"How did you like your coverage?" It sounded like Bernard was grinning.
"Not as much as you, obviously."
"I've taken the privilege of talking to one of the other board members," Bernard said. "One of the men on our list as a matter of fact. He has no idea how I feel about the takeover, since I haven't made my feelings public, but he's a good guy in a personal way. We go back a long time. He was one of the first to get the news of John's death, and I called him this morning for some details. We pulled this off without a hitch, old boy." Now Bernard did laugh, a merry laugh that sent a chill down Mark's spine. "George talked to somebody at the coroner's office thirty minutes ago. They did a bite-mark check and the official verdict is that John died from some mad dog, a coyote maybe, but they're not ruling out a domesticated animal. They'll probably blame it on some wayward pit bull or Rottweiler. George said he was told the bite marks were definitely canine." He chuckled. "Of course, I don't know how they're going to explain that John was partially devoured, but I'm sure they'll come up with something."
Mark didn't feel anything when Bernard said this; he had long grown used to not feeling ashamed of himself for feasting on the flesh of his victims. After all, what was the use of slaughtering people when you weren't going to eat them?
"How are the authorities going to explain it?" Mark asked. He wanted to hear how Bernard would explain this.
"They'll assume it was coyotes," Bernard stated. "No way will a domesticated dog eat a person. Coyotes are a different story, though."
"If you say so," Mark said. He had neither smelled nor sensed any coyotes last night, nor had he ever heard of one dining on a human. He doubted Animal Control officials would find any, but he also knew Bernard was probably right; in their haste to place blame, the authorities would probably attribute John's murder to a coyote.
"So what now?" Mark asked.
"Now we wait," Bernard said. "We lay low. You keep a low profile. You don't speak to anybody about this, nor do you bring it up in idle conversation. If I hear you do, you know what happens."
"I know," Mark said, feeling his gut churn at the notion of the threat.
"I'll call you here at this number again next week, same time. We're having an emergency meeting in three days to discuss strategy due to this latest development, and I should have an idea on where we're going with this."
"Fine." He hoped that before then Bernard Roberts was killed in a car accident.
"There are three more days left in this lunar cycle," Bernard said. "What are you going to do?"
"I have tonight off of work," Mark said. "By tomorrow night the worst of it should be over and I'll be able to control it."
Bernard appeared to be amused by Mark's condition. "What do you do when the first night of the lunar cycle falls in the middle of a work week?"
Mark sighed, but he couldn't help cracking a slight grin. Despite his predicament and the way Bernard had entrapped him, he rather liked talking about his condition to somebody. He had never told anybody about the curse before, and to do so felt therapeutic. "To tell you the truth, I don't totally lose it during the lunar cycle. I used to when this first happened to me. Before I could control it, I had to actually drive out to remote areas of the state and just let nature take its course so to speak." Bernard chuckled over that euphemism. Mark smiled, wishing he could reach across the phone lines and snap the executive's neck. "As the years have gone by I've learned how to harness and direct the curse, channel it if you will. So on nights that I do work during the lunar cycle, I'm usually able to hold it inside until I get off of work. Then I can drive home and lock myself in the apartment where I can let the change come out. I have to make sure to get out at least once during the lunar cycle, though, or I'll go bonkers."
"In other words, you have to roam," Bernard said. "You have to kill."
Mark nodded, as if he and Bernard were talking face-to-face. "I'm driven to it. I'll usually drive out to the desert or some other remote area, and just let myself loose. I'll let the curse run its course and by the time night falls I'm back in control again and I can will the change back to my human form. Last night I simply let it out and it came like a bat out of hell."
"What about the night I saw you on the security tape?" Bernard asked. Mark was silent as he thought about it. He really had no answer for that; he had been trying to reach some conclusion himself, and had been unable to. He had run with the hunt on the previous two lunar cycles, doing more to purge that killing instinct. He originally thought that maybe he had suppressed that urge during the last two or three lunar cycles, thus creating a pent-up well of emotions deep in his psyche, manifesting in a sudden, unannounced change. But that wasn't the case.
"I really don't know," Mark said.
Chapter Nine
Mark Wiseman's flight from John Wayne Airport in Irvine, California to Houston International Airport was the first time he had ever flown First Class.
Mark reclined in his seat and sipped a glass of wine. There were three other people with him in First Class: a lean, tall man with graying temples; a young business type in a black suit; and a large woman in her fifties with black curly hair dressed in a purple and blue dress wearing a lot of gaudy jewelry. For the most part, the people in First Class kept to themselves and didn't pay much attention to their fellow First Class travelers with the exception of the woman in purple. Mark had caught her a few times sneaking disapproving glances his way, as if asking herself what the hell a person looking like him was doing in First Class anyway.
It was almost one full month after the hit on Martin John in Silverado Canyon. A week after the murder, Bernard Roberts had phoned Mark at the pay phone in Fountain Valley and gave him the scoop: "We did good, but there's still a motion to push the merger through. John's successor was named last night and he backs John's position. We aren't going to worry about him because he was a fence sitter to begin with and he's only voting to go through it because of John. Instead, we're going to focus our attention on a guy named David Samuels."
Bernard had filled Mark in on Samuels and Mark filled in the blanks that evening in his apartment by looking at the photograph, which showed a man in his late fifties who obviously lived well: He had the round, fleshy features and balding head of the typical corporate executive. He sat on the board of three other corporations and was CEO of an HMO in Texas. HMO tycoons wouldn't be missed.
In the weeks that followed, Bernard had fed Mark pertinent information about Samuels. He lived in a swanky section of Houston in a large, gated home, but he vacationed every August in East Texas. One of his longtime hobbies was hunting, and he especially loved to hunt and fish in the East Texas woods where he owned a cabin. In August, Samuels liked to retreat to the cabin to fish in the lake and relax on the deck that overlooked the shimmering waters. Bernard provided Mark with both of Samuels's addresses and informed him that the executive was two days into his two-week vacation. His wife normally let him go up a week early by himself; then she joined him for the remainder of the vacation. That gave Mark four days to get to Samuels before she did. The full moon would rise on the following evening.
A week ago Mark had gone to a gazebo overlooking Newport Harbor. He had stood in the gazebo gazing out at the ocean and the boats in the harbor, feeling the cool ocean breeze on his skin. A moment later he'd heard footsteps, and he'd waited until they'd walked up the path toward the gazebo. He'd turned around to see Bernard Roberts, dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt. His shirt had been stained from exertion. Bernard had reached into the pouch fastened on a belt around his waist and had handed him an envelope. Then, he'd exited the gazebo and resumed his jog along the Newport Beach boardwalk.
Mark had waited until he was in his car before he opened the envelope.
Ten thousand dollars in cash, in hundred dollar bills.
Two airline tickets, one departing, one returning.
A short note that read: Payment for the first. Payment for the second will be rendered upon completio
n.
He had closed the envelope and driven home.
And now he was in the first-class section of a flight to Houston, where David Samuels, the target of Bernard Roberts's petty, desperate attempt at saving his skin, resided. Mark had spent the last four weeks pondering what was driving Bernard to force him to do this. He had come to the conclusion that it couldn't simply be the money. It didn't eliminate the possibility that the man was insane, but he was convinced it wasn't solely for the money. Bernard was smart. Most of the people he had read about who committed crimes of violence for financial gain had been stupid people who had everything to gain for their crime. The few people Mark read about that had stolen millions of dollars in various white-collar crimes were usually intelligent, but they were also sociopaths.
Was Bernard Roberts a sociopath?
It was possible. It was the only logical explanation to justify attempting something so foolish. It still seemed like a stupid thing to do, even for a sociopath, but then who said that the various crimes they committed were done so with brainpower?
Mark had thought a lot about the motivations that would cause Bernard Roberts to act so desperately, but there was still something missing. No matter how hard he tried to come up with a solution, it eluded him. He spent the entire four weeks pondering the problem, turning it over and over in his head. He thought about it at night while he worked, during the day while he ran his chores. It chased him into his dreams.
He caught a cab to a hotel in the city. He checked into an old, weather-beaten hotel that advertised cheap rates and vibrating beds. Bernard had told him to check into a cheap place because it was less likely that, if the shit hit the fan, a cheap hotel would keep good records on their guests. Mark signed in under a false name, paid the thirty-dollar charge for the first night, and crashed on the lumpy queensized mattress.
He rented a Ford Escort the following day and he spent that afternoon going over a map of Houston and East Texas, tracing the best route. It was a twohour drive from Houston to the section of woods in East Texas where David Samuels owned his cabin. The first night of the full moon was tomorrow, so he spent the afternoon and evening driving around Houston, making plans.
The next day was overcast and windy. He drove by David Samuels's home. Bernard had informed him that Ellen Samuels drove a silver Mercedes Benz, and that she was usually home during the days when her husband had his week off. Sure enough, Mrs. Samuels's Benz was parked in the large, circular driveway. Satisfied, Mark drove out of the neighborhood, headed for the outskirts of Houston.
The drive to the woods took him a little over two hours. He stopped for gas once, and made the county line at about four-fifteen. He drove until he found a local tourist spot, found a motel, and checked in, this time using his real name. He paid in cash rather than using his credit card, for security purposes. When he was checked in he retreated to his room, unpacked the small bag he had brought from home, and took out the map. The tourist spot he was in was on the outskirts of the woods where David Samuels vacationed, and the lake was four miles north. He would have to duck behind the motel and go through the woods in order to reach the lake's south side. David Samuels's cabin was on the east side of the lake. This was going to be a piece of cake.
Mark settled back on the bed to get some rest. The weather report called for scattered thundershowers and strong winds. No big deal. He had a big night ahead of him, one he wasn't entirely looking forward to.
Joe Tripp's left hand was massaging Kelly Baker's left breast in the front seat of his Mustang, while his right hand snaked down her back, fingers roving along the bra strap. He kissed her eagerly and passionately as he felt her own hand snake down to his crotch and rub his cock through the denim of his jeans.
They had been parked in a secluded grove in the woods near the lake for the past hour. It was the only place where they could get privacy; Joe's roommate was home hogging the place, and Kelly still lived with her parents. More importantly, Joe didn't have a credit card to get them a motel room. Therefore, the Mustang was necessary for him to spend some quality lovin' time with Kelly. Because both of them had Thursday nights off of work at their respective fast-food jobs, it was only natural that they come to this part of the lake to talk, make out, smoke a little pot, and, if they were lucky enough to be alone, screw their brains out.
Tonight they were alone.
It had rained briefly earlier in the evening, and the wind was brisk, blowing warm air against the car. He broke their kiss and gazed into her eyes. The interior of the car was warm with the smell of marijuana. Even with the windows rolled down somewhat, they were fogged up. Joe was eighteen, going on nineteen next month, and Kelly had turned nineteen a few months ago. Joe had never been with an older woman before.
Kelly smiled at him, looking sexy and so damn delicious in that skimpy halter top and those cutoff denim shorts. "I love it when you get hard for me like that, Joey," she purred.
Joe grinned at her. "I like it when you make me hard, Kelly."
She kissed him and he kissed her back, their tongues meeting, darting out to tease and taste each other. Joe's left hand found her nipple and his fingers rubbed it, making it hard. He felt Kelly moan through her kiss, and a moment later she broke the kiss briefly to fumble with her bra. Joe grinned, his eyes growing wide as Kelly grinned back and lifted the halter top up and over her head along with the bra, revealing the nicest pair of melons this side of East Texas. They were so nice that Kelly had once been offered a job as the head waitress at Hooters even though she didn't have waitressing experience.
Joe grinned and dipped his face down to Kelly's breasts, nuzzling them. Kelly laughed and cradled his head in her hands. "Oh, Joe!" she squealed.
"Oh Kelly," Joe moaned and took an engorged nipple in his mouth.
Kelly began to moan.
Within minutes they were stripped of their clothes and Joe had moved the passenger seat back for better maneuvering. He slid inside her and she moaned louder, her nails digging into his back. He loved screwing while stoned. It seemed to heighten the senses threefold. She was so warm, so beautiful, that he couldn't control himself. She moaned with each stroke, her lips and teeth nibbling his ear, driving him crazy.
Their rhythm was rocking the Mustang on its shock absorbers something fierce; they were rocking it so hard, it was hard to tell if it was the wind gusts rocking the car or the vigor of their lovemaking. Joe lifted himself up a bit to get a better angle and glanced through the back window briefly and what he saw made him stop in mid-stroke.
His eyes widened. "Holy shit!"
"Joey! What's wrong? Why did you stop?"
Joe clambered over her into the back seat to get a better look. "Jesus Christ, I don't believe what the fuck I'm seeing!"
"What?" Kelly sounded irritated. She grabbed her halter top and covered her breasts with it as she turned around and looked out the back window. "I don't see anything."
Joe pointed. "Through those trees at the cabin up ahead. Look."
Kelly peered through the window in the direction Joe's finger directed. She gasped and grabbed Joe. "Oh my God!"
What they were witnessing was something out of a horror movie. In fact, it looked right out of one of those old werewolf movies that his older brother and his friends had taken him to when he was little: The Howling, An American Werewolf In London. Only what was happening in front of them was real.
A werewolf was attacking a man on the lakeside of a large cabin.
That was the only way to describe it. It was a werewolf they were looking at, mauling what looked to be a middle-aged man. It walked upright, was covered in dark gray fur. Its arms were long, ending in long, fur-shaped claws, and its face was strangely human, yet canine; the bottom portion of the face was pushed out into a very canine-looking snout, jaws filled with large, sharp teeth, while the eyes and fore head were human-like in appearance. It was a werewolf, and it was tearing the man on the lakeshore to pieces.
Joe didn't even know he was holding
his breath until Kelly's hand clutched his throat, shaking him. "Oh my God, Oh my God, Omigod!"
Joe scrambled to the front seat for his clothes. He was instantly sober. He slid into his jeans hurriedly. "We gotta get outta here."
Kelly remained transfixed by the scene, still looking out the back window.
Joe dug into his pocket for his keys. "Kelly, come on, get your clothes on. We're getting the fuck out of here!"
Kelly remained were she was, immobile.
"Jesus Christ," Joe muttered. He scrambled to the back of the car and gently tried to pry Kelly away from the back window. "Come on baby, we gotta get out of here. Cops see you buck naked like that, they'll haul both of us to jail. 'Specially if they smell that weed we been smokin'."
Kelly was still looking at the scene, only now her features changed in dawning amazement. "Oh my God, look at him!"
Joe swung his head around to look. And couldn't believe his eyes.
The werewolf-or whatever the hell it was-was changing.
It was standing over the body of the man it had just killed and at first it appeared to just be sniffing at its prey. But then Joe saw that it was struggling; he could see its body shake. Then he saw that its arms were shrinking, its body was straightening out and before Joe knew it, it was becoming less wolflike and more human. It was transforming into a man right before his eyes.
"Well I'll be goddamned," Joe muttered.
They remained silent, watching the transformation one hundred yards away for a good three minutes. When it was finished, a naked man with long brown hair and a lean, muscular build stood over the body of the man he had killed. Then he looked out across the lake for a minute and scanned the entire area. When he cast his gaze in their direction Joe and Kelly instinctively ducked. Joe felt his heart pound in his ribcage as he wondered if the guy had seen them. Taking a chance, he peered back over the seat and saw that the guy had turned his gaze north of them. Finally the guy stepped toward the house and disappeared into the shadows surrounding the cabin.
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