Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Wrap-Up

“The werewolf is dead,” said Bateman. The phone felt like a live grenade in his hand.

“I know. I saw.” Mr. Dewey’s tone was hard to figure out. Bateman assumed that it was “tightly controlled rage.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Bateman insisted. “The guys we hired had an excellent reputation. It was just a simple transport job. He was in a durable cage. Nothing should have gone wrong.”

“And yet we’re left with a dead werewolf.”

“I’m sorry. We did our best.”

“I have a huge amount of resources at my disposal, Mr. Bateman. Resources that are no longer of any use to me. Therefore, I’m going to devote these resources to making the rest of your life extraordinarily unpleasant.”

Bateman’s throat went dry. “Are you threatening me?”

“Yes, I most certainly am. You have just made yourself the worst, and last, enemy of your life.”

“Hey, you can’t blame me! You want revenge, blame the guys who lost him! You can’t come after me for this! I never had to offer him to you in the first place!”

“But you did, and you gave me false hope. I believe that responsibility always starts at the top. I have no interest in the lowlife thugs you hired to do your dirty work. This is all on you.”

“Let’s talk about this.”

“We are talking. It’s over for you, Mr. Bateman. Goodbye.”

Mr. Dewey hung up. “Hey!” Bateman shouted into the phone. “Hey! You can’t do this!”

He tossed the phone against the wall, shattering it. Oh, God, he was so very screwed. He threw up onto his new carpet, then ran out of his office.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” Bryan asked. The dumb-ass was playing video games, right there in the living room where Bateman could see, even though he’d been strictly forbidden to do so.

“Pack your things!”

“Why?”

“Because I said so, you stupid fuck!”

“But I’ve got a date with Mindy tonight!”

Bateman ran across the living room and kicked the widescreen TV as hard as he could, putting a huge hole in the center of the screen. The satisfaction he felt was minimal, but Bryan did get up and hurry off to his room.

Bateman threw up again, then ran off to pack.

* * *

Jonathan Dewey sat silently in his chair.

Helena put her hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, honey. We’ll find another way. It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.”

He pulled away from her hand. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I just meant--”

“Werewolves do not die of brain tumors, Helena! I had a chance, and now it’s ruined!”

“But--”

“Shut up. Get out of here and leave me alone. I have to send some people off to bring me Bateman’s head.”

* * *

“We got ripped off, bad,” said George.

“Well, I’m sorry we weren’t given the opportunity to seek medical care that would have been covered by my insurance.” Lou poked at the heavy bandage over his stump.

“We needed that money.”

“Yeah, well, excuse me for getting my hand bit off by a werewolf. If I’d known that it would cause problems with our financial situation, I never would have let him do that. I thought you were going to donate everything to charity anyway. Become a better person.”

“I never said I was going to donate everything to charity. But I am going to become a better person. Deal with it.”

It had been a rough two days. George had thought that Lou was indeed going to bleed to death as they sped away from the bowling alley. He pulled behind the next building, made a tourniquet out of a crossbow bolt and a rag he found in the van, and got the bleeding under control.

The process of cauterization had been ugly.

After a few panicked calls, they found a doctor of ill-repute who was willing to patch up their wounds and hide them away for a couple of days, in exchange for almost all of the cash in the briefcase.

“You couldn’t have got us a car with more legroom?” Lou asked, shifting uncomfortably. “I can’t make it all the way to Canada in this.”

“Then we’ll go to Mexico.”

“Seriously, George. We need to steal something else.”

“Yeah, let’s steal a big roomy clown car with flashing lights that makes wacky sound effects. We certainly wouldn’t want to be in a non-descript automobile when cops, bad guys, and the general public are all looking for us.”

“I didn’t say it had to be a clown car. Just something roomier.”

“At least your arm takes up less room now.”

Lou frowned at him. “Are you really going to make jokes about my hand? Seriously?”

“I’m just trying to make you laugh so you don’t cry.”

“I’m not gonna cry.”

“Good.”

“Do you think I’m a werewolf now?”

“Are you bringing that up again?

“Is it really such a terrible thing if I want reassurance? I got bit. I got bit really, really bad.” He held up his bandaged stump. “See?”

“You saw how quickly it affected Michele. It’s been two days. Maybe it’s a special kind of bite. An injection or something.”

“I hope so.”

“I told you, I’m going to watch over you. You start to feel wolfy, we’ll put you in the trunk. Everything’s going to be fine. I didn’t get my throat torn out by Ivan, so I’m sure as hell not going to get it torn out by you.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m feeling optimistic.”

“So am I.”

Lou turned on the radio. Some hip-hop music blared over the speakers. “Do you like this song?”

“It’s crap.”

“Good. I think we’ll listen to it.” Lou began to move his head back and forth to the beat. “Groove with me, George.”

“You look like an idiot.”

“I’m an idiot with rhythm. C’mon, groove with me.”

George watched him for a moment, then smiled. He cranked up the volume and the two thugs grooved off into the sunset.

THE END