“What are his other weaknesses?”
“Pretty much just silver, as far as we can see. And he’s an arrogant son of a bitch. Now can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“How exactly are you going to catch him? Because all I can think of is to follow a trail of corpses.”
“We’re quite a bit more sophisticated than that.” Prescott pulled what George had thought was a GPS from its mounting on the dashboard. “Ivan Spinner had a chip implanted into his arm while he was in custody. We know exactly where he is.”
“Holy crap! Really?”
“Really.”
“That’s fantastic! That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. I mean, sure, pretty much all of the news I’ve heard today has sucked shit, but still, that’s great news! Did you hear that, Lou?”
“Where is he?” Lou asked.
“You’re on a need-to-know basis.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like you very much and don’t feel like sharing.”
“Can we at least have some weapons?” George asked.
“Bait doesn’t need weapons.”
“So are you catching him or killing him?”
“As of right now, the plan is still to capture him. If that changes, you’ll know by the dead werewolf at your feet.”
“Will he be tortured after we get him?”
“That’s not for us to decide.”
“If I get a vote, I hope he is. One last question: if you guys are so fantastic, why didn’t they have you do this job in the first place? Why hire us?”
“Because we’re expensive as hell.”
“Are you worth it?”
“We’ll find out, won’t we?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Trackers
“He hasn’t moved for the past few minutes,” said Prescott. “He’s probably resting, licking his wounds.”
Or he’s dead, thought George. Now that they had the professionals on their side, the thought of Ivan’s death wasn’t as appealing. Much better to get him tranquilized, back in custody, and over to Dewey where he belonged.
“He heals quick,” said George.
“Did he expel the bullets?”
George shook his head. “Nah, not that I saw. As far as I know, he still has a bunch of bullets rattling around in his skull and ribcage. How do you think he gets them out?”
“Hopefully through an extremely painful process of manual extraction. But his body may just reject them and squeeze them out like a splinter.”
George had an amusing mental image of bullets popping out of Ivan’s head like zits. Then he had an even more amusing image of Ivan’s entire head popping like a zit. Actually, any mental image that involved harm coming to the werewolf provided George with at least a small level of entertainment.
“How’s it going?” he asked Lou.
Lou held up another one of the bloody antiseptic wipes for George’s inspection. He’d made a pile of about a dozen of them now. Lou was clearly doing his best not to wince and show weakness while he disinfected his wounds, but his jaw was clenched tight and it was definitely not a pleasant process.
“You’ll need to get bandaged up quickly,” Angie told him. “Looks like we’re almost there.” She didn’t offer to help.
Lou ripped open the front of the left leg of his pants. He unwrapped a large bandage and pressed it against a six-inch-long cut that ran lengthwise above his knee.
“So what’s the big elaborate plan?” George asked as Sam took an exit off the highway that promised gas, food, and camping.
“It’s not elaborate,” said Prescott. “We will park a safe distance from where he’s resting, and either you or your partner will walk out there and make your presence known. The way your partner looks right now, I think it should be you.”
“Agreed,” George said.
“When the target shows himself, we’ll get the net on him. Problem solved.”
“How exactly does that work?” George asked. “Are you setting the net up beforehand?”
“No, George,” said Prescott, once again making no effort to conceal his disgust. “We have a net gun. An expensive one. Believe it or not, it’s much more effective than tossing a blanket over an animal’s head.”
“How’d you know about that?”
“You’re famous.”
“Just so you know, the blanket did have a few silver rings sewn into it.”
“And you thought something like that would slow him down?”
“It might have. We were dealing with a supernatural creature. For all we knew, those rings could’ve sucked out his energy or something.”
“Did it work?”
“Maybe. A little. Or it might have been all the times we shot him, hit him, and kicked him that slowed him down. Either way, it didn’t hurt to try.”
“I suppose it didn’t.”
“Do you disagree?”
“I can’t honestly say that I would have tried it myself. There’s a fine line between innovation and just being silly.”
“There’s also a fine line between being honest and being an asshole.”
Prescott actually smiled in a non-asshole manner at that. “You’re right. I apologize.”
“And I accept your apology. Are you guys good shots with the net gun?”
“Absolutely.”
“Will he be able to get free?”
“Not easily. And by the time he does, we’ll have pumped a few darts into him. You’ll be safe.” Prescott looked at Sam. “One mile away.”
Sam turned onto a dirt road that reminded George of the one where Ivan had escaped. At least the first time.
“You’re going to walk straight,” Prescott told George. “Angie and I will be on either side of you. If he runs away, we’ll give chase, but try to keep him from running away.”
“If he runs, you won’t be able to catch him.”
“We’ll catch him. We can always track him with the chip. He’s not going to escape.”
“Where is the chip?”
“Need-to-know basis. This is far enough, Sam.”
Sam stopped the van. Angie got out of her seat and slid open the side door. George patted Lou on the shoulder as he followed Angie out of the vehicle. He, Angie, and Prescott went to the back of the van.
“I’d feel a lot better about this if you gave me something to defend myself,” said George.
Angie opened the rear doors, revealing an impressive stockpile of weapons. “We’d give you a tranquilizer gun,” she said, “but they’re too big for you to hide, and we don’t want him to know that we’ve got one. Best we can do is this.” She took a small pistol down from a shelf and handed it to him. “If what you’ve said is true, it won’t stop him, but it might give you a couple of extra seconds to live.”
George tucked the pistol into the holster under his bloodstained shirt. “I’ll take it.”
“And I’ll go you one better,” said Prescott, giving George a tiny plastic baggie. “That’s a cyanide capsule. If you find yourself about to suffer a fate worse than death, swallow that.”
“I think I’ll pass.”
“Trust me, we’ve got ours.” He touched his earpiece. “Sam, how’s our connection? Good.”
Angie quickly strapped the crossbow to her back. Prescott handed her a long rifle, then took one for himself. George tossed the baggie back into the van.
“Just walk along the path,” Prescott told George. “Stay calm. Don’t do anything suspicious. If you can get him out into the open, that’ll be extremely helpful. Don’t let him know we’re here--we will decide the appropriate moment to strike.”
“All right,” said George. “I’m trusting you guys to have good aim.”
“We’re almost perfect.”
George extended his hand to Prescott. “Best of luck. If we all survive this, I’m buying the beer. As much as you can drink.”
“I’ll take you up on that.”