The Frenzy Wolves

by Gregory Lamberson

  “I did.”

  “Let’s get back to work.”

  Mace got into his SUV and waited for Norton to join him. Then he started the engine. “Karol says Gomez didn’t do this. She picked up the scent of other Wolves but not his.”

  “That’s some superpower she has.”

  “Maybe she’s wrong.”

  “You weren’t sure whether to tell me, were you?”

  “If the bosses find out there’s more than one Wolf hunting humans, they’ll declare open season.”

  “Then we’d better leave Karol’s super sense out of any reports.”

  Mace pulled away from the crime scene. “Do you want me to take you to your vehicle or straight to the squad room?”

  Norton fastened her seat belt. “Straight to the squad room, so we can check out this footage. Our operation won’t be crippled if I don’t have wheels. I can ride withyou, right?”

  “Right,” Mace said. “We’re in this together.”

  Carrying two folded newspapers under one arm, Mace entered the reception area with Norton. The lights had been left on.

  “An empty reception desk again,” he said.

  “That may have to change soon, with all these unplanned night shifts.”

  They hung their coats and entered the squad room. Landry sat in the conference room, viewing the MMN broadcast on the largest TV.

  “How’s it going?” Mace said.

  “I’ve identified someone else,” Landry said. He reversed the footage, played it at normal speed, then froze the image when Raphael entered with two companions. He tapped at the keyboard, superimposed a rectangle around one of the men, hit Enter, and a face filled the screen.

  “Elias Michalakis,” Norton said. “Minus the beard.”

  “Then we’ve confirmed he’s in New York,” Mace said. “Good work.”

  Norton set one DVD on the table. “We need to go through this one next. It’s Rice’s unedited footage of his stakeout. Go through every second of it with a fine-tooth comb.”

  “I’ve always wanted to do that,” Landry said. He swapped out the DVDs, and the Korean deli appeared on-screen.

  “See how long this section is,” Mace said.

  Landry fast-forwarded it. “Jesus, he was there for a long time. Why?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out,” Mace said.

  The image darkened, and the community center appeared. Landry stopped, reversed direction, and stopped again. “Forty-three minutes of deli business.”

  “Okay, start with that,” Mace said. He opened one of the newspapers he had bought outside. “The New York Daily News.” A grainy color screen capture of Gabriel and Raphael battling as werewolves covered the front page. The headline read, Manhattan Werewolves! He tossed the paper onto the table and opened the second tabloid. “The Post.” Almost the identical image graced the second newspaper cover, with the headline, Werewolf City!

  “It’s just like old times,” Landry said.

  “Has Candice checked in?”

  “We tracked the chain of title on the community center, but it’s a nonprofit. I don’t think we’re going to get ahold of anyone before business hours. Right now, she and Grant are sitting on their duffs.”

  Mace turned to Norton. “Dig up Carl Rice’s address, and tell them to go watch his building. Just so they know, I went them there to make sure he’s safe, but he doesn’t know it. They’re not to be seen unless they want to wind up on the news.”

  “Check.” Norton went to her desk.

  Mace’s phone rang. “Stay on that footage. It’s important.”

  “Right,” Landry said.

  Mace wandered into his office and closed the door as he took the call.

  “I want an update,” Jim said.

  “Landry’s going through the footage now.”

  “Did Rice give up any additional information?”

  “No, he’s playing everything close to the vest. My gut says he’s sitting on something, probably to keep the story alive.”

  “I don’t think there’s any danger of this dying. What’s with the DOAs in the Bronx?” Jim said.

  “Four dealers who ran with Big Kwamie got themselves taken apart,” Mace said.

  “So Gomez is in town, right?”

  Mace sat at his desk. “It appears so.”

  “That isn’t really an answer. Were those dirtbags killed by Gomez, or do we have other Class Ls to worry about?”

  Mace heard the tension in Jim’s voice. “It has to be Gomez.”

  “Good, because I don’t want to ratchet this situation to another level of crazy. What’s the word on the Dominis?”

  “Gabriel isn’t home, and Raphael hasn’t been at his residence in weeks.”

  “In other words, they’re gone with the wind. What about the Korean deli owner?”

  “We’re looking as best as we can with the number of people we have.”

  “Jesus, this boat is sinking fast.”

  “We identified Elias Michalakis in Rice’s footage. He’s one of the two men who entered the community center with Raphael.”

  “Fucking A. We can tie Michalakis to the Brotherhood; we know they were looking for him. And now we can tie him to the Dominis. Put out an APB on all three of them. We can bring them in without breathing a word about werewolves.”

  “But if we use the footage to link Michalakis to the Dominis, we’re acknowledging the footage is real.”

  “Goddamn it. All right, then: put out an APB on Michalakis alone, but make it known that Gabriel and Raphael are wanted for questioning. We can’t tiptoe around these guys anymore.”

  “Right,” Mace said.

  “We’ve got a new bad guy. Hopefully we’ll get all four of them.”

  Twenty-Five

  Lincoln and T-Bone remained lying down while the other teenagers dressed in their laundered clothes.

  “I have bloodstains on my sweater,” Diane said.

  Rhonda examined the brown splotch. “That could be anything. At least you can walk around and get fresh clothes.”

  “My muscles hurt all over,” Raina said.

  “Fuck you, girl,” Lincoln said, wincing.

  “Your muscles hurt because you hardly ever Change,” Rhonda said. “Weekend retreats and summer vacations aren’t enough. I remember what it’s like. Every time you Change is like the day after running a marathon.” She turned to Lincoln. “You and T-Bone are healing fast. You’ll heal faster the next time you Change.”

  “We should freaking Change now, then,” T-Bone said.

  “Suit yourself. But I wouldn’t recommend it. I’d let those bullet holes completely scar over first.”

  “What are we going to do about the cops?” Raina said. “We can’t stay here forever.”

  “We can go to my pop’s place in the morning,” Daniel said. “He works all day. Then we can bounce back here when it’s time for him to come home.”

  “That’s only going to work for so long,” Rhonda said. “Don’t worry about the cops. They’ll think Gomez killed those guys. We have a bigger problem. How long will it be before whoever sent those guys . . .”

  “Big Kwamie,” Daniel said.

  “. . . sends more soldiers after you?” She looked each of her fellows in the eye. “How hard do you think it will be for him to find out who was selling weed in that wrecking yard? He already knew you were there. What do you think it will take for one of your customers to rat you out? An ounce of product? A half ounce? Guys like Kwamie don’t play around. They’re going to come after you and your families with guns blazing.”

  “Our families can take care of themselves just like we did,” T-Bone said.

  “Maybe. But we’re not indestructible. We can be killed with enough firepower. Sooner or later, they’ll break out Uzis and AKs. What if they use explosives? And even if your parents take care of them, what’s the risk? By morning, the whole city will know about us, and half the population will believe we exist. If your folks are forced to defend th
emselves, they might be discovered. Then what? Do you think the government’s going to let them go about their lives? We’ll all wind up in concentration camps or worse.”

  “What do you think we should do?” Daniel said.

  “This isn’t my problem. Nobody on those streets ever bought weed from me.”

  “What do we do?” Raina said.

  “You have to take Kwamie out.”

  The teens turned to Daniel.

  “Will you help us?” he said.

  “Sure,” Rhonda said. “What are friends for?”

  Mace’s phone rang, and he checked the display: Cheryl. He had meant to call her earlier but had run out of time. “Hi, babe.”

  “Are you coming home?”

  “I plan to, maybe in a few hours.”

  Landry appeared at the door, and Mace beckoned him forward.

  “I don’t like being alone,” Cheryl said.

  “I know. This will all be over soon.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Go to bed. I’ll be back soon.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Mace hung up and looked at Landry.

  “There’s nothing interesting in the first half of that footage, skipper. Just customers coming and going. Unless we want to assume they’re all Class Ls.”

  “No one we know?”

  Landry shook his head.

  “Okay, then.” Mace stood. “Keep working on the rest of the footage. I’m going to meet up with Karol and see if we can track down Kwamie. Head home when you’re done.”

  “Seriously?”

  “There’s nothing else to do, and we have a busy morning ahead of us. Tell Candice and Grant to go home if Rice is tucked safely in bed.” Mace walked into the squad room, where Norton worked at her computer. “Wrap it up, Kathy. I’m rendezvousing with Williams. Send me anything you can find on Big Kwamie in the Bronx, then go home.”

  Norton gave him a questioning look.

  “There’s nothing else the three of us can do now.”

  Karol watched two POs load the last of the bodies into the meat wagon. Suzie Quarrel lit a cigarette at her car nearby.

  Hector came over to Karol. “We’re taking these stiffs to the morgue. As soon as next of kin is notified, the FBI will send them to Quantico. This is a babysitting job for us. What about you?”

  “I guess I’ll go home,” Karol said. She watched them get into their cars and leave. Then she walked to her SUV. Her phone rang as she got in. She checked the display. Mace.

  “Williams,” she said, holding her breath.

  “Landry went through Rice’s footage. He identified Elias Michalakis as one of the men with Raphael Domini, but there are no other leads.”

  Karol exhaled. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I’m on my way to the Bronx. I figured you and I could look in on Big Kwamie.”

  Karol wanted to check in on Rhonda, who had not returned her calls. “That sounds good. I’m leaving this crime scene now. Why don’t you pick me up at my place?”

  “Will do.”

  She hung up, then started the SUV’s engine and drove through the Bronx. Snow continued to fall. She wondered if she would have to run.

  After parking her vehicle, Karol walked to her apartment building. Her wet rubber heels squeaked on the lobby floor. In the elevator, she closed her eyes. She missed Willy. The door opened, and she headed to her apartment. Inside, she knocked on Rhonda’s door.

  “Rhonda?”

  No one answered.

  “Rhonda, are you home?”

  She knew the answer even before she opened the door.

  Mace saw Karol standing in the lobby of her building when he pulled over to the curb. She opened the door and walked in his direction. Her gait was stiff, and she seemed dazed. He unlocked the passenger door, and she climbed in beside him.

  “Congratulations,” he said. “I’m happy for you.”

  Her eyes appeared glassy, as if she had been crying. “Thanks, but we both know I’m not out of the woods yet. Rice followed me to the deli. It’s just a matter of time before he spills his guts.”

  “One problem at a time,” Mace said.

  “What I can’t figure out is why he stayed at the deli when I went back into the city. Nothing happened that could have tipped him off that the deli was a relay station for messages.”

  “Say the word, and I’ll go see Kwamie alone. You can go underground with Rhonda.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She hesitated. “I’m the only conduit to Gabriel right now. I have to be the eyes and ears for him and the rest of the pack.”

  “You mean a spy.”

  “I can’t pretend otherwise.”

  “Let’s go find Kwamie. The database says he owns a nightclub on Jerome Avenue.”

  “I know the place.”

  Mace selected the coordinates he had programmed into the GPS before leaving the station and drove away. “What can you tell me about Michalakis?”

  “Nothing detailed. He headed a small pack in Greece until the Brotherhood took them out. We thought they’d all been killed, but Elias showed up right after the Brotherhood killed Jason Lourdes and kidnapped Rhonda. He created a rift between Gabriel and Raphael, and now he’s playing on Raphael’s team. Some of us believe he’s pulling Raphael’s strings.”

  “So he’s the instigator,” Mace said. “Can you think of any reason why Michalakis would want those dealers killed?”

  Karol looked away. “None. An attack like that threatens the entire pack.”

  “You said as many as five Wolves were involved. That suggests organization, not a rogue berserker like Farel or Gomez. If Michalakis is pulling Raphael’s strings, he may have had a reason to have those four killed. Gabriel sure didn’t.”

  Karol said nothing.

  “The feds and the brass are hot to prove the existence of Class Ls and to learn as much about them as possible. They want Gabriel and Raphael brought in, but they want them alive. We can only imagine why. Now that Michalakis is in the mix, I’m wondering if it will buy Gabriel time if we bring him in instead.”

  “Alive, Michalakis poses a threat to my entire species.”

  “That’s why I want to bring him in dead. Let them cut him open and poke around all they like if it means the rest of you can get away.”

  “You’re talking about murder.”

  “Laws apply to men and women, not Wolves. Will you help me find Michalakis?”

  “If I stay, I’ll help you find him, but I won’t help you kill him.”

  Kwamie’s Spot came into view. No one stood in line to get in.

  “He named his club after himself,” Mace said as he searched for a parking place. “It must not be much of a club. No one’s fighting to get in.”

  “Why are we bothering with this?” Karol said.

  Mace parked the SUV. “Everything we do has to follow protocol. Four gangbangers turn up dead. We have to show we’re investigating. We can’t have it seem like we’re writing it off as just another werewolf attack, can we?”

  They got out, crossed the street, and approached a tall, brawny black man with a shaved head. Mace attempted to move around him.

  The man stuck out one arm. “Hold it.”

  Mace took out his ID and held it close to the man’s face. “Police business. Tell Kwamie to meet us so we don’t waste time looking for him.”

  The bouncer stepped back, and Mace and Karol entered the club. They climbed half a flight of wide stairs covered in red carpeting, then passed through one of three sets of double doors. Purple light filled Mace’s eyes, and rap music assailed his ears. Couples gyrated on the dance floor, and a DJ worked in a glass booth two stories above.

  “Do you want me to speak to the bartender?” Karol said above the deafening noise.

  “Just wait.”

  Two minutes later, a tall man in a Day-Glo green zoot suit circled the floor, followed by two men in black suits. All three of the
m had dreadlocks. Kwamie wore sunglasses. He looked down at Mace, then lowered his shades for a better look at Karol. “What y’all want with me?” he said in a deep voice with a Jamaican accent.

  Mace raised his ID.

  “So? What you want? This is my place.”

  Mace gestured to the doors. “Can we go where there’s less noise?”

  Kwamie made a show of looking Karol up and down. “Be quick about it.”

  Mace turned his back on Kwamie and exited with Karol at his side. Once on the other side of the doors, they waited for Kwamie and his bodyguards, who looked even taller in the light.

  “I’m Captain Mace, and this is Detective Williams.”

  “Captain from where? I never heard of no Captain Mace in the Bronx.”

  “We’re not based in the Bronx.”

  “Then I think you got no jurisdiction here.”

  “My jurisdiction is the whole city.”

  Kwamie raised his eyebrows. “So? Talk.”

  Mace handed him a stack of photos. “Do you recognize this crew?”

  Kwamie flipped through them. “Jamaican brothers, could be possible. Look around.” He used the corners of the top three sheets to poke at the bottom one. “Not this one, though. We don’t let no children in here.”

  “We were told they were your crew,” Karol said.

  Kwamie smiled at Karol. “Who told you a lie like that?” He put the photos together and held them out. “One of these people? It don’t look to me like they talking to no one. You know their names?”

  “Not yet,” Mace said. “They weren’t carrying any ID, so we haven’t identified the bodies. They were a hit squad. Who do you think they would want to take out in a wrecking yard? And who would send assassins out to deliver a message?”

  Kwamie looked befuddled. “I don’t know. There be some mean motherfuckers out there.”

  “Drug kingpins, you mean?”

  Kwamie nodded in an exaggerated manner. “Mm-hm. Not a respectable businessman like myself.” He motioned to the bar. “Why don’t you two have a drink on the house?” He held out the photos for Mace to take.