by Jason Starr
There was a long period of silence as the guys watched their sons play, and Simon had a feeling no one wanted to continue talking about the murders.
Simon got up and said, “Well, thanks, but I should get going.”
They gave him the customary big tight hugs. As always, Michael’s hug was the tightest and lasted the longest.
“Thanks for coming out,” Charlie said. “And I’m sorry about your wife. From a guy who’s been through a divorce, I know how rough it can be. I hope you guys can work it out.”
“Yeah,” Simon said. “Me too.”
“We’ll see you tonight at midnight,” Michael said.
“Tonight at midnight?” Simon was confused. “What’s tonight at midnight?”
“We’re meeting at the brewery,” Ramon said. “Just to hang out, eat some steaks. Don’t worry, won’t be any family beer or anything like that.”
“You should come,” Charlie said. “It’ll be a blast.”
“Why midnight?” Simon asked.
“That’s what time we’re meeting,” Michael said.
“Thanks,” Simon said, “but I have to see what happens with my family.”
“You must join us tonight,” Michael said.
Again Simon felt like he was being threatened.
“I have to go,” he said.
As he walked away he focused his hearing, trying to eavesdrop on the guys’ conversation, to see if they mentioned anything about the murders last night. But Charlie was just telling the guys about how tonight was a fellow firefighter’s birthday and how he intended to go to a party at the firehouse before heading to the brewery in Brooklyn.
Simon started walking uptown along the Hudson, frustrated because none of his questions had been answered. As he walked uptown along the promenade, he checked his phone, but there were no messages from Alison. Though he was angry at her for putting him through this, could he really blame her? After all, what he’d put her through lately had been so much worse. He just hoped she’d contact him soon, from wherever she was, just to let him know that she and Jeremy were okay. If she did call, he’d beg her for another chance and do everything he could to save his marriage. His life would be empty and meaningless without his family.
Still paranoid about being followed by the cops, Simon looked over his shoulder every thirty seconds or so. He didn’t see anyone suspicious, but when he looked again he noticed an old man trailing about twenty yards behind him. The man was extremely old, so Simon didn’t think he was a cop, but there was something about him—maybe the way his dark eyes were so fixated—that made Simon uncomfortable.
When Simon checked again, the man was closer, maybe ten yards away, and his gaze seemed even more piercing. Simon walked faster and didn’t think the old man could possibly keep up, but when he looked again the old man was the same distance behind him, walking remarkably fast.
Now Simon knew this wasn’t his imagination—he was definitely being followed. He stopped, waiting for the old man to catch up with him, then asked, “Can I help you?”
Some of the wrinkles on the man’s face seemed to be a half inch deep, and yet his gray hair was as thick as a teenager’s.
“Come with me,” the man said with a heavy German accent.
“Excuse me?” Simon asked.
“Come with me,” the man said again.
The man left the path and went to an area partially concealed by trees.
Simon was going to ignore him, the way he’d ignore any crazy person in New York City, until the man said,“It has to do with Michael and his pack. You must come with me now.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Olivia wanted sex. She considered texting Michael, but what did she need him for? Suddenly the city was filled with sexy men, and any one of them would do. Besides, she didn’t know if she should love Michael or hate him. She still had no idea what he’d done to her last night, or why she felt the way she did; all she knew was she couldn’t get enough of it.
Walking down Fifth Avenue, she hit on practically every guy she passed—smiling at them, saying “Hi” and “How are you?” to some, turning her head to check them out when they walked by. Passing a construction site on Fifth and Thirty-eighth was a total man-feast. There must’ve been twenty sweaty guys sitting on the sidewalk in front of the site, eating deli sandwiches and burgers. It was like the meat was oozing out of their pores, mingling with their perspiration. Ah, heaven.
The guys saw Olivia drooling over them, and one big sweaty guy shouted, “Yeah, baby, swing that ass for me!” and another, “Fries go with that shake?” Most women would have felt angry and violated and walked past without saying a word, so the guys were naturally surprised when Olivia confidently strutted up to the big guy and said, “If you want my ass, it’s all yours, honey.”
The guy was completely thrown off; he’d probably never had a woman come up to him that way. He actually seemed stunned.
“Come on, let’s go to a hotel right now, it’s on me,” Olivia said. “But I’m warning you, you better bring your A game.”
Olivia found that she wanted the guy’s roast beef sandwich almost as badly as she wanted his body. She grabbed the sandwich from him, took a huge bite, said, “I don’t have patience for limp dicks today,” and continued on her way, taking the rest of the sandwich with her. The guy just let her walk away, probably too shocked and humiliated to do anything. His buddies stayed out of her way, as if they didn’t know how to react.
She turned onto Thirty-fifth Street and went to the Playwright, a sports bar that she’d been to a few times and where she remembered there was a good pickup scene. She’d met a couple of guys there before—they’d both turned out to be total losers, but today a total loser would do just fine.
A group of boisterous Irish guys were gathered around the bar watching a soccer match on a big—screen TV. The other TVs were showing horse racing. There was so much testosterone in the bar that Olivia felt like a chocolate lover thrown into a vat of the best-tasting chocolate in the world.
Most of the guys in the bar checked her out because she was checking them out so blatantly. It wasn’t every day a woman came into the bar and started undressing them with her eyes. Like the construction workers, they were intimidated by her attitude, but Olivia was loving it. She’d never felt so powerful, so in control.
Oddly, she was least attracted to the best-looking guy—the clean-cut Wall Street guy standing with a friend toward the end of the bar. He’d probably showered this morning—yuck. And he was wearing an overwhelming cologne—double yuck. She much preferred the guy behind him in jeans and a T-shirt who had sweat stains on his Belmont Stakes T-shirt and was reading a racing program.
Olivia winked at him. “Hey, how about it?”
The guy looked at her like she was insane and walked away.
Unfazed, like a thick-skinned telemarketer, she moved on to other guys, but got similar blow-offs. She didn’t get it. Weren’t heterosexual guys supposed to want to have sex with any woman with a pulse? This should have been like a male fantasy for them, but her directness seemed to be backfiring. For Olivia, it was just frustrating as hell. She wanted to have sex and didn’t understand why it had to be so complicated.
“What does a girl have to do to get laid around here?”
All that got her were a few laughs and a judgmental look from the blond barmaid.
Olivia was about to give up and try another bar when she heard a guy’s voice boom, “All right, gorgeous, let’s get a room.”
At the bar behind her was a heavyset guy with a pudgy face and thin hair slicked back, in a wrinkled suit. His eyes were glazed and bloodshot; he’d probably been drinking all day. She could smell whiskey, and was that beer? She remembered fleetingly how Michael had known exactly what she was drinking the night he’d met her. The alcohol odor was coming from the guy’s mouth and through his pores, but she also detected his very musky BO.
In short, he was perfect.
She couldn’t resist reaching out
and squeezing one of his meaty butt cheeks. “Nice ass. The rest better be as good as that.”
She couldn’t believe the way she was acting, but it was so liberating to be able to say whatever was on her mind, to be filterless.
The guy didn’t react, though, probably because he was so wasted. Was he too wasted? Impatient, wanting this guy’s meaty body so badly, she was practically panting. She asked, “Do you want to do it in the bathroom?”
“Do what in the bathroom?”
“Me,” she said.
“Wait.” He slapped the bar with his open hand as if having a revelation. “How much is this going to cost?”
“Cost?” Olivia said.
“You’re a hooker, aren’t you?” The guy was a loud talker and this got people’s attention, including the barmaid’s.
“No, I’m not a hooker, I just want a little loving, and I want it now.”
The guy had a dumb look, then said, “You mean you want me just because you want me?” He looked at his near-empty glass of whiskey and said,“I knew this stuff was good, but I didn’t know it was that good.”
“Excuse me,” the barmaid said to Olivia, “you’re going to have to leave now or I’ll have to call the police.”
That was all Olivia needed—to be arrested for prostitution. She’d be thrown in jail and she’d have no chance of having sex tonight. Well, sex with a man anyway.
Olivia grabbed the big guy’s hand. “Come on, let’s just get out of here.”
On the sidewalk, she asked, “How far is your apartment from here?”
“Apartment?”
Now it was clear how drunk the guy actually was; he could barely stand up straight.
“Yes, apartment,” Olivia said. “You know, where you live.”
“Oh, I don’t live in New York,” he said. “I’m from Kansas City. I’m here for an insurance conference.” He started digging into an inner pocket of his suit jacket.
He wasn’t going to give her his card, was he?
Yes he was.
“Name’s Jim, Jim Anderson, but my friends call me Jimmy.”
Olivia pulled him toward the curb. She wanted his body so badly, she was thinking of tearing off his clothes in the backseat of a cab.
But then he said, “My hotel’s right across the street.”
Thank God, finally something was going her way.
Olivia put her arm through his and walked very fast, practically dragging him. He had to weigh over two hundred fifty pounds, but, maybe because she was excited about her imminent conquest, she felt like she was pulling a child.
They went up to his room in the Comfort Inn. She immediately began undressing, pulling off her top. As she was taking off her skirt she said, “Get naked.”
“You mean right—?”
“Get naked,” she said firmly.
Seeming panicked, even terrified, Jim said, “Oh, okay,” and slowly took off his suit jacket.
“Faster,” Olivia said.
Jim stripped quickly down to his baggy pinstriped boxers. Olivia liked being in control, telling him what to do. Who would’ve thought she had so much dominatrix in her?
“Panties too,” she said, even putting on a Deliverance-style drawl for effect.
Jim was about to take off his underwear when he blinked hard and asked, “Is that for real?”
Olivia was confused. “Is what for real?”
He was cringing, looking toward her armpits. Then she lifted her left arm and saw the big clump of hair. It looked like a man’s armpit, and she was sure she’d shaved in the shower before going out last night.
Was this part of whatever Michael had done to her?
“And your legs,” Jim said.
Olivia looked down at her legs, surprised that it looked like she hadn’t shaved in weeks.
“Hey, sorry,” he said. “I’m drunk, but I’m not drunk enough for this.” He started putting his pants back on.
There was no way Olivia was letting him leave. She’d finally found a man who was willing to service her, and she wasn’t going to let this chance slip away.
“Oh no you don’t,” she said, trying to grab the pants.
“Please, I’m a married man.” He held up a hand, displaying a thick gold wedding band. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
He turned, trying to get away from her, and elbowed her in the jaw.
“Hey,” she said.
She was about to grab him when there was intense pressure in her face, especially her mouth, and then she was in agony, as if her body were exploding. But the pain was quickly replaced by something like an adrenaline surge. But it was more than adrenaline—it was a tremendous rush of energy and confidence and empowerment all at once. She was facing the full-length mirror next to the bathroom and saw thick dark hair actually growing on her face, and when she opened her mouth she saw her long sharp teeth.
She probably should’ve been scared, but it felt too incredible. It was as if she’d been dead her whole life and was finally alive. She looked in the mirror and bared her teeth and stared at her claws in awe. Then she flared her wide dark nostrils and touched her face with one of her paws. God, she loved how she looked. She could’ve stared at herself forever.
She tried to say, “This is awesome,” but the sound came out as a loud growl.
“Sorry about that,” Jim said. “I didn’t mean to hit you. It was just a—”
Then she turned toward him and enjoyed his look of total shock and horror. It was such a blast, watching this big, strong man cower at the sight of her. No man would ever intimidate her again.
“Oh m-m-m-my . . .” Suddenly breathless, he couldn’t finish the sentence.
She had the urge to push him, to test her strength, so, what the hell, she pushed him, and easily knocked him to the floor. She stood over him and growled, loving how much power and control she suddenly had. He got to his feet and backed away from her, obviously terrified, wondering what was coming next, knowing that he was defenseless, at her total mercy. He knew that this woman, this animal, could kill him anytime she wanted to—crush him with her bare hands, literally chew him up and spit him out.
Then she smelled urine, and she realized that Jim had peed his pants. Panicked, he turned and ran out of the room in his boxers, screaming for help.
Olivia thought about chasing him, having some more fun scaring the hell out of him, but then she suddenly felt weaker and less confident, and when she looked in the mirror she saw that she was starting to look like her normal self again. Her hair and teeth were receding and her other facial features that had been altered were changing back. Amazed, she felt her face with her human hands. Could she be making this all up, having some kind of wild hallucination? No, it had actually happened. She still had pains all over, probably some kind of residual effect from the transformation, and the pains were definitely real.
But how the hell was this happening? How was it possible?
Eh, there would be time to figure out all the details later, and it was so damn enjoyable she didn’t really care. Even hornier than she’d been before, she left the hotel and roamed the midtown streets, resuming her evening on the prowl.
Simon examined the old man closely. His face was so wrinkled, he had to be a hundred years old, yet he didn’t act like he was a hundred. His body was toned; he was sharp mentally. Simon examined the man’s eyes again and saw an obvious family resemblance to Michael.
“Who are you?” Simon asked.
“Come with me,” the man said.
Now Simon realized that the way the man spoke was just like Michael—well, like Michael with a thick German accent.
Simon followed him several feet off the path to the area near the trees.
Then the man said, “I must be quiet or Michael will hear me.”
“How could he hear you?” Simon asked. “He’s back at the playground, isn’t he?” Simon figured they were about half a mile from the playground.
“He’s close enough,” the old man whispered.
Then he added, “I am Volker Hartman, Michael’s father.You are one of Michael’s friends . . . the new one.”
“What do you want?” Simon asked.
“You must stay away from my son,” Volker said. “You must tell the others in the pack to stay away as well.”
The old man’s eyes were like black marbles, and as he stared at Simon he didn’t blink at all. Simon assumed the man was insane or at least extremely senile, but he still wanted to hear what he had to say.
“What do you mean by pack?” Simon asked.
“What do you think I mean?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.”
“You know,” Volker said. “You must know. You must feel the changes. You must know you’re different now.”
Now Simon’s heart was pounding so hard he could feel his pulse in his face. “No, I don’t know. Tell me what the hell’s going on.”
“You have the blood of the wolfe now,” Volker said. He pronounced wolfe “vulf.”
“Of the what?” Simon was finding it hard to focus. He wanted to believe this was just the ramblings of a madman, that Volker’s doctors from Bellevue would rush over at any moment and take him away in a giant net, but he couldn’t deny feeling as if a gigantic burden had been lifted, like when a secret you’ve been keeping is suddenly revealed.
“The wolfe,”Volker said.
Simon said, “Th-that’s . . .” He was finding it hard to speak. He had to compose himself, then said, “That’s insane.” But he knew it wasn’t. He knew it made perfect sense.
“It’s not insane,” the man said. “Now you are like Michael and me, you share our blood.”
“B-but how—?”
“The beer he gave you,” Volker said. “I warned him against it, but he refused to listen.”
“So the beer made me . . .” Simon had trouble getting the words out. “The beer turned me into a wolf?”
“Yes,” Volker said. “It was an old way, from the homeland. People outside our family can’t handle the wolves’ blood and, except for rare exceptions, a bite is always fatal. So Michael brewed a beer with his serum in it to prepare your body for the bite.”
