The Werewolf Whisperer (The Werewolf Whisperer Series Book 1)

by Camilla Ochlan

  Maggie joined them on the floor, putting out her hand to pat Jimmy. Instead of responding to his mother, Jimmy ducked his head away and looked at the door.

  "See, he doesn't really like that. He's ducking his head to tell you to back off. And what's more, while he's seemingly submissive now, he's turning his lip up a bit. That's aggression. I'm sorry but you can't really trust him."

  A hard red ball bounced over Jimmy's head. "Go get it!" Xochitl called out while surveying the tray of pastries on the dramatic white sideboard. She selected a bear claw, took a large bite and brushed the crumbs that dropped onto her crocodile embossed black leather vest onto the floor.

  Lucy remembered how happy Xochitl had been to acquire the embarrassingly expensive designer piece at an online auction for a fraction of the cost. It had held up well, considering Xochitl never hesitated to join a fight, run down a Were or jump into a body of water, which she had done on three occasions. Xochitl was relentless, which Lucy appreciated every day.

  Meanwhile, young Jimmy set off after the red ball, crashing over the furniture and ripping the elaborate eggshell colored rug.

  "Early 17th century, Portuguese Armorial," Frank Stanton had said in his proud designer voice when Lucy and Xochi had first arrived. "It's a copy, of course," he had added awkwardly when Xochitl had responded with a bored yawn.

  "Nice," Lucy had said, oblivious. "But a rug like that is just an invitation for chewing. I'd get rid of all rugs and runners until Jimmy is older and has outgrown the chew impulse."

  Probably wishing now she'd followed Lucy's advice, Maggie Stanton looked at her Portuguese Armorial rug wistfully. She put out her hand and yanked the ball from Jimmy's mouth before he could do more damage. Jimmy growled low in his throat. Maggie took a step back and bumped into Frank who had moved forward to protect her. "Jimmy, don't growl!" Frank tried to sound authoritative.

  "Tell him what you want him to do, not what you don't want him to do. His brain is much simpler now. Don't confuse him." Lucy looked directly at Maggie. "And don't rip the ball out of his mouth."

  In an act of open defiance, Frank snatched the red ball from his wife's hand and flung it toward the sunroom. Jimmy again tore after the toy, eliciting unhappy sounds from his mother.

  "Pinche lobo loco," Xochitl mumbled to herself and finished the last of her pastry.

  "Drop it!" Lucy called out. Jimmy dropped the ball and perversely wandered over to his mother for pets and praises.

  "A young Feral like him..." Lucy began to speculate, watching Jimmy closely as he interacted with his mother and father. "You have to exercise him every day. Two or three long walks. And never let him off-leash outside."

  "My hours at work..." Maggie Stanton said. "I'm on call a lot, and Frank travels."

  "You have to be willing to do what it takes." Lucy looked at Xochitl searchingly. "We could take him for a while—"

  "We have a three week boot camp at our ranch up north in Empyrean. It's nice. We've had a lot of success there." Xochitl started the hard sell.

  You've never even been to the ranch, but you sure can sell it.

  Lucy appreciated Xochitl's charismatic sales pitch and made up her mind to talk to Hanna again.

  It's been two years since K-Day, isn't it time I finally go home?

  "At this point a camp would be hard to manage..." Frank's tone had altered. Lucy couldn't tell what had triggered the change, or if he just all of a sudden had had enough.

  "My wife and I just don't know how to thank you for today." Mr. Stanton started walking toward the door. "We learned a lot. And we appreciate how busy you must be."

  Lucy's eyes flicked to Xochitl who gave a tiny shrug.

  "Everybody said 'Get The Werewolf Whisperer.' We couldn't stand the thought of putting him down." Frank Stanton stopped; his words hung in the air.

  Apparently unable to stand the silence, Maggie Stanton cleared her throat. "Jimmy's part of the family. Almost like he was still our son," she said with a quiet but firm voice.

  Lucy saw Frank look at his wife with unadulterated hatred. Xochitl tugged on the front of her vest, doing nothing to hide the disgusted look on her face.

  "Now that we know where everybody stands," Lucy said and returned to sit on the leather couch. "Let me give you the honest truth. We've seen this before in Ferals like Jimmy."

  She thought about her next words carefully and decided that giving the worst-case scenario was the only way to convince the father to give up his son.

  "Mr. Stanton, keeping Jimmy would be like living with a tiger. It would be a lot of work, and it could go fine for a while. But one day, you will not be able to control his behavior. And that's gonna be a really bad day." Lucy stopped herself from saying more.

  "Why don't you send him to our camp?" Xochitl tried to sound cheerful about the prospect. "That's only a couple of hours from here. It's up in the mountains. You could visit—"

  "Let me be clear," Frank Stanton said and took a protective step forward. "My son, our son, will stay with us. We will take care of him. Here." He looked to Maggie for support. "There's a doctor in West Hollywood who specializes in declawing and defanging Hounds. You can't tell me Jimmy will be dangerous to us without his claws and teeth."

  "You stupid son of a bitch!" Lucy jumped up from the couch, and stormed over to stand toe to toe with Frank Stanton. "Why don't you amputate his fucking arms and legs while you're at it!"

  Jimmy yipped and scrabbled under the coffee table, sending the Limoges china clattering to the floor.

  "I think that will be all Ms. Lowell." Maggie Stanton's silken voice rose in admonishment. "Ms. Magaña?"

  "We take cash," Xochitl replied, her tone unflappable. She took Lucy's arm and pulled her partner toward the foyer. "We're done helping you."

  Lucy walked straight to the front door, knowing she would punch Frank Stanton in the face if she as much as turned around to glance at Jimmy.

  Outside the bright February sun delivered a sky so blue it seemed to mock Lucy's dark mood. She drank in the lush, sweet exotic-flower scent that permeated Beverly Hills. Xochitl slammed the Mission-style front door, making the hinges rattle.

  "Cash in hand, chica." Xochitl waved a stack of bills in Lucy's face. "Can't save 'em all."

  An enormous crash sounded from inside the house. Lucy and Xochitl made no move to turn around but continued to El Gallo, their bright orange '66 Olds Toronado.

  "They're screwed!" Xochitl said as she opened the trunk to place her shotgun next to the rest of their arsenal.

  Lucy crammed herself into the passenger seat and glimpsed the "new voicemail" alert on her phone. "This is gonna to be fun," Lucy said and reluctantly tapped the call back button.

  Chapter 2

  DR. K: Did they gv go ahead???

  OMEGA: stick to the plan

  DR. K: But kv rdy now!

  OMEGA: do what ur told

  DR. K: Ur the boss :)

  K-Day 24 months ago

  Lucy Lowell tucked into the shadows behind the white cinder block wall of Xochitl's Cantina and listened. Coarse Spanglish curses pierced the night, accompanied by loud cheers and snatches of Tijuana narco-pop. Vicious barking and short, pained shrieks lacerated the seedy revelry.

  Through holes in the camouflage canvas stretched over the parking lot's chain-link fence, Lucy counted thirty East Los Locos gangbangers crowding around a shallow dogfight pit. Strewn around, discarded like trash, lay lumps of fur and flesh Lucy didn't have the stomach to focus on. Through the wall of men, Lucy caught a glimpse of a blue nose pit bull turning away from its opponent, a muscular pit mastiff mix.

  "Handle your dog, güey!" a paunchy man yelled from just outside the ring.

  Accompanied by loud taunts, men from each side of the pit dragged their dogs back to the scratch lines. The mastiff's handler fussed at the dog's mouth, unfanging the dog's lip from its teeth. Clearly dead tired and hurt, the blue nose pit bull started toward the line of cages against the opposite fence.

  "Whoa, P
uta." A young man with a baseball cap turned backwards yanked the dog's collar hard, causing the pit to drop to the ground as if taking cover.

  From her hiding place, Lucy could see deep scratches on the pit bull's face, bite wounds bleeding on the shoulder and old burn marks seared into the fur.

  Lucy's stomach cramped.

  The dollar tacos she and her partner Gabe had devoured on their way to Echo Park threatened a hasty exit. Cabra Blanca, their favorite late night food truck, had been parked close to the raid at Montana and Alvarado. Eddie, the owner, always included extra mango guacamole with Lucy's order.

  Guacamole! Shouldna eaten. The dogfighting makes me sick enough. Why'd I chance it with the cabeza quesadilla on top of those goat tacos?

  Lucy breathed in slowly and directed her gaze from the hurt dog to the few stars blinking in the murky L.A. sky. The lights of an airplane outshone the sliver of the waning crescent moon. She could make out the distant roar of jet engines.

  "Bitch won't fight no more, jefe." The young man with the cap delivered a kick to the blue nose pit's side. An ugly curse cut through the tumult as a man in a formfitting white T-shirt and dark designer jeans parted the crowd.

  Memo Morales, cock of the walk. Nice of you to join us.

  Teeth clenched, Lucy drew her sidearm and looked back down the alley. Officer Gabe Torres of the LAPD Animal Cruelty Task Force quietly crouched down next to Lucy, indicating with a nod that he too had spotted "El Gallo."

  Her partner for five years, Gabe was as fierce an animal rights protector as Lucy had ever met. Both she and Gabe had risked both badge and incarceration many times, as they rescued dogs from backyard dogfighting with or without departmental approval.

  Tonight's raid was another point of contention with their ACTF lieutenant. When the confidential informant had approached Lucy and Gabe about dogfighting behind her cantina, it had been just the break they'd been looking for. These East Los Locos had been brokering dogfights for years, but their slippery leader Memo Morales, a.k.a. "El Gallo," always managed to ensconce the events with aggravating efficiency.

  Distressingly the CI, Xochitl Magaña, had given Lucy and Gabe much more than they'd hoped for. El Gallo and his Los Locos were running guns. The dogfights, while generating tens of thousands of dollars on their own, were a mere front. Lucy and Gabe's supervisor Lieutenant Heckman had turned their information over to her superior, Captain Burch. Burch had taken the lead on the raid, called in SWAT and only allowed the ACTF along as a courtesy after Lucy had begged to be involved. Lucy and Gabe had been virtually cut out of the planning despite their relentless pursuit of the East Los Locos dogfighting ring.

  "Get rid of it, Tuti!" El Gallo spat, prompting Lucy to inch forward. She could see El Gallo throw a fistful of cash at another man and stalk into the cantina through the backdoor.

  The gangbangers laughed and joked as more money changed hands. Pushing the baseball-capped banger away, the man named Tuti threw a chain around the bloodied pit bull's neck and dragged her clear of the wall of men. The exhausted dog cowered from Tuti as he tightened the chain around her neck. Small whimpers reached Lucy's ears.

  "Just shoot it." A thin teenage boy in baggy jeans and an oversized white T-shirt approached Tuti with what looked like a Hi-Power Browning 9mm.

  Nice gun.

  A detached part of Lucy's brain noted the semi-automatic.

  "¡Cállate, Flaco! Let's have some fun." Tuti yanked the chain, smashing the pit's chin into the asphalt. The sharp yowl caught the attention of the other attending Locos who turned to watch Tuti's show.

  Gabe's hand settled on Lucy's arm and held tight. She would have bruises in the morning.

  "Wait," he hissed.

  Lucy tilted her head to look directly into her partner's dark brown eyes. In a split second a struggle resolved between them. Burch's words, "You two hotheads are on thin ice," echoed in her memory. She knew Gabe remembered it too.

  "X the bitch, Tuti!" Drunken hysteria pitched the Locos' voices higher. "¡Fuego! ¡Fuego! ¡Fuego!"

  Her eyes still locked on Gabe, Lucy knew what was happening in the parking lot. Having investigated the sad aftermath of the East Los Locos games, she knew what inevitably came next. Slowly she nodded her head, and Gabe released his grip. It wasn't the plan. It wasn't even smart.

  Lucy rose to her full height. Her Beretta clutched firmly, Lucy shot a quick smile to Gabe. Easily on the taller side of six feet, muscled like a professional bodybuilder, Gabe Torres looked scary as hell.

  Glad you're on my side, good buddy.

  Lucy felt calm wash down from her head to her toes. This was what she was made for.

  *

  Xochitl Magaña paced nervously behind the bar of her cantina, anxiously waiting for the cops to arrive.

  ¡Santa Maria, reza por mí!

  Turning in her gangbanger boyfriend Memo was dangerous at best.

  I'm gonna be in deep shit if this doesn't go down right...And Miguel, Memo'll...

  "No," Xochitl hissed, squashing the sprouting thought before it could ripen. "This'll work."

  She snatched a towel from its hook and began wiping down the individual liquor bottles that lined the shelves behind the bar.

  El Gallo's done.

  Memo Morales preferred the moniker "El Gallo" and fancied himself Tony Montana.

  ¡Híjole! What's with vatos and Scarface?

  And like an over-glorified, self-obsessed crime lord, El Gallo had exploited his relationship with Xochi, using her bar as his headquarters — his command center for the gang's illegal operation.

  And I let him.

  But El Gallo gave her protection — something Xochitl desperately needed after her papa had died. And she had to admit, just as Memo liked having the only fair-skinned, light-eyed, natural blond ruca in the neighborhood, she'd initially liked the attention he'd given her.

  It had been hard growing up a "güera" in the barrio — a place, despite being Mexicana, Xochitl had never felt she truly belonged.

  School had been her refuge, and she'd even won an academic scholarship to UCLA.

  I was so close to getting out.

  Then everything changed. Her father had a stroke. His health rapidly deteriorated. She dropped all her classes. Moved back home. Took over the bar. Took over care of Miguel.

  Back in the hood, back in the life — with Memo.

  But Memo went too far. Gun running. There was no way Xochitl could live with herself knowing she had let this thug take over the business her papa had worked so hard to build.

  God, what would Papa think of me now? I just wanted to keep the bar going and Miguel safe.

  Xochitl hated all of it: the dogfights, the guns, the East Los Locos — Memo.

  She shook off the flutter of nerves vibrating up and down her spine and noticed she'd been wiping off the same fifth of tequila. As she carefully placed the Cuervo Gold in its proper slot between the Don Julio and Patrón bottles, she caught the reflection of her cantina in the mirrored glass that backed the liquor racks lining the wall.

  Wood and leather tables filled the space. A '50s style jukebox, her papa's pride and joy, played only vinyl from the '60s and '70s. "Mija, there's no other music." He would tell her whenever she'd begged him to update the playlist. Various paintings of matadors and bullfights attempted to lend a Spanish flavor to the rugged bar.

  Xochitl's Cantina had been Xochi's home since she was six when her father, Carlos, had left the Marine Corps, following her mother's death. And in its heyday, her papa's bar had been the favorite local hangout.

  The barrio Cheers.

  By the time she was eleven, Xochitl had a stepmother she couldn't stand and a new baby brother she adored.

  ¡Híjole! In one shot, Anita went from barfly to mother. What was Papa thinking?

  But Xochitl remembered how sad and lonely her papa had been after her mom had died. He was honorable and would never have considered not marrying the mother of his child. Carlos Magaña was the finest man Xochi
had ever known.

  Biting back tears, Xochitl clenched her eyes. Her papa's warm and inviting spirit echoed within every element of the cantina.

  I miss you Papa.

  For what seemed like the millionth time, Xochi looked up to the neon DOS EQUIS clock hanging over the bar.

  2:37 A.M.? They're late. The fights'll be over and Memo'll leave soon. He's gonna wonder why I'm still here and not waiting for him upstairs.

  "Where the hell are they?" she mumbled.

  "Where the hell's who?" Memo Morales asked.

  Startled, Xochitl whipped around, knocking over several liquor bottles. She barely registered the clamoring rattle of glass hitting glass as Memo, who had come in from the back without her noticing, stood behind her.

  Shit!

  Despite the frozen crush of heart-stomping anxiety, Xochi couldn't help admire Memo's movie star looks and how his white T-shirt and jeans emphasized his strong, lean build. His big, hazel eyes always took her breath away. Tonight was no different.

  Still the best-looking guy in the neighborhood.

  "Who's late?" Memo asked again, grabbing a beer from the cooler under the bar.

  "Huh, what?...Uh...no one. I mean, Miguel. He's late."

  Memo wrapped his arms around Xochi and tugged at her rose embroidered peasant blouse. "¡Ay, mamí! Let the boy be. He's almost eighteen. A man." He began kissing her neck. "Why don't you go upstairs, put on that sexy slip thing I got you? I'm all wound up. You can help me relax."

  Wrinkling her nose at the smell of stale beer and dog, Xochi shrugged Memo off her. "What do you know about it? He's not one of your boys."

  Xochitl knew she shouldn't be flippant with Memo. He had a short temper and could be aggressive with her when he didn't get his way. But she couldn't help herself when it came to her little brother Miguel. She hated it when Memo thought he had any say in how Miguel was raised.

  She wanted to yell in Memo's face, "Stay away cabrón! He's mine!" Instead she whispered, "I'm tired."