“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.”
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?”