by RJ Blain
Absorbed in watching her antics, I ignored the vehicle coming up behind us until I heard the crunch of gravel as it slowed. Expecting a curious neighbor wanting to catch up and make small talk, I stopped and turned to see who it was.
A lot of people owned guns in Nebraska. I had enough time to identify the shooter as a middle-aged man in a black suit driving a beat-up Ford before he opened fire. I felt the first round catch me in the shoulder before registering the concussive blast of the weapon discharging. The muzzle flashed a second time, but I felt nothing more before my vision faded to black.
Chapter Four
My would-be killer couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn at point blank range, so while the shooter managed to punch a pair of holes through my shoulder, he missed anything important, including my heart and lungs. I’d done more damage to myself when I fell, cracking the back of my head into a rock.
Concussions sucked.
Mages could fuse bone with a little work and time, but organs, especially the brain, were another matter entirely. Some people believed if mages and doctors could overcome the obstacles surrounding the regeneration of soft tissues, they’d unlock the secrets of eternal life. Closing wounds and encouraging skin to heal with minimal scarring was as close as humanity got.
Luckily for me, since gunfire wasn’t a common occurrence near my parents’ place, several curious neighbors searched for the source of the commotion. Instead of bleeding to death on the side of the road, I woke up in the ER. ID’ing me was easy enough; everyone in town knew who I was, and within ten minutes of my arrival at the hospital, both my parents showed up, still in uniform—mostly.
Dad’s had seen better days, since shifting from human to his hybrid form tended to make a mess out his clothes. Under normal circumstances, I doubted the doctors would have let an enraged, frothing werewolf into their ER, but there were benefits of being a werewolf’s son. We shared the same blood type, and if he were going pass the lycanthropy infection to me, he would have before I’d been born. While normal human blood would keep me alive and kicking, werewolf blood would enhance my healing beyond any magics humans possessed, although I’d pay for my hastened recovery with a high fever.
I still had to consent to the risks of contracting lycanthropy, which I found amusing. Mom did, too.
Dad just snarled until Mom tired of his ruckus and swatted his muzzle to make him stop scaring the doctors. While I thought it was hilarious, no one else appreciated my good mood. After everyone in the room had taken a turn scolding me, the nurses began the transfusion process. A pair of doctors did something to my shoulder—something I wasn’t invited to watch; they poked me with a needle, and the lights went out.
Growls woke me.
Normal people would have panicked at hearing snarling werewolf nearby, but having spent most of my life listening to my grumpy father vocalize his displeasure, I ignored his fussing, leaving Mom to deal with him, and moved on to the next interesting thing, a rather obnoxious and steady beeping. My mother had several ways of calming her cranky werewolf, most of which weren’t suitable for an audience. I wondered how they’d manage after she had her first shift.
I probably didn’t want to know. Actually, I was a hundred percent certain I didn’t want to know. I was grateful my mother had found a way to calm him without the risk of giving me a little brother or sister.
One of me was bad enough. I couldn’t imagine my parents inflicting another child on Earth. The Earth wasn’t ready for another Gibson spawn.
“You two are noisy,” I complained. I’d get around to opening my eye eventually. Maybe. “Can’t a man enjoy his near-death experience in peace?”
“Oh, baby,” my mother whispered, and a moment later, I felt her brush my hair off my forehead.
“You didn’t steal my other eye, did you? I already told you. You can’t have either one of my eyes in a jar. I’ve only got one left, so you can’t have it.”
While she laughed, her voice was strained. “You’re an awful child.”
“I try. It’s hard to live up to your expectations.” I began the systematic process of testing my fingers and toes. Everything cooperated, but my right shoulder wasn’t pleased with my efforts. “Some dick shot me and stole my alpaca. I need a gun and an alibi, because I’m going to hunt him down and show him the right way to kill someone. And take my alpaca back. That’s important, too.”
Issuing threats had seemed a good idea, but my parents only sighed. I did accomplish one thing, though. Dad stopped growling.
“You’re going to be stuck here for three days, Shane, so you won’t be hunting down anyone and shooting them. The doctors won’t discharge you until they confirm you’re clean of lycanthropy. Your father donated a substantial amount of blood, so the doctors are worried you might become infected despite your resistance.”
“I’d like to file a complaint. Can’t they just send someone with a meter to the house in a couple of days?”
Lycanthropy infection wasn’t even a big deal. Unless the person was infected before birth, it usually took decades for the first shift to happen. Since the virus levels of the infected were monitored, doctors could reliably predict when the first shift would happen, complications were rare, and the danger associated with a new lycanthrope was minimized.
When Mom shifted, she’d be retired from work until she could demonstrate full control over all three of her forms. With Dad as the source of her infection, she’d become a wolf with the prized hybrid form, and he’d be able to teach her how to control it.
She’d be back to work within a couple of months.
“That’s what I tried to tell them, but they seem to think you’d prefer imprisonment in the hospital. Maybe if you tell them, they’ll change their minds. Your father’s going to growl himself hoarse. He’s not going to calm down until he gets you home. I’m sure he’ll remember how to speak English given a few minutes or a tranquilizer. I’m starting to think a tranquilizer is the way to go. I don’t understand how they think I’ll get him to leave in two hours.”
I thought about that and realized I had no idea what time visiting hours ended at any of the Lincoln hospitals. In Chicago, visitors were kicked out at ten. “What time is it?”
“Seven. You’ve been out of surgery for three hours. They brought in a mage from Des Moines to fuse your shoulder together. Between her help and your father’s blood, you won’t have any impairment. Your arm will be in a sling for the next week as a precaution. She did some pretty good work.”
I grimaced at how much flying in a mage would cost me. “My bank account doesn’t thank you.”
“Your insurance is covering it. Your father enjoyed having a little conversation with them.”
“Isn’t Dad limited to growling right now?”
“Emphasis on little. I merely told the agent you were the son of a rather agitated werewolf, and that I was infected, and it’d be absolutely terrible if stress induced my first shift. It’d be like detonating a bomb in a busy public place. A werewolf with the love of his life going through her first shift and his only beloved child critically injured during a drive-by shooting isn’t a force to be trifled with.”
“I’m starting to think you’re the reason I’m such an awful child, Mom.”
She laughed and kissed my cheek. “Is there a reason you’re keeping your eyes closed?”
“You mean he didn’t steal my glass eye along with my alpaca? Asshole. So, can you get me that gun and alibi?”
“No, Shane. We’re looking for Sally, though. I was going to call in some favors, but it turns out everyone is already on it. We have a description of the vehicle, and there’s quite the manhunt underway. Let us worry about finding the man who shot you and recovering your alpaca while you worry about healing.”
Since Mom wouldn’t be happy unless I demonstrated I still had one functional eye, I cracked it open and peeked through my lashes. The yellow lights overhead triggered a headache, and I hissed at the discomfort, giving up on the idea of l
ooking around the room. “Let’s forget the whole opening my eyes thing for a while. Have I ever told you concussions really suck?”
Dad growled and snapped his teeth together. “Don’t listen to your mother. The concussion is the reason you’re staying here overnight. You about cracked your skull open on a rock when you went down.”
“Hey, Dad. How about that gun and an alibi?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“You’re the best father a son could possibly have. Get me a good gun. Something with a lot of bang for the buck. Hollow point rounds for starters, maybe?”
“Calibre?”
“The bigger, the better?”
“You sure woke up cranky. The drugs wear off already?”
“They stole my alpaca.” Getting shot was bad enough, but why would anyone kill someone to take Sally? She was adorable, and I’d grown accustomed to sharing my sleeping space with her, but she wasn’t cute enough to kill someone over.
Then again, maybe she was. I sure wanted to get my hands on a gun and hunt the bastard down. The ache in my shoulder had something to do with my desire to stir up some trouble and participate in an act or two of violence.
The lycanthropy virus was probably another contributing factor. The bloodlust would fade around the same time the virus worked its way out of my system, which would happen when Dad’s blood was replaced with mine. Assuming, of course, I didn’t end up with a permanent lycanthropy infection.
What was the downside to turning into a wolf capable of ripping people apart with my hands? Ah, right. The control issues and potential of ripping someone apart unintentionally. I couldn’t even remember the last time someone had gotten ripped apart because the Center for Disease Control had begun monitoring those infected with lycanthropy and providing services to new werewolves.
“When I meant for you to find a lady, fall in love, and settle down, I meant with a sentient, Shane,” Mom complained.
“It’s progress, Patsy. He’s obviously smitten with his little pet, which proves he is, in fact, capable of loving others. It’s our fault we didn’t get him a pet while he was growing up. Maybe if we’d gotten him a horse of his own, he’d be more comfortable showing us how much he loves us.”
Mom huffed. “He loves me more than he loves you.”
“You wish.”
My parents settled into bickering over which one of them I loved more. Unless I picked one of them, they wouldn’t stop. Picking neither wouldn’t help, and picking both wouldn’t, either. Of my options, annoying them both seemed more entertaining. “Maybe I actually hate both of you, and you should be arguing over who I hate the least. Compared to Sally, you’re hardly blips on the radar. Allow me to present some evidence. Mother, I scraped a pancake off the kitchen ceiling this morning. You know what? Don’t even get me started about you, Dad. You’re both the reason I’m such an awful child.”
“That would explain why he refused to give me his eye.”
“I refused to give you my eye because I gave it to someone else first. In a jar, too.”
“Shane! You didn’t!” My mother wailed. “That’s not fair.”
Dad chuckled. “Medical vault?”
“Who knew a mason jar and some preservative cost a hundred bucks? Ridiculous, if you ask me. I think they should have paid me to keep my eye. Insurance refused to cover it since they won’t even consider an advanced replacement.”
“That’s my boy, thinking ahead.”
“But I asked first!” I was willing to bet everything I owned my mother was pouting.
“Actually, the surgeon asked me if I wanted to store it in the medical vault when I arrived at the ER. I said yes before asking how much it cost. You were the second to ask me. Sorry, Mom. You snooze, you lose.”
She sighed. “This is all your father’s fault.”
“How is this my fault?”
“You convinced me lycanthropy wasn’t so bad. You didn’t tell me I’d end up with a son like this!”
I laughed. “Just let her shear your fur, Dad. That’ll keep her quiet for one whole hour. Go home. It’s not like I’m going to get into any trouble here.”
“I can’t say he’s wrong.”
Dad sighed. “The instant we leave, cops will be in here questioning you about what happened.”
“If they bring me dinner, and something better than crap hospital food, they can ask me all the questions they want.”
“Pizza, tacos, or fast food?”
“Is that Chinese place I like still open?”
My mother groaned. “Unfortunately. How can you stand that garbage?”
“I like it. If they bring me offerings of bad Chinese food, I’ll answer any questions they have.”
Next time, I needed to more carefully word my bargains. While a quartet of my parents’ co-workers brought me enough Chinese food to feed Dad, they had no interest in limiting their questions to the shooting. I should have known better.
In Lincoln, Nebraska, gossip amongst cops and their families was a way of life. They’d gotten the important questions out of the way first. It didn’t take them long to walk me through my morning up to the shooting. One of them even doubled as an artist, and within twenty minutes of the session’s start, they had a sketch of the middle-aged man, his junker Ford, and his gun.
“I have to give you credit, Marshal. That’s a damned good drawing of that truck.” I pointed my chopsticks at the detailing of the rusted-out wheel well. “Why aren’t you the permanent artist at the station, anyway? You’re good enough.”
“And miss partnering with your mother? You’ve got to be kidding me. Since I doubt they told you, your parents were ‘strongly encouraged’ to take the next week off work, so I’m stuck with your father’s partner for a week.”
My dad’s partner, a centaur blending a human and a tiger, waved from his spot near the door. I liked Winston Emmanuel. Few had no fear of my father’s disturbing strength, tendency to drool, and inclination for howling inappropriately in public. “Don’t tell Marshal this, but it’s a relief not having to rein in your old man for a change. It’s like they expect me to hold him back if he flips out.”
“They actually took vacation time?”
Hell had truly frozen over. Even when I’d lost my eye, my parents hadn’t taken any time off work. Granted, I held a certain amount of responsibility for that, resulting in early morning calls with my mother each and every day. This time, instead of a phone call, I expected her in person.
“When our chief gives strong suggestions, they’re not ignored. It’s all right. It’s not a suspension. It’s just a very flexible shift. One where they aren’t expected to show up at work unless called in. Now, the chief did suggest they’d get an invitation to the bust if it happened on our turf. That made them both quite happy for some reason.”
“Is he trying to make it a blood bath? Because that’s what’s going to happen, Winston.”
The tiger centaur chuckled. “When an ex-cop gets shot in a drive by, everyone wants a piece of that pie, Shane. So, we’re going to take it from the top and get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible. I very clearly heard your mother growl that you’d answer all our questions if we bought you that horrible Chinese. We did. You’re stuck with us now.”
“I don’t see why everyone hates this restaurant,” I complained. “I like it.”
My mother’s partner sighed and pointed at my dinner. “That ‘General Tao’s’ is overcooked chicken meat in hot sauce someone introduced to an orange that somehow turned out crunchy. It’s vile, Shane. Anyone who eats it loses their taste buds. They’re charred off. It doesn’t even taste like General Tao’s.”
I took a defiant bite of my dinner, which was rather crunchy and hotter than hell. “Maybe that’s why I like it.”
“You know the routine. How many cases in Chicago were you involved with that may have left someone behind wanting you dead?”
I missed being able to properly perform a dramatic roll of my eyes. Rolling one
just didn’t cut it. “Possibly a few, but it’s a long hike to Nebraska just to kill a cop with a tendency to leave warnings rather than issue tickets. I let a lot get away with ten over, unlike half the department. There were a few domestic disturbance cases, but none of them were in any position to come hunting me here while wearing a suit. In fact, I’m pretty sure most of ‘em wouldn’t know what to do with a suit if you gave it to ‘em as a gift.”
“Ghetto jobs?”
“Mostly.”
“What about this alpaca of yours?”
“I picked Sally up in New York after a corpse fell from a skyscraper onto a car I was standing beside. She was tied up in the back seat. The NYPD would have put her down, so I claimed her and took her home. Granted, she’d been spitting mad and nailed one of the cops, but I’d be pretty angry, too, if I were hogtied in the back of a car with three corpses.”
“Any reason anyone in the car might have wanted you dead?”
“I sure hope not. Sally was the only living thing in the car. That’d be a pretty awkward situation. Driver’s neck broke when the corpse busted through the window-glass windshield. Passenger’s throat was cut open, but I’m willing to bet his neck broke, too.”
All four cops grimaced, and Winston sighed. “They never learn, do they?”
“They don’t get a chance to learn, since both times I’ve seen it, they died. No one stuck around, so I was the only witness questioned. My history with the Chicago police wasn’t brought up. I told them why I was in town, what I witnessed, and that I would take custody of the alpaca. Apparently, my mother has named her Sally. For the record, Sally is my alpaca, no matter what bullshit my mother attempts to feed you.”
My dad’s partner laughed. “How many jilted girlfriends do we have to consider as possible suspects?”
“None.”
“What do you mean by none? Even with the scar and false eye, you’re not a bad lookin’ gentleman, Shane. Surely you have a few girlfriends in the wings.”
Since killing my dad’s best friend and partner would probably land me in a lot of hot water, I settled for a one-eyed glare. I even closed my right eyelid so he could get a better look at my scar. “I’m the son of a werewolf, Winston. We have a reputation, and it’s not one the ladies like. And so help me, if a single one of you cracks a joke about my mom, I’ll demonstrate the many ways I can turn my chopsticks into lethal weapons.”