by Jeff Strand
Mr. Dewey was in a different vehicle. Two of the men who'd kidnapped them, but not the mean-looking ginger, sat up front, no longer wearing their ski masks, listening to an audio version of a James Bond novel. The driver's name was Sean, or maybe Shaun or Shawn; he hadn't spelled it. The passenger was Brent. They were both ugly gentlemen in their late twenties, although Sean's perfect grooming indicated that he didn't wish to be ugly, while Brent clearly didn't give a shit.
"What did they do to you?" George asked Lou.
"Nothing, really. Took a blood sample."
George sighed. It made sense that they thought Lou could be a werewolf, since one bit off his hand. The first night of the full moon had been a long, sleepless night for them (even though the cycles of the moon had been irrelevant for Ivan, and there was no reason to believe it was relevant for anybody else) but Lou had shown no signs of lycanthropy.
"At least we don't have to hide anymore," said Lou.
George knocked on the cage bars to get the driver's attention. "Hey! How long until we get there?"
"About fifteen hours."
"Are you kidding me?"
"Nope."
"You're not really going to make us stay in this cage for fifteen hours, are you?"
"I sure as hell am."
"Do we at least get stretch breaks?"
Sean looked at them in the rear-view mirror and grinned. "Nope. And were you wondering why there's a bucket in the corner?"
"Aw, that's not cool."
"But please, feel free to try to talk us into letting you go. We could use the entertainment. And who knows? You might touch our hearts."
George adjusted his position, unsuccessfully trying to find a comfortable way to lean against the bars. This was going to be a long drive.
CHAPTER THREE
A Long Drive
Sean hadn't been entirely truthful. They were allowed out of the cage right before they crossed the Canadian border, and George and Lou were instructed to play along if they didn't want something horrible to happen. They didn't want something horrible to happen, so they played along. Then they went back into the cage.
George and Lou slept part of the way, so the trip wasn't as excruciating as it might have been. And a few hours in, Brent took pity on them and tossed a deck of cards into the cage. Sean and Brent did not take pity on them after going through a drive-thru; the two men up front gleefully gobbled down their cheeseburgers without sharing. George couldn't resent them too much for that behavior, since he'd done the same thing to Ivan.
George was very happy to see the "Welcome to Minnesota" sign, and even more happy when they were welcomed to Tropper. After driving down a ridiculously steep and icy road, they pulled into a small warehouse.
Sean shut off the engine, then both men got out of the van. George waited patiently for the back door to open, but after a couple of minutes it became clear that they weren't going to be released quite yet.
"Why do you think they really want us on this job?" Lou asked.
George grinned. "You don't buy the whole 'you've got experience with werewolves' angle?"
"Not really. That would be like hiring the designers of the Hindenburg because they've already made a blimp."
The rear of the van had heavily tinted windows, so they could only see through the front windshield, and nothing was happening out there. After about fifteen minutes they heard a sliding door open and then close again. A few minutes after that, the back doors of the van opened.
"Okay, freedom time," said Sean. "Try anything and you'll be kneecapped. Understood?"
"Understood," said George.
"Understood," Lou agreed.
Sean unlocked the cage and swung open the door. George and Lou crawled out, then climbed out of the van.
Mr. Dewey was there, along with Brent, the mean-looking ginger, and three other white men. Mr. Dewey was apparently not one to hire women or minorities. All of the men had guns. Not small ones. There was also a thin old man, wearing a dark blue suit and keeping his balance with a cane. The guy looked like he had to be in his nineties, and he quivered a bit as he stood there.
Almost in unison, the men pointed their guns at George and Lou. Without being asked, George and Lou put their three hands in the air.
"This is them," Mr. Dewey said to the old man.
The old man nodded and slowly walked over to them. He was so unsteady on his feet that George worried he might fall over, and George wondered why he didn't have anybody assisting him. A pride thing, probably.
The old man walked right up to George and looked at him closely, as if examining a horse. George almost made a smart-ass comment ("Should I open my mouth so you can check out my teeth?") but decided against it.
He turned his attention to Lou and examined him just as closely. Then the old man nodded with satisfaction and took a step back. "Yes, that's them."
"We're not here to con you," said Mr. Dewey.
"Of course not. That doesn't mean I shouldn't inspect them. We'll be off now." The old man turned and began to slowly walk away. Without looking back, he gestured for somebody to follow.
"So...do we go with him?" George asked.
"You do," said Mr. Dewey. "Lou stays here."
George shook his head. "No way."
"Surely you're not so stupid as to think you have a choice?"
"We work as a team," George said. "Case closed."
"Not anymore."
"I'm not going to leave him here so you can experiment on him. We do this together or not at all."
Mr. Dewey laughed. "Experiment on him? This isn't a Nazi death camp, George. But we can turn it into one, if you want to make this difficult for us."
The old man stopped walking. His shoulders slumped, and he turned around. "I'll bring both of them."
"That wasn't the deal," said Mr. Dewey.
"We have a job to do. I'd rather not have it complicated by him being obstinate."
"He'll be a lot less obstinate after we cut his nose off," said Mr. Dewey. "Break a couple of fingers...a little sandpaper on an eyeball...I think he'll cooperate just fine."
"You don't know me very well," said George, who hoped that this would not actually come down to lost noses, broken fingers, or sanded eyeballs.
"I'm taking them both," said the old man. "There will be no further discussion."
Mr. Dewey looked very much as if he wanted there to be further discussion, but he said nothing. Who was this old bastard?
The old man turned around and resumed walking. George and Lou followed. They walked over to a small, economical, fuel-efficient silver sedan. The old man opened the door and slowly eased himself into the driver's seat.
"I want them back here as soon as it's done," Mr. Dewey said.
The old man gave him a dismissive wave and closed the door. George and Lou looked at each other, shrugged, and then got in the car. George sat up front.
"He's very irritable, isn't he?" said the old man, starting the engine. He put the car into reverse. The car jolted backwards and George decided that it might be a good idea to put on his seat belt.
One of the men opened the sliding door, and they drove out of the warehouse into a sunny but snowy day.
"You got a name?" George asked.
"Do you think I might not?"
"Just asking."
"My name, to you, is Mr. Reith. We are not equals and you are not on a first-name basis with me."
"I can live with that."
"You will find me to be much more pleasant company than Mr. Dewey, but don't confuse friendliness with weakness. Rest assured that I can make awful things happen to you."
George nodded. "Point taken."
"So, gentlemen, we're going on a werewolf hunt. You were responsible for the death of Ivan, correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. He killed my grandson. May the son of a bitch rot in hell."
"Amen."
"I hope he suffered."
"It was pretty quick, but it hurt."
"Excellent." Then Mr. Reith frowned. "Unfortunately for you, Ivan's fate would have been even worse if you'd delivered him to Mr. Dewey like you were supposed to. It would not have been 'pretty quick.' I do not expect you to botch this one."
"We won't," said Lou from the back.
"I'm glad to hear that. The file is in the glove compartment."
George opened the glove compartment and took out a folded manila envelope. It was very thin, and when he opened it, the only thing inside was a wallet-sized photograph.
"Are you kidding me?" George asked.
"No."
"What is she, twelve?"
"Fourteen."
George passed the photo back to Lou. It was a school picture of a girl with long straight brown hair. She looked happy but was apparently too cool to smile for the camera. She was cute; the kind of girl who would be getting boys into serious trouble in a couple of years.
"She's a werewolf?" Lou asked.
"We believe so, yes. There's no evidence that it has manifested itself yet."
"Well, I'm sorry to tell you this," said George, "but we don't kidnap little girls. I'm not saying that Lou and I are top-notch people, but we don't mess with kids."
"Then I'm afraid you'll have to revise your moral code."
Lou passed the picture back up to George. George stuck it back in the envelope, folded it, and put it back into the glove compartment. "Sorry. Not gonna happen."
"Then what's your plan from here?" asked Mr. Reith. "Kill me and steal my car? Go into hiding again?"
"I think we could get your car without killing you."
"They found you in Costa Rica. They found you in Ontario. They'll find you again. I suppose I can understand your loyalty to your partner, but are you really going to risk an excruciatingly painful death for a teenaged girl you don't even know?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
The old man let out a derisive snort. "If I had more energy, I'd put that to the test. My guess is that your objections will only last until the knife blade touches your throat. But those days are over for me, so what if I assure you that the girl won't be harmed?"
"Yeah, right," said George. "You want me to believe that we're going to deliver her to a psycho like Dewey and she won't get hurt?"
"All he wants her to do is bite him."
"Uh-huh. You just said that if we'd delivered Ivan, he would have had a worse fate than getting sizzled from the inside."
"Ivan was a reprehensible monster who would never be missed. But an adorable fourteen-year-old in a small town like Tropper? She will be missed. She'll be returned safely."
"Seems like it would be kind of easy to pin this crime on us, considering that we'd be the ones actually committing the crime."
"Yes, and then you would lead the police to Mr. Dewey. We're all criminals here, George. Nobody is going to frame anybody. What you have to do is decide if you believe me when I say that you will regret not going along with this. My opinion? You should believe me."
"All right, for argument's sake, let's say that I—"
"No. Not for argument's sake. Either you believe me or you don't. I'm too old to waste time speaking hypothetically."
George looked back at Lou. Lou shrugged. George gave him a look that said How about you contribute more to the decision making process than a shrug? Lou shrugged again, then nodded.
"Fine," said George. "We believe you."
"Perfect. Then your job is to acquire the little girl. As you heard, Mr. Dewey is impatient, so you have two hours."
"Two hours? That's it?"
"If you're good at what you do, it's more than enough."
George opened the glove compartment and took out the folder again. "What's her name?"
"That's your job."
"You don't know?"
"I didn't say that I don't know. I said that it's your job. You're being given an opportunity for redemption in a business that doesn't offer many second chances. I'd encourage you to quit asking unnecessary questions and get to work."
They drove for a few more minutes, and then Mr. Reith pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall. He kept the engine running as he handed George a key and a cell phone. "The blue van is yours. There's one contact number programmed into this phone. Call it when you've got the girl. I would not advise you to call with any message but 'We've got her.'"
"Understood."
"There's a tranquilizer gun and two darts in the glove compartment, just in case."
"Tranquilizers didn't do any good against Ivan."
"Then hopefully you won't have to use them. The dose is intended for a wolf, not a girl, so don't use it unless things get out of control."
"Also understood."
"Perfect. Now get out of my car."
George and Lou got out of his car. As Mr. Reith drove away, they walked over to a dented, dirty blue van with tinted windows. George unlocked the doors, and they got inside without a word. He started the engine and turned on the heat.
"I can see a lot of potential problems with what we're about to do," George said.
"Yeah. Not quite foolproof, is it?"
"We could bolt."
"You want to?"
"I don't know. I didn't enjoy the gasoline shower. I really thought he was going to throw that match on me. I'd rather do a long stretch of prison time for attempted kidnapping than burn to death."
"What if they kill the girl?" asked Lou.
"We won't let that happen."
"What if we don't have a choice? I mean, let's face it, we're not actually going to have a choice, right?"
George let out a long sigh. "Probably not. But, ultimately, you and I are shitty human beings, and we do shitty things to people for a living, and I'm more inclined to go for it and hope that this works out happily for everyone than to get set on fire for a teenaged girl I don't even know."
"Before we went to Costa Rica, you kept saying that you wanted to become a better person."
"I do! But not at the cost of all my skin! It's hard for me to quantify just how much I don't want to get set on fire. So, yeah, I'm putting self-preservation at the top of my list."
Lou was silent for a moment.
George held his hand next to the vent to get more hot air. "Hey, if you don't want to do this, I'll look the other way and you can run. I'll make something up; tell them that some guys in ski masks threw you into the trunk of their car. I can handle this one solo."
Lou shook his head. "That's not how we work. I'm with you."
"Thanks. We won't mess this up."
"Of course we won't."
Lou glanced in the back. "Then again, he didn't even give us a cage."
CHAPTER FOUR
Creepy Stalkers
George and Lou sat in their van, parked across the street from Tropper High. They didn't think that the "big scary guys questioning strangers about a picture of a cute teenaged girl" tactic should be their first course of action, and since it was mid-afternoon and school would be letting out soon, they decided to just scope out the place and hope to see their target.
"This is so inappropriate," said Lou.
"I know."
"What if we have to talk to her? What do you say to a fourteen-year-old girl? They scare the crap out of me. I don't know what they're into."
"Music."
"But not real music. Not anymore. They listen to that stuff...I forget what it's called...that stuff where people are singing but it's not really their voices...?"
"Robots?"
"Not robots. It's got that weird sound so that it's kind of like a computer is helping them sing. It's for when they can't really sing but they've already got the record contract so they need the computer to mess with it."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," said George.
"Auto-tune. That's it."
"That tells me nothing."
"Bob Dylan didn't need auto-tune."
"You hear that?"
"What?"
"Listen."
"It's the sound of kids on your lawn. Better go shake your fist at them. Want me to get you some Geritol from the local apothecary?"
Lou ignored him. "What if she wants to talk about Beyoncé?"
"Why the hell would she want to talk about Beyoncé?"
"That's who kids listen to these days!"
"We're kidnapping her! She's not going to start a conversation about shitty music."
"I hope she doesn't have a tramp-stamp. I hate those things."
"Can you please stop talking like an old person?"
"Actually, kids may have moved past Beyoncé. I think she's one generation before where we are now. We're fossils, George."
"We're in our mid-forties!"
"These days, that's ancient."
George shook his head. "Incorrect. Being forty-four is younger now than it used to be. People are living longer and being less mature. We can be forty-four and walk into a toy store to buy a Star Wars action figure without embarrassment."
"I'm only forty-two."
"I know how old you are. I'm just saying that if my dad had bought a Star Wars figure when he was that age, he'd have been filled with shame to be doing it. He'd have pretended it was for me. We're not ancient. I know what Facebook is. I know how to tweet."
"You tweet?" Lou asked.
"No, but I know how."
"How?"
"Don't derail this conversation. There's absolutely no reason that we can't find common ground with a fourteen-year-old girl. Maybe we'll change her musical tastes for the better."
"How do you tweet?"
"Shut up." George slapped the air vent a couple of times. "C'mon, is that all the heat you've got?"
"If we get a chance to talk to her, without just grabbing her and throwing her in the back of the van, which one of us should do it?"
"You're more like a big teddy bear than I am."
Lou nodded. "True. But I'm bigger."
"So?"
"So that makes me more intimidating."
"You're huggable. I'm way scarier."
"I don't think so."
"You just don't want to do it," said George.