by Keri Hudson
Bam! Jack took another shot, this one in the side. It was a deeper shot, and Jack knew he had to end his mission decisively, and soon. Jack ran at the man who shot him, ducking the man’s pistol fire until he was close enough to pounce. He made quick work of the man, but there were more coming.
Jack marshaled his strength, growled, and turned to charge at the remaining Somali pirates, gunfire crackling around him, the men doing more damage to one another than they did to Jack.
Thirty minutes later, it was all over. The auditorium was strewn with blood and bodies, any survivors having fled for their lives. Jack looked around, the blood of his enemies still on his lips, lupine blood charging in his veins.
He threw his head back and let out a long, lupine wail, a howl that cut through the air and sailed above Mogadishu. The nearby rescue team was ready for it, waiting, and Jack knew they’d be pouring into that auditorium in a matter of moments. His slaughter had cleared the area, so there was no reason to stay. The president’s sons had been wearing wool sacks, so they hadn't seen him or what he was capable of. The extraction team would take credit for their rescue, Jack's secret, shared by the government, would remain safe, and the embattled president would be handed a rare win.
Jack turned and walked out of the auditorium, fearless as he stalked back across the campus toward the streets where his clothes and other personal objects were hidden, waiting for him.
CHAPTER TWO
Jack spent some downtime in New York City after returning to the States from Somalia. It was a striking contrast to Mogadishu, shimmering skyscrapers without a single vacancy replacing the bombed-out shells he’d so recently been among. Cars jammed the streets of Manhattan, those who carried guns had the good sense to hide them.
But some things didn’t change, and Jack knew they never would no matter where in the world he went. There were gunmen everywhere, pirates no less bloodthirsty than in Somalia, criminals and kidnappers and rapists and murderers behind every corner. Somalis, domestic terrorists, ISIS, humans were always anxious to band together under the unifying principle of killing others with the same idea.
Jack shook his head as he walked through the Bronx Zoo, world famous for its array of animals great and small. They looked out at him from behind their cages and enclosures, most taking no mind of the lone man walking from exhibit to exhibit. But he took note of every one, marking the relaxed indifference of the smaller, lesser creatures—ferrets and impala and penguins going about their animal business as if all were perfectly right with the world.
As far as they know, he reflected, it is.
But the big predators seemed to know different. Without an exception, the alpha males among the bigger animals were agitated by Jack’s presence. Grizzly bears, lions, and the other big cats. They snarled at him, eyes fixed on his. And the more he stared them down, the more riled up they became. The big silverback gorilla pounded his chest, the male African elephant trumpeting and shaking its massive head, stalking around its big pen, ears flapping, big feet stomping.
It had been happening more and more. At first Jack was ready to assume that any alpha male of sufficient stature on the food chain would be threatened by a shifter, almost always alphas. But as the years progressed, they became more agitated with his presence, in zoos all over the country, all over the world.
They know, Jack told himself. They know something’s coming, something which threatens them all; they can feel it right down to their bones. Jack glanced around to survey the zoo. I can feel it too.
And he noted the increasingly erratic behavior of the big alpha male predators, even the advanced animals such as elephants and gorillas and animals not normally thought of as predatory.
Jack thought about himself and the other shifters, scattered throughout the world. There was a growing tension between the lupine and the ursine shifters, and escalating skirmishes happening more and more often meant that tension was coming to a boil.
It wouldn’t be much longer before it boiled over.
Jack shuddered to think of what that would look like, packs of lupes outnumbering their more powerful adversaries, a gruesome world war of shifters that would wipe out hundreds of thousands of human lives before it was done. And afterward, the surviving humans would be doomed to extinction, slaves to their shifter overlords, who would rule the planet into the next million years.
Well, Jack thought and not for the first time, at least shifters won’t poison the planet, burn down the rainforests, pour nuclear waste and oil into the oceans. Maybe the world would be better off under shifter rule.
But strolling among the happy families, the classrooms of children smiling and bouncing happily from one exhibit to the next, told another story. There was promise, there was humanity, there was a kind of mercy and softness that shifters simply weren’t given to. For a shifter, those things meant vulnerability, and that could mean death. Shifters weren’t easy to kill, but the best way to do it was to find a way in through the most vulnerable spot, and that was the heart.
A familiar digital coo leaked up from Jack’s pocket, and he pulled his smartphone out and swiped the screen, raising the thin rectangle to his ear.
“Jack Billings.”
“Yes, hello,” the unfamiliar female voice said, “please hold for Stewart Mathers.”
“No.” Jack pressed the end call button and put the phone back into his pocket. It rang again almost immediately, and Jack swiped the screen and raised the phone again. “Ask me to hold again and I won’t pick up a third time.”
“Yes, hello,” another voice said, a man’s. “Hi, um, don’t hang up, please. This is Stewart Mathers, All World Entertainment. This is Jack Billings?”
“It is.” Jack said nothing more, letting the man explain himself.
“Okay, good, um, well look, I’ve got… need of a… a person with a special set of skills, as they say.” Jack sighed, letting his breathy release carry clearly into the phone. “I… I don’t want to get into too many details over the phone, but I’m looking for certain services, and I understand you’re the man to provide them.”
Jack knew what he meant, and he understood the need for discretion—for the man’s sake and for his own. Jack’s schedule was open, but the question of the client’s fitness for his services was still open.
“Who recommended me?”
“I… I’m not at liberty to say, but… he’s in the Justice Department.” That squared, and it encouraged Jack to let the man go on. Silence was his only urging that Mathers continue, and he was finally ready to do so. “Anyway, we’re in Los Angeles, and if you could fly out here… at our expense, of course, we’ll make everything clear.”
Jack was interested, but he didn’t feel the need to share the fact. “Travel fee’s five thousand dollars a day, if I take the job or not.”
“Yeah, sure, that’s fine. Where are you now? Back in the US, I hear.”
“Back… from where?”
After a brief but notable silence, Mathers said, “I wasn’t told, just that you were available… as far as they knew.”
Jack took another glance around the zoo. “I’ll fly out of JFK, nonstop, first class. Have a driver waiting in LA.”
“Yeah, sure, yeah, no problem. I’ll have my girl text you the deets.”
Jack silently repeated, Text me the deets? Humans.
CHAPTER THREE
Jack looked out the darkened windows of the limousine. Los Angeles traffic crawled by next to the limo, the I-10 freeway crowded as they inched toward downtown. His scotch was brisk and bracing, ice cubes clacking in the Glenlivet 8. Jack turned to look at the young woman in the seat across from him, a smartphone to her ear. She was cute, with shoulder-length brown hair, a pug nose, and big, brown eyes, a shapely little figure in a pair of suede skinny jeans and a smart plaid turtleneck top.
“No, sir,” she said into the phone, “we’re on our way back now… it’s the traffic, as usual… of course, straight there, yes, sir.” She swiped the screen and put the
phone on her lap. She’d introduced herself as Cindy Connors, one of Stewart Mathers’ personal assistants. Cindy returned her attention to Jack. “Everything okay? Freshen up that drink?”
Jack shook his head. He looked her over, enjoying the shape of her legs, hip, breasts, pretty face; she had a wholesome air, but that body was made for physical activity, one of which struck Jack as particularly promising.
But Jack knew he was there on business, and any kind of pleasure would have to wait. But he had a good notion that she’d still be there when the job was over.
The limo finally arrived at the Staples Center complex in the heart of downtown Los Angeles. The Microsoft Theater was part of the complex, as were various cafes, bars, and shops. The recently built complex had been part of a revitalization effort from the profitable nineteen-nineties and the first few years of the new century, creating a yuppie and hipster enclave where there had once been only crackheads and the homeless. Jack glanced around with a bitter little smile, knowing the place was now favored by all those groups equally: dying vagrants knifing each other at the feet of million-dollar artist lofts owned by people who couldn’t even recognize art, much less create it.
Cindy pulled out her phone and swiped the screen, raising it to her ear. “Yes, sir, it’s me… we’re pulling up now… okay, sure.” She ended the call and turned to knock on the partition behind her. It sank down to reveal the driver. “Box office, please.”
The partition rose up again and the limo slowed to a stop. Jack climbed out and held the door for Cindy, who thanked him with a flirty little smile and he closed the door just as a man approached them both, open hand extended to shake.
“There he is,” the man said. “Jack Billings? Stewart Mathers, All World Entertainment.” Jack shook the man’s hand and looked around. He went on, “Thanks so much for coming. Let’s take a walk.” He glared at Cindy and she faded into the crowd of people walking in every direction around the big stadium.
“Get you anything? Drink?”
“Information,” Jack said as they walked deeper into the open center of the complex, intended for massive crowds.
Stewart chuckled nervously. “Straight to business, I like that. Okay, so… as you can see, we’ve got a big thing going up here soon, Concert for the Climate, all-star charity thing, raising awareness and money for the whole, y’know, climate change thing.”
Jack looked the man over; he was shorter than Jack’s six-foot-plus by almost an entire foot, his shaggy, brown hair graying despite what had to be his forty-year age, tops.
“We got McCartney, we got Springsteen, and they’re gonna do a duet. It’ll seem off the cuff, of course, but… that’s show biz, right?” Stewart laughed, but Jack didn’t. None of this needed Jack’s special services, but he knew the missing piece of information was forthcoming, and fast.
“And, particular to you, we got Layla Shaye!” Jack didn’t recognize the name, and he knew his unmoving, nonplussed expression made that perfectly clear. Stewart shrugged, head slung forward a bit. “Leave My Lovin’, Bodycount, Daddy Says Don’t…?” Reading Jack’s disinterest, Stewart waved the explanation off. “Huge star, gorgeous, makes Miley and Britney look like the fucking Golden Girls!” He chuckled at his own joke, Jack gladly showing his complete lack of amusement.
“Anyway, she’s… she’s got some security issues, it seems. Mother fired her entire staff just before she got here.”
“Mother?”
“Lorelei Schaffer, that’s their family name, Schaffer. Anyway, she’s a world-class bitch. Tell you the truth, her daughter’s not much better. But she’s a classic piece of ass and she sells a shit ton of records. We’re honored to have her participation, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Jack repeated, voice a level slat. “Why’d she fire them?”
“That’s the thing… seems she’s getting death threats.”
“What kind of death threats?”
Stewart stammers a bit. “I… I really don’t know. All I heard was death threats. You hear death threats, you think, what? Death threats! So we… All World Entertainment, want to hire you to look out for her while she’s here. The concert is in five days. We’ve got general security, but… this little diva needs a chaperone, at least while she’s here. After that, she’s her mother’s problem.”
“They’re all here for five days?”
Stewart nodded. “There’s gonna be lots of duets and special performances. Believe me, you do not wanna hear Bono singing a duet with Bob Dylan without plenty of rehearsing.”
Jack glanced around, the spring sun bright even in the smoggy Los Angeles sky. “I’m not a babysitter.”
“No, of course not, but… I mean, I wouldn’t put it that way. This concert is going to raise a lot of money and a lot of awareness! Then there’s the movie, the record release, the documentary that’ll go with the concert DVD, it’s huge. And there’s also all the talent we’ll have here. We have the most famous people in the world congregating here this week, we have to keep them safe!”
Jack shrugged. “Pop singers. What makes them more important than schoolteachers?”
“What—? They’re rich, that’s what! Not only that, but they generate millions of dollars for other people—”
“For you,” Jack said, “who’d lose everything if his All World Entertainment was in charge of the biggest disaster in concert history.”
After a knowing pause, Stewart nodded. “All right, yes, sure, whatever. We’ll pay your rate, and frankly it will probably be a week of standing around doing nothing. What is it, five thousand a day?”
“That’s for this meeting.” Jack ran the numbers in his head. “Two hundred thousand gets the job done.”
“Two—? For one person? She’s just some girl!”
“You’re not paying for her,” Jack said, “you’re paying for me.”
Stewart stopped, glanced around, then nodded. “Okay, fine, you got it. C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Jack and Stewart climbed into an electric cart that whizzed up and carried them to the nearby Ritz-Carlton, gorgeous with postmodern furniture, clean lines gleaming with luxury. Jack looked around, estimating, Five hundred bucks a night easy. Some charity benefit concert.
Stewart nodded at the security guard at the elevator and flashed a laminated ID badge before leading Jack into the elevator.
The box glided up the big tower, lighted numbers crawling across the top of the mirrored car just above the double doors.
“So, about these big celebrities,” Stewart said, “I know you’re… you’re number one in your field, of course, but… have you ever been around one of these super-famous types?”
“Not if I could help it,” Jack said, certain that his point of not being starstruck came through loud and clear.
Stewart offered up a nervous chuckle and nodded. “Good, well, y’know, they’re… they’re used to being treated a certain way.”
“I don’t care.”
After a stilted silence, Stewart went on, “Right, so… they can be, y’know, flighty. You don’t know anything about this girl at all?” Stewart seemed to read the slow shake of Jack’s head as the elevator slowed to a stop. “She’s got a… a rebellious streak, hard to handle.”
“I don’t care.”
The elevator doors slid open. “That… that might not work out so well.” Jack turned to sneer at Stewart, who broke a nervous smile. “But… you don’t care.” Stewart led Jack out of the elevator and down the hall, cluttered with people chatting with each other, some on the phone and others swiping computer tablets.
“Is this him?” Jack and Stewart looked over to see an aging blonde beauty pushing down the hall toward them. Jack could instantly spot the gray roots, the deepening crow’s feet failing to hide behind a thick layer of makeup. She looked Jack over, one painted brow raised over her fading blue eyes. “One man?”
Jack looked her over, letting his disgust radiate from his snarling lip. “I work a
lone.”
“Jack Billings, he’s the best there is,” Stewart said to her, turning his attention to Jack. “Jack Billings, this is Lorelei Schaffer.”
Lorelei sighed and shook her head. “I don’t like him, it won’t work.”
Stewart said, “Lorelei, we discussed this… how important it is for Layla to be safe… and reliable…”
Lorelei shook her head. “Any star of her magnitude would have walked off that movie set. The director was incompetent.”
Stewart asked, “And the tour?”
“She was exhausted.”
“Cy Davenport?”
“Asshole.”
“And the lawsuits?”
“Parasites!”
“And the threats?”
Jack noted the silence that lingered between them. Finally she said to Stewart, “Fine. But if anything happens to my daughter, I swear to Christ, Mathers… I’ll sue your ass off!” She turned and walked down the hall, Stewart leading Jack behind her.
“Charming, isn’t she?”
Jack didn’t bother to answer.
Stewart led Jack through the thickening crowd to the room at the end of the hallway. The double doors opened up to a huge suite with massive windows, Los Angeles spread out beyond them. But the suite was crammed with people, chattering at each other and into their phones. A lot of the men were prettier and better dressed than the young women, many of them seemingly obsessed with racks of clothes. It looked like a wardrobe suitable for an entire lifetime, and all for a five-day stopover in Los Angeles.
Fucking pop stars, Jack couldn’t help but think. Superstar athletes may be overpaid and idolized too, but at least they compete with honor… most of the time.
Jack followed Stewart and Lorelei through the crowd to a strikingly pretty young blonde, no older than twenty-two, with an angel’s face and the body of a ten-thousand-dollar-a-night hooker. She held a smartphone up to her perfect cheek, plump pink lips wriggling as she spoke into it.
