by Kane, Paul
Those days were gone, though. The days when Neil would ‘see’ lots of women. They were gone and he’d never be able to get them back. For one thing, his mates were God knows where.
Which was why it had been such a surprise when he got Owen’s email at the library. He’d read it with his mouth open, especially when it said he was getting everyone back together again––and they were going to meet in their old stomping ground. His town. Neil had been excited and nervous at the same time. He’d been tempted to answer immediately, but held off for half a day because he didn’t want to appear desperate. Then he’d said it’d be great to catch up, and he’d suggested the Oak as a meeting place, hoping it wouldn’t be too tame. No, it wasn’t––but Owen wanted them all to get together as soon as possible. Neil had told Julie the truth for a change, that he was hooking up with the old buddies he’d had when she came along (and had chosen her over). She’d looked at him and shrugged, but then enquired as to whether there would be any women present. Neil had shrugged back––there might be, in the pub itself. It was a free country. She’d told him to be back early and he’d nodded, sighing.
So now he was here, waiting. Looking up every time he heard the door go, every time he heard a noise. Neil couldn’t believe they were all going to be back together again, the first time in so long. Maybe now he could get a few things off his chest, including the fact he was sorry for the way he’d acted. The way he’d ruined everything––and wished that they could get it back, though he knew that wasn’t possible.
Just age talking, age and regret. You reap what you sow, Neil. Reap what you––
Suddenly they were here, or at least one of them was. The door swung inwards to reveal Luke. He’d got older, but still had his good looks––the ones that would’ve helped him sell vodka to the Russians if he had a mind to––but he had aged. He was becoming what some women might call distinguished-looking. Neil rose, not sure what to do or say, but luckily Luke did it for him, walking over and giving him a big hug.
“It’s good to see you, man,” said his friend, clapping him on the shoulder. “You haven’t changed a bit.” Then Neil caught him looking down at the beer belly. “Well, maybe just a little.” By way of contrast, Luke had kept himself in good shape. But then he’d always boasted one of those metabolisms that was so fast food and drink passed through him almost without being digested. (He’d also quit smoking; Neil could smell it.)
Neil couldn’t help smiling, in spite of the ribbing. He was very glad to see his friend again and offered to buy him a drink. Luke waved him down. “I’ll sort it out. And what about you, what’s that you’re drinking? Bitter? What happened to the lager freak we all knew and loved? All right, bitter it is then.”
Neil thought about it, then shook his head. “I’ll just have a diet coke.”
“Oh come on,” said Luke. “I was only joking. You’ll have something stronger, surely?”
“I’ll wait till the others arrive,” he told him. “Look, now you’re here, any idea what brought all this on? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s great to see you after…” Neil paused, then aborted the sentence completely. “But why now?”
“I’m as puzzled as you are,” admitted Luke, “Owen didn’t say very much to me at all.” He went over to the bar, and by the time he’d bought the round––Neil’s coke and a Bacardi for himself––Owen had turned up.
There was an air about him Neil hadn’t seen before, one of authority that his years in the force had obviously granted him. Unlike Luke, Owen wasn’t smiling. He looked more serious than Neil had ever seen him, though admittedly he was used to the carefree dole layabout rather than the copper. Owen might as well have had his uniform on, the way his pressed suit hung off him; black, with white shirt and a matching black tie. Neil noted one or two of the locals checking him out and wondering whether they should hang around. The hoodie didn’t even have to think about it and was out the door before you could say ‘ello, ello, ello’. It seemed that some normals also had heightened senses when it came to things like that.
“Luke,” he said, nodding to the rep as he took his place at the pub table. Then he acknowledged Neil.
“Owen,” said Neil, raising his coke. “Nice to see you again.”
“You too,” he said finally. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”
Neil frowned, still looking to Luke for an explanation but not getting nothing.
Owen caught the glance. “I thought you might have heard… at least about Jack?”
Now Neil was really confused. “What about him?”
“He’s dead,” said Owen matter of factly, but his eyes betrayed the pain of those words.
Luke leaned forward on his chair and Neil almost spilled his drink. “What? How?”
Owen looked down. “Week before last, in a hotel room in Edinburgh. He was on tour with his band, one of the roadies found him. He’d OD’ed on drugs.” This wasn’t too much of a shock, as Jack had always been fond of stronger vices than drink. If something was being passed around in a club, he’d usually be the one trying it. It also fitted with the kind of lifestyle he was used to these days, the gigs, the fans. Sex and drugs would be no stranger to Jack, not to mention the other… activities he was used to. But the fact he was dead? Jack was the strongest of them, always had been. “Thought there might have been more coverage of it by the media, but I guess they saw it as just another mid-list rocker paying the price for his own overindulgence.”
“I… I just can’t believe it,” said Luke.
“Me either.” Neil was still in a state of shock, gripping his glass so tightly he was in danger of shattering it.
“There’s more,” said Owen looking up again, eyebrows still stooping. He hadn’t even asked for, or bought, a drink yet. They waited for him to continue, which he did eventually. “Adrian…” He couldn’t get the words out, but both Luke and Neil knew what was coming next wasn’t good. “Middle of last week, Adrian… Well, the police in his area are calling it a mugging that went sour––for Adrian really sour. He was stabbed.”
“Christ,” breathed out Luke. Neil knew how he felt: first Jack, now Adrian?
“Is he…?” Neil began.
Owen nodded. “He was on his way back to his car after work. They got him in the car park, three times in the gut. His case and his wallet were missing when he was found.”
“Hold on!” said Neil, then lowered his voice. “We’re… I mean people like us, we’re not that easy to… you know… kill, are we?” Maybe he was hoping Owen had got it wrong somehow, that neither Jack nor Adrian were gone. They couldn’t be, there was so much he wanted––needed––to say to them.
“We are not,” replied Owen. “Which is why when I heard about them I did a little digging. I called in a few favors to get the reports on both Jack and Adrian, and do you know what I found?”
Luke and Neil shook their heads.
“Someone went to a lot of trouble to make these look like random events, but they weren’t. It didn’t make any difference to the investigation, so it was overlooked––but both Jack and Adrian’s deaths were connected.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Luke.
“I’m talking about silver.” He let that particular bombshell sink in before continuing. “It was found in Jack’s system, trace particles of it that I think were probably in his drugs. And it was found in Adrian’s stab wounds. Whoever it was killed him used a silver knife.”
Neil shook his head again, this time in disbelief. “A coincidence, surely?” He had no idea how traces might have ended up in Jack’s drugs, but a silver knife wasn’t that uncommon, was it?
“Are you fucking listening to what I’m saying?” Owen was breathing hard through gritted teeth and his raised voice drew a few glances from the patrons of the Oak. “Silver. Don’t you see the link here?”
“You’re not suggesting that the same people killed them both, are you?” Luke said.
“Not only that, I’m saying they kne
w Jack and Aide used to be part of the same pack. Our pack. That’s why I got in touch with everyone who’s left, to warn them.”
“But who…?” Luke was having as much trouble with all this as Neil, it seemed.
Owen swallowed before answering. “In my line of work you see… you hear about a lot of crazy things. Nobody in authority makes connections like these, because nobody knows about people like us. But some folk do––out there. And some hunt them.”
Luke and Neil exchanged glances once more. “Hunt?” said Luke, looking pained. It was interesting the way the dynamic had changed between Luke and Owen. Once upon a time, Luke might have been the one to call the shots––his job demanding confidence, balls. He had the looks as well, which meant the meat always flocked to him and he’d get first choice. But after years in the police force, Owen was the one with the confidence now. He was also apparently the one with insider information, however paranoid it might sound.
“This is crazy,” said Neil. “Hunters…”
Owen leaned across the table. “I’m telling you, they exist. And one or more are out there, trying to pick us off before the next full moon.” That was in a couple of days’ time. Neil had been feeling the urges more and more frequently during its approach.
“You’re off your head,” Neil said to him. He’d been looking forward to tonight, albeit anxious about what the other guys might say to him. But he’d just been told two of his oldest pals were dead, and another believed there was some kind of conspiracy to take down the rest. He wasn’t going to sit around here listening to any more of it. Neil stood, making to leave. “It’s been nice catching up,” and he looked at Luke primarily when he said that, “but I’ll be going now, I reckon.”
Owen grabbed him by the wrist and this drew even more looks from customers. “If I’m so crazy, where’s Ryan? He’s half an hour or more late.”
That wasn’t anything unusual for Ryan, though. He’d always been known for his shit timekeeping, always the last to arrive at meetings. “That doesn’t mean anything,” Luke told Owen, echoing Neil’s thoughts––and finding a little of the old courage that had once made him their unofficial leader.
Owen glared at him, then nodded. “You’re right. Okay then, how about we all wait for him to show, see what he has to say about my theories.”
Luke looked at Neil. “How about it? It has been a long time since we were all together like this.”
And would be again now, thought Neil––his mind filling with memories of Jack and Aide, the former screaming out his lyrics at the mike, the latter with his cheeky chappie smirk. He still couldn’t believe he would never see them again. Still, there was Luke here, there was Owen. He owed them something. Owed them his time at least. “Okay,” Neil said, sitting. “But I can’t be late back anyway.”
Owen sneered at that. “Still with the…” Neil could see him thinking about what to call her. “…little lady then?”
Neil said nothing. Whatever he attempted in reply would be wrong, he knew that.
“I’ll get you a drink,” said Luke to Owen. “Still the usual? J.D. and coke?”
“Make it a double,” said Owen. “I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need it.”
They sat in silence until Luke returned, the buffer that would keep them from talking about her…
Julie.
…at least for the time being. The conversation was steered more towards what had happened to both Owen and Luke in the last fifteen years. Luke was still repping, but growing increasingly tired of the lifestyle. In a strange sort of way, when he talked about it Neil got the distinct impression Luke was envious of him. Of what Neil had. Somewhere to call home, someone to return to at night.
(If he only knew.)
“It’s just getting a bit old, you know?” he said, and now Neil saw more lines on his face marring those good looks. Time didn’t stand still for anyone.
Owen, as it turned out, was not just a policeman, but a plain clothes detective now. So the outfit he was wearing actually was his uniform. “See, it’s my job. I detect,” he told Neil. “That’s why you should be listening to me about Jack and Aide.”
Trying to avoid another argument, Luke said, “A werewolf cop, eh? I think I saw a movie like that once.” Though his words were flippant, there was little humor to them. How could there be after what they’d been told that evening?
“And you Neil? Still working in the library?” said Owen.
“You bloody well know that’s where I am, detective.” He’d mailed him there, for Christ’s sake.
“Still stacking shelves and doling out romantic fiction to middle-aged women who can’t get any?”
Neil ignored the remark. “I’m senior librarian, if that’s what you mean.”
Owen smirked. “Senior, eh? I’m impressed. You get to stack the big books.”
Neil was beginning to wonder if the main reason Owen had got in touch was to have a go at him. “Since when did you become such a dickhead? You used to be okay, Owen. Oh, right, I forgot––you joined the filth. We used to spend most of our time avoiding brushes with the law, remember that?”
Owen snorted. “Better to be on the inside, then, isn’t it. Now, I am the law.” It made him sound like fucking Judge Dredd or something, and it was all Neil could do to keep from bursting out laughing.
“Guys, guys…” said Luke, holding up his hands as if ready to keep them apart. He looked like a referee in a really bad boxing match.
Owen batted Luke’s hand away. “It’s no more than you deserve, being stuck here like this… after––”
“After what? After meeting someone and settling down with them, after falling in love?”
Another snort. “Love? Do me a favor. They were food, women like her. Always were, always will be.”
“Owen, people have to go their own way, live their own lives,” said Luke, which earned him a third snort.
“Bullshit. You reap what you sow.”
“What did you just say?” asked Neil.
“If you can sit there,” said the policeman, “and tell me you’re better off now than you were then, I’ll––”
“I don’t have to listen to this crap,” said Neil and this time when he got up nobody was going to stop him from leaving.
“Look at the time,” said Luke. It was almost half nine; they’d been waiting here an hour and a half. Ryan was late. Really late. Maybe literally. Neil paused, not needing anyone to stop him now.
“We should go to Ryan’s place,” said Owen. “See if he’s okay.”
Luke nodded, his expression grim. “I think you might be right.”
Owen rose now, and stood opposite Neil. “You coming?”
Neil thought about it, but shook his head. It wasn’t so much the promise he’d made Julie, it was more a case of not wanting to know for sure about Ryan. If they found him at home slashed to bits, then that really would mean there was a hunter––or hunters––running around after their hides (how much would a werewolf skin go for out there, anyway… was there even a market?…probably, people would buy anything, and it would more than likely be a lot, even without the hair). No, they’d find Ryan safe and sound, probably drunk or asleep or––
“Doesn’t have permission, y’see,” said Owen. “That bitch won’t let him play past his bedtime.”
That was it. Neil lunged for Owen, growling. “Just like you did with Ryan all those years ago, eh? Remember?” snapped Owen, grabbing hold of Neil’s jumper in return.
Luke tried to force them apart, but the pair barged into him and he ended up knocking over the table they’d been sitting at. The landlord of the Oak, a burly man Neil knew called Kev––who was ironically hairier than any of them at present, with his lamb chop sideburns and shirt open to reveal the rings of black curls on his chest––was on them in seconds.
“Gentlemen,” he said, pulling them apart. “Fucking well pack it in!” He looked at Neil. “I’m surprised at you. Never pegged you for the trouble-causing sort.”
“Oh, he’s just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Owen grunted. Then he pulled out his ID and the landlord shrank back. He must have been the only one in that place who hadn’t realized Owen was Old Bill.
“I’m…. I’m sorry,” said Kev, to Owen––but not Neil.
Owen nodded. “Don’t worry about it. We were just going anyway.” He helped Luke to his feet. “Come on.”
Owen strode off towards the door, but Luke lingered. He gave Neil one of his cards, then asked for his number in return. Neil gave it, glancing over a few times to see Owen waiting impatiently by the door.
Then they were gone, leaving Neil with Kev. The landlord looked from the now empty doorway, to Neil, then said: “Someone’s going to have to pay for the damage, you know.”
Sighing, Neil took out his wallet.
* * *
By the time he arrived home, it was heading for eleven and Julie had gone to bed.
Eleven, on a Friday night? Neil cracked open another one of the tins of lager he’d bought from the off-license on his way back, slumping down in front of the TV, but keeping the sound really low. He could hear still hear it, crystal clear.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Jack, Adrian… Ryan. What Luke and Owen (the prick) might have found when they eventually got to his place. Who’d driven them there? Owen, after his J.D.s? Did that matter when he could just flash that ID of his? It would if he ended up wrapping them around a lamppost or something, doing the hunters’ job for them.
