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.
CHAPTER THREE
Lycanthrope Chatter
“Holy crap, look at all of those things.” Lou pointed out the window at where eight or nine alligators were sunning themselves along the edge of the water. The wretched creatures were all along Tamiami Trail--Lou had stopped counting about an hour ago when he reached one hundred, much to George’s relief--but that was the most they’d seen at once. The fact that they were on the other side of a fence didn’t provide much comfort.
“That’s why I’d never live in Florida,” said George.
“The gators?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think anybody ever gets eaten by them. Maybe in extreme cases, if somebody’s dumb enough to go messing with them, but aside from that I think gator attacks are pretty rare.”