and he turned around. "I'll bring both of them."

"That wasn't the deal," said Mr. Dewey.

"We have a job to do. I'd rather not have it complicated by him being obstinate."

"He'll be a lot less obstinate after we cut his nose off," said Mr. Dewey. "Break a couple of fingers...a little sandpaper on an eyeball...I think he'll cooperate just fine."

"You don't know me very well," said George, who hoped that this would not actually come down to lost noses, broken fingers, or sanded eyeballs.

"I'm taking them both," said the old man. "There will be no further discussion."

Mr. Dewey looked very much as if he wanted there to be further discussion, but he said nothing. Who
was
this old bastard?

The old man turned around and resumed walking. George and Lou followed. They walked over to a small, economical, fuel-efficient silver sedan. The old man opened the door and slowly eased himself into the driver's seat.

"I want them back here as soon as it's done," Mr. Dewey said.

The old man gave him a dismissive wave and closed the door. George and Lou looked at each other, shrugged, and then got in the car. George sat up front.

"He's very irritable, isn't he?" said the old man, starting the engine. He put the car into reverse. The car jolted backwards and George decided that it might be a good idea to put on his seat belt.

One of the men opened the sliding door, and they drove out of the warehouse into a sunny but snowy day.

"You got a name?" George asked.

"Do you think I might not?"

"Just asking."

"My name, to you, is Mr. Reith. We are not equals and you are not on a first-name basis with me."

"I can live with that."

"You will find me to be much more pleasant company than Mr. Dewey, but don't confuse friendliness with weakness. Rest assured that I can make awful things happen to you."

George nodded. "Point taken."

"So, gentlemen, we're going on a werewolf hunt. You were responsible for the death of Ivan, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. He killed my grandson. May the son of a bitch rot in hell."

"Amen."

"I hope he suffered."

"It was pretty quick, but it hurt."

"Excellent." Then Mr. Reith frowned. "Unfortunately for you, Ivan's fate would have been even worse if you'd delivered him to Mr. Dewey like you were supposed to. It would not have been 'pretty quick.' I do not expect you to botch this one."

"We won't," said Lou from the back.

"I'm glad to hear that. The file is in the glove compartment."

George opened the glove compartment and took out a folded manila envelope. It was very thin, and when he opened it, the only thing inside was a wallet-sized photograph.

"Are you kidding me?" George asked.

"No."

"What is she, twelve?"

"Fourteen."

George passed the photo back to Lou. It was a school picture of a girl with long straight brown hair. She looked happy but was apparently too cool to smile for the camera. She was cute; the kind of girl who would be getting boys into serious trouble in a couple of years.

"She's a werewolf?" Lou asked.

"We believe so, yes. There's no evidence that it has manifested itself yet."

"Well, I'm sorry to tell you this," said George, "but we don't kidnap little girls. I'm not saying that Lou and I are top-notch people, but we don't mess with kids."

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to revise your moral code."

Lou passed the picture back up to George. George stuck it back in the envelope, folded it, and put it back into the glove compartment. "Sorry. Not gonna happen."

"Then what's your plan from here?" asked Mr. Reith. "Kill me and steal my car? Go into hiding again?"

"I think we could get your car without killing you."

"They found you in Costa Rica. They found you in Ontario. They'll find you again. I suppose I can understand your loyalty to your partner, but are you really going to risk an excruciatingly painful death for a teenaged girl you don't even know?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

The old man let out a derisive snort. "If I had more energy, I'd put that to the test. My guess is that your objections will only last until the knife blade touches your throat. But those days are over for me, so what if I assure you that the girl won't be harmed?"

"Yeah, right," said George. "You want me to believe that we're going to deliver her to a psycho like Dewey and she won't get hurt?"

"All he wants her to do is bite him."

"Uh-huh. You just said that if we'd delivered Ivan, he would have had a worse fate than getting sizzled from the inside."

"Ivan was a reprehensible monster who would never be missed. But an adorable fourteen-year-old in a small town like Tropper? She
will
be missed. She'll be returned safely."

"Seems like it would be kind of easy to pin this crime on us, considering that we'd be the ones actually committing the crime."

"Yes, and then you would lead the police to Mr. Dewey. We're all criminals here, George. Nobody is going to frame anybody. What you have to do is decide if you believe me when I say that you will regret not going along with this. My opinion? You should believe me."

"All right, for argument's sake, let's say that I—"

"No. Not for argument's sake. Either you believe me or you don't. I'm too old to waste time speaking hypothetically."

George looked back at Lou. Lou shrugged. George gave him a look that said
How about you contribute more to the decision making process than a shrug
? Lou shrugged again, then nodded.

"Fine," said George. "We believe you."

"Perfect. Then your job is to acquire the little girl. As you heard, Mr. Dewey is impatient, so you have two hours."

"Two hours? That's it?"

"If you're good at what you do, it's more than enough."

George opened the glove compartment and took out the folder again. "What's her name?"

"That's your job."

"You don't know?"

"I didn't say that I don't know. I said that it's your job. You're being given an opportunity for redemption in a business that doesn't offer many second chances. I'd encourage you to quit asking unnecessary questions and get to work."

They drove for a few more minutes, and then Mr. Reith pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall. He kept the engine running as he handed George a key and a cell phone. "The blue van is yours. There's one contact number programmed into this phone. Call it when you've got the girl. I would not advise you to call with any message but 'We've got her.'"

"Understood."

"There's a tranquilizer gun and two darts in the glove compartment, just in case."

"Tranquilizers didn't do any good against Ivan."

"Then hopefully you won't have to use them. The dose is intended for a wolf, not a girl, so don't use it unless things get out of control."

"Also understood."

"Perfect. Now get out of my car."

George and Lou got out of his car. As Mr. Reith drove away, they walked over to a dented, dirty blue van with tinted windows. George unlocked the doors, and they got inside without a word. He started the engine and turned on the heat.

"I can see a lot of potential problems with what we're about to do," George said.

"Yeah. Not quite foolproof, is it?"

"We could bolt."

"You want to?"

"I don't know. I didn't enjoy the gasoline shower. I really thought he was going to throw that match on me. I'd rather do a long stretch of prison time for attempted kidnapping than burn to death."

"What if they kill the girl?" asked Lou.

"We won't let that happen."

"What if we don't have a choice? I mean, let's face it, we're not actually going to have a choice, right?"

George let out a long sigh. "Probably not. But, ultimately, you and I are shitty human beings, and we do shitty things to people for a living, and I'm more inclined to go for it and hope that this works out happily for everyone than to get set on fire for a teenaged girl I don't even know."

"Before we went to Costa Rica, you kept saying that you wanted to become a better person."

"I do! But not at the cost of all my skin! It's hard for me to quantify just how much I don't want to get set on fire. So, yeah, I'm putting self-preservation at the top of my list."

Lou was silent for a moment.

George held his hand next to the vent to get more hot air. "Hey, if you don't want to do this, I'll look the other way and you can run. I'll make something up; tell them that some guys in ski masks threw you into the trunk of their car. I can handle this one solo."