Michele’s mind raced as she tried to think of something to offer him. But she just couldn’t concentrate. She was going to die. Oh, God, she was going to die.
Ivan got out of the van. A moment later he opened the back doors. “Miss me?”
Michele scooted to the back of the cage.
“Don’t do that. I’ll think you don’t trust me.” Ivan grinned. He ran a hand through his blood-slicked hair. “How does it feel to know that you only have minutes to live? Wait, don’t answer that, let me guess...it feels like...wait, I can get this...it feels bad! Am I right? Do I win?”
Michele didn’t respond. If he opened the cage, she’d attack him like a wild animal. She’d probably lose the fight, but she’d go for his eyes with her fingernails and put up a hell of a struggle.
Ivan’s grin faded. “You know, I like to joke around a lot, but when it comes right down to it, I’m a pretty serious guy. So let me present you with your options, and I’d like you to truly focus on which one you prefer. The first option is to let me come into that cage after you, at which point I will transform into a wolfman, pin you down, and ruin you.” He paused, presumably to let that sink in. “In the second option, I won’t kill you at all.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Just give me your hand.”
“No.”
“No? I just offered you the chance to stay alive. Don’t dismiss it so quickly.”
“What are you going to do?”
“It’s a surprise. Give me your hand.”
Michele shook her head.
“When I said that I was going to ruin you, I didn’t mean that in a ‘put you out of your misery’ way. You will die worse than anybody you’ve ever read about. You’ll be wishing that all I was doing was ripping out your fingernails with my teeth. We are talking about a level of agony that people base religions on. Is that your choice? Because it seems like a bad one.”
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry...
“You really should give me your hand.”
“Come in here and get it.”
“So let me get this straight. You are choosing a horrible, bloody death where your body parts will be scattered for miles over the option where you live?”
“I’m not giving you my hand.”
“I’m not going to keep it! Jeez. Okay, I’m going to do something that I never do. I solemnly swear that if you give me your hand, I will not kill you. Not tonight, not ever. That’s a promise.”
Visions of being chained in his basement as a torture slave for the rest of her life flashed through Michele’s mind. “I don’t believe you.”
“Do you believe me about the horrible bloody death part?”
Michele hesitated. “Yes.”
“The ‘let you live’ part is just as true. I think you should trust me on this one. I’m not sure I can emphasize enough how much better of a deal option two would be for you. Give me your hand.”
Michele really did not want to do this...but for some freaky, messed-up reason, she believed Ivan when he said that he wouldn’t kill her. Whatever he did to her would be awful, there was no question about that, but she could either trust him or hope that she could beat him when he crawled into the cage.
Better to trust him.
She scooted to the front of the cage.
“You’re making a good choice.”
Michele took a moment to work up her courage, then slid her right hand through the bars.
Ivan took it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A Job For The Pros
“Are you sure you’re not going to bleed to death?”
Lou nodded. “I’m getting blood all over this poor guy’s car, though.”
“It’s probably insured.”
“This piece of crap? No way. I guarantee you he’s only got liability. It would probably cost more to insure it than the trade-in value of the car.”
George considered that. “What do you think it’ll cost him to get the bloodstains out?”
“A shitload.”
“Poor bastard.”
“Yeah.”
“I guess in the grand scheme of what happened tonight, the guy with a bloody car isn’t getting such a bad deal, but I’d still be pissed if I were him.”
“Plus, we’re not done with the car yet,” said Lou. “We could end up wrecking it.”
“Yeah, the way things are going a blown-up car is a definite possibility. Although I think the worst is over.”
“Well, so did I, until you just now went and jinxed it.”
George smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Hey, Lou, is it okay if I get all deep on you?”
“Aw, crap.”
“Bear with me. It’s my fault that all those people died today.”
“No, it’s the werewolf’s fault. Don’t beat yourself up.”
“I should be beating myself up. This is a really appropriate time for that kind of thing. Look, I know we’re basically scumbags. We hurt a lot of people, but it’s usually people who deserve it.”
“Not always.”
“That’s why I said ‘usually.’ When we do bad things, we’re shaking people for money, breaking a couple of bones, maybe cutting somebody if they need it. We never orphaned kids. We never murdered people just for kicks.”
“We didn’t, but we still suck.”
“I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to be a good person.”
“May I speak freely?” Lou asked.
“Of course.”
“Fuck you, George.”
“That’s how you respond to me wanting to be a good person?”
“Yep. You don’t want to better yourself. You’re just a selfish prick. This is about making you feel better, not about helping anybody else. If you wanted to become Mother Theresa, you should have done it when that poor old guy begged you not to break his thumbs, not while we’re driving away from a bloodbath. I don’t want to hear about any recanting of your previous ways in the middle of a really bad situation. You want to be a better person? Make that decision when we’re sipping Margaritas on a luxury cruise.”
“Margaritas are chick drinks.”
“No they’re not. Jimmy Buffett sings about them.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I’m going to make it up to the victims for what happened.”
“How? By bringing them back as zombies?”
“I don’t know yet. Those kids who lost their mother, maybe I’ll pay for their college education.”
“What? Are you brain damaged?”
“What’s wrong with doing that?”
“I know I said the term was offensive earlier, but George, that’s completely retarded. You’re not going to send those kids through college. What are you going to do, go around offering financial support to everybody we’ve wronged?”
“Not everybody. Just the worst ones.”
“Give me a frickin’ break. You want to help somebody you’ve wronged? Help me. Buy me a new shirt and pants. Get me some goddamn Band-Aids.”
“I will.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m being completely serious. I’m going to start helping people. Sure, maybe I’ll wake up in the morning and decide that the college education idea is kind of stupid--”
“You will, I promise.”
“--but I’m going to do whatever it takes to clear my conscience. Maybe it won’t be big things. Maybe it’ll be a bunch of little things. Maybe I’ll...I don’t know, entertain kids or something. Dress up as a clown.”
“Kids don’t like clowns. Kids are scared of them. You’re going to terrorize the children you’re trying to entertain.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. I’ve never been more lost in a conversation in my life.”
“I just want to be a better person.”