Werewolf Sings the Blues

by Jennifer Harlow

  “Shit,” Cooper says, glancing around.

  “Calm down. We knew this would probably happen.”

  “What’s happening?” I ask. “What the hell is going on?”

  The men finally remember I exist. “You need to come with us,” Donovan says.

  “Wh—” Before I can ask another question, Donovan clamps down on my arm hard enough to bruise and yanks me toward the parking garage. “Ow, asshole! You’re hurting me!”

  The Marshal ignores my protests, instead whipping out a cell phone and dialing. I glance back at Cooper, who grasps a gun in his hand. A gun. A motherfucking gun. My eyes bug out. What the hell is going on? “Yeah, sir. We got her,” Donovan says into his cell. He listens for a second. “He’s here too, just like you said.”

  “Who is he? Where the hell are you taking me?” I ask.

  “Shut up, bitch,” Donovan snaps.

  The ferocity and rage in which he spews those words dials the warning bells inside my head up to eleven. This isn’t right. They aren’t right. Every one of my sharply honed survival instincts is telling me to flee. “Let me go,” I say as I try to jerk my arm away.

  His grip tightens. “We’ll take care of him here,” Donovan continues to the person on the phone. “No other choice. If what you say is true, there’s no way in hell he’ll let us leave with her.”

  “I said, let me the fuck go!” I shout as I’m dragged through the parking garage door. I glance around for help. Not a soul in sight.

  Donovan squeezes me again so tight pain radiates down my bones like a shockwave. “I have to go, sir.” We cease walking, and Donovan puts away his cell.

  “Listen, I know my rights. I’ve done nothing wr—”

  Oh, fuck.

  Donovan slips out his gun, shoving it right into my side. Strangely, the moment that hard muzzle begins to bruise my rib, calm washes through me as I become acutely aware of everything. The warm night air. The faint sound of tires and voices in the parking garage twenty yards away. The distance to the door and the approximate time it would take me to run there. Not faster than a bullet. Also scrolling through my head are the lessons from years of cardio kickboxing. Eyes, nose, groin, solar plexus, knees, feet are the sweet spots. The problem is only Jackie Chan can subdue two men with guns, and that’s only in the movies. Plus he never wears heels. Fear begins to creep in, but I slice it dead with a samurai sword. Keep calm and carry on, Dahl.

  “Here are the rules,” Donovan begins. “Scream, I shoot you. Try to escape, I shoot you. Bring attention to us, I shoot them. Don’t follow my exact instructions … you get the idea. Follow those instructions, you’ll probably survive the night. Now put your hands behind your back. Cooper, get the cuffs off my belt. The ones on the left. The others are silver.”

  Silver?

  Donovan snatches my purse from my shoulder as I force myself to do as he says. Cooper slaps the cuffs on. “What’s the plan, sir?” Cooper asks.

  “We get to the garage, you flank right and hide. He’ll follow me because I have the girl. You see him, you don’t hesitate. Brain stem and heart. You really as good as he said?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re gonna need to be. Just make sure to empty the clip in him. Last thing we want is that fucker getting up again. Once it’s done, disappear. I’ll handle the rest.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He looks at me, calm as can be for someone who just ordered an execution. “Now, Miss Dahl, all you have to do is remember the rules and look pretty. Can you handle that?”

  I glare at him. “Yes.”

  “Good girl. Let’s go.”

  Once again he jerks me forward on the open sidewalk. There is no way in hell I’m getting in his car, I know that. They can shoot me dead, but I’m not getting in that fucking car to be tortured and raped in a field somewhere. I watch Dateline, I know how this shit rolls. No, I’ll wait until Cooper leaves, then make my move. There have to be people in the parking lot. Strike, run, scream. that’s gonna have to do. Oh fuck, please let it do.

  “Sir, do you smell that?” Cooper whispers behind me when we’re ten feet from the garage.

  Donovan sticks his nose up like a dog and sniffs. “Yep. Sweat and ectoplasm,” he whispers back.

  Ectoplasm? Isn’t that the gooey stuff from Ghostbusters? These guys are fucking nuts.

  “He couldn’t have changed that fast, and not with people around,” Cooper whispers. “It’s coming from inside the lot.”

  Donovan sniffs again. “You’re right.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Just shadow me to the car from a good distance. It’s still two against one, and he won’t do anything to put her in harm’s way. Just stay low, quiet and out of sight.” Donovan switches sides so the gun is in his right hand and me on his left. At least now the gun isn’t trained on me, it’s pointed out at whoever’s out there.

  We enter through a concrete arch into the parking garage. I hear cars starting, up a level, I think. People. The exit is on the opposite side of the garage with an attendant in the booth, maybe thirty-five yards around the corner. That’s my end zone. Cooper crouches and sprints to our right—the way I need to go, damn it—as Donovan keeps us moving straight ahead toward the up ramp. There are a lot of cars, one in almost every space, and Donovan’s eyes scan for the enemy as his nose twitches. I don’t smell a damn thing. We continue walking and the twitching increases, as does his apprehension. The creases in his brow are as deep as the San Andreas Fault. That nervousness is transferred to me like a virus, making breathing difficult. I force myself to calm down and pay attention. Strike, run, scream. Strike, run, scream.

  I glance behind and spot Cooper poking his head from around a concrete pylon. Fuck. Donovan stops our death march, and releases my arm. Not yet, Dahl. Not removing his eyes from the cars directly in front of him, an SUV and the back of the Camry, Donovan slowly lowers my purse while keeping the gun trained toward the SUV. He grabs me again, positioning me in front of him as a human shield, holding the cuffs to guide me. My heart beats so fast and strong it pounds in my ears like a Gene Krupa drum solo. We stop just at the edge of the SUV. Blondie must be hiding between the cars. Not sure how I should feel about that. Fear. All I’m capable of right now. Fuck. Donovan raises his gun barrel up beside his face, waits a never-ending second, then shoves me forward with him moving half a second behind. My body becomes locked, waiting for the inevitable shot to penetrate.

  Nothing. There’s nobody between the cars, just a slime-covered

  black jacket on the ground. I smell something now, salty and earthy. I have a split second to process this as Donovan draws his gun at the jacket.

  “Vivian, down!”

  I’m so hyper-alert I’m on the ground before my brain can catch up just as a gunshot rings out. For a moment I think I’ve been shot but feel no pain. Shock? No, I feel the grip of my cuffs vanish. When I glance back at Donovan, he’s gone, but where he was standing the glass of the SUV has shattered. I see a flash of the Marshal moving back the way we came. More shots from both left and right reverberate through the night. I’m pinned. Fu—

  There’s rapid fire, four quick shots from my left. On the fourth shot, movement by the Corolla to my left draws my attention. The blonde maneuvers next to me between the cars, in his right hand a smoking gun and the left … Holy fuck, I’ve gone crazy. His left hand is a paw, a dog’s paw with tan fur up to the elbow and sharp, really fucking sharp claws. I snap my head up to gape at his impassive face. I hear a click as the freak ejects the clip from his gun.

  Almost too fast to register, he places the gun in his closed left armpit to hold it, reaches back into his belt, pulls out another clip, inserts it into the gun, and presses the slide back with his paw. “You’re going to roll over the hood of the Corolla and the other two cars until you reach the end of the row to stay out of the line
of fire,” he says, eerily calm as he does the gun trick. “I’ll draw their attention and keep them here as long as possible. Move fast, don’t look back. My Mustang’s right across from your car. Turn around.” I do. Fur and hot skin brushes my hands as it moves to my cuffs. One yank, and as if made of breadsticks, the tiny chain breaks. I’m free. I pivot around again as he returns his attention toward Donovan’s direction. Blondie peeks around the corner. “Keys and cell phone are in my back pocket. Get them.” I obey. “Get in, keep low. There’s another gun under the seat. If I’m not there in five minutes, drive off. Do not go home, do not go to a friend’s house. Push redial on my cell and tell them what happened. They’ll give you further instructions.”

  “Who … the fuck are you?”

  “Your father sent me. Now go.”

  “My fa—”

  “Go!” He moves from between the cars into the danger zone, and I pounce into action as ordered. I throw my body on the Corolla’s hood and roll as the gunfire begins anew. I land between two more cars and take a breath before launching myself over the BMW, then the Volkswagen bug. That’s the last one. I stand up and notice the blonde’s gone. He said don’t look back. I take off around the corner and up to the second level as the gunfire ceases.

  This is not happening. This isn’t happening. I pump my legs as fast as I can. Running in heels is no easy feat. I have to pay attention to each stride and my footing, otherwise I’ll break my damn ankles. I’m just about to round the next corner when I hear a man roar in fury. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy movement and turn back down the ramp. As if hit by the Incredible Hulk, Donovan flies backward fifty feet like a ragdoll into the windshield of a car. The entire car jerks and smashes into the back wall from the force, glass and metal twisting. Holy shit. Wha …

  Keep going, Viv.

  One level to go. I sprint around the corner just as a car drives toward me. Thank God. “Help me! Please help me!” I shriek as I wave my arms. But the driver wants no part of this. He swerves to avoid me and guns it down the ramp. I begin trembling and have to stop running for a second to stare at the asshole. He didn’t stop. For fuck’s sake, what is the world coming to?

  Just keep going. Keep going.

  I run.

  My Bonneville comes into view along with Blondie’s Mustang. Yeah, no way in hell am I getting in that thing. I make for my car but realize I don’t have my keys. My bag’s on the first level. Shit! I’m gonna have to—

  A gunshot slams the air, this one very damn close. My front tire explodes, and I stop mid-stride.

  “Freeze, bitch.” Crap. I turn around to find Cooper near the stairwell thirty feet away, training his pistol on me. “Don’t you—”

  In the stairwell, something behind gets Cooper’s attention because, gun first, he spins around. The man doesn’t even make it all the way around before the back of his head explodes as a single shot booms around me. Cooper’s head jerks back as bits of skull and brain splash out. Motherfu … I’m too shocked and horrified to scream. I can’t even move as I hear pounding footsteps up the stairwell. A second later the blonde steps out, gun trained on Cooper’s lifeless body. The man bends down, checking Cooper’s pulse with his paw. Paw. It’s really a paw. Cooper must still be alive because the blonde puts two into his head and two more into his heart. I feel nothing, not even revulsion.

  The blonde’s eyes cock up and look into mine. “He’s dead.”

  “Oh.”

  Blondie shoves the empty gun into his pants and flops the corpse over to retrieve Cooper’s wallet. Just as the blonde finishes desecrating the corpse, my stalker tilts his head to the left like a dog and springs into the standing position. “The police are coming. We have to go.” He bridges the thirty-foot gap between us with a few strides, but I can’t move. I can’t take my eyes off that body. “Vivian?”

  That paw touches my arm. I’m snapped back to reality, or this new version of it. Gasping, I jerk my head up to see his face. It’s expressionless except for the eyes. A tinge of concern attempts to break through the ice. “Vivian Frances Dahl, daughter to Frank and Michelle, I am here to protect you and deliver you to safety. No harm will come to you, I swear on my life, but we must leave now. Please get in the car. Now.”

  Okay, not a fucking clue why, but I believe him. No other option really. I nod, and he nods back. My fate’s sealed one way or another. Blondie takes the keys and cell from my hand, which practically has to be pried open I’ve been holding them so tight. He unlocks the Mustang, and I follow him in. “Get the gun under the seat,” he says cranking the ignition. As I do, he maneuvers out of the parking spot. Glock 9mm. “If I ask, hand it to me right away and get down. Open your window.” My hand trembles so bad I can barely press the button to lower it. He drives normally, using the paw to turn the wheel. With the other, he hands me the first gun. “There’s a spare clip in the glove box. Reload this. Do you know how to shoot?”

  “Um, yes. Kind of.”

  Down the ramp there’s a small group of people, including a security guard, standing around the demolished car and Donovan. Bleeding, but not dead. Shit. He glances from the woman fussing over him to our car. Donovan says something and points at us. The guard’s mouth flops open, and he fumbles for his walkie talkie. Double shit. Blondie guns the engine, and I’m thrown back into my seat like we’re reentering gravity. We zoom past the bystanders and around the corner. Driving like a maniac he maneuvers us down to the gate. The attendant steps out of her booth, waving for us to stop. Yeah, right. I spot flashing lights and hear sirens to our left as the police approach. Without hesitation, Blondie smashes through the wooden gate. Tires squeal and the back of the car fishtails as he cuts a sharp right turn. Blondie gains control with a few quick wheel jerks, but I grip the door and dash for dear life.

  “Put on your seat belt,” Blondie orders, still calm.

  Oh. Right.

  Though my arms tremble as if I have advanced Parkinson’s, I manage to buckle the belt, though it takes three attempts. “W-What the fuck is going on? Who the hell are you? Who the hell were they?”

  “Shit,” Blondie says as he glances in the rearview mirror.

  I snap my head around and count three sets of flashing police lights dangerously weaving between the four lanes gaining on us. Holy fuck I’m in a real-life car chase. It’s a hell of a lot more frightening than the movies make it seem. I doubt Bruce Willis would feel like puking, like I do. “How well do you know this area?” Blondie asks.

  “P-Pretty well.”

  “The highway?”

  “Um … t-two rights, then a left at the second light.”

  We careen around the first right, back wheels sliding, narrowly missing an SUV. The entire time Blondie’s as calm as the corpse he just created in the parking lot. He yanks on the wheel to make the second right. “Those men were trying to abduct you,” he says, emotionless.

  “Y-Yeah. Got that part. Why? Why were you following me?”

  “I told you. Your father sent me,” he says, gunning through a red light as my back slaps against the seat again.

  “Why? I haven’t seen or heard from him in twenty-eight years. The fucker abandoned me and never looked back.”

  “Is that what you were told?”

  “Told? It’s the goddamn truth! I wouldn’t know the man if I met him on the street. Whatever is going on with him has nothing to do with me.”

  “I’m afraid it does. Hold on.”

  The maniac runs another red light as we turn left onto the freeway ramp. The Mercedes inches from us skids to a stop just in time, but not the Camry behind that. It smashes into the Mercedes. Oh, please let them be okay. On the bright side they’re blocking the exit so the cops can’t follow.

  “With what I’m about to tell you, you must keep an open mind,” Blondie says as he revs the car up to 100 mph. “Is that possible?”

  “I-I guess.” I am
staring at a man with a paw after all.

  “Twenty-eight years ago, your father was visiting another Marine named Dave Campbell at his cabin near Liberty Lake in Maryland for the weekend. While on that trip, your father was attacked and Campbell was killed by a rogue werewolf.”

  “A werewolf?” And I have officially entered Crazytown, population this asshole.

  “Yes,” he says, serious as syphilis. “The Eastern Pack had been tracking the rogue and quickly heard of your father’s attack. His new situation was explained, and he was brought back to the compound before he injured himself or others. He remained for three months until he had control of his beast and could return to you and your mother. But when he did, your mother … turned him away. She wanted no part of him or the pack. He returned to Adolphus and later became Alpha to the pack.”

  “No, he met some chick and ran off,” I state adamantly. “He didn’t become a fucking werewolf because they do not exist!”

  The man shoves his paw in my face. Damn those claws are sharp. “We exist.” He pulls the paw away and glances at the rearview again. “Shit.” I spin around and see a helicopter gaining on us. “Is that a field to your right?”

  “Yeah,” I say after a glance. Like a NASCAR master, he maneuvers past the other cars to the right, taking the first exit. The moment the exit ends near an onion field, the sweet earthy smell invading the car, he switches the headlights off. I can’t see a thing. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I have excellent night vision.”

  “Because you’re a werewolf,” I say with a scoff.

  “As were the men I just rescued you from.”

  “The U.S. Marshal Service employs werewolves?”

  “They were Marshals?” he asks.

  “Well, the one guy Donovan, the one you didn’t … you know, he had a badge. They said they were looking for you and my fa—Frank Dahl.”

  “No. They were there for you.”

  “Say’s you.”