“I know... I’m not what you expected, am I?” John Prutzmann smiled weakly. “I’m not what I expect much anymore either. The virus... is reverting...”
“Like, becoming uninfected?” Lenny asked quietly, not wanting to draw any more attention to the clearly sick man than had already been drawn as he came in.
Prutzmann gave a small nod. “Yes, something like that. I... I’ve likely been followed, and you may be seen. I am sorry, truly sorry, to put you or your family in danger, but you need to know this so that you can tell her.”
“Her?” Lenny frowned. “You mean Sam?”
“Yes.” Prutzmann turned as the waitress approached, looking a bit alarmed at his condition and staying a few steps back from the table. “Do you have hot chocolate?”
“Sure.”
Prutzmann smiled. “I’ll have a large mug of it, please. And a cheese Danish.” Lenny ordered coffee and a cruller, and the waitress hurried away. Prutzmann’s smile turned ruefully. “I’m afraid I eat far too many sweets now, but they seem to be the only thing that gives me any energy. And these days... I simply can’t rest... Not yet.” He took a deep breath. “Did you know that the boy, Sam’s friend, has disappeared?”
Lenny nearly dropped his cup of hot coffee at that. “No, I did not. Has a reported been filed? How long has he been missing? How do you know about this?”
Prutzmann started to answer, but paused, smiling as the waitress delivered the hot cocoa and goodies to them both. After she’d left, Prutzmann began:
“The reversion process started in February. After the events in Brooklyn last March, my fight with Vincent, I was injured and right done-in. Alice—”
“Vincent’s sister,” Lenny interjected. Prutzmann nodded.
“Yes. She and I went out to Long Island and laid low, so I could recover from my wounds and we could figure out what was going on. You see, Alice and I... we’re of the old school mindset about Lycanthropic Virus, as is Doctor Hudson. Our view is that it can be an asset, an advantage, something that gives you the means to do better, be better.”
“And the Nazi thing?”
Prutzmann grimaced. “Yeah, well... It’s funny how imminent death can put things back in perspective. And let’s be honest, here... People’s beliefs aren’t inherently bad. It’s what they do with those beliefs that are good or bad. It’s the same with any politics, any religion, any philosophy. If you use it to justify hurting people, it’s bad.”
Frowning deeply, Lenny hesitated before responding. “Alright, I’ll give you that.”
“There are some, however,” Prutzmann continued, “that believe the virus should be used to perfect and control people, to manipulate men, women... children...” Prutzmann shook his head. “While we were on the Island, Alice became agitated. She frequented the online message board, the Underland. It was a way for our kind to communicate, planning events, gatherings, what have you. She started seeing messages on there that upset her. I don’t know the particulars... I was quite ill at the time, and perhaps too focused on myself and my needs than caring for her.” Prutzmann bowed his head, staring into his mug of cocoa for a long moment.
“One evening, I overheard her on the phone... I didn’t hear specifics, but she was quite upset, nearly in tears with anger. The next day we came back here and went straight to the campaign headquarters of Congresswoman Strong. I waited for Alice outside the office, but I could hear the raised voices... Heard Alice talking about ‘her word’, and the ramifications of whatever was happening. Alice came out of the office, and we left.
“On the way back to the Island, Alice told me that Ben Lewis was missing, and we should be prepared for the retaliation once Samantha found out.” Prutzmann sat back in the booth, holding his mug of cocoa with two hands as he took a sip.
“Did they take him? Kill him?” Lenny heard his voice catch as he asked the final question. He did not want to have to make that phone call to Sam. Prutzmann shrugged slightly and shook his head.
“I honestly don’t know. Alice... wouldn’t talk about it.”
“Well, maybe if I had a talk with her,” Lenny said before taking a bite of his cruller. Prutzmann shook his head.
“No. Alice is...” He hesitated. “I sent Alice away. She’s safe... I’d like her to stay that way, no matter what.” Prutzmann’s gaze was intense, and for a moment Lenny could see a glimpse of the fire and strength this man once had. Still had, if his passion for the woman was any indicator. Lenny nodded his understanding.
“Alright. You know I have to call her though, right? I have to tell her, and Sammy is going to come back.”
“I know.” Prutzmann sighed. “That’s why I chose to come to you. She needs to understand that Alice isn’t responsible for his disappearance, or anything else.”
LATER, AS SAM WALKED home, opting for the hot fresh air rather than the hot stuffy subway, she processed what Lenny had told her. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for Prutzmann. He was an asshole, to be sure, but by the sound of it, what he was enduring was something she wouldn’t wish on anyone.
Lenny had been in a hurry to leave, not surprising since he had to get all the way back down to One Police Plaza now. Sam was curious about that, to be sure, but she decided now wasn’t the time for interrogation. She had a lot of research to do. And she needed to get home safely, before the pair following her decided to get stupid in broad daylight.
Prutzmann was right... They’d followed him, they’d followed Lenny... and now, they were following her.
6
EMPIRE DINER
Vincent grabbed Ronne’s arm to stop him from crossing the street. “Hang on...” He scented the air, taking in several deep breaths before he shook his head. “I can’t tell if they’re still here, but I’m smelling a lot of signatures.”
Ronne glanced around, his eyes squinted against the glare. “Doesn’t seem to be anyone standing around.”
Vincent glared at Ronne. “No, werewolves don’t ‘stand around’ much if we can help it.”
Ronne snorted. “Really? What do werewolves do then?”
Vincent smirked. “Stay in, watch films, fool around, eat.” He paused, his gaze focusing on Ronne’s squinting eyes. “Remind me after we find Sam to take you to a fucking drug store and get you a pair of fucking sunglasses.”
Ronne glared back at him for a moment; then a chuckle broke through. “Fine. Sunglasses after. Let’s find Sam.” The two jogged across the street, weaving through the traffic stopped at the red light, and entered the diner.
The crowd was anything but. It was nearly three in the afternoon, most people had long since lunched and toddled back to work. Mostly tourists were scattered around the tables and booths, with a few perched on the stools at the counter. Vincent could hear the whir of a small blender in the kitchen... A milkshake, perhaps? On cue, his stomach growled, and he could have sworn the plump, middle-aged waitress behind the counter heard it, because she looked straight at him and smiled affably. Vincent felt a brief twinge of nostalgia... His mum used to look at him like that when he ran into the house as a kid, dirty and hungry after a day at school, or out and about.
“She’s not here,” Ronne said quietly. “Lenny either.” Vincent nodded his understanding, though he took his time looking around the interior himself. The waitress was still watching him, her smile still present, but the look in her eyes was growing a bit nervous, and Vincent knew his appearance... the black duster, the longish hair, the dark glasses... wasn’t exactly screaming “good guy”. He needed to set her at ease before she allowed her nerves to get the better of her and called the police on them.
Vincent smiled, and stepped over to the counter, leaning on it casually. “Afternoon, darlin’.” Ordinarily, he would have refrained from using the endearment on a woman he didn’t know, rather than risk getting his head bit off for being condescending or anti-woman (the sheer bullshit of that!), but the motherly feeling he was getting from this woman told Vincent she wasn’t going to get her nose out o
f joint over it. And he was right.
“Afternoon yourself,” she replied with a smile, her voice accented in a distinctly Irish lilt. Vincent eyebrows went up, and his smile widened.
“I hear a bit of County Roscommon there in your voice, now, don’t I?”
“And I hear Dublin in yours. What can I get ya, luv?”
Vincent sniffed the air, the savory smells of hamburgers and bacon and other totally unhealthy comfort foods embracing his all-to-willing senses. “Those hamburgers are the best thing I’ve smelled all day. I’ll take one of those.”
She winked at him and started writing on her pad. “The Empire Plate Special?” She pointed to the menu on the counter, indicating what the burger came with as a “Special”.
Vincent nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Right. What about you, boy-o?” Ronne didn’t respond right away, and Vincent nudged him.
“Wait, what?” Ronne blinked rapidly, trying to focus and catch up on what had been going on behind him.
“Food. Do you want any?” Vincent replied, trying to look as tolerant as possible, and failing miserably. Ronne glared back at him, then turned his attention to the waitress.
“Um... whatever he’s having.”
“Alright, then, two Specials. Sit wherever you like, boys. I’ll bring your food as soon as it’s ready.” She finished off the order slip and put it in before heading down to the other end of the counter to wait on a pair of construction workers.
“Counter or booth?” Ronne asked.
“Not counter,” Vincent replied, his voice lower as he continued. “I don’t want my back to the door.”
“Gotcha. Booth it is.” Ronne slid into one of the booths near them, which put them within steps of the door as well. He chose the rear facing seat, giving Vincent the option to face the door, as well as having an unobstructed view of most of the diner. It was a great spot, especially if you were on the lookout for trouble.
Vincent slid into the booth and slid his sunglasses down on his nose just enough to allow him to look over the top and take in the customers. More people had left while they were at the counter, and it looked as if the afternoon lull before the early-bird dinner crowd started was in full-swing. A few German tourists had pushed tables together and were enjoying burgers and baskets of French fries... A solitary businesswoman sat two booths away, her hair perfectly coiffed, her salad untouched as she perused something on her tablet... The construction workers at the counter... Vincent looked at them closely. Both were big, brawny, tanned from many hours of outdoor work... and the pheromones coming off them were palpable. Vincent scented as carefully as he could. They were older than the last werewolf by several months at least. He had to give them credit, the disguise was much better than that Euro-wolf, suit-and-tie look that Prutzmann’s wolves usually had. Vincent pushed his glasses back up, keeping a pleasant look plastered on his face as he thought. I wonder if they’re even John’s wolves anymore? The news that Prutzmann was worse than he’d seen him in March had Vincent torn. On one hand, good riddance to the bastard. He’d never been able to prove it, but Vincent had always believed that Prutzmann was responsible for his family’s deaths, and for his infection, and Alice’s. He really couldn’t forgive Prutzmann for Alice, not just for infecting her, but for keeping her, and twisting her, taking her innocence and turning her into what she was now. Vincent could feel the rage building in him. Thankfully, the waitress came over with two glasses of ice water, and the important question of what else they would like to drink. She turned to go get the iced teas they requested, but Vincent stopped her, motioning her closer so he could speak lower.
“I was supposed to meet my girl here earlier... Don’t know if you might have seen her. Dark hair, blue eyes...”
The waitress nodded. “I did see a young woman earlier, but she was having lunch with another man.”
“Black?”
“Yes.”
Vincent nodded. “That was her. Do you remember when they left?”
“Oh, not 20 minutes before you boys came in. The black man was a policeman... I saw his badge when he stood to leave. She finished her lunch, and then she left.” The waitress frowned. “You know, I was a bit worried when she left, because two gentlemen sitting at the counter followed her a few minutes later. I do hope they didn’t bother her.”
Ronne started to speak, but Vincent kicked him under the table. “I’m sure she is. Would it be possible to get our food to go? We can stop and check on her then.”
“Of course! It’ll be just a few minutes.” The waitress bustled away.
“That hurt,” Ronne said through gritted teeth.
“Good.” Vincent carefully glanced at the construction workers, and found they were watching he and Ronne very closely. “How’s your head?”
“Fine, why?”
“Because we may have to fight our way out of here to get to Sam.” Vincent watched as the construction workers both got down off their stools and started walking toward the two men. “Just follow my lead, Francis... and don’t be a hero.”
“What?”
“You got a problem, buddy?” The shorter of the two “construction wolves” growled at Vincent, while the bigger one glared at Ronne.
Vincent smiled pleasantly. “No problem here, gentlemen. Just having lunch.”
“No problem, huh?” The shorter wolf chuckled, then pounded his fist hard on the table, jiggling it hard enough that the condiment holder tipped over, spilling salt and pepper on the table. Everyone who remained in the diner turned to look at the noise and seemed to quickly realize something bad was about to go down.
Ronne quickly brushed a little of the salt into his hand and tossed it over his left shoulder. The taller wolf smirked at that.
“You’re going to need more than luck to get out of this alive,” he muttered.
Ronne brushed the remains of the salt and pepper into his hand, then looked at Vincent. Vincent pushed his sunglasses into place, and grabbed a napkin from the table, raising it up to his nose as if he was going to sneeze. Then, he nodded.
Ronne took a deep, lung-filling breath, raised the hand full of salt and pepper to his mouth, and blew hard. The granules hit both wolves, but the shorter wolf got the full effect of the mixture, and he sputtered and gasped as the bits of seasoning began to irritate his eyes and nose. Vincent and Ronne quickly scooted out of the booth, using the momentum they had coming out to push the two wolves back and away from them. The taller wolf fell harder, hitting the edge of a counter stool before falling to the ground, still rubbing his eyes furiously. The shorter one kept his feet, but he was essentially blind as he tried to get his eyes cleared of moisture.
Vincent held a hand up, and smiled at the patrons in the diner, and the waitress and other workers behind the counter.
“Everything is fine. Small misunderstanding—” Vincent never got the opportunity to finish. The shorter wolf, still partially blinded by the seasonings burning his eyes, had aimed for the sound of Vincent’s voice, and ran at the Irishman like a bull charging a cape. Vincent flew backward and onto the floor near the front door. The shorter wolf stumbled forward, falling to a heap on the floor a few feet away from Vincent. Vincent said a little quick prayer of thanks for that small blessing, then rocked back, gaining the momentum to propel himself back up onto his feet.
Meanwhile, Ronne had faced off with the bigger of the two wolves, and the pair were locked in a kind of wrestling posture by the counter, inching ever closer to the door that led into the kitchen. The businesswoman crouched down under her table, whimpering as the pair continued to push and pull mere steps from her.
Vincent watched a moment. For a Raven, Ronne was surprisingly strong, although a great deal of that strength owed to his sheer height and size. He was holding his own against a werewolf equally matched in height and build, though, and Vincent had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that he was impressed.
Ronne continued pushing the werewolf back, step by step, edging it closer to the
kitchen door. Vincent hoped there weren’t any readily available weapons when they fell through it... Ronne was beginning to prove his worth as an asset, and it would be disappointing to lose him now.
A scuffling behind him drew Vincent’s attention, and he turned around... and froze. The shorter werewolf had gotten to his feet, but instead of coming after Vincent again, he had chosen to play dirty. Clasped against his chest was the plump waitress, her eyes wide with fear as she strained against the crushing strength of his arm.
Vincent frowned deeply. FUUUUUUUUCK!!! He hated hostage situations... Even when werewolves weren’t involved, they rarely ended well.
“Call your friend off, or I’ll snap her neck... It makes such a lovely crunching sound when you snap a neck. Like popping ice cubes out of a tray.” The shorter werewolf smirked, then tightened his grip a little more. “I’m waiting!”
“Francis!” Vincent called out, hoping that Ronne would hear him. Evidently, he did, based on the pause, the clatter, and the gasp from the businesswoman. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” Ronne replied, out of breath and strained.
An eerie lull descended on the space, punctuated only by the muffled crying of some of the German tourists, and the radio playing. Vincent listened, recognizing the voice, and one of his trademark songs, “Fly Me to the Moon.” He sighed and focused again on the shorter werewolf. “Alright, then... what do you want?”
“Not a thing, except to keep you two busy so other shit can get done.” The shorter werewolf smiled as he watched realization dawn on Vincent’s face. “That’s right, asshole. My buddies followed your bitch... I’m sure they’re catching up with her now. It shouldn’t take long, two against one.”
“Um...” Ronne interjected, shaking his head rather ruefully. “Based on my experience, you are severely underestimating her. Very bad.” Vincent chuckled at that.
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