Lou had ever seen him. That
was only to be expected--Lou was more spooked than he'd ever been, too, and
most likely Michele felt the same way. But George's mental state
seemed to go beyond simply "Holy shit! That werewolf almost killed
me!"
"Do you need to go to the hospital?" Lou
asked.
George shook his head.
"We can. I mean, if you're that badly hurt. I
can drop you off at the door, or I can come in with you if you need
it, or whatever."
"Do you know what he did?" George asked.
"What?"
"He killed the lady who lived in that house.
Not just killed her--he made her talk about her family, and then he
slashed her up, like it was a great big joke. Remember that hit we
saw two years ago in Buffalo?"
"Yeah."
"That guy laughed and it was frickin'
chilling, but that was an 'I finally got revenge' laugh. You could
sort of understand where he was coming from. This was...it was just
like 'Look how much fun I'm having stabbing this woman.' It was
playtime."
"Jesus."
"He kept doing it after she
was dead. He sat there stabbing her corpse. And her kid was in the
house."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. He was hiding in the bedroom. This
little kid. He's already terrified, and he's going to walk into the
kitchen and find his mom in a great big pool of blood, stabbed to
death by a madman. I should have gotten him out of there. Should've
taken him to a neighbor or something. He's five, Lou. He shouldn't
see that. What's going to happen to him?"
"He should be okay, right? I mean, Ivan's
gone."
"I'm not talking about whether or not he gets
killed by a goddamn werewolf. I'm talking about him seeing his dead
mom!"
"Okay, okay, I dunno what to tell you,
George! It's heartbreaking, but we didn't have a choice. We
couldn't hang out there any more. Protecting the kid from
psychological trauma isn't worth going to prison, right?"
"I guess not."
"No, no, don't use the word 'guess.' This is
a definite. I'm not going to jail for a kid."
"Yeah, you're right."
"I am right, and we need to get this
perfectly clear: we're not heroes. If you wanna be sad about the
kid, I completely understand--it's disturbing as hell. But don't
sit there thinking that we should've taken him by the hand and led
him over to the nice old lady who lives next door. You got me?"
"I've got you."
"Good. I'm not a cold-hearted monster.
I'm gonna have some sleepless nights over this whole thing, but the
reason I'll get to have those sleepless nights is that I'm still
alive."
"I said I've got you! Quit hammering in the
goddamn point!"
"And now I think we should call Ricky."
"Aw, shit."
"Yeah."
"Who's Ricky?" Michele asked.
"If we're lucky, he's going to be the guy who
covers our butts." George took his cell phone out of his
pocket.
"You want me to do it?" Lou asked.
"Nah, I'll take the heat."
"Don't throw up on the phone."
"I won't."
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Difficult Confession
George took a deep breath, exhaled slowly in
an effort to calm himself, then called Ricky. He hoped that the
little prick didn't give him any crap, because George was
positively not in the mood for it.
Ricky answered. "George?"
"Yeah."
"Hey, I was half a second away from calling
you. Your dog problem is on the news. I thought you were just
yanking me, but I'm looking at it right now. Anyway, I just got off
a conference call with Bateman and Dewey. Intense stuff."
"Intense how?"
"Manic depressive intense. Anger and joy. I'm
glad I only have to deal with them over the phone. So here's the
deal: get off the road ASAP. Find someplace safe to hide out. Get
as far off the beaten path as you can. They weren't anticipating
any problems like this, so they're going to send out a bunch of
reinforcements and collect the furball from you."
"Oh."
"Your voice sounds funny."
"Yeah."
"Just relax. It's all going to be taken care
of. Your buddy Ricky makes your headaches go away."
"So, Ricky, what if there was another problem
that they hadn't anticipated?"
"What do you
was only to be expected--Lou was more spooked than he'd ever been, too, and
most likely Michele felt the same way. But George's mental state
seemed to go beyond simply "Holy shit! That werewolf almost killed
me!"
"Do you need to go to the hospital?" Lou
asked.
George shook his head.
"We can. I mean, if you're that badly hurt. I
can drop you off at the door, or I can come in with you if you need
it, or whatever."
"Do you know what he did?" George asked.
"What?"
"He killed the lady who lived in that house.
Not just killed her--he made her talk about her family, and then he
slashed her up, like it was a great big joke. Remember that hit we
saw two years ago in Buffalo?"
"Yeah."
"That guy laughed and it was frickin'
chilling, but that was an 'I finally got revenge' laugh. You could
sort of understand where he was coming from. This was...it was just
like 'Look how much fun I'm having stabbing this woman.' It was
playtime."
"Jesus."
"He kept doing it after she
was dead. He sat there stabbing her corpse. And her kid was in the
house."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah. He was hiding in the bedroom. This
little kid. He's already terrified, and he's going to walk into the
kitchen and find his mom in a great big pool of blood, stabbed to
death by a madman. I should have gotten him out of there. Should've
taken him to a neighbor or something. He's five, Lou. He shouldn't
see that. What's going to happen to him?"
"He should be okay, right? I mean, Ivan's
gone."
"I'm not talking about whether or not he gets
killed by a goddamn werewolf. I'm talking about him seeing his dead
mom!"
"Okay, okay, I dunno what to tell you,
George! It's heartbreaking, but we didn't have a choice. We
couldn't hang out there any more. Protecting the kid from
psychological trauma isn't worth going to prison, right?"
"I guess not."
"No, no, don't use the word 'guess.' This is
a definite. I'm not going to jail for a kid."
"Yeah, you're right."
"I am right, and we need to get this
perfectly clear: we're not heroes. If you wanna be sad about the
kid, I completely understand--it's disturbing as hell. But don't
sit there thinking that we should've taken him by the hand and led
him over to the nice old lady who lives next door. You got me?"
"I've got you."
"Good. I'm not a cold-hearted monster.
I'm gonna have some sleepless nights over this whole thing, but the
reason I'll get to have those sleepless nights is that I'm still
alive."
"I said I've got you! Quit hammering in the
goddamn point!"
"And now I think we should call Ricky."
"Aw, shit."
"Yeah."
"Who's Ricky?" Michele asked.
"If we're lucky, he's going to be the guy who
covers our butts." George took his cell phone out of his
pocket.
"You want me to do it?" Lou asked.
"Nah, I'll take the heat."
"Don't throw up on the phone."
"I won't."
CHAPTER TWELVE
A Difficult Confession
George took a deep breath, exhaled slowly in
an effort to calm himself, then called Ricky. He hoped that the
little prick didn't give him any crap, because George was
positively not in the mood for it.
Ricky answered. "George?"
"Yeah."
"Hey, I was half a second away from calling
you. Your dog problem is on the news. I thought you were just
yanking me, but I'm looking at it right now. Anyway, I just got off
a conference call with Bateman and Dewey. Intense stuff."
"Intense how?"
"Manic depressive intense. Anger and joy. I'm
glad I only have to deal with them over the phone. So here's the
deal: get off the road ASAP. Find someplace safe to hide out. Get
as far off the beaten path as you can. They weren't anticipating
any problems like this, so they're going to send out a bunch of
reinforcements and collect the furball from you."
"Oh."
"Your voice sounds funny."
"Yeah."
"Just relax. It's all going to be taken care
of. Your buddy Ricky makes your headaches go away."
"So, Ricky, what if there was another problem
that they hadn't anticipated?"
"What do you
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