by Stephen Cole
‘The choice is mine,’ he whispered, rapt as he drank in the carnage before him. ‘All I gotta do is reach out my hand …’ He did so, extending his thumb. ‘I’m the judge, see? If I raise my thumb, the losers live to fight again. If I lower it – they die.’ He looked at Kate and sniggered. ‘See that? Got more power in my thumb than most people get to use in a lifetime.’
Kate saw his shadow on the stand before them. In silhouette, the spikes of Swagger’s hair could’ve been a crown of laurel leaves, just like those worn by the emperors of Rome. And here he was gloating over his own private coliseum of gladiators.
‘Let them live,’ she pleaded.
‘Why should I?’
‘You made out that there was some purpose behind this fighting.’
‘There is,’ agreed Swagger, ‘but people gotta learn that losing don’t count.’
‘But they’re your own kind. Lupines. Bound by the ties of the ’wolf brotherhood.’
Now Swagger looked at Kate oddly. ‘You know about that old-days stuff?’
‘Enough to know that ’wolves don’t kill ’wolves. It’s senseless, there aren’t enough—’
‘Not enough howlers?’ Swagger shook his head. ‘You’re wrong. Soon, they’re gonna be dime-a-dozen.’
‘What do you mean?’ Kate demanded.
Swagger’s smile slipped a little, like he was aware he’d maybe said too much.
Kate swallowed hard, placed her hand on his face and softly caressed his waxy cheek in a desperate effort to distract him. He turned to her, confused for a moment – then smiled. A smug I-knew-you-wanted-me smile.
‘Please,’ she said softly. ‘Whatever you’re doing this for, let the losers live. Haven’t enough people died?’
Swagger looked at her, shook his head a fraction. ‘Ain’t never enough people died.’
His thumb came down.
Kate closed her eyes and clasped her hands over her ears. But she couldn’t hope to shut out the cacophony of baying and howling that filled the auditorium and echoed through the freezing air, as the victors began to feed on their fallen prey.
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CHAPTER SIX
Tom kicked open the door to Dr Woollard’s examination room. ‘What’s going on, Doc?’ he demanded. ‘Why the private call?’
Woollard looked at him in surprise. He held a stethoscope in one hand, and an ancient cellphone the size of a brick in the other. It seemed he’d just killed the call. Rico was lying placidly on a couch, his filthy old dressings replaced with fresh bandages. He was drumming his fingers on the cracked black leather, staring at a handwritten optician’s eye chart and looking bored.
‘Who were you speaking to?’ Jasmine asked uncertainly.
‘Stacy Stein at the hospital centre,’ Woollard told her, seemingly bewildered by their behaviour. ‘I wanted her opinion on prescribing theophylline for Rico’s asthma.’
Tom wasn’t convinced. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor?’
‘I’m not a general practitioner,’ Woollard replied crossly, resting the phone on a cluttered workbench. ‘I used to be a specialist in genetics and haematology.’
Jasmine screwed up her nose. ‘Say what?’
‘Study of the blood,’ Woollard explained. ‘I led the field at Yale. But that was a long time ago,’ he added with a sigh. ‘The medicine I had in mind for Rico lists heart murmurs as a possible side-effect, and since Dr Stein is more intimately acquainted with his medical history than I, I simply sought her advice.’
‘Who is Stacy Stein?’ Tom asked suspiciously.
‘She sticks needles in you,’ chirped Rico, but speaking made him cough again.
‘Runs programs, tests, medical trials, that kind of shit,’ Jasmine added with a grimace. ‘She works with a whole lot of kids on the streets. Always on your case, always judging your ass – you using? You drinking? She don’t quit trying to get you straight. ’S’like going to see your mom or something.’
‘So you come to Woollard for treatment instead. I guess he’s not about to give anyone a hard time about that,’ Tom observed. Though he couldn’t agree with her preference, at least it made a bit more sense to him now. ‘But how come she knows Rico’s medical history? She doesn’t know about the ’wolves, right?’
Jasmine laughed in his face. ‘She knows all right. And she knows Rico’s a resister, that’s why she’s so hot on him.’
Tom nodded thoughtfully. Before this nightmare had begun, he’d have laughed at anyone who said they believed in werewolves. Now he found himself wondering just how many people knew the true situation. He and Kate had been directed here to find Jicaque, but it was feeling more and more like they had been lured into the secret werewolf capital of America.
‘Stacy’s gonna find a cure for the ’wolves,’ piped up Rico. ‘Make them just people again.’
‘She is?’ Tom looked at him, then at Woollard, a jolt of fresh hope slamming through his heart. Maybe he wouldn’t need to find their mystery medicine man; maybe a cure was closer than he could’ve dared hope. ‘Well?’
‘That is the ultimate aim of her research, yes,’ Woollard confirmed. ‘But I fear there’s a long way to go.’
Tom felt a dizzying crunch of disappointment in his guts. ‘Right,’ he said, trying to act casual, aware that Jasmine was looking at him oddly. ‘How come you know so much about it?’
Woollard shrugged. ‘Obviously the study of werewolves is not her real work at the hospital. She can only appropriate so much hospital equipment to further her lupine researches.’ He puffed up his scrawny chest. ‘So she’s enlisted my considerable expertise to aid her in her quest … and uses my private laboratory here, when necessity dictates.’
‘Have you heard of a man called Jicaque?’ Tom asked him.
‘Never in my life,’ Woollard shot back quickly. He cleared his throat nervously, setting his chins wobbling. ‘Now, are you finished with your questions? Can I get back to Rico here, hmm?’
‘Not yet,’ Tom replied, bloody-minded at having his hopes dashed again so swiftly. ‘You were saying something about arranging for us to be picked up or delivered.’
Woollard gave a bleak chuckle. ‘And I thought I had a persecution complex. I was referring to these.’ He reached behind him and pulled back the dull pink curtain that partitioned the room to reveal expensive-looking lab equipment ranged along the back wall, perched precariously on an antique desk. So much for the private laboratory.
He opened something that vaguely resembled a small refrigerator and revealed two miniature milk crates inside, both filled with stoppered test tubes. ‘Stacy requests, with some monotony, that I perform specialist treatments on certain lupine blood samples,’ he explained with a sigh. ‘We’re working to perfect a very special serum. She gives me blood samples, I prepare an active solution of serum, she goes and gives it to her lupine patients and I analyse the results.’
‘What is this serum?’ Tom tried to keep the excitement from his voice. ‘A cure for turning ’wolf?’
Woollard shook his head. ‘More of a tonic. The serum is intended to pacify lupine aggression.’ He smiled thinly. ‘I only wish I had one which worked on wilful teenagers.’
‘Say you’re sorry,’ Jasmine hissed at Tom.
Tom felt the heat of her glare and felt himself blush. ‘Well, I’m … I’m sorry for barging in on you like that, Dr Woollard.’
‘I’ll make you sorry if you make me look a fool again,’ Jasmine muttered.
Woollard considered. ‘There is something you could do to make amends.’ He lifted the crates from the refrigerator, his shaking hands making the test tubes rattle alarmingly, and placed them in a secure metal chest stowed beneath the examination couch. ‘Dr Stein said she needs these treated blood samples urgently – preferably before she finishes her night shift over at Park East Hospital. She’d like to see Rico again, too.’
‘I bet she would,’ muttered Jasmine.
‘I don’t taste good to ’wolves,’ Rico
piped up. ‘Stacy likes that.’
‘Anyway,’ Woollard went on. ‘If you’d undertake to deliver them to her right away, I’d be grateful.’
‘Sure,’ Tom said quickly. ‘I’d like to meet her.’ Maybe she had heard of Jicaque. And if she was working on a cure, maybe Tom’s blood could help her out? Then he realised Jasmine was looking at him like he was a freak.
She turned to Woollard. ‘Are you sure it can’t wait, Doc?’ She pleaded, rubbing her eyes. ‘It’s getting kind of late for me.’
‘So I notice,’ said Woollard wryly. ‘But the trip will be worth your while. Dr Stein has offered to give Rico free drugs for his asthma by way of reward.’
Rico sighed. ‘Won’t work.’
Jasmine cuffed him lightly around the head. ‘They will if you take them regular, Ric! That’s all you gotta do.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Rico sullenly.
Woollard smiled bleakly as if at some private joke. ‘You’re acting as though the remedy were worse than the disease, boy. That is, if I may misquote Bacon?’ He scowled at the blank faces staring back at him. ‘Francis Bacon! You’ve surely heard of him?’
Tom hadn’t. But at the mention of bacon, his stomach growled.
Woollard threw up his hands in despair. ‘Philistines. Where’d I leave my drink?’ He wandered from the room, muttering to himself.
Jasmine turned to Tom. ‘Well,’ she said scathingly, ‘now you’ve finished making us look totally stupid, why don’t you carry that box back to our wheels so we can get the mercy dash done with.’
Tom nodded. But he still wasn’t totally convinced by Woollard. ‘Isn’t it a bit weird that he lives in a dump like this, but he’s got all that high-tech equipment lying around?’
‘It’s his life,’ Jasmine replied shortly.
Tom wasn’t sure if she meant it was Woollard’s choice what he spent his money on, or that high-end science stuff like that was what he lived for. As he hefted up the metal carry-case, he guessed she was right either way.
‘Maybe we should go and find Kate,’ Tom ventured. ‘She could come with us.’
‘We get Rico sorted first,’ Jasmine said flatly.
‘C’mon, Jas,’ Rico moaned, ‘I wanna get back and check Ramone.’
‘We will. Soon as Stacy’s checked you out,’ Jasmine replied. ‘Ramone’d want that.’
Rico sighed and nodded, then led the way out. ‘Can’t you take us there in a real hot motor, Jas?’
‘You don’t wanna know how hot that Lexus is gonna be in a couple of hours when the cops start looking,’ she retorted, and then jerked her thumb at Tom. ‘And that’s another good reason why we can’t go cruising about town looking for his girl. But I reckon it’ll get us to Park East OK. Then we ditch it for good.’
Tom called a goodbye – Woollard didn’t reply – and stepped out after them on to the dismal street. Rico shut the doctor’s door, then skipped off after Jasmine. Tom had barely taken another step when he heard the bolts slide stiffly across, one after the other; the old doctor was back in hiding behind his locked doors and empty bottles.
Unable to shake his sense of unease, Tom stared about. There was no one around. The only moving object was a black Porsche, crawling away from him along the kerbside, its engine barely breathing. Soon it rounded the corner and was gone from sight.
Still peering about warily, weighed down with the box of phials, Tom headed after Jasmine and Rico.
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Jasmine drove carefully so as not to draw any unwelcome attention, picking a path that took them through the quieter streets. The dirty white of the New York dawn was slowly soaking through the sky. Soon another day would be underway and these wide-open roads would be clogged with the morning’s traffic.
Rico was asleep in the back, despite the radio blaring. Jasmine kept switching stations, singing along with songs for a few lines, then tiring of them and hunting down others. The constant chopping and changing was starting to put Tom on edge. He was worried about Kate, and exhausted by the craziness of the night.
Bored with the monotonous low-rise landscape outside the car, he looked at Jasmine instead. Jeez, she was pretty; her dark complexion flawless, the little stud in her snub nose glittering in the dawn light. Tom realised they’d been together for hours and yet he barely knew a thing about her. Maybe he could distract her from the station-hopping with some dazzling conversation.
He nudged down the volume and found his mouth was suddenly dry. ‘So, uh … How long have you been with Ramone?’
She glanced across at him. ‘I ain’t with Ramone, if that’s what you mean.’
Tom felt flustered. ‘I … Well, I guess from what he said, I assumed …’
Jasmine yawned. ‘Truth is, we went together for six months. Longest I’ve been with anyone. Something special at the time.’
‘What happened?’ Tom asked.
She shrugged. ‘Life, I guess. I don’t wanna be tied down at sixteen. He still got it for me, but we’re just friends. Good and simple.’ She paused. ‘That the way with you and Kate?’
‘Kind of.’
Jasmine smirked. ‘You two seemed pretty tight to me. You been with her, Tommy-boy?’
The question hit straight and hard at some dark place deep inside him. There was no way he could even dream about that kind of relationship with Kate. It was out of the question while he remained ’wolf; it would bring about Kate’s worst nightmare – her own lupine change – something she was determined would never happen. And anyway, he doubted she was even remotely interested in him in that way.
He wished he hadn’t started this conversation. And he felt a sudden, terrible shame that the creatures who now threatened Jasmine and her friends and the place she called home … they counted him among their number. If Jasmine knew his secret would she scream and shout and kick him out of the car right now?
‘I’m taking this silence as a mad big yes, Tommy-boy. You been with her plenty.’
‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘We’re just friends.’
‘For real?’ Jasmine looked at him oddly.
‘For real.’
‘Well, it ain’t no skin off my ass.’ Jasmine clicked her tongue. ‘But are you sure she knows that?’
Tom felt a tingle travel over his skin, but before he could ask Jasmine what the hell she was talking about, a black Porsche came screaming out of a side street, turned and came up fast behind them.
It was the car he’d seen outside Woollard’s place. The low, sleek automobile could barely contain the thugs it carried, five of them in all, jostling around inside, laughing and jeering.
The Porsche surged forwards and smashed into the back of the Lexus. Rico was thrown forwards into the back of the driver’s seat.
‘Seat belt!’ Tom yelled at Rico, then turned to Jasmine. ‘Who are they? You know them?’
‘Swagger’s gang,’ she replied, trying to accelerate away.
But they couldn’t hope to outrun the Porsche. ‘Hold on,’ Jasmine shouted, as she swung the Lexus around a corner so fast that Tom’s head cracked against the window.
‘¿A cuánta velocidad puede ir este coche?’ Rico yelled.
Jasmine gritted her teeth. ‘I’m making it go as fast as I can, OK?’
But in seconds, the Porsche was back on their tail. Two of the ugly, brutish passengers were hanging out the rear windows, waving and gesticulating, trying to get them to pull over.
‘Bite me,’ Jasmine muttered, and floored the Lexus.
The lights ahead were green, but there was a queue of three or four cars ahead of her. Jasmine swung wide out and went careening past them out across the intersection. Rico whooped in excitement in the centre of the back seat, gripping his seat belt with both hands. Drivers coming the other way jammed on brakes and horns together and swerved drunkenly all around her as she sped through the cars like a sickle cutting a swathe through corn.
But Tom knew that the Porsche, faster and more manoeuvrable, could take the turns better than they
could. It was still on their tail, gaining on them, getting closer and closer.
‘What do they want?’ he shouted.
Jasmine tore around another corner. ‘I don’t think it’s to ask us to the prom.’ She cursed, eyeing the black motor worriedly in the rearview mirror.
She was so distracted that it was Rico who first saw the garbage truck crawling out from an alley into the street ahead of them. ‘Jas!’ he screamed.
There was no way they could steer past it, and no way they could miss it at the speed they were travelling. Jasmine jerked up hard on the emergency brake – too hard. The rear wheels locked and the Lexus was suddenly spinning right around, out of control. The car mounted the kerb then smacked into a fire hydrant.
Tom felt his heart and stomach swap places as his body seemed to go into freefall. The world outside whizzed past, a blur of brick and metal – then asphalt and sky as the car tumbled over on to its back and scraped across the sidewalk. Woollard’s carry-case clunked around in the trunk like a metal beast desperate for release, pounding as hard and as loud as the blood in Tom’s temples.
Tom felt the ordeal would never stop.
But after long, screeching seconds they crashed into something and finally rocked to a halt. Tom gasped, choking for breath, suspended upside down by his seat belt. ‘Jasmine,’ he gasped. He could smell smoke, could hear the fizzing of the car’s electrics shorting. ‘Jasmine?’
She stirred, and groaned. She had a cut on her forehead but she was alive, thank God.
‘Rico? You OK?’ she asked, her voice slurring a little.
‘Socorro,’ Rico said softly, his eyes tightly shut. ‘Socorro.’
Even Tom knew that meant ‘help’. As he fought to unbuckle his seat belt, he could hear anxious voices shouting – the garbage men he guessed. And then he heard other voices, laughing and jeering. Coming towards them. A terrible thought bit at his brain: what had happened to the maniacs in the Porsche?
The anxious voices outside grew suddenly indignant, then angry. Tom heard punches and mocking laughter. Suddenly, he gasped as the bloodied face of one of the garbage men slammed into the passenger window beside him.
