Wolf Hunt (15 page)

"No."

"I think you're being deceptive. How far away
is she? Five minutes? Ten?"

"I don't know."

"It's really not much of a crush if you don't
even know where she lives. You should've followed her home. Women
love it when you put forth that extra bit of effort. And with
enough practice, you can actually build up a resistance to pepper
spray. It's true. I love the taste now."

Dale was still crying. It was becoming kind
of annoying.

"You know, Dale, we don't have to be enemies.
I'm not saying that we should hang out and drink together and
become best buddies, but this doesn't have to end in such a
negative way. Having a werewolf on your side makes you kind of
powerful. Ladies can't resist a nice furry werewolf, if you know
what I mean."

"I don't."

"I think you're lying about not knowing where
she lives. I think you've done a bit of light stalking in your
time. Don't try to deny it--I see that glint of mischief in your
eye."

"I never stalked her."

"Okay, fine. No stalking from the Boy Scout.
But you know where she lives. We could pay her an unannounced
visit. If she doesn't want to let you in, I'll kick the door down.
Or, better yet, you just keep the car running while I go get her.
We'll take her someplace nice and private. You could do anything
you wanted to her. I wouldn't even watch if it made you
uncomfortable--I'd just wait in the next room and listen."

"Go to hell."

"Do you understand what's happening here?
We're bargaining for your life. That's a pretty major deal. On one
hand, I'm threatening you with a horrible death--blood and limbs
flying everywhere. That's option one. On the other hand, I'm
offering you a completely hedonistic experience, the chance to do
whatever you want with your precious little Karen, and she'll be
helpless to stop you. Whatever freaky, depraved, brutal, and just
plain fun thing you want to do, you can. I might even let you keep
her afterward. That's option two. What do you say?"

"I said, go to hell."

"Really? You're not even going to pretend to
go along with the plan? I don't know if that's admirable or stupid.
Okay, deal's off. Get out of the car."

"What?"

"Get out of the car. Now."

Dale wiped some tears from his eyes. "You're
letting me go?"

"No, I'm not letting you go. You had
your chance and you turned it down, so get out of the car and run
so I can hunt you down and tear you apart. Go on. Shoo."

Dale unfastened his seatbelt. "Please,
I--"

"The time for talk is over. You should
have at least given me a fake address and then waited for an
opportunity to exploit a moment of carelessness. That's what I
would've done. Get out. I'm giving you a head start, but I'm not
saying how long, so if you're not a complete idiot you'll get
moving now."

Dale opened the door, got out of the car, and
ran. Ivan watched him go. He was a good runner.

If he didn't have other things to do, Ivan
would've made an evening out of this. It was extremely rewarding to
chase a victim until he or she literally collapsed from exhaustion.
One time he'd even followed a man in an electric wheelchair, just
casually circling him in full wolfman form, hoping to go until his
battery completely ran out. Unfortunately, they got too close to a
populated area and the cripple was screaming too much, so Ivan had
to kill him, though he rode around on the wheelchair for a while
afterward.

He got out of the car, stretched, then
completed his transformation. Became the Beast. It felt
exhilarating.

The Beast took off after Dale. Caught up to
him in seconds. Swiped his claws across Dale's back, cutting so
deep that flesh dangled from all five of his talons.

Dale didn't fall. Impressive.

The Beast let him run a few more steps,
watching him bleed, then pounced. Dale hit the ground face-first,
letting out a loud grunt and then a muffled shriek.

Poor, unfortunate Dale. If he'd gone along
with it, the Beast really would have helped him rape the girl he
loved.

He went wild with his claws and teeth,
shredding Dale's back. Then he rolled him over and shredded his
front side.

He rolled him over again to get any parts he
might have missed. There weren't many.

He smiled as he looked down at the remains. A
moment later, he frowned.

Shit. Now Dale's clothes were in worse shape
than the ones he was wearing.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Working Things Out

"Is that him?" Lou asked, pointing through
the broken windshield.

George applied the brake and leaned forward.
"Where?"

"There!"

"The cat?"

"Is that a cat?"

"It's sure as hell not a werewolf."

"It's a possum," said Michele. "They're
everywhere."

"I didn't see what it actually was," said
Lou. "I just noticed movement."

George muttered something rude. They'd been
slowly driving around for more than an hour. They hadn't been able
to get a net, but one of the local shops did have a blanket and a
travel-sized sewing kit. So Lou had sewn the silver rings onto the
blanket in various places, hoping that maybe if they successfully
tossed the blanket on top of the werewolf, the silver would keep
him from getting out. It was perhaps the furthest thing from a
foolproof plan that they'd ever concocted, but unless they drove
past a guy with a cart selling hot dogs and silver bullets, their
options were limited.

Michele was filing the handle of the silver
cross into a point. If by some miracle they were able to get close
enough to use it, it would make one hell of a weapon. Sharpened
silver cross to the heart. No more werewolf.

"Looks pretty good, don't you think?" asked
Michele, holding it up for their inspection.

"Yeah." George was originally going to ask
Lou to file the cross and Michele to sew the rings, but he didn't
want to seem sexist. They'd both done fine work. "Oh, by the way,
Lou, I forgot to complement you on your lovely bracelet. It really
brings out the color in your eyes."

"It could be useful."

"That tiny thing? Maybe if we stab him with
it a few thousand times."

"It makes me feel better to have it."

"Because it's silver or because it's a
cross?"

Lou shrugged. "Both. Don't make fun of
me."

"I wouldn't even bother."

"Maybe we should get some wooden stakes,
too," said Lou.

"That's vampires."

"I know that, but how do we know that the
vampire myths didn't come from werewolves? I completely believe in
werewolves now, but I don't believe in vampires yet, so isn't it
possible that somebody once killed a werewolf with a wooden stake
to the heart and over the centuries the story changed to a
vampire?"

"That's actually not a bad point," said
George. "Maybe we should get some garlic, too. What else kills
monsters?"

Lou shrugged. "Direct sunlight?"

"Well, Lou, I'm afraid we already know his
weakness isn't direct sunlight, because we've seen him out in the
direct goddamn sun!"

"We're brainstorming! You don't criticize
ideas in a brainstorming session!"

"Fine, fine. Write 'direct sunlight' on the
chalkboard. Jesus. What else?"

"In
The War of the Worlds
, they defeated
the aliens with the common cold."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Yeah. I was just seeing if you would
criticize it. How about holy water?"

"Good, good. We'll pick some up if we drive
by a church."

"Also," said Michele, "he might need to
return to his coffin before sunrise."

"Let me make this very clear," George told
her. "Lou gets to behave like a third-grader because he's my
partner. You do not have that option. I want serious
suggestions."

"I'm so terribly sorry to have offended you,"
said Michele. "I guess I was just trying to draw attention away
from the fact that our brilliant plan to recapture the werewolf is
to just drive around hoping he'll be conveniently wandering around.
It's a good one. I see why you make the big bucks."

"Better this than sitting around with our
thumbs up our rectums waiting for the reinforcements," said George.
"You never know, he may be looking for us, too."

"Oh, that's reassuring."

"You seem to think that because we've done
arts and crafts together that we're not going to put you in that
cage. That line of thinking is incorrect."

"Sorry. I just happen to believe that
brainstorming ways to kill vampires in hopes that these ways might
also work on werewolves is silly."

"Not just vampires. All monsters."

"Either way, it's silly. We should get more
bullets."

"Bullets don't kill it."

"So far they haven't. But a whole
shitload of bullets at once might kill it. Or even a
grenade."

"Do you own a grenade?"

"No, but I'm not the mobster."

"We're not mobsters. We perform unpleasant
tasks that are usually illegal, but we don't have any mafia
connections. And when we pack for a trip to break an old man's
thumbs, we typically leave the grenades at home."

"Can't you get them? Don't you have
connections?"

"Not in the middle of the frickin'
swamp! You think I can just call somebody and have them drop a
little care package with a parachute out of a plane?"

"They killed King Kong by shooting him off
the Empire State Building," said Lou. "We could try that."

"You're an asshole."

* * *

Frank Bateman had gone three weeks and
four days without a cigarette. The last one was after he drowned
his son's chemistry teacher. Technically, his men had been the ones
to tie the rocks around Mr. Amrita's feet and drop him into the
lake, but it had bothered Bateman. He liked Mr. Amrita. He seemed
to genuinely care about his students and brought an infectious
enthusiasm to the subject matter. Hell, after the first
parent/teacher conference, Bateman had almost been compelled to
break out his old chemistry set from when he was a kid and start
mixing some liquids.

But when he'd explained to Mr. Amrita that it
was unacceptable for Bryan to get less than a C in the class,
apparently the implications of that message had not sunk in
properly. That's what Bateman got for trying to be subtle. There
was no doubt that Bryan deserved the D, since he was a lazy video
game-playing dumb-ass who probably cheated just to get the D, but
that wasn't the point. The point was that Bryan needed a halfway
decent grade point average if he was going to get into a good
school, and Mr. Amrita stood in the way of that.

Bateman had met them out there by the lake
and explained the situation. Some would say that it didn't matter,
since the poor chemistry teacher was going to die anyway, but
Bateman felt that a man always deserved to know why he was being
put to death. It was a respect thing. Mr. Amrita had done the usual
begging and crying, which was fine. He was scared and Bateman
understood that. No shame in fearing death.

He'd waited in the car while Gallows and
Bonez (not their real names) rowed Mr. Amrita out to the middle of
the lake and dropped him in.

Then he'd gone home and told Bryan that if
his chemistry grade wasn't at least a C on his next report card,
he'd smash the fucking Xbox to pieces with a sledgehammer and Bryan
wouldn't get another one. After that, Bateman went out onto the
back porch and had a cigarette.

He'd been nice and relaxed since then, until
he got the call that the werewolf was loose.

Very disappointing. And unnerving.

He probably should've used top men for this,
but George Orton and Lou Flynn had an excellent reputation, they
just happened to be in the area, and they worked cheap. The last
part was the most important. Bateman didn't live his current
lifestyle by throwing money away, and it should have been a
straightforward, easy job. Now he had to pay out the ass for bounty
hunters, and the deal with Mr. Dewey was a flat fee arrangement,
although Bateman planned to try to renegotiate, considering that
the whole idea about the werewolf not transforming except during
the full moon was apparently an extreme bit of misinformation.

Dewey was seriously pissed about Ivan getting
away, but seriously thrilled with the new discovery about Ivan's
power. Bateman was much more pissed than thrilled.

All he could say was, thank Christ they'd put
in the chip. They could pinpoint Ivan's location anywhere he went.
His arm had healed right up before he regained consciousness, so he
didn't even know about it.

Bateman's non-emergency "civilian" cell phone
rang. Unknown caller. "Hello?"

"Hello. It's your former captive. I assume
you got word that I escaped?"

Bateman sat up straight at his desk. "Where
are you?"

"I'm around. Here and there. But I'd like to
register a formal complaint about their treatment of me. George in
particular was very rude."

"Why are you really calling? I take it you're
not going to be nice and turn yourself in?"

"No, but you'd like that, wouldn't you? I
need to get a hold of George and he apparently has an unlisted
number."

"I'm not giving you shit."

"Seriously? From your point of view, you
actually think that putting me in touch with George is a bad thing?
I'm all in favor of making things difficult for people, but don't
be stubborn just to be stubborn."

"I don't have his number."

"What? Why not?"

"Because we don't do direct contact for jobs
like this."

"Well, that's inefficient and stupid. I guess
put me in touch with that guy Ricky instead."