The Frenzy Wolves

by Gregory Lamberson

  “Never.”

  “Have you seen the photographs of its members?”

  “They would be hard to avoid. Our country loves to celebrate people who crave attention.”

  “Did you ever see any of those men or women before?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever have any contact with them or anyone connected to the Brotherhood of Torquemada?”

  “No.”

  “Why do you think they targeted your businesses?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Surely you’ve wondered.”

  “Every waking moment. I’m an honest businessman. I’ve had no illicit dealings, and my businesses served the community. I’d like to know why my life has been turned upside down, why my family faces an uncertain future. But with those people dead, I have no reason to believe I’ll ever get the answers I want.”

  “Was Jason Lourdes an employee of yours?”

  “Yes, he worked at Synful Reading.”

  “Can you tell me what happened to him?”

  “I wasn’t there, but he was murdered in the store. Decapitated by a sword, I’m told. Raphael and I visited the crime scene and spoke with two of your detectives.”

  “Do you remember the detectives’ names?”

  “I remember Detective Diega’s name, because his murder was recounted in the newspapers. A tragedy. I don’t remember his partner’s name, but the young woman is sitting at a desk outside this room.”

  Mace sat back in his seat. “Let the record show that Mr. Domini is referring to Detective Karol Williams, part of this task force. Do you know Rhonda Wilson?”

  “She also worked at Synful Reading. I understand she and Jason were romantically linked, though I didn’t learn that until after Jason’s murder.”

  “You’re aware that Jason’s and Rhonda’s parents were also killed by the Brotherhood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know any of them?”

  “I knew all of them but only casually. That’s why Raphael hired their children in the first place.”

  “It’s taken a while for you to come in for questioning. What took you so long?”

  “My businesses were destroyed, and my livelihood’s been taken away. I’ve had a great deal of work to attend to with regards to insurance claims. I’ve also had several funerals to attend, an ironic development for a former funeral director.”

  “We’ve been unable to reach your brother. Do you know where he is?”

  “No, I don’t. I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of a falling-out as a result of all this chaos.”

  “Two years ago, your sister, Angela, was wanted for questioning and disappeared. Can you tell us her whereabouts?”

  “My sister is traveling across Europe. She never stays in one country for more than a few months, and I have no addresses for you.”

  “Have you been in touch with her?”

  “She writes me on occasion. I’m unable to reciprocate. To my knowledge, she has no idea any of this has occurred.”

  “Did you save these letters?”

  “I did. Unfortunately, I kept them at the funeral home.”

  Nice touch, Mace thought. “Where were you the night your businesses were destroyed?”

  “Hiding.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I had just left the funeral home when it blew up. If I’d left work one minute later, I’d be dead now. I raced home to make sure my family was safe and learned on the news that the bookstore had been destroyed as well. Fearing the worst, we stayed with friends.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  Gabriel smiled. “If you were able to help, my businesses wouldn’t have been destroyed in the first place. We resurfaced when we learned you’d actually killed those terrorists. What other questions can I answer for you, Captain? I’m afraid I can’t be very helpful to your investigation, because I don’t know anything.”

  “Do you believe in the supernatural?”

  Gabriel’s expression turned to one of surprise. “Excuse me?”

  “Synful Reading was an occult bookstore.”

  “My father, Angus, owned the store before us. He saw an opportunity for a niche business and turned it into a world famous mail-order company. In later years, he became too old to shoulder the responsibilities and made my sister his manager. When he died, we inherited the business. None of us took it seriously. It was a lark, almost an embarrassment. But it continued to turn a modest profit.”

  “The Brotherhood of Torquemada was reportedly formed during the Spanish Inquisition to exterminate werewolves throughout Europe.”

  “Really?”

  “That information hasn’t been made public. Professor Terrence Glenzer wrote about it in a book you sold at Synful Reading.”

  “I only worked at the store part-time when I was a boy, breaking down boxes and taking out the garbage. I wouldn’t know about the inventory, especially during the later years.”

  “I need to speak to your brother and your sister. When you hear from them, tell them to get in touch with me.”

  “I will. Are we finished?”

  “Not yet. I need you to give me a hair sample for genetic testing.”

  Gabriel frowned. “What in God’s name for?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Then I’ll have to refuse your request.”

  Mace stared at Gabriel. Is he kidding? “Aspects of this investigation are classified. The Brotherhood of Torquemada was an international terrorist organization.”

  “Why do you need my hair? I’m an American.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, but I really need that hair sample.”

  “Am I suspected of something?”

  “Not exactly but this sample could eliminate you from the possibility of future suspicion.”

  Gabriel pointed at Mace. “I came here on good faith, without counsel. Do I have to—?”

  “There’s no need to be upset. If you want us to go through your lawyer, we will. Just give me his name. If you want us to get a subpoena, we can do that too. Or you can allow us to do what we need to do, and that way you won’t have to come here again, and with any luck you’ll never have to see me again. If you have nothing to hide, what’s the problem?”

  Gabriel hesitated, then crossed his arms. “Get it over with.”

  Mace walked over to the door and opened it. “Candice, would you mind doing the honors?”

  A moment later Candice entered the conference room with a small plastic kit in one hand and a paper envelope in the other.

  “Mr. Domini’s consented to assist us with our investigation.”

  “That’s nice.” Candice set down the plastic kit and removed a pair of scissors, which she raised toward Gabriel’s head. Her hand shook, and she glanced at Mace, who stared at her. She pressed the blades against Gabriel’s hair and snipped two locks, which she deposited into the envelope. “Thanks,” she said in a forced cheerful tone and then hurried out of the room.

  “Now we’re done,” Mace said.

  “I’ll show you out,” Mace said in the bull pen.

  Gabriel faced Landry, Karol, and Candice. “I’m sorry about what happened to your colleagues.”

  Mace led Gabriel to the elevator and boarded it with him. “Don’t let that empty squad room fool you,” he said. “It will be swarming in another day or two or someplace else will be.”

  “I have no doubt,” Gabriel said.

  “Don’t go home.”

  “I haven’t been there in over a week.”

  “You need to go underground.”

  Gabriel smiled. “That isn’t possible. I have responsibilities, just as you do. But your responsibilities are work related. Mine pertain to the survival of my species.”

  “Something tells me your species will survive better if you and Raphael take a page from Angela’s book and disappear.”

  “Thank you for the warning. I appreciate it. But you saw my brother and his Wolves at the war
ehouse. They complicate matters.”

  “What did you do with the swords?”

  “We destroyed them. They’ll cause neither one of us any more trouble.”

  The elevator lurched to a stop.

  “If you need me, reach me through Karol,” Mace said. “I don’t trust my phones.”

  Gabriel gave Mace a concerned look. “You be careful.”

  The elevator door opened, and he was gone.

  Seven

  With cigarette smoke curling up from the ashtray next to his Mac, Carl pecked at his keyboard, then stopped and reviewed what he had written. Nodding, he smiled. Then he pressed Autodial on his phone and waited.

  “Hello?” John Beaudoin, an editor at the Post, sounded tired.

  “Long day?” Carl opened an e-mail and attached the article.

  “Who’s this?” Now he sounded irritated.

  “Carl Rice.” He pressed Send.

  “Oh, Christ, what do you want?”

  “Congratulations on your coverage of the Brotherhood of Torquemada. Very sensational, far better than that dry stuff they’re running at the Daily News. I’ve just sent you an article on the same topic.”

  “You’re persona non grata here. You know that.”

  “Morty’s retired.”

  “Saul doesn’t like you, either.”

  “He may not like me, but he doesn’t hate me.”

  “That’s debatable. Okay, let me see this. What am I reading? The sword . . .”

  “The Blade of Salvation.”

  “And the Vatican . . . Is this for real?”

  “You bet your sagging ass it is.”

  “Glenzer . . . the Manhattan Werewolf . . . Are you shitting me?”

  “The connection is real. These cases are linked.”

  “I don’t know. It’s awfully speculative . . . Wait a minute, werewolves?”

  “I didn’t say there are werewolves. I just said that killing werewolves is what the Brotherhood was all about.”

  “Sounds like malarkey to me, but you’ve got some fresh angles here. Give me the night to think about it.”

  “Not a chance. I’m breaking this story before anyone else does. We’re breaking it.”

  “This isn’t a story; it’s a sidebar.”

  “You’re crazy. This story provides a motive for the Brotherhood.”

  “What, werewolves? You got us confused with a supermarket rag. This is background, nothing more.”

  “What about the link to the Vatican?”

  “Just because they claimed the broken sword doesn’t mean squat, if it’s even true. It could be sitting in a museum somewhere.”

  “It isn’t. I checked. Guess what mysteriously disappeared?”

  “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  “I expect to see the first paragraph on the front page tomorrow. If I don’t, I’ll see it on the front page of the competition.”

  “They’ll never touch this.”

  “We’ll see.”

  John exhaled on the other end. “All right.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I should have my head examined for giving you another chance. Rewrite the opening paragraph so it’s a little less desperate, and it will make tomorrow morning’s edition.”

  Carl pumped his fist in the air. “Thanks. You won’t regret this.”

  “Too late.” John hung up.

  Carl leapt to his feet and shouted at the ceiling, “Yes! Front page, baby!”

  Karol shivered as she followed the concrete walkway to her apartment building on Pelham Parkway in the Bronx. A trio of Albanian boys standing out front fell into silence as she approached the door. They had made the mistake of catcalling her once before, and she’d given them a lesson on manners they wouldn’t soon forget. As she passed them now their sudden silence turned palpable. Their muted voices rose only when the inside glass door had closed behind her. Little did they know that her keen ears heard every syllable they whispered.

  “We should get that bitch alone and rape her ass,” one of them said.

  Try it, honey, she thought. She had never killed a human being, had never even tasted a freshly killed wild animal, until battling the Brotherhood of Torquemada in the warehouse raid. The taste of hot human blood had awakened her senses in an intoxicating manner that contradicted her mourning for Willy. In the week that had followed, her temples throbbed, she wiggled her fingers and toes, and she chewed on the inside of her mouth. Every cell in her body told her she would feel so much better if she tore someone to pieces. She fought the urges, restraining her wild side. She had never expected to feel such bloodlust.

  Karol opened her mailbox, searched through bills, and boarded the elevator. Loneliness massaged her tired muscles. Wolves were monogamous, and Willy had worked his way into her heart, only to be torn from her, slain before her eyes. The sight of him lying on the floor of that warehouse lingered in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the mental picture wouldn’t go away. Willy’s funeral had been agony. She had spoken to his parents at the cemetery, but they only knew her as Willy’s partner, not as his mate.

  The elevator door opened, and she crossed the carpeted floor to her apartment door. Bowing her head, she took a deep breath and got her emotions under control. Dealing with Rhonda required patience. She unlocked the door and went inside.

  The apartment was dark, so she turned on the lights. Rhonda stood near the window by the radiator, gazing at falling snow. She did not react to Karol’s arrival.

  “Hi,” Karol said.

  “Hi.” Rhonda spoke in a flat, emotionless voice.

  “I don’t suppose you cooked dinner?” Karol said.

  Rhonda shook her head.

  “Did you eat anything?”

  Another shake.

  “Then I guess I’d better get started.” Karol hung her coat in the closet and went into the kitchen, where she removed steak from the refrigerator. “Do you like salad?”

  No answer.

  She went back into the living room. “Hey, I’m not a mind reader. Help me out here.”

  “Salad’s fine.”

  “How do you want your steak?”

  “Rare.”

  Of course. “I missed you at the funeral.”

  “I couldn’t go. Those reporters would have been all over me.”

  “I told you we would have kept them at bay. I’d have sent a squad car for you and everything.”

  “They would have followed me back here.”

  Maybe she was right. “We could have made arrange-ments.”

  Rhonda snapped her head in Karol’s direction. “I didn’t want to go, okay?”

  Karol debated whether to press the girl and decided Willy deserved a certain level of respect. “Two men died rescuing you. I cared about one of them a lot.”

  Rhonda screwed up her face. “That makes me sick to my stomach, if you have to know. It’s disgusting.”

  Karol blinked as if struck. “Don’t you care—?”

  “I hate them all, every last one.” She raised her regenerated hand, which had been chopped off while she had been in captivity. “I shouldn’t have to explain myself.”

  “We all suffered. Mace was stabbed, Willy and Shelly killed. You might show a little gratitude.”

  Moving forward, Rhonda snorted. “Gratitude. I was tortured for days. Jason and my mom and dad were killed.” Tears filled her eyes. “They cut Jason’s head off in front of me.”

  “And they all but cut Willy’s off in front of me. Do you think I’m feeling any less pain than you are?”

  “I loved him. Do you understand? And I loved my parents.”

  “I do understand. I loved Willy. We mated. That means it’s over for me—no love, no pups. At least you still have a chance. Your wounds will heal.”

  Rhonda raised her voice. “What do you know?”

  “I know that Mace, Willy, and those two FBI agents risked their lives to get you out of that warehouse, and only two of them walked out alive.
”

  “They didn’t come for me. They came for Mace’s wife.”

  Karol felt her rage coursing through her veins. “That isn’t true. We busted our asses looking for you.”

  “Funny how you didn’t find me until Cheryl Mace got kidnapped too. She wasn’t there long enough to lose any limbs. I guess that was my good luck, wasn’t it? The cavalry came for her, and I got to tag along on the ride home.”

  Karol moved forward too. “If you want to sit here and stew in your own hatred, go ahead. But show a little consideration. You’re a guest in my house. Don’t disrespect the people in my life who matter to me, especially after the sacrifices they made for you.”

  The irises of Rhonda’s eyes expanded, blotting out the whites.

  Reining herself in, Karol spoke in a tight voice. “You don’t want to do that, girl. Don’t make me teach you how to behave.”

  Rhonda pulled her lips back into a snarl.

  Karol stood her ground. “I mean it.”

  Rhonda’s irises shrank to their normal size, her breaths coming fast and hard.

  “Go to your room.”

  Rhonda leaned closer to her, showing Karol she felt no fear. “Don’t act like you’re my mother.” She sniffed the air around Karol. “You might as well be one of them.”

  Karol slapped her. The impact turned Rhonda’s head, and when Rhonda looked back at her one side of her face was red. Her lips quivered, and then she stormed down the hall. A moment later a door slammed.

  Taking a deep breath, Karol wondered what she had gotten herself into and whether she and Rhonda would both be better off if Rhonda really did move into a sublet.

  Darkness had fallen when Mace and his crew left their headquarters and made their way to the Fifth Precinct lot where they parked their vehicles each day. They exchanged good-byes like any office colleagues and went their separate ways.

  Mace listened to Dean Martin on the drive to Brooklyn. He parked in the driveway, mounted the steps, and unlocked the gate over the door and then the door itself. The aroma of sizzling pork from his tenants’ first-floor apartment greeted his nostrils. Anita Sanchez must have spent hours each day on her meals. The wooden stairs creaked as he climbed them. Hanging his coat on the hall rack, he stepped out of his shoes and wiggled his toes. Then he unlocked the door to the upstairs residence and basked in steam heat.