The Frenzy War

by Gregory Lamberson

  “That can’t surprise you.”

  “Where do I come in?”

  “You’re the only one in this room who’s actually seen these things with his own eyes. We can’t think of a better person to head up the task force.”

  Mace blinked twice, then grunted. “I’m not interested.”

  “You’ve been sitting on the sidelines long enough.”

  “I’ve discovered I like being there.”

  “This is a chance to redeem your career.”

  “I have a wife and a daughter who depend on me. I don’t want to get back into the game. Fourteen people were killed last time, one of them under my command. I don’t want that kind of responsibility again, especially over this insanity. I just want to finish out my two years and retire in peace.”

  “Bullshit, you do. I’m giving you the chance to handpick your own team and make a difference in this extraordinary crisis, with minimal bureaucratic interference—a chance to lead an elite task force.”

  Mace leaned forward. “I already tried that. Look what happened to me. You guys hung me out to dry.” He rose. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to find someone else. Thanks for thinking of me.”

  His knees shook as he left the room, but he felt good.

  They know I was right.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Willy and Karol entered the squad room and set their coats on their chairs.

  “Feels like we were just here, doesn’t it?” Willy said.

  “We were just here.”

  With a phone pressed against his ear, Landry tapped on the glass front of his office and beckoned them inside. Seeing Captain Bill Aiello sitting in his larger office, also on the phone, Willy opened Landry’s door for Karol, followed her into the office, and sat beside her.

  Landry hung up. “We don’t want a case involving the parents of our vic from yesterday?”

  “I don’t,” Willy said.

  “I do,” Karol said. “Make me the primary.”

  Willy glanced at Karol. “What?”

  “I’ll take the case.”

  Landry sat back in his chair. “Thank you, Karol, but I have a feeling Willy’s going to step up to the plate.”

  “Fine,” Willy said. “Whatever you say.”

  “Brooklyn detectives will work the case, but they’re reporting to you.”

  “Hurrah. Only thing is, we don’t even know if the Lourdeses got toasted in that fire. We got one DOA without an arm and five dead dogs without heads. Or five dead wolves.”

  Landry held his gaze. “Headless dogs?”

  “Or wolves. Their heads were cut off just like Jason Lourdes’s was. I’m beginning to think we might have more than one sword in play.”

  “I can’t wait to read your report.”

  “Right.” As they exited the office, Willy turned to Karol. “Thanks, partner.”

  “Hey, I offered to be the primary. There was no way Brooklyn DATF was letting us dump this one on them.”

  Willy sat at his desk. “Just once I’d like to be the dumper instead of the dumpee.” He booted up his computer and opened a report file. “I didn’t even take notes at the scene.”

  “I did.”

  Cheryl blew into the third-floor office of Manhattan Minute News on West Thirty-second Street and tapped her cameraman on the shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable.”

  “Discomfort is my middle name.”

  Turning, she walked backward, keeping Ryan in sight. “I hope the Batmobile’s all gassed up.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Rosedale!”

  When she turned around she stood in the office of Colleen Wanglund, her executive producer.

  “We already covered Rosedale,” Colleen said as she keyed in a story on her computer.

  “I dn’t cover Rosedale.”

  Colleen’s eyes never left her monitor. “I assume that’s because you were home asleep. O’Hear covered Brooklyn. He covers the night beat, remember?”

  Cheryl set her hands on Colleen’s desk and leaned forward. “That was last night. This is today. We need to keep the news fresh, and that fire is part of my story.”

  “We don’t do stories; we do minutes. And there are plenty of minutes right here in Manhattan to go around.”

  “I saw O’Hear’s report. He downplayed the connection between the fire and yesterday’s murder—”

  “He addressed the connection. What do you expect in a minute?”

  “—and he said arson is suspected. We need to follow up and connect some dots.”

  “So follow up, connect.”

  “Thank you,” Cheryl said on her way out the door.

  Gabriel spotted Raphael standing in front of the Domini Funeral Home with Lawrence and Leon, two members of his crew, as Micah slowed to a stop before the East Thirty-third Street business. He also saw Eddie and David standing page_112]farther away at opposite ends of the funeral home’s boundaries.

  “You want me to wait?” Micah said.

  “No, that’s all right. I’ll call if I need you.” Gabriel got out and approached his brother as Micah drove off. “Were you out here all night?”

  “No, but I did have people here. We need to protect our interests. You heard the news?”

  “It’s all over the TV.” Gabriel opened the front door, which Raphael had unlocked, and they entered the lobby together. “I’m thinking about sending Melissa and the boys to stay with Angela. I need to focus on this crisis, and I need to know they’re safe.”

  “Crisis? We’re not talking about some disaster. We’re under attack. Six of us have been killed in twenty-four hours, and Rhonda’s still missing. We need to call a war council.”

  They walked along the polished floor. “I agree. Call the delegates in right away. We’ll be ready.” He entered the office and turned on the lights with Raphael close at his heels.

  “How can you be so calm?”

  “Losing my cool won’t help the situation.”

  “You need to be fired up if you’re going to lead this fight. Show some passion!”

  Gabriel turned to Raphael. “We live every day of our lives repressing our true nature. Today’s no different. We’re not animals; we’re Wolves. I’ll lead as I always have, as my nature dictates.”

  Raphael’s nostrils flared. “Three of us weren’t enough to protect Jen and Rodney. They’re dead.”

  Gabriel clasped his brother’s shoulder. “You’re right. I underestimated our enemies. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  He waited for Raphael to argue further, but his brother just glared at him, his chest rising and falling.

  Landry read the report filed by Willy and Karol on his monitor. The two detectives sat before him, as they had an hour earlier. Willy stared at the floor while Karol looked straight at Landry, waiting for his reaction.

  “We’re fucked,” Landry said.

  “I told you,” Willy said.

  “Why do we have to be fucked?” Karol said.

  Landry drummed his fingers on the desk. “Because this is going to be a big deal, and it’s not going to end well, and someone’s going to hang for it.”

  Willy looked at his partner. “‘Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee’ And me.”

  “And me,” Landry said.

  “Let’s just dump the whole bag of shit on Brooklyn DATF,” Willy said.

  Karol looked from Willy to Landry. “Am I missing something? We’re murder police. And we caught a murder, probably two.”

  “Don’t forget the animals,” Willy said. “Whatever they were.”

  “We have a duty to investigate this as aggressively as we can, and you two are already acting like we can’t solve it. It’s only been twenty-four hours.”

  “Yeah, and our only leads in that time have been six more bodies, toasted like marshmallows, and forensics evidence page_114] linking our DOAs to a case that buried some juicy careers.” Willy turned to Landry. “When the ax falls, I do not want to end up in K-9.”


  Landry loosened his tie. “What makes you think I’ll have any say in the matter? The higher your rank, the greater the fall.”

  The door opened and Aiello entered, wearing a brown suit and a gold tie. He walked over to a filing cabinet, which he leaned on, and stood taller than anyone in the unit. “Okay, here it is: the FBI’s seized all the forensics evidence related to both of your cases.”

  Willy grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Oh, you’re still on the case,” Aiello said. “We just have limited access to that evidence.”

  “Maybe we should wear blindfolds while we’re at it.”

  “Can we get the evidence back?” Karol said.

  “Not a chance,” Aiello said. “It’s en route to Quantico as we speak. I’ve been asked to relay to you that no information that CSU or the ME reported can be shared with anyone … including me. I’m being shut out. Conduct your investigation. Make your reports. Do the best you can.”

  “Begging your pardon, Captain,” Karol said. “But just how in the hell are we supposed to make our case without forensics?”

  “I’m working on it. Be patient. I have to go through channels, and that isn’t easy.”

  A clerk knocked on the door, and Landry waved him inside. The paunchy man handed Landry a report.

  “Patrol thinks they found the van used in the abduction page_115]yesterday,” the clerk said.

  Landry looked at the form. “Five blocks from the scene. Thanks.”

  The clerk exited.

  Landry handed the form to Willy. “I suggest you move fast.”

  Willy and Karol rose in unison.

  Mace entered his office on Floyd Bennett Field and tossed his coat aside. Jim Mint and the two FBI agents had stirred up old emotions within him, and he felt his anger at the brass returning. Mint and the feds knew the truth about the Wolves, but the bureaucracy would never allow them to take effective action against the creatures’ enemies.

  The Vatican, Mace reminded himself. He knew exactly who was behind the Brotherhood of Torquemada and had been for centuries. He had made it his business to learn as much about the secret society spawned by the Spanish Inquisition as he could over the last two years. It had become an obsession with him. The Wolves were in danger, and there was nothing he could do to help them, nothing anyone could do to help them. He wished he knew how to reach out to Angela so he could warn her, but he had never heard from her again after they had killed Janus Farel together, and he had feared that trying to find her in Canada would only put her at further risk, the very thing she had gone there to avoid.

  Sitting at his desk, he unlocked the bottom metal drawer and took out a DVD that he loaded into his computer. He page_116]kept a copy of his files on the Manhattan Werewolf case at home as well. Skimming the records, he copied a name and pasted it into his browser, with no results. Then he located a phone number in the file and entered it into his cell phone.

  A female voice answered after the third ring. “Chautauqua Reservation Tribal Police. Marion Morningstar. How may I direct your call?”

  “Chief Diondega, please.”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “Captain Mace from NYPD.”

  “One moment.”

  Mace had called Chief Roy Diondega twice two years earlier, the first time to inquire about John Stalk, one of Dion-dega’s officers who had insinuated himself into the Manhattan Werewolf case, and the second to notify him Stalk had been killed. Stalk had come to New York City from the Indian reservation in Western New York to slay the rogue Wolf, and Mace discovered he was romantically involved with Angela Domini.

  From the street outside Angela’s apartment below Synful Reading, Mace had witnessed Stalk’s savage murder on the fourth-floor fire escape of an abandoned building. The murder had been committed by a creature Mace would never forget: a seven-foot-tall werewolf who used the alias Janus Farel. The monster decapitated Stalk and hurled his head at Mace, then disappeared inside the building.

  “Captain Mace,” Diondega said. “I never expected to hear your voice again.”

  Mace had never expected to have a reason to speak to page_117]Diondega again, either. “Hello, Chief.”

  “What can I do for you? All of my officers are accounted for. You got more skinwalker trouble down there?”

  Janus Farel had scrawled the Indian word skinwalker, which meant werewolf, on the condo wall of Terrence Glenzer, a New York University professor he had killed. Glenzer had come into possession of the Blade of Salvation, a sword used to slay suspected werewolves during the Spanish Inquisition, and Farel wanted the Blade for himself.

  “I’m trying to locate Tom Lenape, but I can’t find a listing for him.” The shaman Lenape had instructed Stalk in the ways of Indian mysticism.

  “The medicine man? I don’t remember him ever owning a phone.”

  Picking up the remote control, Mace powered the TV, which he left tuned to Manhattan Minute News. “Is there some other way I can reach him?”

  “The only way I can think of is through a medium. Old Tom died from cancer last year.”

  Cheryl appeared on the TV, standing before the ruins of a burned-down house.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there another shaman on the reservation I could speak to?”

  “Tom was the only real medicine man we had. The others are what you would call theatrical. What do you need a shaman for?”

  “I’m just doing some research, and I’d hoped to speak to someone who shared John Stalk’s beliefs.”

  “Tom believed in the old magic, and he passed that on to John. Now that they’re both dead, I guess that magic died with them.”

  “Thank you, Chief.” Mace hung up and raised the volume on the TV.

  “… detectives are reportedly investigating the possibility that Jason Lourdes and his family were executed by drug dealers over a deal gone wrong. This is Cheryl Mace, live in Queens.”

  Drug dealers, Mace thought. NYPD’s Office of Public Affairs at work: leak a false lead to the press with just enough insinuation to sell it, and the rumor becomes “news” by default. Leaving the volume raised, he turned his attention to the paperwork that should have been completed that morning.

  “Uh-oh,” Karol said as she turned down the narrow street.

  Willy saw two gleaming white vans and an unmarked SUV parked before, behind, and beside a cargo van, forming a barrier around the vehicle. Hector Rodriguez and Suzie Quarrel stood smoking on the sidewalk across the street, their own van parked farther down the block.

  Karol double-parked in the first space she could, and she and Willy got out and walked over to the CSU detectives.

  “What’s going on?” Willy said.

  Hector nodded at the scene across the street. “Federales. They declared jurisdiction and kicked us to the curb like a couple of bad TVs.”

  Willy saw four men in green jumpsuits scurrying around the cargo van. A man and a woman dressed in black suits crossed the street. Willy recognized the two FBI agents.

  “Detectives, I’m afraid you’ll have to stand on the sidelines until we’ve completed our forensics.” The woman flashed her FBI identification. “I’m Special Agent Norton, and this—”

  “I know who you are,” Willy said.

  “You do?”

  “Two years ago, you jumped ship on an investigation you should have helped. Now you’re taking over a case. Why the change of heart?”

  “Ah,” Norton said. “You worked under Mace.”

  “My partner was killed by the Manhattan Werewolf. You could have helped us catch the perp, and you didn’t.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man said.

  “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to the lady.”

  “I’m sorry about your partner,” Norton said.

  “Thanks.”

  “We have our job to do, and as soon as we’ve done it, you can do yours.”

  “How about we save some time, and you just share whatever you f
ind with us?”

  “I can’t commit to that right now. Maybe later. We’ve already been in touch with Captain Aiello.” Norton glanced at Suzie and turned around. Her partner followed her back to the vans.

  “She remind you of anyone?” Hector said.

  “Yeah,” Willy said. “Only Patty was rougher around the edges.”

  “And Patty wasn’t gay,” Suzie said.

  “What do you want us to do?” Hector said.

  “What she said: wait, then do your job. Give us a call when you get in there. Come on, Karol.”

  As they returned to their car, Karol said, “You think those feds will leave anything for Hector and Suzie to find?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “For someone who doesn’t want this case, you sure seem territorial.”

  “They’re not here to work the case. They’re here to cover up any substantial evidence they find. Our job just got even harder.”

  Rhonda turned her head from side to side, the ceiling coming into focus. The pattern of corrosion in the pipes appeared different, and she knew they had moved her to a different room. Something had been attached to her face from her nose to under her chin, and straps encircled the back of her head.

  A muzzle!

  Flat on her back, she felt cold metal against her skin. She tried to sit up, but pressure on her chest held her in place. She attempted to raise her arms, then her knees, but they would not budge. Raising her head, she looked over her naked body. Four thick leather straps, each one four inches wide, secured her to a stainless steel table. Smaller straps held her wrists and ankles. She tried to press her shoulders against the strap closest to her head, but she could not move. A frustrated growl escaped her throat as she allowed her head to bang down on the metal surface. Being strapped to a table was far worse than being chained in a cell. What the hell did they have planned for her now?

  Dissection?

  She wanted out. The desire to Change welled up inside her, but rationality won out: she would not be any less trapped in Wolf Form.

  The door opened and her three captors returned. This time, their tranq guns remained holstered. The black man carried a leather pouch, though. The woman closed the door and joined the two men at the table. The Caucasian male— the leader, she had concluded—circled the table. She heard a clicking sound, and then the end of the table on which her head rested rose without noise so that her body faced the Torquemadans at an angle.