Snowbirds of Prey

by Ward Parker

  Matt was thirsty and had to pee. Not to mention his throat and neck ached from his near strangulation, and he was sore in the upper chest when he’d been punched. He wondered if the Journal would give him a comp vacation day for all this trouble.

  Too bad he hadn’t told anyone where he was going tonight, as if visiting a drug dealer weren’t dangerous. Only Kyle knew he was probably coming here, but Kyle had surely forgotten by now after more tequila and Jagermeister shots. Why hadn’t anyone warned him this drug dealer was a werewolf? Why hadn’t he allowed Chainsaw to shoo him away when he closed shop early for the full moon?

  Matt’s phone vibrated with a text, jiggling on the cheap carpeting far out of reach. Maybe it was his ex saying she wanted to take him back. Or his mother telling him, one last time, that she loved him. Actually, it was probably his idiot friend, Taz, who wanted to go out drinking with him. Taz would never know Matt was a prisoner here tonight, waiting to be slaughtered by a werewolf once it returned home from frolicking on the beach or eating disobedient children or whatever werewolves in Florida did on their Big Night each month.

  No one would ever know how Matt died. Especially if Chainsaw devoured or otherwise disposed of every trace of him.

  He was imagining what the social media posts commemorating him would look like when the doorbell rang the notes of a song.

  Isn’t that AC/DC’s “Hell’s Bells”? he wondered.

  26

  Bad Moon Rising

  Missy tried the door to the condo. It was locked, of course.

  The voice called for help again. It was a male voice that sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. It was faint as if it were coming from deep inside the condo. If it weren’t for the poor insulation of the door, she wouldn’t have heard it at all.

  “What’s wrong, do you need me to call an ambulance?” Missy shouted at the door.

  “I’m being held prisoner. Call the police.”

  Obviously, a drug deal that went bad.

  “Please hurry,” the voice said.

  Finally, she recognized it: the reporter, Matt.

  “Is that Matt?”

  “Missy! It’s you! Please get me out of here. I’m chained up.”

  He must be here investigating, she thought. Unless he’s a druggie.

  She reached into her back pocket for her phone when the elevator dinged and a deep male voice uttering profanity echoed down the breezeway. Her gut told her to hide so she quickly moved to the next doorway down along the breezeway, farther away from the elevator, and pressed herself into the space, only about eight inches deep, in which the front door was recessed.

  Painful groaning and obscenities came closer. Missy dared a peek.

  A tall, naked man slowly walked toward her, limping. He was in his early-60s and was in good shape, with a shaved head and ample tattoos and piercings as well as bruises and scratches all over his body. He stopped at a fire extinguisher case halfway down the hall, opened the glass door, and withdrew a key. Then he walked to 305. She leaned back out of sight.

  Well, hello Chainsaw, she thought.

  The deadbolt clicked, the door opened, then shut, and the lock clicked again.

  Missy knew she should call 911, but she first gamed out what would happen. All she could tell them was she heard someone calling for help. She hadn’t seen any criminal act. When the cops showed up, Chainsaw might be able to talk his way out of it somehow. She wanted to at least ask him a few questions about Taylor. If she didn’t, she would never get another chance if Chainsaw were arrested. She would lose that tool for protecting the vampires.

  She rang the doorbell. What the hell, she thought, would he really take two captives on the same night?

  She waited and rang the bell again. Maybe he was showering and getting dressed. Hopefully getting dressed. She waited some more, then pounded on the door. She sensed an eye on the other side of the peephole.

  “What do you want?” Chainsaw said through the door. His voice had a bad lisp and was difficult to understand.

  “I have an order,” Missy said.

  “I’m closed.”

  “Closed? It’s only midnight.”

  “It’s my night off. I’m binge-watching The Brady Bunch.”

  “I’m buying for a client willing to pay top dollar,” she said. “And I mean top dollar.”

  The door opened a crack. “For what?”

  He had put on clothes, but hadn’t showered, which was quickly evident by his stench and the dirt on his face. She struggled to remember the name of the drug.

  “Reboot. I need some.”

  “Make it quick,” he said, opening the door. As soon as she entered, he closed it.

  He had a gun in his hand. Her cocky self-assurance began to fade.

  “How much do you need?” he asked. The hand not holding the gun slipped dentures into his mouth.

  “The same amount Taylor Donovan bought.”

  His face darkened. She realized she’d made a mistake.

  “Why the hell is everyone asking me about that bitch? Who are you?”

  “A friend, I just wanted to know—”

  “Shut the hell up. I’m sick of this crap.”

  He aimed the pistol at her face. It was only inches away and she stared into the barrel. She smelled gun oil and rancid sweat.

  “Leave her alone!” Matt shouted from somewhere in the condo. “I’m going to scream until the neighbors call the police.”

  Chainsaw cursed, grabbed Missy’s arm and yanked her behind him as he strode through the living room and into a hallway, turning right. He opened the door to a pigsty of a bedroom. Matt sat on the floor, leaning against the bed. A chain was wrapped around his neck and a slat of the headboard, joined by a bicycle lock.

  “Good to see you again,” Matt said, smiling. “Welcome to Chainsaw’s bachelor pad.”

  Missy was shoved hard and collided with Matt, rolling off him onto the floor.

  Chainsaw raised the gun, then hesitated. He looked like he was about to sneeze. He shuddered, shaking his head.

  “Damn you guys. You stressed me out and I’m really sensitive to stress. Damn it. Damn it!”

  Chainsaw jerked with violent spasms. He alternated between looking like he was going into a seizure and simply fighting the urge to barf. He cursed under his breath and staggered into the bathroom.

  Missy grabbed her phone and called 911 as she got to her feet.

  “We’re being held at gunpoint,” she whispered and gave the address.

  A long, painful moan followed by growling came from the bathroom.

  “Run,” Matt whispered to Missy. “Hurry. He’s turning back into a werewolf.”

  “Do you know where he put the key to the bicycle lock?” She glanced around the room, as if Chainsaw would be stupid enough to leave the key lying in plain sight.

  “It’s a combination lock. You’d need bolt cutters to free me.”

  More growling. Then, for some reason, the sound of gargling. The scent of peppermint floated out of the bathroom. Missy tried to avoid imagining what was going on in there.

  “Go, please,” Matt said.

  Missy left the bedroom, but didn’t leave the apartment. In the kitchen, she found a carving knife and plotted how she could prevent Chainsaw from killing Matt, or at least hold him off until the police arrived.

  The front door shook from tremendous blows.

  “Police! Open the door now.”

  She dropped the knife and ran toward the door but before she traveled three steps the door flew inward off its hinges. Two officers with a battering ram ducked out of the way while the rest of the team poured inside wearing armored vests, helmets, and other tactical combat gear. The first one pointed a semi-automatic rifle at her. She raised her hands in the air and pointed with her head toward the bedroom. They charged down the hall and into the room.

  They screamed in a cacophony of voices to “get on the floor.” They didn’t yell anything about dropping a gun, so she assumed C
hainsaw wasn’t holding his at the time. Werewolves, after all, didn’t need guns for killing.

  A man and woman detective with vests bearing “Police” came into the apartment. The narcotics officers undoubtably had had Chainsaw on their radar for a while. They fanned out throughout the apartment, opening drawers and rummaging through cabinets, taking photos of a scale and piles of baggies on the dining-room table.

  Missy tried to view what was going on in the bedroom, but there were too many people crammed in there. She did get a glimpse of a barefooted leg on the floor. It was not covered in fur. Chainsaw somehow had managed to transform back to his human form. An officer entered the apartment with long-handled bolt cutters and soon Matt came out of the bedroom, rubbing his bruised neck, and joined Missy standing in the living room.

  “Did anyone see Chainsaw in his werewolf form?” Missy asked him.

  “That’s your first question? Not, ‘Are you okay, Matt?’”

  “You look okay to me. Now answer my question.”

  “The first guy in the door might have seen something, but Chainsaw transformed really quickly. I almost thought I had hallucinated it. But he did leave a lot of fur on the carpet. That guy is a real psycho, even when he’s human. Actually, more so when he’s human. I’ll bet anything he killed Taylor Donovan. She was here the night she was murdered. He pretended not to know who she was, but I’ll bet money he did it.”

  “I know.”

  “How?”

  “You’re not the only person who knows how to investigate.”

  Two plainclothes cops entered the apartment—Affird and a younger African-American woman. Affird was again wearing sunglasses at night. They conferred in the kitchen with the leader of the assault team, then the woman detective approached Missy and Matt.

  “Don’t say anything about a werewolf,” Missy whispered to Matt.

  “But it’s the most interesting part!”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Hi, I’m Detective Ramirez. I’ll need you two to give me your statements of what happened here tonight.”

  Affird sauntered into the bedroom as Matt explained to Ramirez how he had tracked down Chainsaw and about the drug dealer’s erratic behavior. Missy strained to see what was going on in the bedroom. Shortly, the three officers who had remained in there left the room and closed the door.

  That was odd.

  “Why did you guys leave?” Missy asked.

  The cops looked at her with annoyance. “The detective wanted to interrogate the suspect privately,” one of them said.

  She didn’t like this. Matt droned on with his story as the detective took notes. Missy didn’t listen. She wished she could hear what was said in the bedroom.

  Two gunshots rang out. The door blew open.

  “He attacked me and went for my gun!” Affird shouted.

  The bedroom filled with cops again.

  “His hands were handcuffed behind his back,” Matt said. “How could he grab a gun?”

  “Call an ambulance,” one of the cops said.

  “He’s dead,” another cop said. “Didn’t see his brains on the floor?”

  Missy knew that in their human forms, werewolves were just as vulnerable to disease, injury, and death as humans. And she knew Chainsaw hadn’t attacked Affird. The detective had summarily executed Chainsaw for being a werewolf.

  Just like a cop had executed her ex-husband.

  After the shooting, two more detectives showed up at the condo. Missy guessed they were Internal Affairs or in a similar role. She and Matt had to endure more questioning before they were finally allowed to leave. It was nearly dawn and Missy was exhausted.

  The two were awkwardly silent as they walked through the parking lot.

  “We need to talk,” Missy said.

  “The last time a woman said that to me, I was kicked out of my apartment.”

  “This won’t be as bad. But it depends on you.”

  “It isn’t looking good.”

  “You saw a werewolf tonight,” Missy said. “How do you feel about that?”

  “I haven’t had the chance to process it. I’m still getting used to almost dying and, then, hearing someone being executed.”

  “Did you already believe in supernatural creatures before tonight?” Missy asked.

  He stopped on the asphalt and looked at her. “Why are you asking?”

  “I take care of the seniors in these two communities here. Most of them are, shall we say, ‘special needs.’ They deserve compassion and safety just like any seniors and not to suffer from discrimination.”

  “Werewolves and,” Matt gestured toward Squid Tower, “vampires kill people.”

  “So do alligators and sharks. Should we wipe them all out, then?”

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  “You’re a reporter. You publish crap and uncover secrets. You know nothing about privacy. You could destroy the lives of all these people I take care of. What I’m getting at is I need to know if you’re an enemy.”

  He looked hurt. “You saved my ass tonight. I’m forever in your debt. And, to be honest, I’m kind of fond of you. How would I be an enemy?”

  “Like I said, by blowing the cover of all these people. And betraying me.”

  “I wouldn’t—”

  “Can you imagine what would happen to them if the world knew they were vampires and werewolves? Aside from being executed by the police?”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” she pressed. “Can I trust you not to betray us in service of getting some stupid scoop?”

  He paused. A bit too long.

  “Yes,” he said, “you can trust me. When I discovered Mr. Schwartz is a vampire, I didn’t write about it. If I did do a story about these creatures, my editors wouldn’t believe me, and I’d lose my job. Or if it was published, it would a one-time scoop, a flash in the pan. It’s too big a story for one person to own. And once it’s out there it would simply create unnecessary anxiety among the regular people. Nothing good could come of it.”

  “Exactly. If you’re curious like most reporters, join me as I learn more about these worlds. You won’t get stupid articles out of it, but maybe someday you’ll have a book’s worth of material. Someday when it’s safe for these people to come out of the closet, for the lack of a better term.”

  “Okay,” he said with a big grin. “I’ll go along. As long as you share information with me.”

  “And you with me?”

  “Deal.”

  “Deal.”

  “So do you think this thing is solved?” Matt asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Was Chainsaw the one who killed Taylor and left all the dead bodies around here?”

  “I think so. I hope that’s the case,” she said.

  “Do the werewolves and vampires know about each other?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I’m not sure about Chainsaw’s motive for all the murders, but it was probably something to do with drugs,” Matt said. “Maybe all the victims were his customers. Maybe he’s a serial killer who does it for fun. And making them look like vampire killings makes a lot of sense for deflecting blame onto the vampires.”

  “I’d already wondered if a werewolf was trying to frame them,” she said.

  “Well, it’s beyond my skillset to prove it. Hopefully, the police can do it through forensics.”

  “And Affird would be extra motivated to do so, to help justify executing the guy.”

  “Yeah,” Matt said. They reached her car. “If this whole thing is really over, will I ever see you again?”

  “Of course. Remember, we promised to share new information about this world of monsters. Who knows what else is lurking out there?”

  27

  Stay Vigilant

  Before she had gone to bed after the tragic night, she had texted Agnes. The 1,500-year-old vampire was actually fluent in texting, unlike Missy’s mother, though she preferred old-fashioned face-to-
face meetings.

  A werewolf drug dealer in Seaweed Manor was killed by Det. Affird tonight. This dealer was my top pick for who murdered the mayor’s daughter.

  Agnes answered: Thank you for the information. Hopefully this is the end of it. But stay vigilant.

  This was the headline the next day in The Jellyfish Beach Journal online:

  “Drug Dealer Killed in Police Raid.”

  Matt’s byline wasn’t on the story, even though he had told her he was writing a story. In fact, the story had no reference to Matt or even to the fact a Journal reporter had been involved and witnessed the entire thing. She suspected Matt’s own story contained a bit too much truth and was shot down by higher powers.

  She was reminded of the violence the following day when it made the print edition. The newspaper had been tossed in its usual spot in Missy’s driveway, where there was always a puddle. It had come in a plastic bag but was soggy nevertheless. The story was on the front page, but she didn’t bother reading it again.

  Missy truly wanted to believe that this was the end of it.

  Missy was having a hard time putting the horror of Chainsaw’s execution behind her. A few nights later, after her last patient appointment, she went to the end of the Squid Tower dune crossover and sat on a bench to watch the sunrise and try to relax. The ocean was flecked with silver from the full moon, and where it met the sky, oranges and violets seeped into view in advance of the sun. The air was fresh and salty. The crashing of the waves began to soothe her.

  But then the spreading colors in the sky reminded her of a growing bloodstain.

  She tried to turn off her imagination and empty her mind. But she kept hearing the gunshots from behind Chainsaw’s bedroom door.