The Night's Champion Collection: A supernatural werewolf thriller trilogy

by Richard Parry

  Danny had started to slump down the wall. Val’s lips curled into a snarl. Two more steps took him to Chains, who sidestepped Val’s wild swing with a boxer’s grace. He returned the volley with two quick body rips to Val’s ribs. Val grabbed the lapels of Chains’ jacket, the muscles of his forearms bunching like big, fat cables and yelled in his face. Then he brought his forehead down with a crunch onto the bridge of Chains’ nose. The man was still jerking uncontrollably as Val let his body fall to the ground.

  Metallica looked between Val and Mohawk. One glance was all it took to take two more steps. “Hey—” Whatever he’d been about to say was lost as one of Val’s fists slammed into his stomach, doubling him over. Val’s other fist hammered into his back, and his body hit the pavement so hard his head bounced against the ground.

  Denim had the young woman — barely a teenager, really — in front of him as a shield. He had her hair gripped in one hand, a tiny knife in the other against her throat. “Back off man! Just back off.”

  Val caught himself. Something inside him wanted to step forward, to crush this puny man who’d hurt one of his—

  Pack.

  Val shook his head. He couldn’t think straight.

  “That’s right man! Now I’m just gonna walk out of here. Don’t follow me!” Denim’s eyes were wide and wild, darting to the bodies of his friends.

  Val looked down at them, then back up to the girl. She wasn’t much older than Tulip. Her eyes were screwed up tight, the runs of mascara stark against her cheeks. She was babbling something that sounded like, “Please please please please please…”

  Saliva streamed down Val’s chin. He didn’t notice. He took a step forward. Denim’s knife hand jerked closer to the girl’s neck, and she let out a small cry. “Back the fuck off!”

  What if it were Tulip? How would he explain it to her father?

  She is not Pack.

  Val wiped his chin with his arm. It came away slick with drool. He brought it up in front of his face, staring at it as if it was someone else’s arm attached to his shoulder. It hit him like a slap, and he shook his head again. He stared down at the bodies around him. Did I do that? He looked back at the girl. Her eyes were screwed up tight. She was so young. What was I about to do?

  He lowered his arm, tried to speak.

  “What?” Denim’s knife was shaking, bright and darting like a moth around a flame.

  “I said, ‘What then?’ When you walk out of here.”

  “I’m gone, motherfucker. I’m out.”

  Val nodded. “Right, right.” He sighed. “Look, I don’t know about you, but I’m really tired. We all just want to get home.”

  “What the fuck you talking about?” Denim stepped backwards, dragging the girl with him.

  Val took a step forward, his eyes on the knife. “Well, when you get out there,” and he gestured to the empty streets behind Denim, “It’s going to look funny you dragging some teenage girl around by the hair. If I saw that, well, I’d probably call the cops or something.”

  Denim looked at his hand in the girl’s hair. He let her hair go, then grabbed the back of her dress. “See? Doesn’t matter. I still got her.”

  “You think that’s better?”

  “What?”

  “It’s not that you’ve got her hair.” Val nodded at her. “It’s that you’re a thirty-something guy with gang tats holding a teenage girl and a knife. I don’t know how far you’ve got to walk. You can’t really call a taxi. If you’ve got a—”

  “I’ve got my own wheels, asshole.”

  “If you’ve got a car around here somewhere, how you going to drive the car with a screaming girl in it? It’s not like the movies, she can just get out at a set of traffic lights or something.”

  “Bitch!” Denim shook the girl. “You do that, I’d cut you—”

  “Hey!” Val’s voice lowered again. “You don’t have to cut anyone. You can just walk away. By yourself, well, you’re mobile. Nothing holding you down. No one notices you. Even if you’re running, you’re just some guy late for his bus.”

  Denim looked at the knife. “No one notices me?”

  “That’s right. A block away, there’s nothing to tie you to this. But take the girl—”

  “If I take the girl, everything goes to shit.”

  Val waited it out. He wanted Denim to make up his own mind.

  “Okay.” Denim licked his lips. “Okay. Just be cool.”

  “I’m cool.” Val looked at his hands, turning them over in font of him. He wasn’t even shaking. “When you’re ready.”

  “I’m going to walk out of here. You’re not going to follow me.”

  “That’s right. I’m not going to follow you. As long as you let her go.”

  “Right.” Denim looked at the knife in his hand. “But I’m taking the knife!”

  “Sure. It’s your knife.”

  Denim pushed the girl at Val, then turned and ran. Val caught her, then held her at arm’s length. “Are you okay?” She was sobbing, great gasping breaths coming in between the tears. “Shh now. It’s going to be all right. Look, let’s go over here and check on my friend—”

  Two squad cars burned down the street towards them, lights on but sirens silent. He watched them come. “Thank Christ. The good guys.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The room was not particularly large. Val had expected something different, maybe with a mirror on one wall. Instead, aside from the peeling paint, all it held was a crummy old table bolted to the middle of the floor. Coffee rings stained the surface. He could see a camera high up in the corner behind the officer, red light watching them.

  “Mr. Everard, do you know why you’re here?”

  “I’m a little confused to be honest.” Val traced a line through one of the coffee rings on the tabletop in front of him. He looked up at the cop. “What did I do wrong?”

  The other man sighed. He flipped open a folder in front of him. “Let me see. We’ve got a broken jaw, concussion, spinal fracture … okay. Broken nose, severe concussion. This one might not wake up. And a ruptured spleen.” The folder flipped closed as the officer spun the file away from him on the table. “Want to tell me what happened out there?”

  “What?”

  “I said, what happened? In your own words.” The officer looked at the folder that sat between them. “Take your time.”

  “You going to write this down?”

  The officer blinked. “What?”

  “You don’t have a pen. Or paper.” Val waved his arm at the tabletop. “There’s not even a, what the hell are they called, a Dictaphone.”

  “Do you want me to record this?”

  Val blew his cheeks out. “Actually, I don’t care. I just want to know what’s the point.”

  “The point?”

  Val nodded. “Sure. I’ve seen the cop shows. How are you going to use this as evidence if you don’t record my statement?”

  The officer looked at him for a couple of heartbeats. “You think we need to use something you say as evidence?”

  “For fu— Look. I tried to help someone tonight. I thought maybe I might get a thanks. The last thing I figured on was ending up locked in a cell.”

  “You’re not locked in a cell, Mr. Everard.” The cop tapped the table between them. “So you admit you were engaged in … something earlier this evening?”

  Val looked at the officer without blinking. The moment stretched between them. The officer cleared his throat. “Mr. Everard. I think we’ve got off to a bad start.”

  Val said nothing. The officer reached for the file on the table between them. “When we picked you and Miss..?”

  “Kendrick.”

  “Of course. Miss Kendrick. Well. You were pretty insistent at the scene that you be able to go to the hospital with her.” The officer taped the file with this forefinger, deliberate and slow. “She’s a subject of some interest to us.”

  Val leaned forward. “Danny? Why would you … she didn’t do anything!”<
br />
  The officer leaned back in his chair, shrugging his shoulders. “You know how it is. If we can’t get what we need from you, well, we’ll get it where we can. Her situation is … delicate.”

  “‘Delicate?’” Val looked at the other man like he was something he’d just found on the bottom of his shoe. “She was out cold, going to the hospital. You took her to the hospital, right?”

  Another moment stretched between them, neither man speaking. Val broke the silence first. “I said, you took her to the hospital, right?”

  The officer let out his breath in a sign. “Mr. Everard. It’s a bit more complicated than that—”

  “How can it be complicated? You had an unconscious woman who needed help!”

  “As I said before, we need some information. There are other ways of getting that, should you choose not to cooperate.” The officer showed too many teeth in his smile. “Now, shall we start again?”

  “Just answer one thing. Did you take her to the hospital? Yes or no?”

  “Well. Let’s just say that she’s safe for the moment. And will continue to be so, if all goes well here. Now, onto my first qu—”

  Val swept the file off the table, papers scattering across the floor. He slammed both hands on the table between them, getting out of his seat. The officer scrambled back, his chair knocked to the ground behind him. “What have you done to her?”

  “Mr. Everard!” The officer was trying to back away, scuttling like a crab. His hand scrabbled at his holstered sidearm.

  “You motherfuckers!” Val grabbed the table, tearing it from the bolts mounting it to the floor, and flinging it into the wall. “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll—”

  The door slammed open. Val and the officer both froze, looking at the doorway. “What,” said the newcomer, “exactly is going on here?” Her voice was mild, almost casual.

  Val looked at the gun in the newcomer’s hand. It wasn’t pointed at him. His gaze was drawn by the gun’s angle to the officer on the ground.

  “Thank Christ. I was just—” the officer on the floor started to get up.

  “Don’t.” The newcomer waved her gun towards the ground. “Just stay there.”

  “What? Look, I’m—” The officer tried to get up again.

  “Maybe I’m not being clear. If you move again, I will shoot you. How’s that?” The newcomer’s eyes flicked to Val, then down to Val’s left hand. “Mr. Everard? You’re a hard man to track down.”

  “I.” Val tried again. “What?”

  “Detective Melissa Carlisle. I’m assigned to a … murder investigation, in which you are a suspect. That’s why you’re being held here.” Carlisle’s gaze flicked to the officer on the ground. “I’ve been working at this station for twelve years. I like to pride myself on my good memory for faces. Names too. And you sir,” and now she pointed the gun at the officer, “Do not work here. Who the fuck are you and why are you here with my suspect?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “It’s like that is it? Let’s play a different game. I know who Mr. Everard is, because I’ve got a file on him. I also have his left hand down on ice.” Carlisle’s eyes flicked back to Val’s left hand again. “Which isn’t his left hand, clearly, but I’d still like to talk to him.” She reached inside her jacket with her free hand, and pulled out a leather wallet. She flicked it open to an ID. “Look. Mine’s all official. Government issue. Says I’m a cop. Let’s see yours.”

  The officer on the ground sat silent.

  “Mr. Everard.” Carlisle’s eyes didn’t leave the man on the ground.

  “Yeah?”

  “I appreciate this evening’s been highly unusual for you, but I’m going to have to ask you for some help. You see this guy’s jacket?”

  Val looked at the chair on the ground, then the jacket lying near it. “Sure.”

  “Can you grab that and find me some ID?”

  Val shuffled over and grabbed the jacket. “There’s no ID.”

  “What?”

  “There’s no ID. There’s … yeah. Like three hundred dollars in here in cash, and nothing else.”

  “No driver’s license? What about a credit card?”

  Val looked up. “Look. What’s going on? Where’s Danny?” For just a second, Carlisle’s attention left the officer on the floor as her gaze flicked to Val. The man on the floor lunged up towards Carlisle, grabbing for the gun. The two went tumbling into the corridor. The shot rang out, hard in the confined space.

  “Fuck.” Carlisle pushed the man off her. “I wanted to know who he was.”

  Val stared at the two of them lying on the floor. “I think I need a beer.”

  Carlisle started to laugh. “You and me both. Hey…” She stopped, looking at the man lying beside her. “Outstanding. He’s still breathing.” She shook her gun, red splatters hitting the ground. “Why do they always go for the gun?”

  “Should we get him a pillow or something?”

  “A pillow?”

  “Or a blanket. You know. You just shot the guy.”

  “Sure. Look, in about ten seconds this place will be crawling with cops. One of the guys will grab him a blanket. Probably a nice cup of coffee and a danish. Don’t worry about it.” Despite her words, Carlisle began moving the man’s arms and legs. She looked up at Val. “Recovery position. That make you happier?”

  “I guess. Detective..?”

  Carlisle got to her feet. “Just call me Carlisle.”

  “Carlisle, am I under arrest? I don’t know what’s going on, and my … my girlfriend, I don’t know where she is.”

  Carlisle sighed. “Yeah. About that—”

  The lights went out. A half second later, the keening of a fire alarm started from somewhere in the building. Red emergency lighting flickered into life. Val and Carlisle eyed each other. Val tried first. “I guess this isn’t a usual day for you either.”

  “You could say that. Where on God’s green Earth is Vince?”

  “Who’s Vince?”

  “My partner. Actually, it doesn’t matter. Where’s everyone else?”

  “I’ve been in this room since I got here. I only saw this asshole.” Val nudged the man on the ground with his foot. “I didn’t know you cops had such strong corporate politics.”

  Carlisle laughed. “You know Val, you’re okay. This guy here’s not one of us.”

  “What?”

  “He’s not a cop.”

  “He’s not a … well, what’s he doing here then?”

  “Beats me. Look, can we cover this later? I’d like to know how someone got into the station and started in on my…” She looked at Val. “My witness.”

  “I’m a witness?”

  “Something like that. My gut tells me you’re not a murderer.” Carlisle stepped a little closer to Val, looking him in the face. “Heck if I know what you are though.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  The sprinklers burst into life, drenching them. The smell of stale water filled the air. Val reached up slowly, wiping his face. “This is turning into a pretty shitty day.”

  Carlisle stared at the water running off the barrel of her gun. “Something’s really, really wrong. Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Carlisle looked at him over his shoulder as she stepped towards the door. “Anywhere but here. Maybe we’ll grab Vince, and then get you that beer.”

  A muffled popping sound filled the air. Val cocked his head to one side. “What’s that?”

  Carlisle broke into a run through the door, rebounding off the wall outside and dashing down the corridor. Val poked his head after her. “Wait! What’s that noise?”

  Carlisle kept running for the door at the end of the corridor. “Come on!” She kicked the door open with her foot. Her gun was held in both hands, pointing into the stairwell beyond. “It’s clear. Val. Let’s go!”

  “What’s that noise?”

  Carlisle looked at him. More popping filled the air, a little louder th
is time through the open stairwell door. “Unless I miss my guess, that’s a firefight.”

  Val stared at her for a moment, then lurched down the corridor after her. He needed to get the hell out of this crazy place. And he needed to find out what had happened to Danny.

  • • •

  The gunfire was unmistakable now. The sound was harsh and brutal, a hammering of heavy weapons. Val hadn’t heard anything like it before in his life. It had become more sporadic as they’d descended through the building. He didn’t want to think about the implications of that. Someone was winning, but he didn’t know if it was the good guys or the bad guys.

  Come to think of it, he didn’t know who the good guys were. He wiped face again — the sprinklers were still bucketing water everywhere. The emergency lighting washed the color out of everything. “What’s the play?”

  Carlisle nodded at the closed door. “Behind that door is the muster room. We should find someone in there who knows what’s going on.” She checked her phone. “Still nothing. You wait here.” She patted the top of the table they were hiding behind. “This won’t stop anything except you being seen, so stay the fuck behind it.”

  “Got it.” Val looked around the break room they were crouched in. A cup of coffee stood, diluted by the sprinklers, overflowing tan water onto the table.

  Carlisle reached the door, gripping the door handle. Very slowly, she turned it, pushing it open a crack. Her shoulders slumped, and she slowly pushed the door open wider as she lowered her gun.

  Val joined her at the door. “Holy fuck.” The room was a mess, the desks in fragments, wood chunks scattered about the room. Chairs were tumbled haphazard through the room, sometimes with holes through their backs. And there were bodies. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

  Carlisle walked into the room slowly, turning around to take it all in. She crouched down beside one officer. “Christ. I went to Evans’ birthday drinks last week.” She checked for a pulse, then tapped Evans’ chest armor near the hole in the front. “They’re not using guns you get from eBay.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Chest armor’ll stop a standard round, say from a pistol, right? This one’s right through. I’d bet some kind of armor piercing round. Assault rifle.”