The Werewolf Chasers (Book 3): Wolf Hunt 3

by Strand, Jeff

  "Fuck these guys," Ivan called out from the back seat.

  "All right," said J.P. "I'll check in again later."

  George disconnected the call. "So I guess we're allies now?"

  "Hell no," said Ivan. "But for now I think we're stuck with each other. I haven't forgotten that you killed me."

  "And I haven't forgotten that you bit off my hand," said Lou.

  "And I haven't forgotten that you murdered two innocent people just yesterday," said George.

  "Since I was being held there against my will, I don't consider them all that innocent. Still, there's no reason for us to bicker over definitions. Let's just relax and enjoy our uneasy, tense relationship."

  * * *

  Ivan didn't speak much as they crossed into Arkansas. He never seemed lost in thought—every time George looked into the rearview mirror, Ivan was staring at him—but at least he was shutting the fuck up. George vowed to remain alert, but it had been an hour since they dumped the cage and Ivan hadn't tried to attack them.

  He wanted to ask about Alex, but decided against it.

  Lou sighed. "Damn it."

  "Still following us?" George asked.

  "Yeah."

  About twenty minutes ago, they'd noticed that a white sedan had been following them for a while. George tried switching lanes, slowing down, and speeding up, and though the car wasn't directly behind them at every moment, a deservedly paranoid individual could be forgiven for thinking it was tailing them.

  "I'll pull off at the next exit," said George.

  The exit was only a quarter-mile ahead. George waited until the last second and then pulled off without using his turn signal. The car did a last-second swerve to follow them.

  "Oh, yeah," said George. "This ain't good."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Definitely Not Good

  "Do we try to outrun them?" asked Lou. "Or do we stop and try to dissuade them from following us?"

  "I'm not sure," George admitted. "We have guns, but they probably have guns, too."

  "Should we call J.P.?"

  "Nope. Screw that guy." They reached the end of the exit. A sign indicated that there was a McDonalds to the left and a gas station to the right. George turned right. The car followed.

  There wasn't much around. If they didn't stop, it wouldn't be long before there was nothing around, and George didn't want their pursuers to feel comfortable opening fire on the van.

  Then he saw what they needed: a small bank. No guarantees, but the extra security might make them hesitate to whip out a machine gun and start filling the van with bullet holes.

  George pulled into the bank's lot and parked right up front, between two other cars.

  There weren't many other spots to choose from. The white sedan, instead of selecting one of them, stopped right behind the van, boxing it in.

  "Okay, bit of a miscalculation on my part," George admitted. "I didn't think they'd be this aggressive."

  "Want me to go out and have a word with them?" Lou asked.

  "Nah. Let them come to us." George reached under the seat to get his gun and Lou did the same. "If there's more than one and they approach on different sides, like they're going to pop both of us at once, we shoot first. Otherwise, we keep the guns in our laps."

  They waited. The passenger door of the sedan opened and a man that George didn't recognize stepped out. He was a well-tanned guy in his thirties who might as well have been wearing a sign around his neck that said, "Hello, I'm a Proud Member of the Criminal Underworld." He held up his empty hands to show that he meant no harm as he walked up to George's side of the van. George rolled down the window.

  "May I help you?" George asked.

  "Are you George Orton?"

  "Who's asking?"

  "I am. The guy who just asked."

  "And you are...?"

  The man hesitated. "Jack Franklin."

  "Why'd you pause, Jack?"

  "Because I gave you a phony name."

  "Fair enough. What can I do for you, Mr. Franklin? Just an FYI, I will shoot you in the face if I stop enjoying this conversation."

  The man whose real name wasn't Jack looked past George and narrowed his eyes. "You look a hell of a lot like Lou Flynn," he said.

  "Thank you," said Lou. "I'll take that as a compliment."

  "Lou Flynn is dead."

  "He sure is."

  "So either George is driving around with somebody who looks exactly like his old partner, which is fucked up and sad, or you faked your own death."

  "It's one of those two for sure," said Lou.

  "Wow. Kudos to you, because everybody thinks you're dead."

  "Can we get back to why you've been following us?" George asked.

  "We'd like to negotiate with you."

  "And what exactly would we be negotiating?"

  "There's a huge price on your head."

  "How huge?"

  "Huge. But I have a personal problem with the guy offering the reward, and I'd rather work something out with you instead."

  "I appreciate that," said George. "But I don't really have anything to trade. I've got a few hundred bucks in cash and a van that doesn't belong to me."

  "What you can offer is the moral high ground."

  "Are you sure you have the right George Orton? That doesn't sound like me at all."

  "Can we go somewhere else to discuss this?" asked Jack. "We probably look suspicious hanging out in front of a bank, since we're all lawbreakers."

  "Where?"

  "You like barbecue?"

  "We just ate."

  "So get dessert. They have a great peach cobbler."

  "How far?"

  Jack pointed. "Maybe a mile that way. A little less."

  "You've been following us on the highway for the past thirty or forty miles, but we just happened to pull off near a barbecue place where you know they have a great peach cobbler?"

  "You seem to think that's a crazy coincidence."

  "It's a red flag, yeah."

  "We're going to drive to the restaurant," Jack told George. "I'd like you to follow us there. If you do, I'm sure we can work out a deal. If you don't, we'll keep following you and it won't be as pleasant of an encounter. Goodbye."

  Jack walked back to his car. George didn't think it was a good idea to shoot him right now.

  "He's full of shit," said Ivan. "He doesn't want to negotiate. He just doesn't want to kill you in front of security cameras."

  "I agree with Ivan," said Lou.

  "Nobody asked your opinion," George told Ivan. "Lou, I agree with you. Which leaves the question of how we should handle this. Do we try to lose them? We'd have to abandon our route."

  "May I make a suggestion?" asked Ivan.

  "If it's a good one."

  "You have a werewolf at your disposal. Use me."

  The white sedan drove off. George backed out of the parking space.

  "I think I get what you're saying, but maybe you should be a little more explicit," said George.

  "If they think you're willing to sit down and talk, there's an offensive advantage to having a werewolf on your side."

  "I like that idea," said Lou.

  "How can we trust you?" asked George.

  "When I was freed from the cage, did I rip your arm out of its socket and start gnawing on it?"

  "No."

  "Then you can trust me."

  George pulled onto the road and followed the car. "All right," he said. "But if you change, you do it on my signal. Understand?"

  "Oh, of course. You're totally in charge."

  It only took a couple of minutes before they'd left civilization behind. "Another option," said George, "is that I can take a sharp left turn, floor it, and try to lose them."

  "I think they have somebody else behind us," said Lou. "I've seen that gray car a couple of times."

  "So we outrun two cars. Not that much harder than outrunning one."

  "How well do you think this van will do in a high-speed cha
se? I vote we go for the werewolf idea."

  "Seconded," said Ivan.

  "You're saying that you'd rather slaughter them instead of just losing them?" George asked Lou.

  "I'm saying that I have doubts that we can outrun them, and if they force us to use our hidden weapon, I'm not going to lose any sleep over it."

  "All right. We'll hear them out. Maybe we can come to an agreement."

  A mile later, the white sedan pulled into the parking lot of a building that appeared to have the structural integrity of the final move of a game of Jenga. The sign, written in orange spray paint, said "Pigg's BBQue." The parking lot was almost empty.

  "I'll be damned," said George. "There really is a barbecue place."

  He parked in front of the restaurant. Jack got out of the car and walked over to the van. "It's going to take a few minutes for them to get our table ready," he said, as George rolled down the window.

  "Yeah, I can see the long line of customers."

  "You didn't think we were just going to go in and have a regular seat, did you?"

  George shrugged. "I didn't make any bold predictions either way."

  "What I'm going to need is for you to hand over your phones."

  "And what I'm going to need is for you to bite my ass."

  "Do you see the gray car over there?" Jack asked.

  "You mean the one that did a crappy job of pretending it wasn't following us?"

  "Oh, we wanted you to know it was following you. I thought that was obvious. We didn't want you thinking it would be a good idea to try to speed off."

  "That idea didn't occur to me until you mentioned it just now," said George. "Damn. Now I feel foolish. So many missed opportunities in my life."

  "But you see the car, right?"

  "I sure do. A man who would own a car like that is obviously comfortable with the size of his dick, so give my compliments to the driver."

  "His passenger has a rocket launcher."

  "He does not."

  Jack waved to the gray car. The passenger-side door opened, and a very tall man got out. He held what did indeed appear to be an actual rocket launcher. He got back into the vehicle.

  "I stand corrected," said George.

  "I thought you might."

  "Where'd he get that thing?"

  "I don't know."

  "Did he just have it on his lap the whole time? That seems unsafe."

  "I believe they kept it in a case on the back seat, and he reached back to get it while we were talking."

  "I guess those things probably have safeties so that you don't accidentally launch it inside the car. I've never used one. If we're able to work everything out, do you think he'd blow something up so we can see how it works?"

  "I think he'd quite enjoy that. Hand over your phones and your guns or he's going to blow up this van."

  "You're standing pretty close to it."

  "I'll move," said Jack. "Guns first. Don't try anything."

  George handed his revolver to Jack. Lou gave his gun to George, who gave it to Jack.

  "Thanks," said Jack. "Any more?"

  "Nope. Wanna frisk us?"

  "We will later. Now your phones."

  "You're going to get us in trouble."

  "Aw, that's too bad. Let's have 'em."

  "We only have one," said George, extending his phone to Jack. Since Jack already had two guns in his hands, it was awkward for him to get the phone as well. If this were a situation where there was not a rocket launcher present, George would fling open the van door without warning, smash it into Jack, then quickly gain the upper hand. Unfortunately, there was a rocket launcher.

  "Why do you only have one gun between you?" asked Jack.

  "We're on a job. Our boss doesn't trust us with more than one."

  "Three of you in the van and only one cell phone?"

  "Correct, sir."

  "I'm not buying that. You get out of the van first. Don't try anything."

  George got out of the van and allowed Jack to give him a thorough pat down. Jack climbed into his seat and did a quick cell phone search. He got out, told George to get back in, then went around and ordered Lou out. After the pat down, he ordered Lou back in, then opened the side door.

  "Get out," he told Ivan.

  "Certainly."

  Ivan unfastened his seat belt and got out of the van. This made George extremely nervous. Ivan could rip his heart out and wave it under Jack's nose to give him a whiff of its bloody aroma before he fell dead, but that would encourage the use of the rocket launcher. Ivan would probably be okay. George and Lou would not.

  Ivan was a fan of taking hostages. George hoped that Ivan did not have a plan. If he did have a plan, George hoped that it didn't involve taking Jack hostage. The guy in the gray car looked like he was really excited about his rocket launcher, and the odds were if Jack suddenly found himself with werewolf talons pressed against his throat, George and Lou were deeply screwed.

  "Turn around," said Jack.

  "Sorry," said Ivan, turning around. "I don't get frisked a lot. I'm the innocent one here."

  "Yeah, yeah, whatever." Jack patted him down. "Get back in."

  Ivan climbed back into the van and sat down. Jack slid the side door closed.

  "I had to check," Jack told George.

  "I completely understand."

  Jack tossed the cell phone high into the air, then fired one of the guns at it. The phone fell to the ground in three pieces.

  "Good shot," said George.

  "Thank you."

  "I admire your bravery. You would've looked like a complete jackass if you missed."

  "I don't miss."

  "Everybody misses sometimes."

  "Profound," said Jack. "We're going to wait here for a while. You understand, right?"

  "There's no peach cobbler, is there?"

  "No. I'm afraid there isn't."

  "Well, poop."

  "Just chill out here for a bit. Don't try to escape."

  "We won't," said George. "The rocket launcher is giving us incentive to behave."

  Jack walked back to his car, though he didn't get inside.

  "Hey, George," said Lou, "remember that one time when we were talking about how well this trip was going?"

  "I don't remember that at all. Ancient history."

  A few minutes later, Jack returned to the van.

  "We've got a place," he said.

  "I thought this was the place."

  "You thought wrong."

  "I don't like that you were untruthful with me," said George. "It's very hurtful."

  "I get that you're trying to engage in witty banter to make me feel like we're chums," said Jack. "It's not working."

  "Oh, you've misunderstood my intent. I think you're a puckering asshole. So does Lou. Also, call me Mr. Suspicious, but it seems like you've abandoned the whole ruse that you want to negotiate with me."

  "That's not true at all," said Jack. "Lou, get out of the van."

  "Why?" Lou asked.

  "Because we're going to the meeting spot. I'm taking your place, and you're taking mine."

  "What he means," George told Lou, "is that he thinks that, left without a chaperone, we might take it upon ourselves to drive somewhere other than where we've been instructed to travel."

  "Ah, okay, I understand now." Lou got out of the van. Jack told him to get into the white sedan, which Lou did without looking back. Jack climbed into the passenger seat of the van.

  "Do I need to spell out what's going to happen to your buddy if you try anything?" asked Jack.

  "Nope," said George. "It's much scarier if you let me use my imagination."

  "It won't be quick."

  "Okay, you're clearly dying to share the details. Go on. Tell me what's going to happen to Lou if I try anything."

  "Never mind. Let's go."

  George started the engine. "Is the meeting place close?"

  "No."

  "Figures."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
<
br />   Forbidden Vengeance

  It took over an hour to get to the meeting place, a small bar that, unlike Pigg's BBQue, looked like the building would survive a light rainfall. Jack had only been able to last fifteen minutes before going into great detail about what would happen to Lou if George didn't fully cooperate. A couple of Jack's scenarios got human anatomy wrong, but George didn't correct him.

  "Both of you, get out," said Jack.

  George and Ivan got out of the van. Lou got out of the white sedan, apparently unharmed. Two other scumbags, along with the guy still lugging around his beloved rocket launcher, joined the group as they walked up to the entrance to the bar.

  Jack knocked. A moment later, the door opened. The man who answered was of indeterminate age—probably older than he looked, but he had the "my face doesn't actually move anymore" thing going on from too many nips and tucks. Everybody walked through the bar to the back room, where three more people were waiting. George didn't recognize any of them, though the dynamic was clearly Guy In Charge, Flunky #1, and Flunky #2.

  Guy in Charge was dressed in a dark suit that looked like it had been freshly pressed right before they arrived. His black hair was slicked back and he had a thin mustache. Beady eyes. He was a little cartoony looking, though many cartoons had given George nightmares when he was a child.

  George did a quick count. Jack and Rocket Launcher Dude. The second asshole from the white car and the second asshole from the gray car. The guy who answered the door. Guy in Charge and his two flunkies. Three against eight, if they could count Ivan on their side.

  Guy in Charge walked over and shook Jack's hand. "Everybody have a seat," he said. "There are plenty of chairs available. Not you, George. And not you, Lou. And not you...?" he looked over at Ivan.

  "Ivan."

  "Right. The hostage. Boy, did you luck out." Guy in Charge glanced around the room. "I thought I asked everybody to have a seat."

  Everybody except George, Lou, and Ivan sat down.

  "Should I know who you are?" George asked.

  "I'm Tanner Partsen. Jonathan Dewey was my best friend and mentor."

  George had already written off the whole idea that he might be able to negotiate for his freedom, but now he wrote it off even more. This was pretty freaking bad. He wished there were fewer guns pointed at him.