Sin City Wolfhound

by Rick Newberry

  “Other packs? Like us?”

  There’s silence. Then in a small worried voice, Lucy says, “I wouldn’t want to be a human when they get here.”

  “When is this going to happen?”

  “Soon. I heard Mikael talk about a big fight weekend. You know, that guy Salmonella making his comeback fight?”

  “You mean Sam Toretta. Salmonella is bacteria.”

  She giggles. “I hate boxing anyway.”

  “And The Alpha is in charge of The Convergence?”

  “No, silly. The Alpha is in charge of our pack. Mikael says each pack has an Alpha. And they’re all coming here.”

  “Then who’s doing this? Who’s in charge of The Convergence?”

  Before she can say another word, the door to the basement creaks open.

  ****

  “Sir, I’ve got good news and bad, which would you prefer?” Colonel Jon Dayton gripped the cell phone as he sat at the writing table in his suite, the A/C on full blast. The curtains were drawn allowing in only muted rays of sun, giving the room a cave-like ambiance. A half folded newspaper lay on the desk.

  “Your choice, Colonel,” Admiral Garrison growled. “The council is anxious. They want answers, and they want them now.”

  “Oh? Has something changed our status?”

  “Without question. It seems a pattern has evolved. The same types of attacks have occurred in New York, Baltimore, and Dallas. Not in the numbers seen in Las Vegas, to be sure, but enough to rattle the council.”

  Dayton took a few seconds to digest the information. “Is it an outbreak?”

  “Let’s don’t get ahead of ourselves, not just yet. What have you got for me first?”

  “Well sir, the local authorities seem to be doing everything they can to find the perpetrator. The bad news is: I don’t think they ever will. You see, they’re using standard law enforcement practices, absolutely useless in this particular case.”

  “My God, Colonel. What you’re suggesting…” The Admiral’s voice trailed off.

  “Yes sir, I believe this is an actual event. I won’t go so far as to say we’ve found ourselves a real live werewolf but, then again, it might be something more lethal, even more cunning.”

  Admiral Garrison grunted. “Stand by, Colonel. I’m going to patch the council in.” After a series of clicks, the admiral said, “Go ahead, Colonel Dayton, you’re on speaker.”

  “Good afternoon or evening, as the case may be. As I’ve just informed the admiral, what we seem to have here is terribly clever, in an almost human sort of way. There’s no predictability to the attacks, no common denominator in the victims. It’s as if he’s challenging us to stop him, like playing a game with us.”

  A woman’s voice said, “A very deadly game.”

  “Yes, but that’s the human side of it.”

  “I don’t follow, Colonel. The human side?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Call it the logical, thinking side of the beast. The other side is more visceral, more creature than man. The attacks are so violent in nature; it’s simply not possible for a human to kill in this manner. The photos will bear that out.”

  “Yes, we’ve seen the photos. So what you’re saying is this creature is half human, half beast, is that a fair assumption?”

  The air conditioning unit clicked off sending the room into a deadly silence. Dayton moved to the thermostat and requested colder air. “That’s my initial take. You see, a serial killer will inevitably leave clues, evidence, make mistakes, that sort of thing. There’s none of that in this case. Quite the opposite. The attacks are quick, violent, and clean.”

  “Admiral,” the woman’s voice said, “switch us off the line. We’ll get back to you shortly.”

  Admiral Garrison sucked in a large breath. “Colonel, you said you had some good news.”

  “Well, sir, call it a hunch, but Detective Ramirez, the local officer in charge of the investigation, can’t seem to find his girlfriend.”

  “Excuse me? It sounded like you said—”

  “Yes, sir. She’s a reporter for one of the television stations here in Vegas. Her name is Dixie Mulholland, and she’s been covering the case exclusively. She’s gone missing. It just strikes me as a bit odd—not likely for a reporter to keep a low profile under these circumstances.”

  “Of course, Colonel, you’re closer to the investigation than I am, but I don’t see what one has to do with the other.”

  “Sir, Miss Mulholland is the reporter who first called our friend the Werewolf Killer. She’s always seemed one step ahead of her colleagues. I have a strong suspicion the girl found something, or something found her.”

  “It sounds a bit farfetched. And, I don’t want to make any assumptions, Colonel, but—”

  “Unfortunately, it’s all I’ve been able to find that might be considered anything close to a lead. In the meantime, sir, can we get the DNA from the other attacks looked at, compared to what we have here in Las Vegas?”

  “It’s already been done. It’s a match.”

  Dayton felt cold fingers walk down his spine.

  “Is there anything else you need, Colonel?”

  He’d anticipated the question. The answer, however, would take some salesmanship. “My gut tells me the missing reporter has somehow gotten herself into the thick of it, but it’s only a guess. I need someone here that can help look into that aspect of the case without being too obvious. Someone with the ability to get inside her head, so to speak.”

  “Major Ransom.”

  Dayton smiled. “An excellent choice, sir.”

  “As a matter of fact Major Ransom is already in the States. I sent her to Dallas just yesterday to help with initial inquiries. And you’re right, if, as you suspect, this reporter is involved but can’t be located, Major Ransom is the most obvious choice. Tell our man Cuthbert to make the arrangements, and I’ll inform the major.” A quick chortle. “That is, if she doesn’t already know.”

  “Perfect.” Dayton smiled.

  A click echoed across the line followed by the woman’s voice, “Colonel Dayton. The council has decided to broaden the scope of the investigation.”

  “And that would be?”

  “It seems, due to the additional attacks, the parameter of the mission has been upgraded. Your orders are now quite singular in nature: to capture the creature…alive.”

  The air conditioning clicked off again. Silence crowded the suite.

  “Colonel, are you still there? You have carte blanch. Anything you need. Admiral, keep us informed.” Click.

  “Sir, this is the first event that has ever seemed, well, real to me. As I said, it may not be a werewolf, but it does appear to be something new, something undiscovered. I don’t know if capturing it would be a wise—”

  “It is not a request, Colonel.” The line went dead.

  Dayton placed the phone down and leaned back in his chair. This changed everything.

  He picked up the newspaper, peering at the front page picture of Sheriff Hendrickson pointing a menacing finger at the short blonde reporter blocking his way.

  “Where are you, Miss Mulholland, and what do you know?”

  Chapter Ten

  Light washes in from the open door of the basement as footsteps echo on the hard cement. My heart thumps in my ears, cadenced to the same rhythm as the steps. Neither Lucy, myself, nor our unknown visitor say a word. I can only lift my head about a half an inch before it hits the top of the cage.

  A whisper cuts through the silence, “Adam, are you in here?”

  “Dixie? Is that you?”

  The latch to the gate of my cage slides open. My legs neither hurt, nor do they move—they’re just numb. “Pull me out.”

  “Why can’t you crawl out?”

  “My legs don’t work, they’re cramped up.”

  Lucy joins the conversation. “Hurry up, grab his feet and yank him out of there.”

  “Whoa, who the hell is that?” I hear Dixie shuffle back a few paces, no doubt startle
d by Lucy.

  “That’s my sister. Open her cage, too.” Nothing happens. “Hurry, Dixie, please.”

  “Why is she locked up?”

  It’s apparent to me now that clear sides are evolving: good and bad canines; good and bad humans. “Don’t be afraid, she won’t hurt you, she’s on our side.”

  Lucy’s gate opens and shuffling and scraping sounds echo through the basement as she backs out of her cage. It’s a struggle for her, even with full use of her limbs; there’s no way I’m ever getting out without help.

  “C’mon, help me grab his legs.” Lucy takes charge—she’s like that.

  They drag me out of the cage feet first. The back of my shirt snags on a piece of wire. It claws into my back making me yelp. They keep pulling and haul me out as the buttons of my shirt pop off. I roll over onto my back and stare up at my rescuers. They eyeball each other like gunfighters in an old western.

  Dixie’s inspection of my sister starts at Lucy’s gray eyes, runs the length of her naked body, coming to rest on her dirty white feet. I can only imagine the kind of judgements Dixie’s making about my family. I slip out of my torn shirt and hand it to Lucy. “Here, put this on.”

  “Why?”

  “Please, do it.”

  Formal introductions will have to wait. I’m desperate to escape the basement, frustrated about being locked up in the first place, and angry at my frail human legs. “Help me get up; we gotta get out of here.”

  Without hesitation, Lucy grabs my left arm, Dixie my right, and together they manage to hoist me up. My legs are twisted and hopeless, looking like they belong on a rag doll. Painful tingles shoot down them, feeling like little rivers of lava. It’s not the worst pain I’ve ever felt, but it’s close.

  With my arms draped over their shoulders, they manage to lug me to the base of the stairs. Glancing up at the steep climb ahead, my heart sinks. No way can they haul me all the way to the top. “You two get out of here. You’ll have to leave me behind.”

  Lucy grabs my belt with one hand and reaches under my arm with the other. She puts her foot on the bottom step. “Well?” She stares at Dixie.

  Dixie stares right back—challenge accepted. They drag me upstairs like I’m a piece of furniture. By the time we reach the landing at the top of the stairs, I’m in agony. With considerable effort, I’m able to wiggle my toes.

  I turn to Dixie. “Why’d you come back for me?”

  “I never left. I followed you up the hill. When you went inside, I parked off the road and waited. For Christ’s sake, what was Sonny Russo doing here?”

  “Who?”

  “The casino owner?” Dixie stares at me like I’m supposed to know who she’s talking about. “He walked right out of your house, got in a car, and tore off down the street. A few minutes later, another man came outside with two huge dogs. He put them in the back of a van and took off. I didn’t know if you were, er, I mean, I’ve never seen you as a dog.”

  “Canine.” I correct her, then give Lucy a quick, self-conscious look. It’s always been an unwritten rule with my pack—The Alpha has drilled it into us—never tell humans our secret.

  Lucy scowls. “The human followed you home?”

  “Anyway,” Dixie says, “I waited a few more minutes and decided to come inside and look around, must be the reporter in me.”

  “And she’s a reporter?” Lucy whispers. “I swear, Adam, you’re so human.” It isn’t meant as a compliment.

  “Lucy, please listen to me. I’m still alive because of this human. She’s a friend, and she’s helping me put an end to this Werewolf Killer business. It’s got to stop, especially with The Convergence coming.”

  “What the hell’s The Convergence?” Dixie asks.

  “And how are you gonna stop it?” Lucy says. “Please, by all means, tell the reporter.”

  “By stopping The Alpha. You know he’s behind it, and he’s using Mikael and the rest of us as his weapon of choice.”

  Lucy gets in my face. “He’s not using me, and not you, or Ivan.”

  “Okay, but he’s still turned the rest of the pack into cold-blooded killers. Bane and Nina don’t deserve to be used that way.”

  “Or Flynn,” she adds.

  Dixie and I exchange an awkward glance. I want to tell Lucy about Flynn, but the words still won’t come. It would break her heart. Instead, I rub a hand across my chest. “I need another shirt.”

  Lucy grabs a dark t-shirt from a pile in the living room and tosses it at my face. “Here. By all means, cover yourself. The human might be offended.”

  “The human isn’t used to our ways.”

  “I’m right here,” Dixie says.

  My instincts have been dulled by the cramps in my legs. But as the pain eases up, I begin to sense things. All of the sudden, I’m aware of someone else in the house with us, listening to us bicker. Dixie helps me into my new shirt.

  Lucy sneers. “Aw, look at the human dressing her pet.”

  A low growl sounds in a darkened corner of the kitchen.

  Lucy jerks her head to the right. “Shhh—someone else is here.”

  Dixie digs her fingers into my back.

  “It’s Bane,” Lucy says. She turns to Dixie. “Get him out of here,” then to me, “I’ll take care of Bane.” She swallows hard and takes off the shirt I’d given her. Then she tears a strip of flesh from her arm revealing matted fur underneath. She does it so fast and without any ceremony, almost as if she’s slipping out of a blouse.

  “No, let me stay and help.” It’s pure swagger, of course. There’s no way my legs are in any shape for a fight and she knows it. Still, I can’t imagine leaving her alone with Bane. He’s not quite as big as Flynn, but he’s quick and strong—a good fighter.

  “Go!” she says, tearing off more sheets of flesh. Her transformation is seamless, rapid, and apparently without pain. In an instant, it’s complete. I’m in awe of her skill.

  Dixie is trembling and wraps her arms around me. She spins us toward the front door. My legs move, not very well, but enough to allow her to guide me out of the house. I’d be face down on the ground without any support so I hang on tight.

  It’s a clumsy dash into the early evening and across the street to her waiting Hummer. Snarling and yapping sounds echo from the house behind us. Neither of us dare look back as a high-pitched yip flies over our heads, a sound signaling distress.

  Dixie opens the passenger door and shoves me into the Hummer. She jumps in behind the wheel, and we skid away from the house only a few yards ahead of a wild-eyed Bane in frantic pursuit. Ribbons of red drip from his gray beard.

  My heart sinks. “Lucy.”

  ****

  Sonny Russo held the Cohiba Esplendido Cuban in one hand and a tumbler of McCallan single malt whiskey in the other. The hotels lining Las Vegas Boulevard had already fired up their enormous neon welcome mats even though a good hour of daylight remained. Russo surveyed The Strip and grinned. The tourists, forty floors below, had no idea their movements were being watched, examined like so many ants, by the richest man in Vegas.

  So far, so good. He’d done exactly what she asked, and she’d fixed everything as promised. His record had been expunged, his past associations were disassociated, and the gaming control board gave him a clean bill of health. He didn’t know how she’d done it, and he didn’t care. What he did know was now he was a new man, someone to be admired and respected.

  Gorgeous slapped the drink out of his hand, the crystal shattering into tiny shards across the marble floor. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Her constant smile, the one he’d once mistaken as sweet, almost innocent, no longer fooled him. It was nothing more than a mask, a façade as fake as the Eiffel Tower down the street. Hidden behind the smile was the secret she never revealed, at least not to him—a dark, impenetrable secret.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. It’s been a helluva day.”

  “Has it, sweetie? Why don’t you tell me all about it?”
/>
  He hesitated. Did she know what had happened? Did she know Flynn was dead? Or that he hadn’t killed Steel or Lucy? He decided to take a chance and keep those details to himself.

  “Sonny, is there something troubling you? You know you can tell me anything. In fact, I insist.”

  “No, Gorgeous, not at all.”

  “C’mon, sweetie, you can tell me. You’re my right hand man.”

  He sighed. “Well, now that you bring it up—I been thinking. You been good to me, Gorgeous, real good.”

  “That’s right, I have been.” Her smile remained fixed, unchanged. “You’ve taken care of my wolfhounds, and I’ve taken very good care of you.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Everything’s been swell, and I can’t thank you enough for doing all this for me. But now—” Was this the right time?

  “Keep going, Sonny.”

  “Well, now that them dogs are starting to, you know, kill people—a lot of people—I figure—”

  “You figure what, sweetie? You knew why I wanted my pack. You knew this was coming. Well, here it is. The time has come.”

  “Yeah, don’t get me wrong, I knew. But now that it’s really happening, well I figure maybe we should slow down a little. You know, look at the bigger picture.”

  “The bigger picture?” Her constant grin wavered. “You can see the bigger picture? Well then, by all means, explain it to me.”

  Sweat formed a slick across his brow. “Oh, now listen, I’m not telling you your business or nothing, I just figured, you know, with all the stuff I done for you, you know—buying up all them houses on that hill, and practically raising that pack of dogs—I figure maybe it’s time we just take it easy a little bit. Maybe we can settle up and make things square.”

  “Square?”

  “Yeah, you know, I got lots of money, and maybe I can just kind of step aside, you know, buy my way out of our little agreement. What’d ya say, Gorgeous?” None of it came out the way he’d rehearsed. He was supposed to be more in control of the situation. She was supposed to be more willing to listen.

  Instead, she paced a slow circle around Russo, reminding him of a shark. He held his ground. No, that wasn’t quite right—he could not move; his feet were as heavy as bricks. His breath grew shallow, the fine coat of sweat covering his entire face. He’d made a mistake in saying anything; he should have kept his mouth shut.