Sin City Wolfhound

by Rick Newberry

  “Money?” Gorgeous spat out the word as if she’d swallowed a bug.

  Was there hope? Could she be paid to leave him alone? “Yeah, that’s right, anything you need; anything at all.”

  “But, sweetie, the only thing I need is for you to keep your promise. Of course my wolfhounds have killed; you’ve done a wonderful job training them.”

  Russo began to shake, little tremors at first. His throat was dry, his voice hoarse. “Things are getting a little out of control, aren’t they? I mean, we got a good thing going here with the business. I appreciate everything you done for me, I really do, but I think it’s time we stop and think about what—”

  “Shhh.” She placed a chilly finger on his lips. “You’ve been wonderful, Sonny. You’ve taken care of all the mundane little details.” Did the smile grow? Only just, and just for a moment. “And in return, I took you into my confidence. I allowed you to witness the miracle birth of my human wolfhounds. We’ve had a wonderful time watching them learn how to kill, haven’t we? But don’t worry, my sweet, it will all soon be over. The end will soon begin.”

  “But that’s just it, Gorgeous. Everything’s going so good for us. Why end it?”

  Another touch of the icy finger. “Sonny, I don’t think you’re listening to me, and that doesn’t make me happy at all.”

  “No, of course not.” Had he crossed a line? Was it too late to step back? Yes, it was, he couldn’t move at all.

  “I’m not being unreasonable, am I? I mean, I told you everything—well, almost everything. I told you there would be blood. I never lied to you, not once—not once—and this is how you repay me?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you shaking so? Is it because Steel is out of control, and Lucy and Ivan refuse to participate? Not to mention my poor, darling Flynn lying dead in the street. And as for Detective Ramirez—well that was a waste of time, wasn’t it? No matter, I have someone else in mind for that role. Maybe you’re right; I made the wrong choice with the detective, maybe I made the wrong choice with you.”

  “No.” But the word fell flat, choked off by the pain that exploded across his hand. He jerked his eyes down to see his left hand holding the cherry of the cigar on the back of his right. He couldn’t pull it away. His skin sizzled.

  “Like I said, you’re my right hand man, Sonny.” Her voice remained soft and relaxed. “And what happens when the right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing? It could be painful.”

  “Stop, please, I’m begging you.”

  “Begging? I like that. Now why don’t you tell me the truth?”

  Russo forced the words out. “Steel’s been talking to that smart ass reporter. I used Flynn to find out where they were and we went to take care of her, but there was an accident.”

  Gorgeous glanced down at Russo’s hands. “Yes, accidents happen, don’t they? Why don’t you go and run that under some water?”

  The cigar fell out of his hand. He raced to the kitchen, turned on the water, and thrust his hand under the tap. The water was boiling hot. Try as he might, he could not pull his hand away from the steaming torture.

  Gorgeous drew close, whispering in his ear, “Oh my, now look what you’ve done. Another accident.”

  “Please,” Russo said, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  The water chilled at once sending waves of instant relief.

  “Yes, you will. And this is what I want: kill Steel, Ivan, and Lucy, they’re useless to me. Bring Mikael, Bane, and Nina here, I need to instruct them. And find that reporter. She’s dangerous, more than even she knows. And never think for one minute you are free to leave. Oh, and Sonny? For God’s sakes, stop smoking cigars. They’re so bad for you.”

  “Yes.” Russo couldn’t get the word out fast enough. He stared at the raw blisters on the back of his hand. It felt like Hell.

  “No, sweetie,” Gorgeous said as she vanished into a blue mist, her voice still resonating, “this is nothing like Hell. You’ll see.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Lucy—is that your sister’s name?” Dixie asks me as she guides the Hummer down the hill, the tires fighting for traction on the loose gravel.

  I learned so much from Lucy in the little time we spoke. It isn’t fair she’s gone. “I should have stayed and helped her.”

  “How?” Dixie answers at once. “You can barely stand. You would’ve both been—”

  She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to.

  “You don’t know anything happened to her,” Dixie says. “She looked like she could take care of herself pretty well. I’ll bet she’s just fine.”

  It would be easy to agree, to be optimistic, but I can’t. The murderous look in Bane’s eyes as he chased us across the street told me everything. But it’s no good thinking about what might have happened, so I change the subject. “Who is Sonny Russo?”

  Dixie gives me a sideways glance. “You’re kidding, right? Only the richest man in Vegas. He owns The Grotto, The Sky Dome, and the SRS Casino. He pretty much runs all the action on The Strip.”

  “And you said he’s the one who came out of my house?” My legs continue to tingle so I rub them, trying to improve the circulation.

  “Absolutely, no question. I’ve been trying to get an interview with him forever, but it’s hopeless. He never speaks to the press.”

  “And he drove away in a black sedan? The one parked in my driveway?”

  “That’s right, why?”

  “That car belongs to The Alpha.”

  Dixie jerks the steering wheel to the right, and we skid to a stop. “What? That’s impossible. There’s no way he’d live in that run down house. He may not have more money than God, but they belong to the same country club. Why would Russo waste his time with a bunch of…er…I mean, I don’t know why he’d want to have anything to do with…uh…oh shit, you know what I mean. No, Russo can’t be your Alpha.”

  She’s probably right; it makes no sense at all. The Alpha lives like a king in his air-conditioned den surrounded by art and luxury. But the rest of the pack lives in squalor in a house that should be, and probably is, condemned. Those of us who can’t stand the taste of raw meat go hungry. We’re told nothing of who—or what—we are. If Russo has as much money and power as Dixie says, it doesn’t show in the way he treats us. “You’re right. This Russo guy can’t be The Alpha. I must have been mistaken.”

  “But I saw what I saw. Russo came out of your house and drove away in that black sedan. Look, maybe he knows The Alpha. Maybe they’ve got some kind of arrangement or something.”

  “Like what? Why don’t you come over, Mr. Russo, and watch my dogs?”

  “Canines,” Dixie corrects in a heartbeat.

  That makes me smile. “Yes, canines.” I stamp my feet, testing the strength in my legs. “I don’t know what’s going on, but—”

  The Hummer shakes as Bane jumps at it. He paws and scratches the driver’s door in a frantic effort to get inside. Dixie screams.

  I shout, “Drive!”

  She hits the gas, kicking up a flurry of dust and rocks. Bane chases after us for a few yards, his powerful paws digging into the gravel.

  “Get to the freeway. He’ll give up.”

  “Give up? He’s followed us all the way down the hill. How fast can he run anyway?”

  “About thirty miles an hour tops.” A little faster downhill, but there’s no use in bothering Dixie with that little bit of information.

  We fly across the small access road, turn left onto the freeway entrance, and merge into traffic. She cuts across to the fast lane, holding the steering wheel in a white-knuckle death grip. Her eyes stay fixed on the road ahead, never glancing at the rearview mirror, as if not looking might keep Bane from appearing. We’re flying by the cars on the highway.

  “I think we’re okay.” The speedometer reads ninety miles an hour. “I think you can slow down now.”

  “I’ll slow down when we’re safe.”

  “Thi
s is the exact opposite of safe.” I wanted to add a chuckle, instead it’s a yelp. Pain grips my body and I shudder.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “No, not now.” I bend forward and put my hands on my head feeling the sticky paste of sweat on my forehead.

  “Are you okay?” She says, shooting me a quick glance. “Is it your legs?”

  “No, not my legs. Listen to me, and please don’t be afraid.” But that was a silly thing to say, already her eyes are widening. Sucking in a long, shaky breath, my voice is weak. “I can’t stop it; it’s coming.”

  “What is?” She stares at the rearview mirror.

  “The transformation. I’m changing.”

  Dixie swerves out of her lane almost sideswiping a tractor-trailer. A symphony of horns sound and she forces the Hummer back into the fast lane.

  “You’ve gotta help me. I can’t go back home. That’s what I always do when I change.”

  “You’re changing now? Right now?”

  Sucking in a breath through tight lips, I shout out, “Yes. And we can’t go to the police—not like this. You need to take me someplace—someplace where I can’t run off.”

  “Run off? Can you hold it?”

  “It’s not like I have to pee.”

  “No, right. I mean can you wait a little longer?”

  “I can try.” It feels like sharp, spiky needles scraping at the inside of my skin. As a young pup, I used to try and delay the change. A personal challenge to see if the process could be controlled, more than that, to see if I could prevent the pain. I’d learned a few tricks: deep breathing, tensing muscles, meditating on all things human. But I never stopped the transformation outright. It always came. “The best I can do is ten, maybe twenty minutes.” Of pure agony.

  “Okay, okay,” Dixie says, “let me wrap my head around this.” She’s quiet for a few miles. “We can’t go to Metro, and you said my home isn’t safe. We need a place to lay low for a while.”

  A groan races out of my mouth.

  “Try to relax, I’m just thinking out loud. Okay, I got it.” She speeds up, as if that’s possible, and the passing scenery blurs. After a few miles, she says, “Adam?” She hesitates, as if waiting for permission to speak.

  “What is it?”

  “Do you think, I mean—?”

  “What is it Dixie?”

  “Do you think you’ll hurt me? You know, I mean, when you change?”

  “No, I would never hurt you.” I’m being as honest as I can. “By the way, do you have another Taser in the car?”

  “No. Wait, what?”

  ****

  Major Ransom arrived at McCarran International two hours and ten minutes after leaving Dallas. She looked fresh, wide-eyed, and relaxed. With not one strand of black hair out of place, she walked up the ramp and into the waiting hug of Colonel Jon Dayton.

  “The admiral phoned. He told me you needed my help. The next thing I knew, I was on a jet headed to Vegas.”

  “Thanks to our excellent travel agent here. Major Jean Ransom, meet Paul Cuthbert. His assistance has proved invaluable, quite a resourceful lad.”

  “Thank you, sir. Please, ma’am, everybody calls me Cutty. Good to meet you, Major.” He ran his fingers through his red locks and held out a hand. “I hope you didn’t mind commercial travel. In any case, you won’t notice the temperature until we’re out of the terminal. It’s a little less shocking that way, right Colonel?”

  “Absolutely. I would not recommend a tarmac arrival, it’s brutal.”

  “Still,” Cutty said, “it’s six o’clock and you missed the better part of the heat—”

  “Gentlemen, please.” Ransom held out her carry-on for any taker. “I’ve been to Las Vegas before. I’m well aware of the climate, and I’ll take desert heat over London rain any time. Shall we proceed?”

  They headed through the terminal and down the elevator to VIP parking. Cutty opened the back door of the sedan for Major Ransom. Dayton slipped into the backseat next to her. When they were settled in, Cutty guided the sedan through the maze of roads leading to the 215. All windows were halfway down letting the hot air whip through the cabin. They soon headed north on the I-15 toward downtown Las Vegas.

  “Okay, Colonel,” Ransom said, “you’ve managed to get me here, now tell me why.”

  Dayton shook his head and nodded at their driver. Cutty had not been cleared for operational intelligence, his role being logistics only.

  Major Ransom smiled, her dimples catching Dayton’s eye. “I said: tell me why I’m here. You know how to tell me, don’t you? Or have you forgotten?”

  He formed the words in his mind, but Major Ransom needed only his thoughts.

  I think we have an actual event. Whatever we’re after is not human. There’s a reporter named Dixie Mulholland who’s gone missing. I think she knows not only what we’re looking for, but where it may be. It’s just a hunch, but I’m almost certain she’s the key to finding this Werewolf Killer. I’m hoping we can use your talents to find Miss Mulholland.

  “Working on hunches now, Jon?” Ransom smiled again.

  It’s the best I’ve got to work with right now. The only thing, really. This Werewolf Killer leaves no clues and strikes at random.

  “I’m going to need a starting point,” Ransom said. “I need to meet someone who’s close to her.”

  “Hey, this is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever listened in on,” Cutty said, his eyes sharing time between the road and the rearview mirror. “I guess I’m going to have to brush up a little on my snooping skills.”

  She’s friends with the lead detective on the case, Detective Marco Ramirez, although he has no idea where she is either.

  “And what makes you think she knows anything?”

  She’s a local television reporter and has been working this story from day one. Her name is practically synonymous with the term Werewolf Killer. She hasn’t been seen for twenty-four hours. For me, that’s more than coincidence. Detective Ramirez is concerned. He hasn’t said as much, but I can sense it.

  “Be careful, Colonel, you’re venturing into…what did you call it? My area of expertise?”

  Dayton laughed. “You’re rubbing off on me.”

  “I hope so.” She gave him a grin. “And thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “You know what. For inviting me to join you on this adventure.”

  “Adventure? I hope that’s all it turns out to be.”

  Cutty exited the I-15 and merged smoothly onto Tropicana Boulevard. “Welcome back to the bright lights of Vegas, Major—whoa! Hang on.” He swerved to the right and allowed a speeding SUV to zoom by on his left. The larger vehicle blared its horn and clipped Cutty’s side view mirror. It sped up and ran through a red light, turning left into the New York New York Hotel parking garage. “Traffic can get a little dicey around here on Friday nights. Sorry about that. You two okay back there?”

  “We’re fine,” Major Ransom said.

  Cutty continued east in the left lane, across Las Vegas Boulevard, and turned into the MGM Hotel guest arrival area. He set the brake and swiveled around to face his passengers. “What’s the matter, sir, lost your voice?”

  “His voice is just fine, Mr. Cutty,” Major Ransom said, taking hold of Dayton’s hand and picking up on his thoughts. “In fact, I’d say everything is working just fine.”

  “Collect us tomorrow morning, Cutty,” Dayton said as he reached across the major’s lap, opening her door.

  Cutty stepped out of the vehicle and popped open the trunk. He jogged to the back of the sedan, grabbed Major Ransom’s suitcase, and met her at the door. “Yes sir, I’ll be here at seven.” He handed a plastic room key to Ransom.

  Dayton allowed his eyes to linger on the major as she stepped out of the car. “We’ll be ready at nine.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Dixie keeps a steady course, northbound on the I-15 toward downtown Las Vegas. I know the gears in her head are spinning faster than the Hum
mer’s tires. I trust her to figure it all out; I have no choice now—the change is coming.

  She makes a quick exit onto Tropicana and dives into the far left lane heading east. Traffic crawls ahead, the normal early evening gridlock at The Strip. The pain slithering under my skin moves faster than that. I know she doesn’t need me yapping, but I can’t help it. “Speed up and go past them.”

  She edges a little closer to the median divide and slides past the line of bumper to bumper cars. A dark sedan threatens to keep her from making the green left turn arrow just ahead. She leans on the horn and barrels past the sedan, kissing the smaller car’s side view mirror in the process. The arrow goes from yellow to red, but she makes the turn anyway, a maneuver rewarded by honking horns, screeching tires, and a few creative hand gestures.

  “Good girl.”

  She raps on the steering wheel. “What the hell, I’m gonna lose my job anyway, what’s a traffic ticket on top of that?”

  “You’re not gonna lose your job. You’ve got the story of a lifetime, remember? Me.”

  “I thought that door was closed?”

  I don’t answer. She’s sticking her neck out for me. By my count, she’s even saved my life three times already. I can’t stand the idea of revealing my secret, but I owe her at least that much.

  She turns into the self-park lot and drives up the ramp to level three, the tires screaming on the smooth concrete surface. “It’s such a dog eat dog world out there—sorry—I mean, the news business is so competitive. If I slack off, even a little, some cupcake is gonna slide right in and take my place.” She snaps her fingers. “Just like that.”

  “Cupcake?”

  “Yeah, some cute little number from LA or Phoenix.”

  “A number?”

  “Would you cut it out? You know what I mean.” She dives into a free parking stall, turns off the engine, and faces me. “I’ve been out of touch with the station for a whole day. That’s a lifetime in the news business. They probably think I’ve jumped ship.”