Sin City Wolfhound

by Rick Newberry

  Glowing mists of various colors descended from the sky, dancing in the wind and settling onto the ground.

  An onyx Bentley Mulsanne pulled aside and parked. Sonny Russo stepped out.

  A blue mist broke away from the other colors and hovered over the ground near the black sedan. The fog swirled in the hot Vegas wind, touched the ground, dissipated, and then dissolved altogether. Translucent shadows appeared in the remnants of the blue fog. The shadows took a solid form.

  Gorgeous emerged from the form and scanned the procession of vehicles. Her smile—the mask—glowed brighter than normal. Flowing strands of her blonde hair, caught by the breeze, whipped around her face, dancing like golden flames. Her blue eyes shimmered in cool radiance, her feet hovering just above the ground. Sonny Russo shook at the sight.

  Gorgeous smiled at him through the unwavering mask. “You know me, Sonny. I don’t like to brag, but the sheriff was an excellent last minute substitution for the detective. The city has its guard down now, thanks to the marvelous police work of Metro’s finest.”

  “And Carl.”

  She frowned at him. “Yes, poor Carl. Who would have ever thought a sweet old man like Carl capable of such unspeakable acts?” She laughed.

  Russo flinched. He knew she could have just as well used him as her patsy. “Are you gonna let the sheriff’s wife and kid go?” He didn’t know why he asked, he’d already guessed the answer. He wanted to hear it anyway, just to be certain.

  Her smile grew. “Of course I am, Sonny. Of course I am.” She stroked his face with an icy finger, her gaze shifting to the vehicles advancing on the hill. “Go on and join them, Sonny. Make me proud.”

  Russo rubbed at the blisters on the back of his hand and turned to the sedan. He glanced at Gorgeous one last time before driving away.

  Two words crossed her lips, dripping from her mouth like a dark poison, “It begins.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Colors faded then sparked. Men in machines and four legged beasts crawled through the shadows. Screams and squeals flew through the night. Shots rang out; bullets finding homes in fur and flesh. The smell of death. A shrill cackle:

  Long ago, in times before men

  The garden was tended by Daemon.

  With magic and spells, death and disease—

  Soon it was clear, God was not pleased.

  He created man with dominion over all

  And banished the Daemon;

  Tis known as The Fall.

  ~*~

  From then until now, Daemon have sworn:

  Use any means to regain the throne.

  Pledging apostasy, they wage a war—

  Fire, flood, and plague, their great herald.

  Heed me well, the plot is rife with vengeance

  With nature’s imperfection;

  Tis known as Convergence.

  Major Jean Ransom sat straight up in bed, her breath sticking somewhere deep in her throat. After a painful gasp, she inhaled a deep lungful of air and cried out.

  Jon Dayton rolled over and flipped on the light. “What is it? What’s the matter?” He reached for her, but she pulled away.

  It took a few moments for her to realize where she was. She scanned the suite in wide-eyed terror, her breaths coming in irregular gasps, more like panting than anything else. After examining the room, she turned her gaze to Dayton, studying him as if he were a stranger. Like a picture coming into focus, she recognized him; she knew where she was. Slowly, the scenes of terror that jolted her from sleep faded into hazy, dreamlike memories. She closed her eyes, trying to bring them back.

  “Are you okay?”

  Using the headboard for support, she sat back and put her hands in her lap. “I had a dream. No, it was more than a dream. It was a warning.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.”

  Dayton scrambled to the restroom and came back with a glass of water. “Here, drink this.”

  The water cooled her lips, and her breathing returned to a steady rhythm. “It was all there, the Daemon, the plan to regain control of the earth from humans—”

  “Whoa, slow down. It really sounds more like a nightmare than anything else. You’ll be okay in a little while, just try and relax.” Dayton put the glass on the nightstand and cozied up next to her.

  “No. It wasn’t a nightmare.”

  “Did you have a vision again? Something about Dixie’s aunt?”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t about her, I think it was from her.”

  “What do you mean? Like she sent you a message?”

  “Yes. She’s at her home right now. She wants me to collect her niece and take her to her house. She wants me to make sure Dixie is safe.”

  “Safe from what?”

  “This is gonna sound crazy…safe from the end of the world.” She held up a hand. “Don’t say anything. Her aunt told me the whole story, in a poem. Her aunt is a Daemon.”

  “A Daemon? You mean like a devil or something?”

  “No, it’s not like that.” Ransom rubbed at her eyes. “I wish you could read my mind.”

  “You said it was called telepathy—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake would you just shut up and listen? It was very clear in the dream—or, rather, the message. Daemons were once angels. God created them and gave them rule over the world. He gave them freewill and they soon became corrupt, obsessed with power. Over centuries, the angels became Daemons. This went on until God’s wrath pushed them out of the Garden and sent them to all corners of the earth. God started over and created Man, putting him in charge of the Garden. Well, you know what happened with that. But there’s some really bad Daemons still pissed at God for putting humans in charge of the world. They’re using these half human, half animals to destroy—”

  “Stop right there. Put the brakes on, Major. Okay, I’ll buy that you’ve had a bad dream. I’ll even concede you think it’s a message from God, but—”

  “You’re not listening. It’s a message from Dixie’s Aunt. She’s a Daemon—one of the good Daemons. Her message was very clear: The Convergence is starting. Not only that, she told me where her niece lives. We’ve got to go and take her to her aunt’s house.”

  “Jean, just calm down. I’ll get you some more water.”

  Ransom scowled and jumped for the phone on the nightstand table. She dialed 999. Realizing her mistake, she slammed the receiver down, scooped it up again and re-dialed 911.

  “What are you doing? It was just a dream,” Dayton said. “Why don’t you—”

  “No, it wasn’t just a dream, or a nightmare, or anything of the kind. Hello, yes, this is Major Jean Ransom. I’m working as special liaison to the Werewolf Killer task force. Something dreadful is happening at Claremont Drive. Yes, this is an emergency. What do you mean you’ll get…?” Ransom stared at Dayton and deadpanned, “She’s getting her supervisor.”

  “Jean, you’re not making any sense.”

  “No, it all makes perfect sense. I’m just saying it all wrong.”

  “Take a deep breath and tell me again.”

  “In my dream—vision, message, whatever—there was a blue fog at the base of the hill, you know, Claremont Estates, just where the road begins. A line of cars, dozens of them, drove through the fog to the top of the hill. The people up there—the technicians, police, and detectives, all of them—are being hunted by packs of wolfhounds and slaughtered.” Ransom’s voice grew shaky and weak. “Hundreds of animals, beasts, are being driven to the top of the hill and killing everyone. And it’s happening at this very moment.” She squeezed the receiver with a death grip and shouted, “Hello?”

  Dayton scrambled into his clothes and dragged a hand through his hair. “And you say they’re not werewolves?”

  “Yes—no, how should I know?” She yelled into the phone, “Hello? Listen to me: you’ve got to dispatch someone to Claremont Drive. People are being killed—butchered—as we speak. T
his is Major Jean Ransom of the UN.”

  Dayton put a hand on her arm, but she slapped it off.

  “Yes, the United Nations. You need to secure Claremont Drive. No, you don’t have time for me to come in. What?” She turned to face Dayton and spoke in a whisper. “I’m on hold.”

  “Jean, you told him you were from the UN.”

  “Did I? And so what if I did?”

  “You’ve got to slow down, get a hold of yourself. This morning you didn’t want me to tell Detective Ramirez about us. Remember? You reminded me about protocol, procedure—”

  “Dammit, Jon, this has gone way past protocol. Can’t you understand what I’m saying? This is bigger than our mission—this is genocide.” She slammed the phone down. “This idiot is taking too long. Call the admiral. He’ll pull some strings.”

  Dayton did not move.

  “Am I speaking a foreign language?” She raced to the nightstand and grabbed her cell phone with shaking hands. “We’ll need to hire a taxi, or nick a car, there’s no time to wait for Cutty to collect us.”

  “Don’t let a dream trick you into making a bad decision. Your career could—”

  “Career? Bad decision? This isn’t about a werewolf. It never was. This is a war. A war between those things and us.”

  “Us?”

  “Humans.”

  ****

  Detective Ramirez un-holstered his weapon and motioned for Adam to stay behind him as they stepped into the courtyard. They approached the fountain.

  “What’s this?” He pointed to the pile of skin and clothes surrounded by a dark sticky pool of dried blood.

  “That was my brother. He changed into a canine. He transformed yesterday.”

  Ramirez used his foot to slide a piece of fabric off the top of the pile and jumped back as a shriveled face, resembling a rubbery Halloween mask, stared back at him. “Jesus! For the love of all that’s holy.”

  “Detective, that’s what’s left of my brother, Flynn, after he transformed.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Dixie witnessed the transformation.”

  “Stop it. This,” he motioned to the remains with his gun, “is impossible. People don’t just change into dogs. Once Metro gets out here and we analyze this mess—”

  “You promised me ten minutes with Bane first.”

  Ramirez held Adam’s gaze. “Ten minutes.”

  They continued through the courtyard to the driveway. The security light clicked on bathing them in a bright white beam.

  The detective’s sedan sat half in the road and half on the driveway, lights on, and engine running. Ramirez knew if anything were going to attack them this would be the perfect spot for an ambush. Unseen crickets chirped in the bushes, a good sign nothing lurked in the vicinity.

  “Go park the car, and I’ll cover you.” Ramirez held out the car keys.

  “No. Give me your gun, and I’ll cover you.”

  “Never gonna happen. C’mon, hurry up.”

  “I don’t know how to drive.”

  “You’re joking. Who doesn’t know how to drive?” With a huff, he said, “Follow me and we’ll both go, okay?”

  Ramirez parked the car and they were back inside the house in less than a minute.

  “Are you two okay?” Dixie met them at the door, an iPad in her hands.

  “Like I said, whatever it was must have turned tail and run,” Ramirez said. “It’s not coming back. As for this change thing, Dixie we gotta have a talk.”

  “No, Marco.” She thrust the iPad at him. “Take a look at this first.”

  “What the hell is it?”

  “This is the footage of the security cam in the courtyard from yesterday. Take a good look, maybe then we’ll be on the same page.”

  Ramirez stared at the black and white image on the screen: two men fighting; Dixie opening the door and shooting one man with a Taser; she dragged the other man inside.

  “Well done, Dixie. Looks like that Taser training paid off—”

  “Would you shut up and keep watching?”

  He turned his eyes back to the screen. The man who had been tased lay still for a moment, then stood up, staggered toward the fountain, and began to take off his clothes—and his skin. In rapid succession, strips of flesh were thrown to the ground. A snout emerged and a tail appeared. The image was not blurred. In sharp focus, the human became a canine.

  “What the hell?” He let the device slip from his hands and drop to the ground.

  Dixie said, “Do you believe me now?”

  Ramirez trundled into the living room and plopped down on the sofa. “How is that even possible? What the hell is going on? I’ve never seen anything like that in my life.”

  Dixie knelt down and stared into his eyes. “It is possible. It does happen. Adam can change into a canine. He’s the wolfhound I brought to your house tonight. How else would he be wearing your clothes? And Sonny Russo is involved. He controls Adam’s pack. He’s what they call The Alpha.”

  “So all this time,” he said, staring straight ahead as if in a trance, “we’ve been after real live werewolves? Like Adam?”

  “No, not werewolves. And certainly not me,” Adam said at once. Then with a wave at Bane, Adam said, “Maybe him. Certainly Mikael. Maybe others from my pack. That’s what I’m hoping to find out. My sister told me about something called The Convergence.” He took a step toward Bane. “We need to find out as much as we can about that from him. Ten minutes, Detective?”

  Ramirez nodded in slow motion.

  “Hey.” Adam patted Bane’s cheeks. “Wake up. That’s right, open your eyes.”

  Bane shook his head. Again he struggled, trying to break the restraints.

  “I’ve got some questions for you.” He got in Bane’s face. “I suggest you answer them or the detective here is going to have to put a bullet in your worthless head.”

  Bane spat on the floor again. “I’m not afraid to die.”

  “I’d be willing to bet you are.” Adam put a thumb on Bane’s throat and pressed. Bane gagged. Ramirez watched, but didn’t move.

  Adam lightened the pressure on Bane’s throat. “When does The Convergence begin?” He waited while Bane recovered with a series of loud coughs. “When and where.” With no answer, he pressed his thumb down on Bane’s windpipe again. After several seconds, he eased off and allowed Bane another chance to answer. “Tell me when and where.” He placed his thumb on Bane’s throat again.

  “Wait. It’s starting tonight,” Bane said.

  “Where?” No answer. Another press on the throat.

  “At our house. Claremont. The Alpha owns the entire hill. All the packs are meeting there tonight.”

  There was a banging on the front door. Ramirez pulled his gun and released the safety. He took aim at the door. Another loud thud.

  Adam whispered, “Be careful, it could be Mikael.”

  “Adam, he’s changing,” Dixie shouted. All eyes turned to Bane. His elongated snout opened wide revealing large yellow fangs. All of his human skin drooped, sliding onto the floor from under his clothes. A pool of blood formed at the base of the rocking chair. His claws sliced the twine around his torso like knives cutting through licorice ropes.

  “Stop,” Ramirez said, aiming the gun at Bane.

  Bane growled and jumped out of the chair. Detective Ramirez fired once, bringing down the wolfhound.

  The front door crashed open.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Detective Ramirez faced Colonel Dayton, each man aiming his weapon at the other. The front door lay between them in splinters on the floor.

  “Detective Ramirez, don’t shoot,” Major Ransom said. “Please, lower your sidearm.”

  He complied, as did Colonel Dayton. Both men holstered their weapons.

  Dixie stormed forward. “You broke down my door. Who the hell are you?”

  “Sorry, ma’am, I heard a shot.” Dayton took a cautious step over the threshold.

  Ramirez motioned at Bane’
s carcass. “That thing was about to attack. I had to kill it.”

  Major Ransom and Colonel Dayton approached the dead wolfhound with tentative steps. The colonel leaned over and studied not only the animal, but the pile of human remains beside it. “Oh my Lord.” He turned to the major. “Is this what you saw in your dream?”

  She nodded. “They can change from animal to human, and back again. A sort of werewolf, but without need of the moon.”

  “Without need of a wolf, either.” Adam spoke up. “I don’t know who you are, but that’s not a wolf lying there. He’s a canine—a Giant Irish Wolfhound to be exact. One of the largest breed of canine in the world.”

  “Adam,” Dixie said with a smile, “maybe we should know who we’re talking to, don’t you?”

  “Dixie,” Ramirez said, “meet Colonel Jon Dayton and Major Jean Ransom of the NSA. They’re working with us on the task force.” He turned to face them. “But I don’t understand why you’re here?”

  Dayton moved forward and tightened his lips.

  “It’s okay, Jon,” said Ransom, “go ahead and tell them.”

  “Major Ransom possesses certain abilities that prove quite useful to the NSA in these types of investigations.” Colonel Dayton smiled, seeming pleased with his explanation. “She had some type of a vision tonight—hallucination, actually—isn’t that right, Major? And, well, we thought—”

  “Stop, Jon, that’s enough.” Ransom approached the detective. “We’re actually from the United Nations.” She held a hand up as both Ramirez and Colonel Dayton opened their mouths. “We work for, what you might call, an off-the-books department—extremely hush-hush. No, we don’t usually hunt werewolves, and yes, I do have certain abilities. I’m called an Empath. I’m able to focus on visualizations that appear to me.”

  “Like a medium,” Dixie offered.

  “That’s right, very much like that. Some people,” she gave Dayton a quick glance, “call it mind-reading, but it’s more involved than that. I can also collect thoughts—ideas, visions—from those with a particular need.” She turned to Ramirez. “Those in distress. That’s why we’re here.”