Sin City Wolfhound

by Rick Newberry

  “We’ve got the best on the way from Langley,” Miller said.

  “Good.” Ramirez turned again, barking at the lieutenant, “I want heavy protection on this guy. Stay with the paramedics all the way to UMC. Screen everyone who treats him or even comes close: nurses, technicians—everyone. Keep a record. Check all IDs. I want a tight perimeter, and no press. Is that understood?”

  The lieutenant nodded and helped the old man to his feet.

  As Ramirez and Miller stepped outside, a helicopter churned overhead.

  “Jesus Christ, that better be ours,” Ramirez said shielding his eyes against the blinding search light. He turned to a uniformed officer. “I don’t want press helicopters anywhere near this site. Is Claremont still blocked off at the bottom of the hill?”

  “I think so, sir.”

  “Find out.”

  The old man, helped by two paramedics and followed closely by the lieutenant, stepped outside. Ramirez moved back to make room for them on the narrow walkway leading down to a Clark County Fire and Rescue vehicle. The driveway was empty; a couple of forensics experts busily collected the oil stains left behind.

  The old man kept chattering in the unknown language as he passed Ramirez. It sounded like the same few words, repeated over and over, as if it were a chant, or a prayer.

  Before being tucked into the back of the vehicle, the old man paused, turned back to face the house, and parted his lips in what could have been a smile. A chill ran through Ramirez.

  The incessant noise of the generators and diesel fumes drove Ramirez away from the house and down to the street as the rescue vehicle departed. Three patrol cars, their blue and red lights washing over the hillside, followed close behind.

  Ramirez stopped on the sidewalk, his mind stumbling on the old man’s smile, on the cages in the basement. He closed his eyes and bent his head down; someday, what happened here would be explained, a crime of this magnitude demanded an explanation.

  Agent Miller approached Ramirez. “How many bodies? Do we know yet?”

  “No idea,” Ramirez said. “The coroner has to piece it all together—like a human jigsaw puzzle—and give us a count. Could take days to get that number. Most of the smaller pieces were buried, in individual graves, like they were being put aside.”

  “I agree, not buried very well.”

  “No, I don’t think they were being hidden. It’s more like they were being held back—saved for later. They had very little bite marks, not like the rest we found.”

  Miller rubbed his forehead. “Saved for what?”

  Ramirez shrugged and let the word escape. “Leftovers.”

  “Cannibalism? You think those bite marks are human?”

  Ramirez shook his head. “No. I think our guy was feeding his dogs.”

  “Dogs?”

  “The cages in the basement—the paw prints in the backyard. Dixie seemed to think we had a Department of Wildlife guy on our team. Looks like we need one now.” He stared at Miller, giving the man a smile accompanied by a frown. “I hate to admit it, but I think Dixie must be psychic.”

  “Really?” Miller said. “Then why didn’t she know about this place?”

  Ramirez turned and walked away from Miller without answering. He climbed the walkway back to the house. Maybe she did.

  ****

  Colonel Dayton pulled on the cord and drew back the heavy black shades covering the windows. The morning sun bathed the suite in blinding light. He took a moment, allowing his eyes time to adjust, then focused on the New York New York Hotel and Casino located just across the street.

  “A werewolf killer is running loose on the streets of Vegas, and the tourists are all out looking for the cheapest breakfast buffet they can find. Kind of ironic, don’t you think? Since they’re sort of on the menu themselves.”

  “That’s a bit crass, isn’t it, Jon?” Major Ransom slipped out of the restroom, running both hands down the sides of her dark pants. “The authorities are doing what they can. There’s basically a policeman on every corner. This has to be the safest city in the world.”

  “Really?” Dayton picked up the remote control and switched to a news channel.

  “…another murder last night in Sin City. That brings the total number of victims attributed to the so-called Werewolf Killer to twelve. The local task force has not issued a statement about last night’s attack, but a press conference is scheduled for—”

  He turned off the television and sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped.

  Ransom joined him and put a hand on the back of his neck. “Don’t blame yourself. Two million people live in this valley, and we’re looking for one—just one.”

  “We weren’t looking last night, were we?”

  “Don’t, Jon—”

  He stood up and stepped back to the window. “There’s a killer out there somewhere. The kind the admiral has hoped existed for years.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Don’t you know? Can’t you read my mind?”

  “I can, but I want you to say it out loud so you can hear how silly it sounds.”

  “Silly? Don’t you think the home office is giddy with delight? We’ve got ourselves a real live werewolf.” Dayton lowered his voice, doing his best to mimic Admiral Garrison: “We knew it, we knew it all along. There are things out there, things that can’t be explained. Now you know the truth. Now you know—”

  “Stop it. Admiral Garrison would never gloat like that. He’s a truly dedicated man. It’s not his fault. Do you think he’s happy about it?”

  Dayton turned to her. “I’m sorry. It’s just, now that it’s real, I feel so useless. I mean, we’re actually trying to find a werewolf. And you’re right, it does sound silly when I say it out loud, but there you have it.”

  “At least we know what we’re looking for. That gives us an edge, doesn’t it?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “You’re frightened.”

  “Damn right. Aren’t you?”

  “Of course, I am,” she said. “Terrified, actually.”

  He helped her up. “You are?”

  “Yes. That was the worst impression of the admiral I’ve ever heard. It scared the hell out of me.”

  They laughed.

  “C’mon, Major,” Dayton said as he grabbed his room key. “Let’s go in search of a cheap buffet breakfast.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ransom smiled. “Then let’s find ourselves a werewolf.” She stopped in the middle of the room. “Wait.” She stepped back toward the window and gazed across the street.

  “What is it?”

  “Hush.” Major Ransom closed her eyes, placing her palms on the glass.

  Dayton came up behind her and whispered, “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. There’s something—very close. I don’t know what it is, but the feeling is quite strong.” She opened her eyes and turned to him. “It’s gone now.”

  “Just like that? What was it?”

  “Jumbled images: a red leash—panic. I can’t explain it, but it was very real.”

  “C’mon, you need food; we both do.”

  They rode the elevator to the lobby in silence. When they stepped out, the noise of slot machines, gamblers, and piped-in music assaulted their ears. The backs of their hands rubbed against each other, then came together.

  “No,” Major Ransom said, stopping and gripping his hand tighter.

  “No, what?”

  “We’re not going to tell Detective Ramirez who we are.”

  “You’re going to have to stop reading my thoughts. I was just mulling it over. After all, there’s no precedence for this situation. We’ve always investigated, what we thought was, unexplained activity. We’ve never really found anything conclusive. I’d say this is pretty conclusive.”

  “Agreed, but there is protocol—there is procedure. We’re supposed to work behind the scenes, always have. It’s one of the basic rules.”

  “It was just a thought, Major.
I have lots of them.”

  She grinned. “Yes you do.”

  “So you’re going to have to stop reading them all.”

  They entered the café and ate a light breakfast.

  Cuthbert met them with the car at exactly nine. He drove onto Tropicana, turned right, and headed north on The Strip to the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department’s headquarters where they were told about the house on Claremont.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A rumbling vibration brought Dixie out of a light sleep. She rubbed her eyes and sat up in a hurry, glancing at the unfamiliar furniture in her bedroom. It took her a few moments to realize it wasn’t her bedroom, rather the suite at the New York New York Hotel and Casino. Housekeeping carts were being pushed down the endless maze of hallways in search of vacated rooms. She heard the faint sound of doors being knocked on accompanied by a voice calling out, “Housekeeping.”

  Slowly, like watching a film play backward, the events of the day before rolled through her mind. Names and places revealed themselves: Flynn, Lucy, Bane, and Adam, Sonny Russo and Claremont Drive. Steel.

  She raised her head and peered over the edge of the bed at the animal on the carpet. He sat on his haunches, eyes alert, staring straight back at her. His muscles tensed and he stood.

  “Stay!”

  Steel’s lips pulled back, sharp white fangs exposing themselves.

  “Steel,” she said in the same sing-song, cooing voice she’d used the night before, “that’s a good boy. Who’s a good boy, huh?”

  He growled.

  “Okay, baby voice still not working.” She rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Are you thirsty? I’m going to the bathroom and get some water. Stay there.”

  When her feet touched the carpet, he stepped forward.

  “No!” she commanded. She tried to be assertive, just as Adam told her, hoping the dog would obey. “Stay, Steel.” So far, so good. After all, she shared the night with a massive wolfhound and hadn’t been eaten.

  He did not advance, but followed her with his eyes as she trekked to the restroom.

  “Good boy,” she said over her shoulder as she filled the ice bucket with cold water from the sink. He met her at the threshold, his silent approach startling her. She placed the ice bucket down and put it under his snout, the closest she’d been to the animal. He sniffed at the contents then began to lap at the water in a cadenced slurp-slurp-slurp.

  When he finished drinking, he stared up at her, water dripping from his chops onto the carpet. Fur bristled on the back of his neck, and he took a tentative step forward.

  “Whoa. Stay. You probably need to go outside.” She slid past him and sat on the bed. “What to do,” she whispered. “I don’t have a collar, a leash, or a…what is it? A poop bag.” She stared at him. “Help me out here—can you use the bathroom?” She never owned a dog, or a pet of any kind, and now she knew why. They required a lot of attention.

  He sat down.

  “Can you hold it?”

  A knock on the door elicited a snarl from Steel.

  “Housekeeping.”

  Dixie put a finger to her lips. “Shhh.” She stepped lightly toward the door. “Hang in there, Steel; help is on the way.” She cracked the door open and peered down at the short maid in a yellow uniform.

  “Housekeeping,” the maid said.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. I seem to have misplaced my dog leash. My dog needs to go outside. Can you help?”

  “Si, the front desk can help. Uno momento. Let me call.” The maid brought a two-way radio out of her pocket and smiled.

  “Thank you so much.” Dixie closed the door. “Well, problem solved.” She turned back to face Steel. The last few drops of a rather large urine stream aimed at the corner of the bed dribbled out. “You couldn’t hold it? Really?”

  She ambled to the restroom and closed the door. He growled.

  “My turn.”

  He barked. Dixie opened the door and stuck her head out.

  “I need to pee, do you understand?” She shut the door.

  He barked again, louder.

  “Shhh.” She popped her head around the door. “You’re gonna wake up the whole casino. I need some privacy, do you mind? You may not think it’s a big deal, but I do.”

  As she pushed the door closed, he snarled.

  “Okay, Mr. Bossy Boss, I’ll leave it open just a little, like this.” She moved the door shut, leaving it ajar a few inches, enough to give her a measure of privacy. He seemed okay with that.

  She flushed, opened the door, and ambled to the bed. Steel found the ice bucket again, bent his head down, and finished the last of the water.

  As he drank, Dixie shoved Adam’s sketchbook into her back pocket and picked up the telephone.

  “KLVA.”

  “This is Dixie Mulholland, may I speak to Mr. Morrison?”

  “Oh, sure thing, hun, I’ll put you through.”

  Hun? Not a good sign.

  “Morrison.”

  “Mr. Morrison, this is Dixie. Thank God, I got you.”

  “Dammit, Mulholland, you picked a great time to go AWOL. Where have you been? The task force is up to something, and they’re keeping us in the dark about it. Freedom of the press, my ass. It’s like half of Metro has disappeared. I need to know what’s going on, and I need to know now. The ball’s in your court. Move.”

  “Sir, listen to me. I’m the one who made the call to the—”

  “I had to get Peggy to cover for you last night, and I had to get Sean to cover for her. Dammit, I thought you wanted anchor. This is not the way to do that. Got it?”

  “I do, sir, but—”

  “Then shut up and listen. I need to know what Metro’s up to. Call your sources and find out what the hell’s going on.”

  “Sir, listen to me: I’m at the New York New York suite with Steel. He’s a Giant Irish Wolfhound.” Dixie snickered. “Giant doesn’t even begin to describe—”

  “Dammit, that suite is reserved for the station’s VIP guests for the Toretta fight. Didn’t you get the e-mail? Oh never mind. The whole damn task force has vanished, and they’re not saying one goddamned word about it. Hell, the police have snitches, and so do we, but nobody’s saying a frigging thing. I’ve never seen anything like it. Something big is happening right now, I can feel it.”

  “Listen to me. Like I said, I’m here with a wolfhound and I think—”

  “Shut up about your stupid dog. I need you to find out what’s going on. That’s what you’re being paid for, but not for long if you don’t get a story on the air ASAP. Now get your ass out of that damned suite and get to work.” The line went dead with a deafening click.

  Dixie slid the phone back in its cradle as Steel licked his chops and sat down.

  “Listen, Adam…Steel. It’s gonna be a long day, so we’ve got to work together, you and me, like a team. I have to tell Marco—he needs to know about you. He especially needs to know about Sonny Russo. I know you don’t want me to go to the police, but Marco’s a friend, and the more of those we get on our side, the better. I’ll deal with the station later. Sound good?”

  Steel held eye contact with her. For the briefest moment, she swore he understood every word she said. Then he stood up, sauntered to the middle of the room and lifted his leg. He directed a steady stream of urine onto the base of the writing table. Dixie shook her head.

  A knock shattered the silence.

  “Housekeeping.”

  Dixie stood quickly, a little too fast for Steel. The growl was low and steady, a menacing threat.

  “Easy, big fella. Remember, like a team.” She trekked to the door and cracked it open a few inches, attempting to hide a full view of the room behind her.

  The housekeeper held out a bright red dog leash. It was no more than three feet in length, the kind meant to control a small dog. Dixie took it and studied the loop. She knew the casino’s policy of allowing small dogs in the rooms; Steel was way over capacity.

 
; “Is there a collar?”

  “No, senora, you put one end through the loop then around the dog’s neck. Mira.” The housekeeper demonstrated.

  “Oh, I see.” Dixie took the leash, bumping the door open in the process.

  “Ay, que grande.” The housekeeper took a half step back. “Senora, there is a limit on the dogs. I’m afraid I have to report—”

  “Thank you, so much.” Dixie shut the door and turned to face Steel.

  She held the leash at arm’s length and marched forward. Steel stood up and gave her a rumbling growl. He lowered his head.

  “Steel! You’re gonna have to trust me.” She bent over, letting him sniff the leash. “I know trust is gained over time but, guess what, we don’t have any.” She slipped one end of the leash through the loop and eased it over his massive neck. His lips pulled back, but the growl was absent. The strap barely fit around his neck, leaving her about ten inches of leash to hold onto. “That’s it,” she cooed, “good boy, you’re such a good boy.”

  Steel shook his head and barked.

  “Quiet.” She had to stoop down slightly in order to control the leash. The smell of urine made her wince. “Like it or not this is the way it’s gonna be. I’m in charge and you’re gonna do what I say.”

  He tugged at the leash pulling her forward. She lost her balance and let go before she fell forward onto him.

  Steel sat down, keeping his eyes glued to her. After a few seconds, he slumped down on the ground and closed his eyes.

  “Nice teamwork,” she said, “real smooth, big fella. Like it or not I’m trying to help you. So yeah, piss all over the room. Relax, take a nap and don’t worry about a thing. Let me do everything.” Then, under her breath, she mumbled, “Ungrateful hound.” She shook her head and closed her eyes.

  A cold nose nuzzled the back of her hand.

  “Sorry.” She patted his head. “We’d better leave before housekeeping reports us.”

  ****

  Detective Ramirez sat on the back deck of an opened van nursing another in an endless line of Styrofoam cups filled with tepid coffee. He’d been at Claremont Drive for twelve hours straight. His head ached and he needed sleep—that wasn’t going to happen.