The old man screamed in pain. George grabbed his other hand and quickly broke his right thumb as well. Douglas’ scream intensified, becoming so high-pitched that George might have almost found it amusing were this not a serious, professional matter.
George waited patiently for a couple of minutes until Douglas stopped shrieking and thrashing. “It’s all over now,” he said. “I know it hurt. But, hey, in another time and place they would’ve chopped your hand off for stealing a loaf of bread, so a pair of broken thumbs for sixty-three thousand dollars isn’t a bad deal. A better deal if you’d actually got to keep the money, but you know what I mean. So are you cool with your cover story?”
Douglas nodded and wept.
“Technically, I’m supposed to break another finger for your attempt to bribe me, but I like you and I’m going to pretend it didn’t happen. You should feel lucky--I’m not always this nice. We won’t tell if you don’t. We’ll get out of your hair now. Please don’t take any more drug money that doesn’t belong to you, okay?”
* * *
“Jeez, I hate that sound,” said Lou as they pulled out of Douglas’ driveway. “I’d almost rather have his fingers get cut off, know what I mean?”
“I don’t think he’d agree with you.”
Lou shivered. “It’s just disturbing.”
“I thought he took it pretty well.”
“They usually do, when it’s your turn. Maybe we should stick with that dynamic. I kinda like being the quiet creepy one.”
George chuckled. “Nice dynamic. You supervise and I do the manual labor. Screw that.”
“I’m not saying I won’t ever rough them up. You’re just a better communicator is all.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I hate this car.”
“Me too.” George and Lou were both big guys, and the car wasn’t designed for big guys. George stood six-five, and though he wasn’t quite the all-muscle physical specimen at age forty-three that he’d been at age twenty, he was still in fine shape. Lou stood an inch taller and had let himself go a little bit, but even with a potbelly, he was one intimidating son of a bitch.
They both had black hair. George wore a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee, while Lou favored a full beard, which he was in the process of re-growing out like a mountain man, since he’d reluctantly trimmed it before a classy job a couple of weeks ago. Normally they wore black suits, but it was too damn hot and muggy down here in Florida, and so they wore only their white dress shirts. Red tie for George, no tie for Lou, sweat stains for both.
George’s cell phone rang. “It’s Ricky,” he said.
“Tell that scrawny punk to get us a bigger goddamn car next time.”
George pressed the “talk” button and put the phone to his ear. “Get us a bigger goddamn car next time, scrawny punk.”
“I love you too, George,” said Ricky. He made a kissy sound into the phone. “So did the old guy cry like a baby?”
“There were tears.”
“Oh, yeah, I bet there were, I bet there were. Did you leave his fingers at a freakish angle?”
“Why’d you call, Ricky?”
“I pulled some strings and got you a top-notch assignment.”
In Ricky-speak, that translated to I’ve got a crap job that nobody else wants. “What is it?”
“I can’t talk about it over the phone. Let’s just say that I hope you’ve got some silver bullets handy.”
“What are we doing, killing a werewolf?”
There was a long pause on the other end. “Look, George, pretend to be surprised, okay? I wasn’t supposed to give the werewolf part away.”
“You’re serious? Some whack-nut really wants us to kill a werewolf?”
“What werewolf?” Lou asked. George waved at him to shut up.
“It’s an easy job,” Ricky insisted. “There ain’t no such thing as werewolves, I know you know that, but this guy Bateman, he swears he’s got one in captivity, and he needs you to drive it up to this other guy Dewey.”
“Dewey. Like the decimal system?”
“Yeah. And you should make that joke when you see him. Guys in his position, they get a real big kick out of people making fun of their names.”
“I wasn’t making fun of it. I was clarifying it.”
“Anyway, it’s not even a half-day job. You’ll be on the red-eye back to New York tonight.”
“Are we seriously expected to drive with a wolf in the car?”
“Nah, he’s in human form. And it’ll be a van. Lots of legroom. But I’m not supposed to be telling you this, so act surprised.”
“So it’s some crazy guy who thinks he’s a werewolf? I’m not so keen on sharing a van with the mentally ill. He’s not going to be howling and crap like that, is he?”
“Just forget I said anything,” said Ricky. “I’ll text you the address. Be there in an hour.” Ricky hung up before George could protest.
“What werewolf?” Lou asked.
“I don’t know. I think Ricky’s screwing with us.”
“Remember a few months ago when we had to lean on that guy who wore the dog collar around his neck because he thought his head was gonna fall off?”
George scowled. “Don’t remind me. What a joke that was. Maybe we need to treat Ricky with a little more respect so we can get a higher class of assignments.”
“Respect would just confuse him. He enjoys our suffering.”
“He’s going to be doing a lot of suffering of his own if he was lying about this being a quick job. I’m serious--I’ll pop his nose like a water balloon. I’ve gotta get out of this state.”
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.”