The Girl Who Tweeted Wolf

by Nick Bryan

  The dog shook its head with another growl, taking a few paces back as Hobson recoiled. Its swipe hadn’t reached his arm, but raked through his coat, which cost him a whole case worth of wages. Hobson took a kick at the dog’s head with his heavy boot. Let’s see the little fuck walk this off.

  The foot glanced off its ear, leaving his leg open for the jaws. The black suit trousers provided some cover, but nowhere near enough. He roared a medley of horrible swearing, sinking down to one knee trying to pull it away. Blood trickled down his shin, as the creature went after his lower leg like it was a bone.

  The residents of the square stayed close to their front doors, keeping their mobile phone cameras trained on Hobson and his dogfight. Hopefully one of them had the decency to call the police.

  *****

  Pete pulled the curtains wide to see the fight, without stepping too near the window. The other two were side-by-side on the sofa as he’d instructed.

  Lettie was beginning to glare at her brother with familiar fury. He looked back whenever they made a sudden movement, but no-one said anything until there was a roar from Hobson outside. Didn’t sound like the fight was going well, so Angelina wouldn’t livetweet it.

  Instead, she unfurled to her feet, and Pete took his eyes from the window to say “Sit down.”

  “No. So it was you all along?”

  “Maybe.”

  “That’s the dog out there, isn’t it? The one that killed Yalin Makozmo, William and Matt. You were keeping it somewhere.”

  “Sit down, please.” His teeth gritted, fist clenching. Maybe he would punch her, Angelina thought, until Lettie stood up too, placing herself in front of Angelina.

  “Pete. Enough, okay? Let’s just both go outside, tell them what happened and take our chances.”

  “Don’t be so fucking stupid, Lettie.”

  “I’m the fucking stupid one?” Lettie exploded. “You just set the murder weapon on a fucking detective in fucking broad fucking daylight!”

  “Look, I thought maybe it would kill him, then the police would take it out, then maybe…”

  “Maybe what? A dozen people saw it come out of your car! It’s over, okay? We’ll do this together.”

  “No. We’re not both going to prison for this.”

  “What happened anyway?”

  Angelina kept level eyes with Pete as she asked the question. May as well try and get some information out of him. She read the introduction to that A Level Psychology textbook, she was almost prepared to negotiate with someone properly crazy.

  *****

  Hobson dragged himself along the pavement, jabbing at the dog with his good foot. Fuck. The injured leg picked up a head of steam as it bled, leaving a smeared trail behind. The dog growled itself into a frenzy, chasing him and clawing for the wound.

  His trousers were fucked, leg didn’t look good either.

  It stopped following him along, grazing at the injury. Hobson stared its red eyes down, at the same level as his now. Listened to the heavy rasp of its breathing and hoped it would go bother someone else.

  A moment later, it lunged for his torso and head.

  *****

  Pete looked like he might ignore her question or punch her for a moment, but at last, he shrugged.

  “I’d just had a huge argument with William over Emily, he told me she thought I was sad and creepy. I went to sulk in the garden, kinda a habit I’d gotten into, and that’s when I saw it.”

  Angelina didn’t need to ask what he meant.

  “The dog already had blood on its muzzle anyway. So I whacked it around with sticks, got it good and angry, then managed to shove it at William. And while it was ripping him up, I locked the door and kicked the thing through from outside.”

  “And why Matt?”

  “I heard about his meet-up with these two, and he might’ve worked it out. He’d heard stuff from Emily, they sat next to each other.”

  “Wait!” Lettie stepped so close to Pete, she was breathing into his mouth. “You killed my boyfriend because he might’ve worked it out? Are you absolutely crazy?”

  “Well, I couldn’t just let him… I mean, I didn’t…”

  “And after all that, you did this shit anyway?”

  “Oh, come on Lettie. Hobson definitely knew, this was the last chance. If he survived, he’d make sure I went down.”

  Angelina spoke up. “And I wouldn’t?”

  “You’re just a kid. I was going to give you this chance to keep quiet.”

  “She won’t,” Lettie said, without even checking with Angelina, “and neither will I. What’re you going to do now, Pete? Kill us both?”

  He didn’t reply, just stared over at the sharp edges of the ceramic figures Lettie smashed earlier. Angelina didn’t like that look in his eyes.

  *****

  Ever headbutted a dog?

  Hobson wouldn’t normally, but with both his hands clasped around his own bleeding shin and a pair of stinking jaws coming fast for his nose, there wasn’t much choice. Eyes closed and fists clenched, he rolled his head forward as hard as he could. The beast’s teeth scraped across his forehead, doggy legs flapped around its body as it bounced away.

  His eyes opened again, only to wince back shut as blood poured from a gaping hole in his brow. Hobson tried to rub them clear but only made his fingers sticky, crawling up the pavement as his trailing leg roared at him to stop.

  A couple of the thing’s teeth were broken but the rest of it still worked fine. It reared up for another go, but Hobson could only see a prowling outline. He could hear a little girl screaming and didn’t know whether it was real.

  He was going to die, wasn’t he? Bleed out on the pavement because of some stupid yuppies and their rabid puppy.

  A strange defiant acceptance came over him. His hand slacked and fell open. There were sirens in the distance. Ellie said John, but it wasn’t real. He knew that, because a second later, another female voice, deeper and older, said “Mister Hobson?”

  The dog looked up, growling. Hobson tried to do the same, then fell back down again.

  *****

  “Lettie, grab her!”

  Pete went for the broken china, while Lettie and Angelina stood dead still. No one grabbed anybody. Couldn’t look away from Pete scrabbling around on the carpet.

  His hand closed around a broken porcelain fairy, vicious spike sticking upwards where her skirt should be. Pete jerked back up to face them, eyes wide. Lettie shook her head at him.

  “Put the thing down, Pete,” she said. “Mum’ll be pissed off enough that I broke it without you getting blood all up it.”

  “Lettie, if we don’t stop them we’ll never…”

  “Pete, I don’t know if you were always this crazy, but we’re screwed either way. You can’t save me or yourself by stabbing Angie. Even if she died and the wolf ate Hobson, we’d still be locked up.”

  She held her hand out to him, unable to stop it shaking. Angelina’s entire shoulders were trembling even more.

  “Now give me the stupid fucking fairy-spike and let’s get this over with.”

  There were definitely sirens outside now. Angelina heard Hobson roaring, another burst of dog noises. She bit back the urge to rush to the window.

  Pete stood there, twitching all over. The jagged china in his hand moved, and Angelina thought he’d shove it into Lettie’s gut. Instead, he reached out to place it in her outstretched palm.

  Until a woman’s voice outside, gruff, posh-accented and loud, said “Mister Hobson?”

  The dog growled, as the two Vole siblings turned to the front of the house and shouted: “Mum?”

  They both bundled into the hallway and started ripping at the front door. Unsure what else to do, Angelina hurried along behind them.

  By the time she made it out to the front step, Pete had thrown himself down to street level and torn across the square.

  Mrs Vole was returning from the big shopping centre down the road, swatting at the vicious dog with an overl
oaded TK Maxx bag. For a moment, it played along, batting at the swinging plastic with a huge spiked paw. Before Angelina could breathe easy, it got bored and ripped the whole thing open with a swipe.

  The garish clothes dropped out, covering its head and sending it back into a rage. Mrs Vole let out a scream that made Angelina’s ears hurt. Just as the dog was ready to tear into her, it heard footsteps behind and turned to see Pete.

  After all the time locked up, that animal hated him. Losing interest in Mrs Vole, it let out a savage noise and sprang forward immediately, taking a slash at Pete’s midriff and tearing into his coat and stinking hoodie.

  He backed up to get away, just about making enough distance to avoid a gutting. Lettie pulled their Mum back, as Pete tripped over the kerb and lost his footing, falling to one knee. Sensing easy victory, the bloody, tangled dog barked roughly and slashed forward, claws out.

  If Pete hadn’t been holding that spear of broken china, it would’ve been the end of his head. Instead, he impaled the black shaggy shape hard through the neck as it raked its claws across his cheek. The two of them collapsed onto the road, dog’s blood running out over Pete’s face and mingling with his own.

  As they both fell still, Angelina’s eyes zipped from there to the pavement outside the house, where Hobson was still collapsed in a pile. The emergency services were pulling up in the square, arriving in time to be no help at all. Angelina let out an irritated huff before kneeling down next to her boss. She made sure not to look at the blood smeared across his face and trailing out from his leg.

  “Hobson! Hey!” No response. “You alright? Hobson?”

  She shook one huge shoulder with both hands. “Hobson?”

  He focused his eyes on her long enough to seem exasperated, before the paramedics shoved her aside.

  They worked on him, more blood came out. Angelina felt squeamish again, so tried to get back into earshot of the Vole family as they spoke to Ellie. The police detective kept looking over towards Hobson.

  Pete sat on the pavement, a large bandage over the cut on his face, not looking much like a crazed serial killer. A paramedic hovered nearby, worried expression on her face, but Ellie wasn’t letting him go for medical attention yet.

  “So, this is the dog that killed all those people?” She gestured down towards the huge canine body on the floor. Even dead, it was terrifying, Angelina thought, flopped down with tongue hanging out. It might be bigger than she was.

  “Yeah,” Pete said. Lettie almost opened her mouth too, before he cut her off: “So, it was me, okay? I killed them all. I didn’t use the dog on the last kill because it was too conspicuous.”

  Ellie nodded. “Okay. Peter, you’ll be coming with us after you’ve had treatment for that cut. You may want to wait until you have a lawyer present before you say any more.”

  “No, look…” Lettie said.

  “Lettie,” Pete shouted her down. She looked ready to yell over him, until Mrs Vole spun on her feet and fainted. She came close to squashing the dog corpse as she fell, and she wasn’t a small lady, it might’ve burst like a furry blood-balloon. Angelina would have hurled.

  Instead, she thudded to the pavement with a crack, paramedics hurried over to attend her. Ellie waved a few officers around to supervise Pete during his stitches, and told Angelina and Lettie not to go anywhere.

  At last, Ellie let herself check on Hobson. Only Angelina and Lettie left standing outside the Vole house, a strange quiet between them. No one in a high-vis vest nearby, so Angelina felt free to ask: “Well, um, I guess you’re not going to prison.”

  “I suppose not. But part of me feels I should just confess to killing Lyne. I mean, my fucking brother came clean, and he’s off the hook mental.”

  “Maybe he’s trying to do some good by taking the blame.”

  “He’ll regret that when I kill again.”

  “That was a joke, right?”

  Lettie gave a wry, mirthless smile. “Yeah.”

  “Good.” Angelina jabbed at the ground with her toe. “Good, good.”

  *****

  Hobson wasn’t paying attention to much. He got the impression he’d solved another case, which was satisfying. Always good to cross one off the list. Fucking hell, he was a genius.

  The mobile doctoring men were patching up his leg, so he probably wouldn’t die today either. Couldn’t walk, move or feel anything, but wasn’t complaining. Nice not to worry.

  He could just lie back and pretend everything was okay again.

  A second later, Ellie knelt down beside him, put her hand on his arm, said “John,” and the trick was complete.

  FIFTEEN

  A Long Weekend

  On Friday morning, Hobson woke up in his flat and looked around the place. Nothing was happening. He made a point of keeping his home tidy, no casual drinking or ordering takeaway — all part of staying clean. He was a force of nature, trapped in a deliberately boring life.

  He dragged himself into his tedious kitchen and began making a green smoothie. The wounded leg still hurt like hell, even with the stitches and painkillers, so he dropped another couple of pills, even though he couldn’t remember when he’d taken the last dose. He wouldn’t end up using a cane, would he? Hobson may have retired from the all-action life, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be a cripple.

  As he sipped the horrible veg-goo, he wondered what to do now. Ellie accompanied him to the hospital, but hadn’t hung around long. Once the docs confirmed he wouldn’t lose the leg, just needed stitches and injections against animal diseases, she’d patted him on the head and left to start processing Pete Vole.

  Maybe he’d call Choi, he thought, before shaking his head. She’s about seven years old and his work experience girl, not a friend. Hobson turned to his last resort: putting the TV on.

  *****

  Angelina always enjoyed visiting her friend Zoë’s house, treating it as a fun exercise in the unfamiliar. Zoë’s parents were chatty and messy, their house a tip, cardboard boxes spilling clutter everywhere. Angelina’s Mum would faint at the sight of it, which made hiding from her here all the more satisfying.

  They made it to Zoë’s room with a takeaway pizza and talked work experiences, as shelves of coloured book series creaked around them.

  “How’s it going, Angelina? Is it exciting working for a detective? I bet it’s pretty exciting. I saw you guys working on that dog murder on the TV.”

  “Well, yeah, it was pretty amazing at times, I saw loads of… I mean… it was cool, but you know, people died. Some of them I knew, too, that was sad.”

  “And how about being on the news?”

  “That was a bit… I dunno, they wouldn’t leave us alone. It’s not as fun as it looks,” she said, trying to crack a smile. “My parents aren’t super-keen on me working there, but hopefully I’ll get to finish it out.”

  “Oh, right,” said Zoë.

  “How’s yours?” Angelina said.

  “Oh, it’s been quite interesting, actually.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yeah! I learnt to do a VLOOKUP on Excel and generated a load of spreadsheets for the MD and she said I’m just the sort of enterprising young woman who could go far and she’s the most successful woman ever in the company and she said to call me if I ever…”

  Angelina tuned out.

  *****

  “Evening, Tony.”

  “John. You look like shit.”

  Hobson limped around the table and dragged the chair out, inch by scraping inch, before levering himself into place for an arse-drop. When it came, Tony almost jumped out of his seat, an amusing physical jerk from one so skinny.

  “Jesus,” he said on recovery. “So, this is why you dragged me out to your neighbourhood.”

  “Yeah. Sorry, Tony. No long commutes right now.”

  “Fucking good footage of your dogfight on the telly, though.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Fuck yeah. Makes you look like a total superhero.”

  “Rea
lly? Even though I nearly died and had to be rescued by a chubby housewife?”

  “Maybe not a total superhero, but y’know.” Tony shrugged. “No publicity is bad publicity, right?”

  “So my assistant tells me. Not sure I’m agreeing, though.”

  “This the Asian girl?”

  “Yeah, Choi.” Hobson said. “She’s got one of her two weeks left to finish me off.”

  “Finish you off? John, she’s made you a star!” Tony said, lunging forward to gesticulate into Hobson’s face. “Have you checked your office email in the last two days?”

  “I’ve been avoiding them.”

  “Do it, man. Two of my friends asked if I could fast-track their cases ‘cause we’re mates. I’m telling you, Johnny, you’re like the Simon Cowell of crime.”

  “Tony, I know the Simon Cowell of crime and he ain’t me. And don’t call me Johnny.”

  Tony flopped back in his chair to shake his head at Hobson. The rest of the pub kept going around them, clattering, drinking and chatting. Even this quiet shithole lit up on a Saturday night — it was awful.

  “What’s your problem, John? You solved the case, you’re not dead, you’re crime-fighting flavour of the month — it’s all good, innit?”

  “Firstly, I’m meant to be staying away from violent crime, I don’t need it phoning me up. Secondly, I won’t be getting shit from that case because the client got dogged to death.”

  “Ah, that’s some balls. Didn’t he leave you anything in his will or nothing?”

  “No, he just…” Hobson sat straight upright, drawing stranger looks from Tony. “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “Just remembered, he did leave me something. We might be alright after all.” Hobson grinned to himself for a few seconds, then looked up at Tony. “Now hurry up and get me a drink, I’m fuckin’ disabled over here.”

  *****

  After some wheedling and begging, Angelina negotiated an overnight stay at her friend’s house. Wouldn’t last forever though. Zoë had ballet class for three hours the next morning, and Angelina couldn’t follow her there.