He hated when George said things like “If I’m not back in a few minutes, get out of here.” What that really meant was “If I’m not back in a few minutes, sigh with frustration, utter a couple of your favorite expletives, and then embrace your heroic side.” George knew that Lou wasn’t going to simply drive off and leave him, despite the overwhelming temptation to do so.
“Does he do this a lot?” Michele asked.
“Foolishly chase werewolves?”
“You know what I mean.”
Lou shook his head. “Nah. Things usually go pretty smooth.”
That was true. It wasn’t as if their lives were a series of disasters. Even excluding the supernatural element, the path this job had taken was unlike anything they’d ever experienced. They’d exchanged some gunfire with gangsters, just barely dodged the cops a few times, and once, when he’d been carving a scarlet “A” on a cheating husband’s arm, the man had somehow gotten a hold of his switchblade. A quick punch to the nose corrected the situation, but it had been a pretty scary moment.
Overall, most jobs, even the most distasteful ones, went reasonably well.
Lou had decided that he might give this lifestyle another five years, keep building up his nest egg, and then retire. Enjoy life. Travel to places that he wanted to go. Find a girlfriend, and then propose to her. Let his beard grow down to his navel.
If he had to die before that, so be it, but he didn’t want to die chasing a werewolf. Werewolves should be left alone. He and George should’ve told Ricky to suck it and made him find somebody else.
“C’mon, George,” he said under his breath, still watching the front door. “We shouldn’t be here.”
“Should you go in there after him?” Michele asked.
“I’ll give him a couple more minutes.”
“I can wait here. I’ll honk if somebody’s coming.”
“What you mean is, you’ll drive away as soon as I get out.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Of course you will. I would.”
“You saved my life.”
“Right. Which means you probably have a newfound appreciation for not being dead. And I hate to say this, but your ten percent has pretty much been flushed down the can.”
“I figured that.”
“Do you think there’s some kind of reasonable explanation for this? I mean, it’s hard to stay a skeptic when a man changes into a wolf-thing right in front of you, but do you think there’s some way he could’ve faked it? Penn and Teller, they could probably pull that off, don’t you think?”
“Not unless they’ve turned to sorcery instead of illusion.”
“Crap.”
“Yeah.”
Lou shifted in his seat. “I’m surprised the cops haven’t shown up yet. That damn wolf was running down the street in broad daylight. What about those people on the porch?”
“They’re probably throwing out all of their weed.”
“Could be.”
“Or maybe the police don’t rush out to respond to werewolf reports.”
“Well, the people who called in wouldn’t have to say it was a werewolf. They could just say it was a big dog.”
“But if they did use the word ‘werewolf,’ that could explain why the police haven’t given this a top priority.”
Lou nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Also the people who live around here might have day jobs.”
There was a crash from inside the house. Lou sat up straight.
Did that noise relate to damage inflicted by George, or to him?
“Crap,” he said.
Michele said nothing. She looked as if she might be back to considering making a run for it. If she did, Lou probably wouldn’t try to stop her, though he had no plans to tell her this.
He sighed.
More crashes.
He had to go in there. No matter how dumb or bordering on suicidal it was, he had to go in there to try to help his partner.
“He’s gonna get me killed,” Lou muttered, unfastening his seat belt. “Or maimed. It’s officiaclass="underline" you’re seeing me alive for the very last time because of him. Son of a bitch. Excuse my language.”
“No problem.”
Lou looked over at Michele, took the keys out of the ignition, and pocketed them.
“So you’re leaving me with no way to escape if the wolf comes back out?” she asked.
“I’m leaving you with no way to ditch us, correct.”
A gunshot rang out from inside the house. Lou hurriedly opened the door and got out of the van. More gunshots went off as he ran toward the front door. Oh, how this sucked. This sucked so thoroughly. It was hard to even quantify the level of suck involved here.
He pressed the button on the handle of his switchblade, snapping out the blade, and then opened the front door and stepped into the living room, hoping to see George stomping up and down on a pile of werewolf mush. Instead, the living room was empty.
A commotion in the hallway.
He ran over there and saw Ivan, fully transformed, looming over George. Ivan’s back was to Lou. Lou’s first instinct was to freeze, but he forced himself to ignore the terror and rush at the creature. He slashed diagonally across Ivan’s back, left shoulder to the right side of his waist, cutting deep.
The werewolf howled in pain.
Wow. The switchblade seemed to work better than bullets.
Ivan spun around and Lou slashed him again, cutting in the opposite direction. Ivan howled once more, clawing at the long red gash, and then violently shoved Lou out of the way. Lou smashed into a dent in the wall that he thought may have already been made by George, but kept his footing as the werewolf rushed past him, through the living room, and out the front door.
“You hurt him!” George shouted. “You actually hurt the bastard!”
“Are you okay?” Lou quickly reached out his arm. George grabbed it and pulled himself up.
“Yeah, I’m fine! What’s important is that he’s not! Let’s go!”
“Where?”
“After him!” George hurried into the living room, and then into the kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m getting the guns!”
George returned, holding both pistols. He gave one to Lou and hurried for the door. “Come on!”
“But--”
“If he’s weakened, maybe we can take him down! He’s a deranged psychopathic killer, Lou! We can’t let him escape!”
Lou followed George out of the house. Psychopathic killer? Who had Ivan killed? Was the blood on George’s clothing not his own?
Michele slammed the door of the van shut. Clearly she’d been trying to make a break for it, but retreated back to the safety of the vehicle when Ivan came outside. The werewolf ran past the van and down the sidewalk, moving with great speed yet at a visibly slower rate than during the previous chase and leaving a small trail of blood.
“In the van!” George shouted.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Lou threw up his arms in protest, but still got in the van. He tossed the keys over Michele to George, who started the engine and sped off.
“We’re going to run him down,” said George. “We’re going to squash him underneath the tires, and then we’re going to back up and do it again!”
Ivan ran along the sidewalk, just ahead. George looked wild-eyed, almost deranged and psychopathic himself, and Lou suddenly wondered if he’d survived his brief fight with the werewolf only to perish in a van wreck. “Don’t drive on the sidewalk!”
“I’m not going to!” said George, although it kind of looked like he was.
Ivan darted across to the other side of the street, then onto somebody’s yard and crossed between two houses. George slammed on the brakes.