Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Working Things Out

“Is that him?” Lou asked, pointing through the broken windshield.

George applied the brake and leaned forward. “Where?”

“There!”

“The cat?”

“Is that a cat?”

“It’s sure as hell not a werewolf.”

“It’s a possum,” said Michele. “They’re everywhere.”

“I didn’t see what it actually was,” said Lou. “I just noticed movement.”

George muttered something rude. They’d been slowly driving around for more than an hour. They hadn’t been able to get a net, but one of the local shops did have a blanket and a travel-sized sewing kit. So Lou had sewn the silver rings onto the blanket in various places, hoping that maybe if they successfully tossed the blanket on top of the werewolf, the silver would keep him from getting out. It was perhaps the furthest thing from a foolproof plan that they’d ever concocted, but unless they drove past a guy with a cart selling hot dogs and silver bullets, their options were limited.

Michele was filing the handle of the silver cross into a point. If by some miracle they were able to get close enough to use it, it would make one hell of a weapon. Sharpened silver cross to the heart. No more werewolf.

“Looks pretty good, don’t you think?” asked Michele, holding it up for their inspection.

“Yeah.” George was originally going to ask Lou to file the cross and Michele to sew the rings, but he didn’t want to seem sexist. They’d both done fine work. “Oh, by the way, Lou, I forgot to complement you on your lovely bracelet. It really brings out the color in your eyes.”

“It could be useful.”

“That tiny thing? Maybe if we stab him with it a few thousand times.”

“It makes me feel better to have it.”

“Because it’s silver or because it’s a cross?”

Lou shrugged. “Both. Don’t make fun of me.”

“I wouldn’t even bother.”

“Maybe we should get some wooden stakes, too,” said Lou.

“That’s vampires.”

“I know that, but how do we know that the vampire myths didn’t come from werewolves? I completely believe in werewolves now, but I don’t believe in vampires yet, so isn’t it possible that somebody once killed a werewolf with a wooden stake to the heart and over the centuries the story changed to a vampire?”

“That’s actually not a bad point,” said George. “Maybe we should get some garlic, too. What else kills monsters?”

Lou shrugged. “Direct sunlight?”

“Well, Lou, I’m afraid we already know his weakness isn’t direct sunlight, because we’ve seen him out in the direct goddamn sun!”

“We’re brainstorming! You don’t criticize ideas in a brainstorming session!”

“Fine, fine. Write ‘direct sunlight’ on the chalkboard. Jesus. What else?”

“In The War of the Worlds, they defeated the aliens with the common cold.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Yeah. I was just seeing if you would criticize it. How about holy water?”

“Good, good. We’ll pick some up if we drive by a church.”

“Also,” said Michele, “he might need to return to his coffin before sunrise.”

“Let me make this very clear,” George told her. “Lou gets to behave like a third-grader because he’s my partner. You do not have that option. I want serious suggestions.”

“I’m so terribly sorry to have offended you,” said Michele. “I guess I was just trying to draw attention away from the fact that our brilliant plan to recapture the werewolf is to just drive around hoping he’ll be conveniently wandering around. It’s a good one. I see why you make the big bucks.”

“Better this than sitting around with our thumbs up our rectums waiting for the reinforcements,” said George. “You never know, he may be looking for us, too.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring.”

“You seem to think that because we’ve done arts and crafts together that we’re not going to put you in that cage. That line of thinking is incorrect.”

“Sorry. I just happen to believe that brainstorming ways to kill vampires in hopes that these ways might also work on werewolves is silly.”

“Not just vampires. All monsters.”

“Either way, it’s silly. We should get more bullets.”

“Bullets don’t kill it.”

“So far they haven’t. But a whole shitload of bullets at once might kill it. Or even a grenade.”

“Do you own a grenade?”

“No, but I’m not the mobster.”

“We’re not mobsters. We perform unpleasant tasks that are usually illegal, but we don’t have any mafia connections. And when we pack for a trip to break an old man’s thumbs, we typically leave the grenades at home.”

“Can’t you get them? Don’t you have connections?”

“Not in the middle of the frickin’ swamp! You think I can just call somebody and have them drop a little care package with a parachute out of a plane?”

“They killed King Kong by shooting him off the Empire State Building,” said Lou. “We could try that.”

“You’re an asshole.”

* * *

Frank Bateman had gone three weeks and four days without a cigarette. The last one was after he drowned his son’s chemistry teacher. Technically, his men had been the ones to tie the rocks around Mr. Amrita’s feet and drop him into the lake, but it had bothered Bateman. He liked Mr. Amrita. He seemed to genuinely care about his students and brought an infectious enthusiasm to the subject matter. Hell, after the first parent/teacher conference, Bateman had almost been compelled to break out his old chemistry set from when he was a kid and start mixing some liquids.

But when he’d explained to Mr. Amrita that it was unacceptable for Bryan to get less than a C in the class, apparently the implications of that message had not sunk in properly. That’s what Bateman got for trying to be subtle. There was no doubt that Bryan deserved the D, since he was a lazy video game-playing dumb-ass who probably cheated just to get the D, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Bryan needed a halfway decent grade point average if he was going to get into a good school, and Mr. Amrita stood in the way of that.

Bateman had met them out there by the lake and explained the situation. Some would say that it didn’t matter, since the poor chemistry teacher was going to die anyway, but Bateman felt that a man always deserved to know why he was being put to death. It was a respect thing. Mr. Amrita had done the usual begging and crying, which was fine. He was scared and Bateman understood that. No shame in fearing death.

He’d waited in the car while Gallows and Bonez (not their real names) rowed Mr. Amrita out to the middle of the lake and dropped him in.

Then he’d gone home and told Bryan that if his chemistry grade wasn’t at least a C on his next report card, he’d smash the fucking Xbox to pieces with a sledgehammer and Bryan wouldn’t get another one. After that, Bateman went out onto the back porch and had a cigarette.

He’d been nice and relaxed since then, until he got the call that the werewolf was loose.

Very disappointing. And unnerving.

He probably should’ve used top men for this, but George Orton and Lou Flynn had an excellent reputation, they just happened to be in the area, and they worked cheap. The last part was the most important. Bateman didn’t live his current lifestyle by throwing money away, and it should have been a straightforward, easy job. Now he had to pay out the ass for bounty hunters, and the deal with Mr. Dewey was a flat fee arrangement, although Bateman planned to try to renegotiate, considering that the whole idea about the werewolf not transforming except during the full moon was apparently an extreme bit of misinformation.

Dewey was seriously pissed about Ivan getting away, but seriously thrilled with the new discovery about Ivan’s power. Bateman was much more pissed than thrilled.

All he could say was, thank Christ they’d put in the chip. They could pinpoint Ivan’s location anywhere he went. His arm had healed right up before he regained consciousness, so he didn’t even know about it.

Bateman’s non-emergency “civilian” cell phone rang. Unknown caller. “Hello?”

“Hello. It’s your former captive. I assume you got word that I escaped?”

Bateman sat up straight at his desk. “Where are you?”

“I’m around. Here and there. But I’d like to register a formal complaint about their treatment of me. George in particular was very rude.”

“Why are you really calling? I take it you’re not going to be nice and turn yourself in?”

“No, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I need to get a hold of George and he apparently has an unlisted number.”

“I’m not giving you shit.”

“Seriously? From your point of view, you actually think that putting me in touch with George is a bad thing? I’m all in favor of making things difficult for people, but don’t be stubborn just to be stubborn.”

“I don’t have his number.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because we don’t do direct contact for jobs like this.”

“Well, that’s inefficient and stupid. I guess put me in touch with that guy Ricky instead.”

* * *

“Aw, crap, that’s Ricky,” said George. Maybe it would be good news. Hey, we found the werewolf at the movies. Something with Sandra Bullock. He didn’t put up a fight. Everybody’s enjoying a good laugh at the whole thing, so you and Lou can just upgrade to first class and bask in luxury on your flight home. He answered. “Yeah?”

“It’s Ricky.”

“I know. Any updates?”

“Yeah, I’ve sort of got your werewolf on a conference call.”

“Hello, George.” George’s grip on the phone tightened at the sound of Ivan’s voice. It was a tiny phone, so he relaxed his hand so as not to break it.

“What do you want?”

“World peace. No, scratch that, world destruction. But at the moment I just want to chat.”

“So chat. Where are you?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Hey, Ricky, did George tell you about how I made him so mad that he opened up the cage?”

“That’s not how it happened,” George said.

“He opened the cage and dragged me out by my feet. Said my attitude needed adjusting. Lou sat there and watched him.”

“I don’t care about any of this,” said Ricky.

“You should. He was going to beat me bloody. If it weren’t for his temper, I’d still be on my way to Tampa.”

“Is this why you called?” George asked. “To make shit up?”

“No. Well, that’s part of it, but that’s not the whole reason. Hey, Ricky, I’m going to need you to drop off the call. Wait, you’re the host, so before you do that give me George’s number in case we get disconnected.”

Ricky gave it to him and then hung up. George was surprised he didn’t protest.

“You still there, George?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, good. So I was thinking that we should meet up.”

“I’m all in favor of that. But why do you want to do it?”

“Because being a werewolf doesn’t pay that well, and I heard you and Lou chatting about the briefcase of drug money, back when you thought that I’d never, ever, ever get out of the cage. I could hide away for a couple of years with sixty-three thousand dollars.”

“It’s less than that. We spent some on jewelry.”

Ivan chuckled. “You’re a funny guy, George. So I’m offering you the chance to meet with me, give me the money, and have your problems diminish.”

“If we give you the money you’ll lock yourself back up in the cage? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“I didn’t say that your problems will go away completely. But if you hand over the cash, I’ll disappear. You’ll never hear from me again. Otherwise, there will be a bloodbath beyond anything your criminal mind can imagine. I’m talking about dead women and dead babies. Dead grandmas, dead grandpas, dead aunts and uncles, dead moms, dead dads, dead sisters, dead brothers...I will kill and kill and kill, and I will write ‘George Orton Was Here’ in the blood of every victim.”

“The cops will take you down.”

“You think so? Maybe. I might only get to murder twenty newborns instead of thirty. I guess if you can only kill twenty babies, why even bother, right?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s fine. I wouldn’t believe me, either. But this is a one-time offer. Once the Everglades genocide begins, I’m not going to take a time-out to see if you’ve changed your mind.”

George knew the skinny bastard was up to something, but he also believed that Ivan would make good on his threat. If they were going to drive around looking for him, they might as well meet him somewhere. “All right.”

“Superb choice.”

“Where should we meet?”

“I’m in Naples. How far away are you?”

George punched in some information on the GPS. “About fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes. Lie to Ricky when he asks what’s going on. If I get any kind of feeling that you’re not playing fair, the deal is off.” He hung up.