Wolf Hunt (32 page)

"Sounds good."

"Make sure it's him before you start throwing
dynamite."

"I can handle that."

"If he kills me, avenge me." George pulled
the van right up in front of the bowling alley. There were no
screaming people rushing out of the exit yet, so things still had
the potential not to completely lose control. George took two of
the grenades from Lou, slipped one into each pocket, then got out
of the van and ran inside the building.

He glanced around. Surprisingly decent
music played over some speakers. He could die to Guns n' Roses if
he had to. Only about five of the twenty or so lanes looked like
they were being used. Obviously it wasn't League Night. Some guy
dropped to his knees and raised his hands, apparently cursing the
heavens as he got a gutter ball.

Where was Ivan?

The main desk where you paid for your
game and got your shoes was to the right, so Ivan probably would've
gone in the other direction. George turned to the left and walked,
bracing himself for a werewolf attack at any moment.

There he was. In the game
room. Seated in a stool in front of
Ms.
Pac-Man
. Facing George and not the video
game.

Ivan held up his hands to show that
they were empty. His voice sounded tired, resigned. "Why are you
still following me, George?"

"We've already been over this. You're
a killer."

"And I'm going to continue to be a killer as
long as you follow me. How many people do you think are in this
bowling alley?"

"It doesn't matter. What you did
before--it's never going to happen again."

"Look, George, we both have the potential to
be reasonable men. This is stupid. You don't want me to kill any
more innocent people, and I don't want you following me trying to
blow up my car. Remember when you wanted to cut a deal? I'm ready
to cut a deal."

George shook his head. "We're not giving you
any money."

"I don't want money. I want peace. Just a few
hours of peace." He smirked at George. "Oh, by the way, are those
grenades in your pocket or your testicles for safekeeping?"

"They're grenades."

"So why don't you throw one at me?"

"I'm here to talk, just like you,"
said George. That wasn't even remotely the truth, but if he was
going to successfully use the grenades, he'd have to catch Ivan
unaware. The last thing George needed was to throw a grenade and
have it batted right back in his face.

Or he could shove one down Ivan's
throat and pull the pin. That idea worked, too.

"We're two sides of the same coin, you and
me," said Ivan.

"No, we're not."

"Yeah, you're right. Forget I said it. Just
trying to connect. However, I really do think we can talk this one
out, because you've got something I want, and I've got something
you want. Those are the two elements in a successful deal, my
friend."

"So what is it you want?" George asked. "For
me to just let you go? That's not going to happen."

"I'm not asking for a permanent treaty. I
just want you to tell me where the tracking chip is, and then I'll
leave. Nobody else dies today."

"It's in your leg."

"Wrong. See, I can tell when you're
lying to me. That's how close we've grown. They didn't tell you
where it was, huh?"

"Nope. Sorry."

"Figures. So my next request is to watch you
smash the tracking device. Take all of your frustration out on it.
Pretend it's me. I know Bateman and Dewey can still follow me, but
all I want now is to get you off my tail."

"You don't have a tail."

"Yeah, I know. I'm thankful for that."

George cleared his throat. "Well, Ivan,
despite my appearance, I am indeed a businessman. You're right, we
both want something from each other. My question is, how can I
trust you? You can watch us stomp on the tracer, but if we're
supposed to let you go, how do I know you won't turn the corner and
start killing people?"

"Well, that's a tricky one.
The answer is that I don't
want
to kill anybody else tonight." Ivan held up his
arms, revealing a mostly healed but still hideous gash on each of
them. "I'm tired. I've got all of those bullets in me that have to
be taken out. I've murdered a lot of people today, more than you
even saw, and it's like an Olympic athlete setting a world
record--they don't want to jump right back in the pool and try for
another one."

"I'm not sure that metaphor is correct, but
continue."

"All I want to do is hide out and rest for a
while. My promise to you is that I won't kill anybody else. I'm not
even planning to stay in the country."

"Neither are we."

"Well, shit, let's just make sure we're
fleeing to different countries and everything will be fine."

"Sorry."

"Then how about we settle
this over a game of
Ms.
Pac-Man
? You get high score, I'll surrender
myself to you. I get high score, you leave me alone.
Fair?"

"Now I feel like you're stalling."

"You know, George, I've tried to be friendly
during this little discussion. Make a deal, go our separate ways,
and end this in a reasonably pleasant manner. But I don't get the
impression that you want to work with me."

"I wonder why?"

"Because you're a fucking idiot. If they can
find me wherever I go, then I have nothing to lose. Do you think I
want them to hunt me down in a cheap motel and take me out while I
sleep? Fuck that. If you're not going to cut a deal, then I'm just
going to go out in a big-ass blaze of glory and kill every fucking
person in this place."

"All right," said George. "We'll destroy the
tracer."

"Thank you. Call Lou."

"You don't want to see it in person?"

"I'm sure he's got video capability on his
phone. Tell him to video himself stomping the tracer to pieces and
then send it to you."

A little kid, maybe seven or eight
years old, walked into the game room.

"The arcade is closed," Ivan informed
him.

"No, it isn't."

"Are you really going to argue this with me?
It's closed. Get out of here."

The little kid gave Ivan the finger and
left.

"You know," said Ivan, "there was a time when
kids would respect their elders. They don't even respect their
parents anymore. If I'd flipped off an adult when I was that age,
my middle finger would be in a cast."

"Mine, too."

"It's really sad where society has fallen. I
mean, I'm not going to sit here and try to convince you that I'm
helping society in any way, but compare the impact of me killing a
few people to the overall damage done by the fact that our nation's
youth no longer has any shred of respect for their elders. If you
could trade my killings for a generation that doesn't give adults
the finger in arcades, wouldn't that be a good deal?"

"What the fuck are you even talking
about? That's like your whole vagina-with-teeth speech." Either the
werewolf was having a mental breakdown, or he was trying to
distract George from some sneaky plan that he was working out.
George needed to cut this conversation short.

He took out his cell phone and punched in
Lou's number.

Ivan seemed to visibly relax.

That was good. Real good.

George knew that Ivan could not be trusted.
The second Lou trashed that tracing device, Ivan would change into
his wolf-self and go on another slaughter spree, laughing the
entire time. "Oooops, sorry, George! I thought you knew not to
trust a homicidal lycanthrope maniac! Better luck next time!"

Let him go, even without
destroying the tracer, and Ivan could rack up another twenty,
thirty,
fifty
corpses before they found him again.

He just needed a moment to catch the werewolf
off-guard.

This looked like a good one.

George did not have the advantage of being
able to transform into a literal wolfman, but he'd stored up a
shitload of anger today. There was absolutely no reason to try to
control it anymore.

"Lou? I'm going to need you to destroy the
tracer and video it. Don't argue with me! Goddamn it, Lou, just do
it! Send me the video the second you're done."

He hung up.

"How about a quick game
while we wait?" George asked, stepping over to the video game. "I
didn't think you could find
Ms.
Pac-Man
anymore. That's pretty cool. I
suppose you were a fan of that werewolf game."

"Which one?"

"That one from the 80's. With the
werewolf."

"Never heard of it."

"It's that one where--" George grabbed Ivan
and threw him to the floor. As Ivan transformed, George dropped
onto him, knees landing on his stomach, and pulled the grenade out
of his pocket.

He slammed the grenade against Ivan's
mouth, breaking off another fang. Ivan snarled and twisted his
wolf-head to the left and right, struggling against the attack, but
George summoned every ounce of his rage and jammed the grenade in
there.

George took a claw to the arm. He
didn't let that distract him from his purpose. Ivan was much
stronger, but George only needed to hold him down for a few more
seconds...

The grenade was in there deep enough
for the son of a bitch to choke on it, but Ivan's head was
thrashing so violently that George couldn't get at the
pin.

He grabbed for it, not even caring if he lost
a couple of fingers in the process. Ivan's tongue slid over his
hand as George's index finger curled over the grenade pin.

He yanked it out.

And at that moment, Ivan's rage surpassed
George's own. He pushed himself up, sending George tumbling to the
floor, then spat the grenade at him.

It landed on George's chest.

He scooped it up and tossed
it. He was suddenly more concerned with getting the explosive off
of his chest than taking out the werewolf, so his throw went wild.
The grenade bounced against the console of a classic
Centipede
machine and
exploded, shattering the screen and sending debris
flying.

Ivan flexed his claws.

George quickly dug the other grenade out of
his pocket.

Ivan ran out of the arcade.

George got up. His legs, burnt from
the dynamite, now felt like they were actively on fire, but he
pushed through it. He'd have plenty of time to wallow in agony
later.

He ran out of the arcade after him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The Final Fight

The explosion had already started a
flood of terrified people fleeing for the exit, and the werewolf
running out of the arcade added to the screams. George was right
behind him.

Though he didn't want to waste his
last grenade, if Ivan went for kills rather than escape, this might
be George's last chance to use it before Ivan started slicing his
way through a bunch of innocent people. If he could at least keep
Ivan from going out the main entrance, the werewolf might try to
run out the back, in which case Lou could take care of
him.

A heavyset woman nearly knocked George
over in her stampede to get out of there. Ivan was not going for
the entrance--he was going for a crowd of people at the snack
bar.

George had only a few seconds before a
grenade would cause collateral damage. He pulled out the pin and
lobbed the grenade at Ivan's back.

It came up short, but
not
too
short. The
grenade went off as it hit the floor, spraying Ivan with incendiary
material. He stumbled, lurched forward, and fell.

George rushed at him.

The werewolf was back up before he got
there, but Ivan changed direction, jumping down a few stairs to the
actual bowling lanes. Every step felt like his legs were being
pressed against a hot grill, but George continued to follow
him.

George jumped down the five stairs.
With the impact, he literally believed that his legs were going to
collapse underneath him like an accordion, but they mercifully
remained intact.

Ivan ran onto the lane.

Then he slipped.

He didn't fall, but the slip was all
George needed. He scooped up a bowling ball and did an overhead
throw, hurling it at Ivan's back.

Unlike the grenade, this throw did not
come up short. The ten or twelve pound ball struck Ivan in the
center of the back, knocking him down onto the shiny wooden
lane.

George jammed his fingers into the holes of
another bowling ball and ran onto the lane with the werewolf.

If he ever got to retell
this story, George would enhance this portion, laughing gently as
he told his grandchildren about how he rolled the ball down the
center of the lane, bashing the werewolf in the face.
And then I shouted "strike!"
he'd tell them.

Instead, he adjusted his grip so that he held
the bowling ball with both hands, and brought it down upon Ivan's
head.

Though Ivan's skull didn't crack open, the
force of the blow definitely left a dent.

George bashed him again. Then once more.

The ball popped out of George's hands and
rolled into the gutter.

Ivan scrambled forward. George wrapped his
arms around the werewolf's leg, forcing him to drag George along
with him. George tried to rip off chunks of fur as they moved down
the bowling lane.