by Michael Dunn
Harold believed his people should have killed Bordeaux in his sleep just to protect themselves. Bordeaux wasn’t a man in the strictest sense. He was akin to a man who was possessed with a demon inside, much like the rest of his filthy community. Although legend had it Harold’s people believed in skinwalkers for centuries, Harold thought the legends possessed as much reality as stories involving mermaids and minotaurs.
The reservation was worried a community of werewolves would come after them, but Bordeaux kept his word and they never did. In fact, their arrangement has proven beneficial for both parties, but that didn’t mean they had to like each other.
Harold smiled and raised his hand in the classroom. “So, then, if our skeletal structures are so solid, is it possible for it to change into another form, oh, let’s say, I don’t know… like a wolf maybe?”
The eyes of the boys behind Harold grew large and wide, but never turned yellow. JP woke up from his social climbing daydream, and Tony stopped drawing a ’65 Mustang while occasionally taking class notes on the side. Both listened intently.
Thankfully, the class and Mr. Landon laughed. “Perhaps, Mr. Jones, you should stop reading so many comic books. Truth is that type of instant radical transformation would rip the human body apart. We’re not designed to handle that kind of strain. You’d die of a heart attack within the first thirty seconds of the transformation, and if you didn’t die from the heart attack while your heart and other internal organs changed, you most certainly would die of shock. So, Mr. Jones, even though you live in Bestiavir where the legends of werewolves run high, you are pretty safe during the full moon.”
The class laughed, and the boys released a sigh of relief, but Harold Jones continued. “What about all the reports throughout the centuries, and not just in Western Europe, but all over the world? They all can’t be making it up. There has to be some truth to it.”
“Stories, yes, but no supported facts.”
“What about lycanthropy? Lycanthropy is in the medical books. I looked it up.”
Mr. Landon paced behind his desk with a finger to his lips. The class waited for him to speak again, especially the two boys in the back.
“Okay, I have to admit I am not an expert in this field. However, from what I have heard about lycanthropy, briefly I must admit, it’s that it is an aberration of the brain where people believe they turn into wolves, but not really. It’s like saying you’re from Mars. You can say it all you like, but it doesn’t make it true.”
The class laughed. Mercifully, the bell rang and class was dismissed.
As the class piled out, Tony and JP followed Harold into the hall where JP shoved Harold into the lockers. Before Harold could respond, JP had his hand on his throat and extended his fingernails into Harold’s neck, not enough to draw blood, but it hurt.
JP spoke slowly and over-articulated every word. “Just what the fuck did you think you were doing?”
“I was just asking questions.” Harold smiled, amid the pain.
By then, the other Indian boys were slowly walking toward JP and Harold. This confrontation had been building between Harold Jones and John-Paul Grenier for years and looked like it was about to be settled here and now. The Indian boys had a look mingled with fear and anger. They might’ve jumped JP if Tony was not there. Tony was the wild card.
“JP, just let him go.” Tony said. “He’s an asshole, but you can’t do this.”
“No,” JP growled.
“He needs to be put on a short leash.” Harold smiled seeing his posse had arrived.
“Harold, shut up!” Tony yelled. “You’re not helping!”
“Why should I? You people are all fucking monsters and should be put to sleep.”
JP squeezed tighter and dug his nails further into Harold’s neck. Harold winced and the Indian boys stepped closer. Tony stepped between Harold’s rescuers and JP.
“JP, don’t.” Tony whispered. “That beating Bordeaux gave you will feel like a mosquito bite compared to this.” Then Tony dug deeper and told JP the awful truth: “Bordeaux won’t forgive you for this.”
“Yeah, JP, you don’t want to upset your master.”
JP stared into Harold’s eyes, sneering and snarling. He was still human, but was barely keeping his composure.
“I bet you want to kill me.” Harold challenged. “I bet you’re thinking about mauling me, ripping me apart. I bet you want to eat my heart and my flesh?”
“At first, yes,” JP said and nodded, then smiled, which turned into a terrifying leer, “but then I got a better idea. I’m thinking about just biting you and letting you go.”
JP’s menacing smile widened as he watched Harold’s smugness morph into fear.
“Think about it, Harold,” JP whispered in a chilling voice in Harold’s ear, still smiling, so only Harold and Tony could hear. “Think about having the wolf blood running through your veins. I wonder if a newly infected, such as yourself, would be able to feel it inside you. Think about having to fear the full moon every month and hiding away from your people so you won’t kill them. Think about what it’ll mean to your community. You’ll probably have to move to the trailer park with us. Think about how your own people will most likely shun you or treat you little better than they did ‘my master’ years ago. You could take Benny’s place. Larry needs a new best friend.”
Sweating, Harold tried to mask his fear with smugness. He whispered, “But if you bite me, your master will kill you. I’ve heard about your rules. If you infect anyone with your, your disease, you will die and so does the one you bite.”
“Maybe we’ll just have to see how unbreakable that law actually is. One bite is all it takes and you’ll be riding with Tony and me to school. How does that sound?” JP leered at Harold. “You know, it’s kind of funny now that I think about it, but you’re a bit of a racist. How do you like that, not to be any better than those guys on the football team? You know the ones I mean. The ones I’ve been asked to take care of as a courtesy to you and your kind.” JP could smell the fear on Harold and JP loved it.
It was almost time for the tardy bell to ring and Tony said, “JP, the best way to handle this is to let Bordeaux take care of it.” Tony had been JP’s conscience since they were little kids, and he was right. After what happened Saturday night, JP was ready to let the adults handle this one.
JP let go of Harold, who fell to the ground and rubbed his neck. Harold got up and ran away humiliated. The other Indian boys kept their eyes on JP and Tony.
“What now?” JP asked, not the slightest bit happy.
“We tell Bordeaux Harold was making trouble. It’ll be okay. You’ll see. Now, to make this all better, you have to go pick a fight.”
Chapter Twelve: No Scratching, No Biting
April 12th, 1971
When the local Navaho Indians had a problem and needed it resolved quickly, discreetly, and indirectly, they went to see Robert Bordeaux. When a couple of the high school boys were threatening to scalp two of their own, Robbie and Lori Thompson, over a supposed repayment for what the Thompson’s ancestors had done to these boys’ ancestors, Bordeaux was asked to take care of it as a favor, who gave it to JP to handle.
JP was honored Bordeaux thought he was capable and responsible enough to do something for him, even after the colossal fuck up he orchestrated days before. Bordeaux rarely asked for help, but when he did, he always enlisted the aid of the older men, like Gard Brandner and Rene Naschy. When he needed help from the younger generation, he always asked Tony – always Tony.
But this was different, because JP had some edge over Tony in this matter. JP was going to take this opportunity do whatever it took to show Bordeaux he could do whatever was asked and he would do it better than the others, including Tony – especially Tony.
The reason was simple. JP loved Robert Bordeaux.
Since JP didn’t know his own father, and never would, he took Robert Bordeaux as a surrogate father, and after all, Bordeaux was the father of the community, so i
n a way, he was a father to them all. True, the old man was cantankerous, gruff, and secretive, but in JP’s mind it was better than nothing. He had the same spirit as the old man and the same desire to keep his people alive, so it hurt more to JP that Bordeaux favored Tony over him.
For all of JP’s many flaws, his most redeeming quality was his love for his own people, and that sentiment would not change throughout his life. Whatever he did was to protect the community, and when he led the attack on the VFW, it was because he felt he was protecting community.
He didn’t hate Bordeaux for the beating. He was hurt more by Bordeaux’s condemnation of the attack than the beating itself. JP wanted to know, like every person who has suffered unrequited love, why does that person love someone else more than me? JP wanted to know why Tony was more loved than he.
After school, JP found Jeff Morrison outside under the bleachers with his friends, the other members of their pathetic football team. JP usually did business under the bleachers after school, but he had to take the day off today to get back in the old man’s good graces.
Neither Jeff, nor any of his friends liked JP, and that was even better. JP smiled at their caution and apprehension as he walked toward them. He liked it that way. This was not a social call. This was a warning.
“Can I bum a smoke?” JP asked Jeff Morrison, who halted telling a story when JP approached. The group stopped laughing and went on high alert when JP invaded their circle. All of them were cautious and mistrustful of JP, because the smaller boy was not one of them.
“What the hell do you want?” Jeff asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be dealing over there?” Jeff pointed to the other end of the bleachers.
JP shrugged. “Not today. I’ve got other business to attend to, but I should be right back there tomorrow if you guys are interested. Right now, a smoke would be nice.”
There were five guys plus Jeff and all of them eyed JP. One of them tossed JP a Camel, and Jeff offered him a light.
“Thanks,” JP said. His face still had shades of purple and a black left eye, but he would be completely healed by tomorrow afternoon.
“What the hell happened to your face?”
“Got into a fight.” JP took a drag, and then got onto business. “Sorry to interrupt, but I gotta favor to ask.” JP said blowing out smoke, then continued. “You see, Jeff, I’ve been asked to ask you and the other guys here to leave Robbie Thompson and his little sister alone.”
“What do you care?”
JP looked away, took another drag, and exhaled slowly. “Honestly, I don’t. Before yesterday, I could’ve cared less if you beat the shit out of Robbie and tossed him into the river, but today, I have been told to care, so it has now become my business.” JP shrugged and said, “I have to ask you to leave him and his sister alone.”
Jeff Morrison was six-foot-five and over two hundred and fifty-five pounds, and when Jeff straightened his posture next to John-Paul, and the football player towered over the skinny blond boy. All the other boys were also physically bigger than JP, who was hardly deterred.
“What if we don’t?” Jeff looked down upon JP, grimacing.
“Then I’ll have to make you.” JP was deadly serious. Had he been some other skinny kid, without his reputation for fighting and winning, this group would not have been as hesitant to pounce on him at that moment.
“Who? You?” Jeff asked, clearing his throat.
“Just me and Brandner.” JP motioned to Tony, who was waiting for him in his car. “Feel free to bring as many guys as you want if it makes you feel better. All I need is Brandner.”
Jeff and the other boys laughed, but JP was just smirking.
“You can promise me that you will leave Robbie Thompson and his sister alone and I just walk away and this discussion never happened. Or you can continue to pick on those Indian kids and things will get really, really bad for you. Or, we can finish it once and for all. Your choice. Where would you like to meet?” JP did not take his eyes off Jeff once while speaking.
Jeff was sweating, but not because it was a hot New Mexico afternoon. He could not look bad in front of his pals and Jeff was twice his size. JP also said he could bring as many guys as he wanted and seven against two sounded like a fair fight to Jeff.
“The overpass. One hour.”
JP’s thin-lipped smile stretched across his face like the Grinch Who Stole Christmas as he nodded. “See you there.”
He walked away and then hopped into Tony’s car.
2
The Bel-Air skidded under the cemented hill of the overpass seventy minutes later, and they found Jeff Morrison, and his pals, who were waiting anxiously, almost itching for a fight.
Tony stopped the car, glancing at the clock. 2:55, because he had work in just over an hour. Hopefully, this wouldn’t take too long, he thought as the two boys walked to meet the football players, the conversation from the car continuing.
“I don’t know… I’m really worried about the car. I mean, did you hear it this afternoon? No, you didn’t and that’s what’s so messed up about this.”
The basketball star hardly noticed JP’s dismissive and repetitive ‘uh-huh’s’.
For a usually quiet guy, Tony could talk endlessly about his car or Suzie, but on any other subject, he was almost mute.
If this had taken place a year later, Tony and JP would have felt like Bordeaux’s enforcers and they would have compared themselves to foot soldiers in the Corleone crime family.
“Then I was worried that grinding sound was going to cost a lot. I thought it was a gear than needed to be lubed, but…”
“Hey, did you girls come here to fight or to bitch?” Jeff Morrison asked as they approached.
“Fight,” JP said, smiling. “Definitely here to fight.”
“First of all, the rules. No weapons, just fists.”
One of the over-muscled boys, Seth Hopkins chuckled as his gaze met Tony’s as he took a step forward to stand right behind his friend. “Weapons? You gotta be kidding, Jeff. These two girl scouts will probably just scratch and bite.”
JP scoffed. “Oh, don’t worry. We won’t bite.” He smirked darkly, teeth showing around the cigarette before flicking the cigarette to the side.
“And another thing…” Jeff started to say before JP slugged him. It wasn’t a hard punch for JP, more like a warning shot, but it dropped the All-American lineman to the ground. The impact on the pavement cut his mouth and loosened two lower teeth on Jeff’s right jaw.
“Did you come here to fight or to bitch?” JP asked, looming over Jeff. “One last time, are you going to leave the Thompson kids alone?”
Jeff whispered, “Fuck you.”
“Have it your way,” JP kicked Jeff in the gut and his friends attacked JP, tackling him to the ground.
As Tony stepped forward, one of Jeff’s friends went to strike him, but Tony quite literally beat him to the punch, knocking the kid out. The adrenaline pumped through Tony and triggered the animal inside, and now Tony welcomed the fight just like JP. Tony stepped in and punched the next guy who wanted to take a swipe at him. He loved this feeling, but later, he would hate the fact that he loved it.
Tony grabbed one of the guys on the pile on top of JP by the back of his shirt and flung him backward. The boy went flying, landing on Jeff’s car, cracking the windshield on impact, and dislocating his shoulder. Tony grabbed another guy and pushed him hard to the pavement. The kid broke his wrist on the fall trying to catch himself.
A snarl was growing in his throat for just a moment before he took a step back, closing his eyes tightly as he struggled to keep his inner wolf from coming to the surface. Exhilarating as this feeling was, he needed to control it. Turning his thoughts to his red-haired girlfriend, he managed to stay cool enough to stop his eyes from flashing yellow. After driving his foot into a football player’s side, Tony turned back to the pile to face the next boy who leaped at him to take his friend’s place.
Even at the bottom of the pile with four fis
ts and two feet pummeling him, JP was still having fun. He grabbed Tom Everett’s foot at the ankle and squeezed. The former defensive end screamed, his leg collapsing under him. JP then swung Tom’s leg like a poorly conceived club at the other two boys, knocking them over and giving him time to get up. Tom was down, nursing and crying over his sprained ankle. No longer a threat, JP moved on.
Tony picked up one of the boys JP had knocked over, his former teammate Henry Orland by the shirt.
“Wait, Tony, no!” Henry pleaded, his hands gripping Tony’s wrist for some manner of support. Tony cracked him relatively lightly on the side of the cheek, knocking him to the cement.
Tony bent over and growled a whisper to the former point guard, “Stay down.”
Henry obeyed.
Tony turned his attention to JP as a scream sounded behind him.
The last of the gang, Seth Hopkins, was on the ground, crawling backwards like a crab as JP approached him. JP’s shoulders were hunched and his head hung low.
Seth was stammering, his head back as he looked up in fear. “P-please, no! Don’t!”
Much to Tony’s horror, his friend’s advance didn’t stop.
“I give up, I give up!”
Still, JP didn’t seem to hear his pleas, the boy’s blue eyes locked on his classmate.
Taking a quick step forward, Tony clamped his hand just above his friend’s elbow.
“That’s enough.” Tony’s voice was low, his eyes fixed on JP’s. After a moment, his grip slackened as JP blinked, returning to his normal self.
“Let’s get out of here,” Tony said and JP nodded in agreement.
“One last time, are you going to leave the Thompson kids alone?” JP asked, looming over a terrified Seth Hopkins.
“Yes! Yes! I promise!”
In truth, Seth had nothing to do with terrorizing those Navajo kids. He just showed up because he wanted to help beat up John-Paul Grenier.