damn thing.”
“But he will. He’s very proud of that claw.”
“I don’t blame him. He can carry it instead of a shiv.”
Wilson chuckled and sipped the last of his tea, his fears seemingly forgotten. But the napkin was still clasped convulsively against his chest.
As soon as they got back to headquarters they went to Underwood’s office. It was actually a suite of offices, and in the outer office was the kind of policewoman Becky most disliked, the typist in uniform. “You’re Becky Neff,” the woman said as soon as the two of them came in; “the Chief of Detectives said you’d be coming up. I’m so pleased to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you too, Lieutenant,” Becky muttered. “This is my partner, Detective Wilson.” Wilson stood uncertainly staring past them. There was nothing on the wall he was staring at except a hunting scene. “Wilson—you’re being introduced.”
“Oh! Yeah, hiya. You got any cigarettes?”
“I don’t smoke, the Chief doesn’t like it.”
“Yeah. What’s he doing? We’re supposed to see him at three.”
“It’s only two forty-five. He’s still in his other meeting.”
“Still at lunch, you mean. Why don’t you let me sleep on that couch he’s got in his office. I gotta sleep off about three pounds of chicken chow mein.”
The lieutenant glanced at Becky, but continued without a pause: “No, he’s really in there. He’s got some people from the Museum of Natural History and Doctor Evans—”
They went in.
“Sorry we’re late,” Wilson growled. “We got slowed down by your house genius.”
“Well, you’re not late. Still fifteen minutes to go. But since these men were all here, I thought we’d get started. Everybody knows everybody?”
“We know them,” Wilson said. “Anybody in here smoke?”
“I don’t have any ashtrays,” Underwood said firmly. Wilson pulled up a chair, crossed his legs, and sighed.
There was a silence. The silence got longer. Becky looked from face to face. Rigid, expressionless, Evans a little embarrassed. She felt herself slump into the chair. This silence could only mean that they didn’t believe. These men thought of the two detectives as being a little off their rockers. Two famous detectives driven a little crazy. Worse things have happened, more unlikely things.
“Apparently you gentlemen don’t know what it is to be hunted,” Wilson said. Becky was amazed— when he was up against the wall he revealed hidden resources. “And since you don’t know, you can’t imagine the state me and Neff are in. We are being hunted, you know. Sure. By things that have claws like this.” With a swift motion he picked it up. “Can you imagine how it would feel to get one of these in the chest? Rip your heart right out. Hell, you might look at the sunset out there and think it’s beautiful. And it was for us too, until last night. Now we don’t look at a sunset that way anymore. We look at it the way deer and moose do—with fear. How do you think that feels, eh? Any of you know?”
“Detective Wilson, you’re overwrought—”
“Shut up, Underwood. I’m maybe making my last speech and I want to be heard.” He waved the claw as he spoke, and measured his words with uncharacteristic care. “We are being hunted down by whatever has these claws. They exist, don’t forget that! They have for thousands of years. We have seen them, gentlemen, and they are very ugly. They are also very fast, and very smart. People used to call them werewolves. Now they don’t call them anything because they’ve gotten so damn good at covering their tracks that there are no legends left. But they’re here. They damn well are here.”
The two who had to be killed were hard to find. They had been scented clearly as they walked through the house where the pack had been feeding. Their car had been seen as it left, and seen again a few days later, this time far down Manhattan toward the sea. Patience had been needed. The man was
“But he will. He’s very proud of that claw.”
“I don’t blame him. He can carry it instead of a shiv.”
Wilson chuckled and sipped the last of his tea, his fears seemingly forgotten. But the napkin was still clasped convulsively against his chest.
As soon as they got back to headquarters they went to Underwood’s office. It was actually a suite of offices, and in the outer office was the kind of policewoman Becky most disliked, the typist in uniform. “You’re Becky Neff,” the woman said as soon as the two of them came in; “the Chief of Detectives said you’d be coming up. I’m so pleased to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you too, Lieutenant,” Becky muttered. “This is my partner, Detective Wilson.” Wilson stood uncertainly staring past them. There was nothing on the wall he was staring at except a hunting scene. “Wilson—you’re being introduced.”
“Oh! Yeah, hiya. You got any cigarettes?”
“I don’t smoke, the Chief doesn’t like it.”
“Yeah. What’s he doing? We’re supposed to see him at three.”
“It’s only two forty-five. He’s still in his other meeting.”
“Still at lunch, you mean. Why don’t you let me sleep on that couch he’s got in his office. I gotta sleep off about three pounds of chicken chow mein.”
The lieutenant glanced at Becky, but continued without a pause: “No, he’s really in there. He’s got some people from the Museum of Natural History and Doctor Evans—”
They went in.
“Sorry we’re late,” Wilson growled. “We got slowed down by your house genius.”
“Well, you’re not late. Still fifteen minutes to go. But since these men were all here, I thought we’d get started. Everybody knows everybody?”
“We know them,” Wilson said. “Anybody in here smoke?”
“I don’t have any ashtrays,” Underwood said firmly. Wilson pulled up a chair, crossed his legs, and sighed.
There was a silence. The silence got longer. Becky looked from face to face. Rigid, expressionless, Evans a little embarrassed. She felt herself slump into the chair. This silence could only mean that they didn’t believe. These men thought of the two detectives as being a little off their rockers. Two famous detectives driven a little crazy. Worse things have happened, more unlikely things.
“Apparently you gentlemen don’t know what it is to be hunted,” Wilson said. Becky was amazed— when he was up against the wall he revealed hidden resources. “And since you don’t know, you can’t imagine the state me and Neff are in. We are being hunted, you know. Sure. By things that have claws like this.” With a swift motion he picked it up. “Can you imagine how it would feel to get one of these in the chest? Rip your heart right out. Hell, you might look at the sunset out there and think it’s beautiful. And it was for us too, until last night. Now we don’t look at a sunset that way anymore. We look at it the way deer and moose do—with fear. How do you think that feels, eh? Any of you know?”
“Detective Wilson, you’re overwrought—”
“Shut up, Underwood. I’m maybe making my last speech and I want to be heard.” He waved the claw as he spoke, and measured his words with uncharacteristic care. “We are being hunted down by whatever has these claws. They exist, don’t forget that! They have for thousands of years. We have seen them, gentlemen, and they are very ugly. They are also very fast, and very smart. People used to call them werewolves. Now they don’t call them anything because they’ve gotten so damn good at covering their tracks that there are no legends left. But they’re here. They damn well are here.”
The two who had to be killed were hard to find. They had been scented clearly as they walked through the house where the pack had been feeding. Their car had been seen as it left, and seen again a few days later, this time far down Manhattan toward the sea. Patience had been needed. The man was
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