He was having none of it: "You fool! I'll only escape through some ludicrous oversight on his part. And you have not destroyed poor Lonnie. He always comes back! The village of Kaninsburg is under the Universal Curse, a potent spell that guarantees monsters who return forever!"
His certainty unnerved me. "That cannot be. Nothing is forever. There must be some way to defeat you."
"You'll spend the rest of your life trying. The villagers reproduce themselves, and the Baron keeps importing Americans and Englishmen. You see, he is compelled to keep the village populated. It's part of the curse! Just as Lonnie never leaves anyone wounded and about to become a werewolf in his own right. As you may have gathered, Lonnie is one of a kind."
Laughing manically, the transvestite barber/dentist/surgeon (demonstrating a villainous lack of concern for the propriety due our profession) hurried off into the ever thickening fog. And I returned the way I had come. It was evident that if the Universal Curse was to be defeated, it would require research before any ill-considered action.
That was five years ago. In the ensuing period, I learned everything I could about the curse. There was no simple remedy. One promising method was to introduce other monsters into the werewolf's prowling grounds. It was no easy matter, imprisoning ghouls and zombies and then shipping them off to Kaninsburg. Vampires were simply too difficult a proposition or I would have employed them as well (at reasonable rates, of course).
Yet, the next time I ventured there it was to find the wolfish son of Baron Tahlbot as firmly in place as a landmark. Truly he seemed to be immortal. The Baron had lost all faith in me by then. His American niece had even left him, along with her new boyfriend, to go live with another uncle in England—some kind of scientist, I understand, who does a lot of research with electrical equipment.
It seemed that my bag of tricks was empty, insofar as dealing with this stubborn spawn of hell. But I had one last idea—and this is the one that saved the village, the Baron, and, incidentally, my reputation.
To prevail against the gravity of the lycanthrope, I turned to comedy. There was a small abbey only a few leagues distant from Kaninsburg. In this quiet and secluded place, I found men of God who were willing to risk everything to help me. The abbot who headed the monastery persuaded one of his monks to accompany us—a short, chubby little fellow who seemed afraid of his own shadow, but who proved invaluable against the forces of darkness.
m never forget packing a large cloth sack with the weapons that would defeat the Ultimate Werewolf. We filled our bag with banana peels and cream pies. Nor will I forget two simple words that filled my soul with confidence; and made me believe that the Universal Curse did have an ending ... as all things must end.
When we were leaving the monastery, the little fellow called out for us to wait: "Hey, Abbot!"
PARTNERS
Robert J. Randisi
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1
FRANK GREY and Lisa Bain were partners. They had been radio car partners for three years now, and she was the best partner he'd ever had. He, in turn, was the first partner she had ever had.
Lisa Bain was twenty-five, tall and slender. Her colleagues called her skinny, but she preferred to think of herself as slender, even "rangy." She kept her hair cut short, because she never knew what to do with it. The same was true for makeup. She wore very little, because she wasn't very adept at applying it.
Lisa had spent her first year up at One Place Plaza, working in Communications. Police Plaza was Police Headquarters, which stood in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge. It was an unhappy year for Lisa, working first at Nine-One-One, and then as a dispatcher. After a year she was finally granted a transfer to the Six-Seven Precinct, where she was partnered with Frank Grey. After just one month in a car with Frank she knew that he was the perfect partner for her.
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Frank Grey was a nine-year veteran of the New York City Police Department, and he had spent five years right here at the Six-Seven Precinct. In the five years he had spent at the Six Seven, he had probably seen fifteen hundred cops come and go, as well as three Commanding Officers. He'd had four different partners: three men and Lisa Bain.
Grey—thirty-four, a hulking giant of a man at six-four and two forty —had never been a supporter of women as cops, but Lisa Bain had changed his mind within a month of teaming with her. She had proven herself extremely capable, and he felt no shame in admitting that she was the best partner he ever had.
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Frank Grey reached into his locker, took out his gunbelt and strapped it on. He took his service revolver out of the holster, checked the loads, and then returned it. He made sure his handcuffs and extra bullets were in place, then took his nightstick from the locker and slid it into place on the belt. He bounced the belt up and down a few times on his hips, to make sure it was riding properly. Satisfied that it was, he completed the process of readying himself for duty by taking out his hat and putting it on.
The officer in the locker next to his was a young rookie, and he had a nervous look on his face as he dressed for duty.
"It's gonna be a full moon tonight,1' the young officer said.
"Yeah," Frank said.
"Is it as crazy as they say?" the rookie asked. "I mean, night when there's a full moon? In the academy, they told us that there are people who go crazy when there's a full moon."
"First midnight tour?" Frank asked.
"Yeah," the rookie said. He's been assigned to the 67th Precinct for the past month, but this was his first late tour. Frank remembered his first late tour—what was it? Nine years ago? Yeah, nine years and four commands ago. He'd been in the 67th Precinct for five years, the longest he'd ever stayed in one house. This was also the one he felt the most at home in.
"Just treat it like any other tour, kid," Frank said, shutting his locker. "Be ready for anything."
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Lisa Bain closed her locker and looked out the window. Full moon, she thought, biting her lip. Right now it was totally hidden behind the clouds, but some time during the night it was sure to break through.
She was the only woman working this midnight shift, so she was alone in the small, makeshift locker room. For the slightly less than three years she had been assigned to the Six-Seven she—and the other two female police officers who were now assigned to the Six-Seven— had been changing in a converted broom closet on the second floor, while the men changed in the precinct locker room in the basement. They'd been promising the women a locker room of their own for the past year.
She left the room and went downstairs for roll call.
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Frank saw Lisa coming out of the elevator. He remembered when she was first assigned as his partner, three years ago. He never thought she'd be able to hack it, but she had fooled him. After just a month together he knew that he was going to be spoiled for any other partner.
She had four years on the job. At the moment she was one of three female officers assigned to the Precinct. She wasn't the prettiest, or the smartest, but she was the best cop. Hell, she was better than most of the men, too.
She was tall, about five ten, and she looked skinny, but Frank knew how strong she was. She had wide shoulders that made her small breasts look even smaller. Her hair was cut short, and seemed to be naturally silver. Not grey, but silver. At twenty-five, she was too young to be called grey.
Frank Grey was a big, hulking man with thick black hair, not only on his head but all over his body. He had developed body hair at a young age, and had been teased mercilessly in high school gym class until one day, when he tore into his tormenters, big fists flailing. He laid out a good half dozen of them, and they never bothered him again. Of course, he took ribbing in the locker room from his police colleagues, but he was no longer as sensitive about it as he was in high school.
He weighed in at close to two hundred and forty pounds and was usually left in the dust by Lisa whenever they were involved in a foot chase. In close quar
ters, however, Frank's strength usually gave him the upper hand against almost any opponent.
The late tour crew assembled in the roll call room. Frank and Lisa exchanged a glance, but while the other partners were slapping each other on the back and comparing how their days were spent, they did not have to say a word. They knew each other that well.
This was also the best crew Frank had ever worked with. They had all been steady late tour for about six months, with the odd rookie or replacement tossed in from time to time. For the most part, they were all used to working with each other, and depending on each other.
The roll call sergeant read them whatever special orders had come down, and then sent them out to do their jobs.
"Hey," he called out as they started to disassemble. They looked at him and he said, "I don't have to remind anyone that there's supposed to be a full moon tonight, do I?"
No, their silence said, he didn't. They all knew that a full moon meant they were probably in for an "interesting" tour.
More interesting for some than others.
2
Jerry Tarkenton studied his "gang."
He had known Pauly DePino for thirteen years. They had met in kindergarten class when they were both five, and even then Jerry had been able to get Pauly to do anything he wanted him to. Although the same age, the five-four Pauly had an unabashed hero worship for the six-one Jerry. Pauly—who thought that he and Jerry were "friends"— enjoyed watching the way Jerry controlled the other two members of their gang.
Jerry was the one who had nicknamed Douglas Jenks "Pudge," because Jenks was five eight and weighed over two hundred pounds, most of it around his middle. Pudge usually had some Milky Ways or Her- shey Bars in his pockets.
The fourth member of this dubious group was unaffectionately known as "Stupid." Again, it was Jerry who had nicknamed the brutish, six-foot-six Willie Carson "Stupid." He and Pauly had met Carson in junior high school where, at twelve, Carson was already six feet tall. Carson's face was fixed in a perpetual frown as he struggled to understand what was going on in the world around him. It was for this reason that Jerry had dubbed him "Stupid." and Carson was actually proud of the name.
Jerry Tarkenton had chosen his "gang" well and carefully. He made sure that they were dumb enough and dependent enough upon him that he could control them. He often felt like an animal trainer, and they were his subjects.
He naturally felt that he was not only the smartest of the four, but the smartest person he knew. For all of the vacancies that showed in the eyes of Pudge, Pauly and Stupid, the look in Jerry Tarkenton's eyes could only be described as . . . crafty.
"What's in this warehouse, Jerry?" Pauly asked.
"That's what we're gonna find out, Pauly," Jerry said. "It's a big place, real busy all day long. I know there's lot of machinery inside, but it's too busy for something funny not to be goin' on."
"Funny?" Stupid asked. "What's funny?"
"Crooked, Stupid," Pauly said. "He means crooked." Pauly looked at Jerry and eagerly said, "Right, Jerry?"
"Yeah, right, Pauly," Jerry said. "All I know is, there's got to be lots of money in there, or something worth a lot of money."
"What about cops, Jerry?" Pudge asked.
"What about 'em?" Jerry asked, with a sneer. "I ain't afraid of cops, are you?"
"No," Pudge said, dubiously, while Pauly and Stupid shook their heads, as well.
Jerry Tarkenton, at just eighteen years of age, had a career criminal's disdain for cops. He felt they were all beneath him in intelligence, and that he could handle any situation that involved the cops.
"What about a gun?" Pudge asked. "What if we come up against a cop with a gun?"
A feral grin crossed Jerry's face as he said, "I'll have Big Stupe here feed it to the fucker, first the bullets, and then the gun! Right, Stupid?"
Stupid's eyes remained vacant as he said, "Sure, Jerry, anything you say." His eyes did not reflect even the intelligence of a dog.
Pudge took out a chocolate bar and started to unwrap it.
"Not in here, Pudge," Jerry said. "My Ma don't want no eatin' in my room."
3
Frank and Lisa rode Sector Henry, in what was generally considered the armpit of the precinct. Day or night it was a bad scene, but at night it somehow became the darkest corner of the precinct.
Frank drove while Lisa looked up at the sky. The moon may have been full, but right now it was totally hidden by a bank of black clouds.
"Six-seven Henry, 'kay."
Lisa picked up the radio handset. Frank was the Operator, and she was the Recorder. It was up to her to answer the dispatcher. She checked her watch and saw that it was 0230 hours—two-thirty in the morning.
"Henry, 'kay."
"Six-seven Henry, report of a ten thirty-four, Burglary in progress, forty-two sixty, Avenue D. Witness states he saw four males entering a closed warehouse at that location. Unknown whether they are armed or not'
"This is Henry," Lisa said. "Ten-four."
"Probably kids," Frank said. "That place has holes all over it."
Lisa nodded, then looked up at the sky. Still no sign of the moon.
Frank turned left on Avenue D. and drove the five needed blocks to get them to the forty-two hundred block. He stopped the car down the block from 4260 and doused the lights.
"Front or back?" he asked her as they got out of the car.
"Back."
They each had a foot-long, metal-cased flashlight in their hands. As well as lighting the way, it could be used as an effective nightstick.
Frank looked up at the sky, where the moon was still in hiding, and said, "Be careful."
"You, too."
Frank moved down the block towards the front of the warehouse. This block was unusual, because it held the commercial warehouse and some residences. It had probably been some insomniac resident who had called it in.
He approached the front door with his flashlight extinguished. Although the full moon had not broken through the cloud cover yet, there were enough street lamps for him to see. Also, he didn't want the glare of his flashlight to tip off the perps that he was there.
He reached for the door handle and saw that the metal door had
been forced, probably with a lire iron. He opened the door as far as was necessary to enter, drew his gun, and, with one last look at the sky, went inside.
Now he wouldn't know whether the moon broke through or not. He'd have to find out the hard way.
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Lisa went around back, where the street lights did no good at all. She clicked on her flashlight, but shielded the glow with her hand. There were several doors back here, as well as delivery docks with corrugated metal doors that would slide upward. She tried one of the doors and found it locked. She had to climb up onto one of the docks to try the second door, which was right next to one of the corrugated metal doors. This one was locked, as well. She took a look at the metal door, and saw that the padlock that locked it was in place. She moved to the other end of the building to try another door, all the while listening intently for sounds inside the building. She wished she could use her portable radio to contact Frank, but if he was inside the noise would give him away.
After she checked the third door she'd start checking windows. She took a look at the sky and then tried the handle of the third door.
▼▼▼
This was risky. It was pitch dark inside, and Frank dared not use his flashlight for fear of giving himself away—that is, if there was even anyone inside.
He moved carefully, feeling ahead of himself with his hands and feet. He didn't want to give himself away by knocking over a crate or a set of shelves. What he couldn't have anticipated was the huge grease spot on the floor ahead of him. When his right foot landed on it, it slid right out from under him, dumping him unceremoniously on his ass in a puddle of grease. He managed to hold onto his flashlight with his left hand, but his gun slid from his right hand when he tried to use it to break his fall
. He could hear the weapon skitter across the floor into the darkness like a frightened rat.
Of course, he'd made a fearsome racket, and suddenly he was spotlighted by a couple of flashlight beams.
"See?" a voice said, with great satisfaction, "I tole you I heard some- thin'."
"So you did. Pudge," another voice said. "Looks like we got us a cop."
"What we gonna do with 'em, Jerry?" Pudge asked.
"I dunno," Jerry said. "Lemme think."
Frank was holding his greasy right hand up to try to shield his eyes from the flashlights. He couldn't see any faces clearly, but from the sound of their voices the perps were young, probably eighteen to twenty. He wouldn't have been worried if he'd been dealing with older, more experienced burglars. The young ones were just too unpredictable.
"Pauly, get the front door," Jerry said.
"Right."
"Jam something up against it so it stays closed. We don't want his partner surprisin' us."
"Right."
"Stupid," Jerry said, "keep an eye out for his partner."
"Uh . . . okay, Jerry."
Frank managed to identify the holders of the flashlights as Jerry and Pudge. Jerry, apparently the leader of the group, was on his left. Frank tightened his grip on his flashlight, which was behind him and out of the light.
"Get up, cop," Jerry said.
"Jerry, is it?" Frank said. "You're the leader here, right?"
"That's right. What's it to you?"
"Jerry . . ." Frank was trying to dig his heels into the floor for leverage, but they kept sliding on the grease. "Listen, Jerry, you don't want to mess with a cop."
"No," Jerry said, "you're right, I don't want to mess with a cop—I wanna fuck with you! Now get up!"
"I'm trying," Frank said, "but it's not easy in this grease."
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