Wolf Hunt (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

Wolf in a Cage

They stopped for an early lunch of
drive-thru chicken sandwiches and fries, then followed the GPS
directions to a small warehouse in downtown Miami. A kid in
sunglasses who looked about nineteen stood outside waiting for
them. He raised the sliding metal door and waved their car
through.

The warehouse was mostly empty, except
for a van, two cars, and about a dozen wooden crates stacked
against the far wall. George parked next to a red Porsche that was
dirty and a bit dinged up--a criminal act, as far as George was
concerned--and then he and Lou got out as a middle-aged man in an
ill-fitting business suit approached, flanked on each side by a
goon in black.

"Are you Bateman?" George asked.

"I am." Bateman smiled, revealing yellow
teeth that marred an otherwise handsome face. "You two come highly
recommended. Which one is George and which one is Lou?"

"I'm Lou," said Lou, tapping his chest.

"And you're George?" Bateman asked.

"Yes, sir."
Nice process of elimination.

"I've got a task for you gentlemen," said
Bateman. "It's a simple transport job and shouldn't cause any
problems, but I need good men like yourselves on it. Extremely
valuable cargo is involved."

"We know how to protect cargo," George
assured him.

"That's what I hear." Bateman gestured to a
black van that was parked about twenty feet away. "Follow me."

"It's too damn hot to be in a black van," Lou
whispered to George as the five of them walked over to the
vehicle.

George couldn't see anything through the
tinted windows, but one of the thugs opened up the rear doors,
revealing a metal cage with thick bars that filled most of the back
of the van. A man sat inside, leaning against the cage wall,
looking scared and miserable.

Lou sucked in a deep breath.

George hated assignments that involved this
kind of crap, but kept his expression devoid of emotion. It was
important to always behave in a professional manner around the guy
who signed the checks...or at least authorized the non-traceable
cash payments.

Bateman gestured to the man. "Do you know
what that is?"

George shrugged. "Somebody who fucked with
the wrong guy?"

"That is a lycanthrope. A werewolf."

"I see."

"By the light of the full moon, that
weak-looking, frail man will transform into a vicious beast. The
legends are true, gentlemen. Werewolves live among us. Their
numbers are small, and few believe in their existence, but we've
been given an unprecedented opportunity to study one." Bateman
shrugged. "Or, if you don't believe me, then you're just driving
some poor caged-up bastard from Miami to Tampa. Either way, you get
paid."

George glanced at the other two goons, hoping
to get some clue as to whether this was all a big gag or not, but
their faces were unreadable.

"I'm not in the habit of
questioning my employers," George said. "But...a
werewolf
? Really? Isn't
that just movie stuff?"

"I don't blame you for being skeptical. I'd
worry about your sanity if you weren't. Rest assured that you're
being trusted with an astounding discovery, and I'm confident that
you'll deliver him to my associate safely."

"What if he sprouts fur and fangs while we're
on the road?"

"That won't be an issue. The full moon is two
weeks away."

"Ah, okay," said George, not sure why he was
embarrassed. "I don't really keep track of the lunar cycles."

"The rules are simple. Even though he's not a
transformation risk, do not, under any circumstances, let him out
of the cage. Do not, under any circumstances, let anything happen
to him. Keep your hands away from the cage. That means do not offer
him any food, do not offer him anything to drink, do not offer him
any reading material to pass the time during the ride, and do not
reach in there to slap him if he won't stop talking. I don't think
I have to tell you that getting stopped by the police would create
an awkward situation, so don't break any traffic laws. Any
questions?"

"Is anybody after him?"

"To the best of our knowledge, no. But I'm
sure that you'll proceed with all due diligence."

"Of course." George looked over at Lou. "You
have anything?"

Lou thought for a moment. "What if he's gotta
use the restroom?"

"Then the cage will get messy."

George grimaced. "Really? Isn't this a
five-hour drive?"

"I think you can handle an unpleasant odor
for a few hours. We'll give you a can of Lysol." Bateman raised his
voice and turned his attention to the man in the cage. "However, if
he wishes to be treated with more kindness upon his arrival, he may
want to consider keeping his bodily functions under control."

The man glared at him but said nothing.

"What's his name?" George asked.

"Ivan."

"All right. I guess we're taking Ivan the
Werewolf for a ride."

* * *

They quickly worked out the remaining
details, moved their suitcases to the van (behind the seats but
still out of Ivan's reach), left the too-small car in the
warehouse, and drove the van out onto the downtown street. It was
Lou's turn to drive, so George slid the briefcase of recovered cash
under his seat, then turned around and looked into the back of the
van.

Ivan appeared to be in his early
thirties. He was thin, with a pasty complexion and long, straight
hair--to be honest, he gave off more of a vampire vibe than a
werewolf one. He wore a blue dress shirt that was probably
expensive but looked like it had been worn for several unpleasant
days.

Driving around with a guy in a cage was a
contemptible thing, but business was business. George and Lou had
the luxury of turning down the worst of their job offers--they
didn't do anything that involved kids, and never committed
murder--but transporting a man in a cage across the state was
depravity within their moral boundaries.

"This is messed up," Lou
noted.

George turned back around in his seat. "You
won't hear me argue."

"I mean, who believes in that werewolf
nonsense? 'By the light of the full moon...' What a load of crap.
What are we in, the 1600's?"

"Is that when people believed in
werewolves?"

"I dunno. Maybe I'm thinking of witches. But,
c'mon, look at the world we live in." Lou tapped the GPS that
rested on the dashboard. "This thing has street-by-street
directions for anyplace in the world we wanna go. In a world where
humans can accomplish this kind of technology, what kind of person
still believes in the supernatural?"

George grinned. "Maybe that
GPS
is
supernatural. Maybe only the devil knows all of those streets.
Or it could be ghost-powered."

"I'm trying to make a serious point here. Why
would you want to derail that?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. But I don't think
Bateman believes in that werewolf stuff for one second."

"You think it's a cover?"

"Yeah. Either our friend back there has got a
stomach full of heroin and they're playing a practical joke, or
they're trying to distract us from something else that's going on.
There's definitely something screwy here, so we need to be
careful."

Lou nodded. "I agree."

"You could just ask me," said Ivan. It was
the first time he'd spoken.

George turned around in his seat to face
their prisoner. "What?"

"You could just ask me if I'm a werewolf.
That would be the polite and reasonable thing to do, instead of
speculating amongst yourselves."

"Fair enough. Are you a werewolf?"

"No, I'm not a fucking werewolf! What the
hell? Are you two really that stupid? You're seriously going to
drive me to Tampa so that some pretend-scientist can slice me
up?"

"Hey, I don't care what you are. They could
say you were the Easter Bunny and it wouldn't change anything. This
is just a transport job."

"Oh, sure. Transport job. He
told you that I'm a
werewolf
, George. You know, those
magical people who transform into scary wolves during the full
moon, and can only be killed by silver bullets, and gobble up
little children. Those people who are, you know,
non-existent
! Doesn't it
bother you to be working for that kind of insanity?"

"I don't think you heard me. You're just
cargo."

"Well, that's lovely. Nice humanistic
attitude you've got there. Do much slave trading in your spare
time?"

"Hey, if you want to be allowed to talk,
you'd better watch the lip."

"You can't stop me from talking. I'm valuable
merchandise."

"Look, Ivan the Werewolf, I'm about as nice
of a guy as you're liable to encounter in this kind of situation,
but don't get the mistaken impression that I will let myself be
disrespected. There's only one way that this drive will end, and
that's with you being delivered to our destination. No other
outcome is possible. However, there are several different moods
that can hang over our afternoon until then, and I want you to
think long and hard about whether you want to have a pleasant drive
or an unpleasant one."

Ivan pouted for a few moments. "You're taking
me to a guy named Mr. Dewey, right?"

"Dewey's his last name? I thought it was his
first. But yeah, that's who we're going to see."

"You know what he wants, don't you?"

"No idea. A pet?"

"You think that's funny? You think the idea
of turning me into some madman's pet is just a joke? Do you even
have a soul?"

"You're right, that was inappropriate,"
George admitted, legitimately feeling as if he'd stepped over the
line. "Believe me, I sympathize with your plight. It sucks."

"He doesn't want a pet. Do you know what he
wants?"

"What?"

"He wants me to bite him."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Can you imagine that? The sick,
twisted lunatic wants me to turn him into a werewolf. I mean, to
believe in werewolves in the first place you've got to have a
gigantic screw loose, but to want to become one...?"

"That
is
peculiar," George
agreed.

"What do you think is going to happen to me
when I bite Mr. Dewey and it doesn't do anything? Do you think he's
going to say 'Oh, goodness gracious, my mistake!' and let me go, or
do you think he's going to kill me? My death is going to be on your
conscience. Can you handle that?"

"I'm not that familiar with the werewolf
legend, but you'd have to change into a wolf first, right? He
wouldn't just make you give him a nibble on the hand as a
human."

Ivan sighed with
frustration. "Fine, so when I don't change into a wolf,
then
he'll kill me. Are
you okay with that? No problems working for somebody so severely
wrong in the head? I don't know about you, but if I heard about
somebody whose brain is so diseased that he's kidnapping innocent
human beings in hopes of getting a werewolf bite, I'd stay as far
away from him as possible."

"I guess you're smarter than we are,
then."

"I guess so. I have to go to the
bathroom."

"Hold it."

"I can't."

"Think about the desert."

"Do you have one of those things on your
palm?" Lou asked.

"What things?"

"The star thing."

"A pentagram?"

"Yeah."

Ivan held up his palm, which Lou checked out
in the rear-view mirror. "No. And would you like to know why I
don't have a pentagram on my palm?"

"Because you're not a werewolf?"

"Exactly! Because I'm not a werewolf! I
manage a temp agency! This is bullshit!"

"Again," said George, "the only way this is
going to end is with you being delivered as promised. Pleasant or
unpleasant. The choice is yours. Most people go with pleasant."

"They're calling me a werewolf, but you're
the ones who are inhuman!" Ivan said. "You're the monsters, not
me!"

"That's deep," Lou noted.

"If you do this, it'll haunt
you for the rest of your life. You will always be somebody who took
an innocent guy to his death for being a werewolf. That doesn't go
away. No matter how long you live, you'll never not be that person.
Thirty years from now, when I'm long since tortured and dead,
you'll still be the guys who were told that a man in a cage was a
werewolf--a
werewolf
--and delivered him into the hands of a deranged maniac who
believed in that kind of nonsense. Do you really want all those
years of sleepless nights?"

"Thirty years from now, one or both of us
will probably be dead, too," said George. "Our work is pretty
dangerous. I'm actually surprised Lou is still around. He really
doesn't take care of his body."

"Not only will you be the men who drove an
innocent person to his death, but you'll be the men who casually
dismissed him when he tried to explain the insanity of the
situation. Even if I were a werewolf, you'd be the villains
here."

"Okay, you've talked enough," said George.
"Shut up for a while."

"Oh, I'm sorry, are my desperate pleas for my
life annoying you? I wouldn't want to be an inconvenience. I
certainly hope that my shrieks of pain when they're dissecting me
don't cause an unpleasant sensation in your eardrums--I don't know
if my mutilated body could live with itself!"

George turned on the stereo, cranking up some
classic Metallica to drown him out.