Rules for Werewolves (22 page)

—You need a lawyer to represent your desires. What would that be? A “love-lawyer”?

—They all work in divorce court.

—No, I mean the opposite. This is somebody who goes around and represents your desires. Say you love a boy, and you know you would love him better than his mom and dad, and you want to take him away to be a wife to him—well, the lawyer of love will go to his mom and dad and make your case, and lay out evidence for how great you are.

—You’re talking about Bobert. That’s cool. But maybe it’s not his mom
and dad the lawyer should go to, but to all of you. Then Bobert wouldn’t have been sent away. Or he would be brought back immediately.

—Either way. The lawyer of love has done a good job. I’m convinced at least.

—I’m not gonna go with y’all to the Peugeot house.

—That’s all right. I think that’s
why
Malcolm’s doing it. To get rid of some of us.

—But you’re going?

—Yeah.

—You wanna see this guy get beat up?

—I wanna see him get scared.

—Why?

—I’m not a good person, baby.

—I don’t think that’s true.

—I keep thinking about this Peugeot guy hitting Malcolm with his car. And Malcolm was walking a dog. You love animals. Think about that. This guy just shoved Malcolm to the side. I think everybody does that to us. People have been doing it to me my whole life.
I’ve
been doing it to me. I’ve been taught to do it to
myself
.

—That’s what I’m saying. I’ve been doing to myself, too.

—But now you’ve changed.

—Yeah.

—So you’re gonna go become a love-lawyer for animals? You wanna go around saying, “This dog could have a better home across the street where the kids would love it more and that Mr. Baxter would take it for more walks and that Mrs. Baxter would buy it better food.”

—That’s the difference between me and you guys. Malcolm’s not a lawyer, he’s a cop. He’s not gonna try to persuade the Peugeot guy about what the law means. Malcolm’s gonna enforce the law as he understands it.

—That’s fun to think about—adding the word cop to everything, like “sandwich cop.” Or “dildo cop.”

—That’s cool. If “sandwich cop” sees you put mayo and peanut butter on a sandwich he shoots you in the mouth.

—No, Susan. It should be that if sandwich cop sees you throw away half a sandwich, with all the starving people in the world—that’s when he shoots you.

—Yeah. That’s it. That’s the difference between me and Malcolm.

—And me. I’m on Malcolm’s side. I think we need to stop lawyering about shit and start policing what we believe.

—You think Mr. Baxter is protecting all these maps from apartment buildings and sandwich shops and shit.

—I bet you ten million dollars it’s the opposite, Susan. I bet you it’s the exact opposite. You don’t get this house for being good.

—Yeah. All the buildings have lawyers. But in that whole red area, all the rabbits and bobcats and shit, they don’t have anyone.

—That’s what Mr. Baxter does. That’s what all these coordinates and maps are about. Mr. Baxter protects the companies that ruin land with gas leaks and illegal dumping and shit.

—I told you. I told you! They ate the whole world and now there is nothing left. This is why there’s nothing left. Jesus.

—Listen.

—What?

—Is that the signal song?

—No.

—What is it?

—It sounds like somebody’s doing aerobics.

—
Five, six, step together …

—What are you doing, baby?

—What does it look like?

—
One, two. Relax and twist. One, two. Relax and twist
.

—And what are you wearing?

—These are workout clothes.

—It looks like you’re transforming into suburbanites. You’re all wearing their clothes and doing whatever the TV tells you to do.

—Exhale on the jump and strrrrrretch. Exhale on the jump and turn
.

—Ignore the DVD. It is what it is. A girl in spandex is yelling at us to
feel the burn
. But the exercises, that’s what’s important. It’s training.

—That’s cool. But what are you training for?

—Climb the ladder. Climb the ladder. Climb the ladder. Climb and jump
.

—It’s physical training.

—And it teaches us to stay in rhythm.

—That’ll be great the next time we have a dance-off with the cops, baby.

—Haha.

—Fuck off.

—Being together can help our synchronicity on hunting parties, and shit like that.

—Join in or shut up.

—You wanna?

—Why not?

—Tanya’s in!

—Yay!

—Come on!

—Susan’s taking off her sweater. She’s in, too!

—All right. Now we have a pack!

—With right foot. Push. With the right foot. Push. Now left foot pivot, right foot push. Left foot pivot, right foot push
.

—I can’t believe we’re doing this.

—It’s fucking exhausting.

—Punch and punch and jab and punch. Kick and turn and jab and punch
.

—And the Baxters do this shit every day.

—Mrs. Baxter does.

—The whole fucking Baxter clan. All of them. On every block. We think we’re so tough, breaking into houses, living off dog food and shit we steal. But these suburban motherfuckers are working out and lifting weights and jogging and shit.

—No wonder they’re taking over the world.

—It shows you what we’re up against.

—We’re not
up against
anything.

—Well, you’re sure as shit not one of them.

—Kick and take a step and plant. Kick again and step and plant
.

—We might be taking advantage of the Baxters, but this isn’t some huge war against them.

—Then what do you call it?

—I don’t know. I just want to be left alone. I want to go out on my own, but the Baxters have destroyed the West. And outer space isn’t a real possibility yet.

—You want a separatist movement.

—Yeah.

—Knee again then duck and punch. Knee again then duck and punch
.

—Well, you could start by separating yourself from the Baxters’ houses and food. You want to be left alone. But you’re wearing the Baxters’ clothes and you’re sleeping in their beds.

—Where else am I going to go? They ate the whole world.

—Shut up.

—Fuck you. You shut up.

—No. Shut up and listen.

—Someone’s here.

—Who is it?

—Sting.

—Everyone to your hiding place!

—
Oh, the shark has pretty teeth, dear, and he shows them, pearly white …

—Hello? Hello?!

—Just a jackknife has MacHeath, dear, and he keeps it out of sight …

—Hey, Carlene. Back so soon. I thought we had an understanding.

—Turn that music off.

—No. We had an understanding. I know we did. And playing our music doesn’t violate that understanding.

—
When the shark bites with his teeth, dear, scarlet billows start to spread …

—I saw lights on in the basement, through the garden window. You weren’t supposed to go down there.

—Fancy gloves though wears MacHeath, dear, so there’s not a trace, mmm, of red …

—We thought we heard a noise down there. We just went down there to check it out.

—I could see the lights from the TV. You were watching a movie or something.

—So the rest of our time here, you’re gonna spy on us every second of the day?

—The rest of your time here is over.

—On the sidewalk, Sunday mornin’, baby, lies a body, oozin’ life …

—I’m sorry but we can’t possibly leave now.

—You can and you will.

—Someone sneakin’ around the corner, is the someone Mack the Knife?

—
One of us is sick. He can’t go anywhere. He’s got this fever and we have to wait at least until it passes.

—Who’s sick? You’re saying “he.” But I can see all three of you. Is it someone else? How many of you are there?

—From a tugboat, by the river, a cement bag’s droppin’ down
.

—You caught us. There’s another somebody up in the master bedroom. We hid him in the closet because we didn’t want you to find him.

—This is outrageous.

—
Yeah, the cement’s just for the weight, dear. Bet you Mack, he’s back in town …

—
You can go look in the closet and see for yourself.

—Malcolm, don’t.

—Don’t what? What’s in the closet that you don’t want me to see?

—Nothing.

—I’m not scared of you.

—Don’t go look in the closet. It’s a trap.

—I’m going to find out what you’ve done and then I’m going to call the cops.

—Don’t.

—Give it up, Anquille. The more you say “don’t,” the more determined she’s gonna be.

—Looky here, Louie Miller, disappeared, dear, after drawing out his cash …

—I’m dialing 9-1-1. On my phone right now.

—It’s happening!

—And MacHeath spends like a sailor, did our boy do somethin’ rash?

—Carlene. Just hang up the phone and leave.

—I am going to take care of Linda’s house. That is what I’m paid to do. Out of my way.

—It’s happening!

—Sukey Tawdry, Jenny Diver, Lotte Lenya, Sweet Lucy Brown …

—I wouldn’t open that door if I were you.

—What’s in there?

—Let her find out.

—
Oh, the line forms on the right, dears, now that Mack, he’s back in town …

Attack. Attack. Attack. Attack. Attack.

—This is the 9-1-1 operator. What is your location?

—Pick up her phone. Hang it up.

—What is the nature of your
—

—What the fuck did we do?

—Does 9-1-1 know where we are?

—They’ll probably be able to figure out who she was. Then they’ll call her land line. Get the husband or the kids on the phone. Then they’ll end up here eventually.

—What are we going to do?

—Everybody get your bags and meet me in the basement.

—What about Tom?

—Untie him. He was faking it. He wasn’t changing.

—No. I am. I feel weird.

—Hey, listen up everybody. Tanya and I have a map of the neighborhood. We’ll show you where the house is. Then we’ll split up and head out in different directions to the Peugeot house. We’ll meet up at the playground over there.

—What are we going to do to the Peugeot guy?

—You’ll see.

—We’re just going to scare him.

—Then where are we going to go?

—Tom? What do you think? Where should we go next?

We heard the call, “It’s happening,” and everyone fell out of his or her hiding place simultaneously. I didn’t want to be the one who wasn’t there. I wanted to be screaming too. And I was. I was happy. I was laughing. Nervous-happy. Excitement-laughing. It was so cool. All goose bumps like my individual hairs were trying to thicken and become werewolf again. The change was really sudden this time, like physically screaming with my whole body, like all my individual cells screaming. It was a choice. But it was like a way of making a single choice that could account for everything for the rest of the night. Like snorting a long, long line of coke and waking up fucked with a bloody lip and you don’t know where your purse is.

We heard the call, “It’s happening,” and instantly we were streaming out of the closets and up from under the beds. Everyone was running through the house in the same direction, like platelets in the blood, jamming ourselves through the hallways, slamming into the walls at a turn as a way of stopping and changing direction. All of us running together, sometimes pushing the person in front of you to go faster, sometimes pulling someone back to get ahead. We were all screaming, “It’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening.”

Good thing the master bedroom is big. We couldn’t all fit through the door at once, but I put myself into the pack surrounding the door and eventually got squeezed through. It was loud in the room. Punctuated
loud. Not solid screaming. You could hear the maid and you could hear people hitting her and kicking her if they could get a clear shot. Some of us were still saying, “It’s happening,” but it was like a murmur now.

There seemed to be a system. It happened naturally. We heard the call, It’s happening, and we all forced our way to where the action was. The maid was on the floor in the corner, jammed up between the bed and the wall. People were standing on the bed and on the dresser to try to get a look at her. Everybody was pushing to get closer to her. When someone would get to the front of the pack that person would be pushed off the edge of the bed or the dresser, on top of the maid. Whoever was there before would crawl out backward or climb up over the new attackers. Each attacker only had three or four seconds to land a blow or spit in her face or rip at her clothes. Everybody watching would go
oooh
or go
ahhh
, depending on how cool or cruel what you did to her was.

I was the first one to bite the maid. Then everybody had to do it. It was like steak, sure. Everybody was saying it was like steak. Afterward. Nobody was really discussing it while it was happening. Everyone was screaming. The maid included. “It’s happening.” “Aieieieiei.” “Ohhhh.” “It’s happening.” “Aieieieie.” “Ahhhhh.” But afterwards everybody kept saying it was like steak. But the difference between biting a steak and biting the maid was that the maid was alive. When I had my teeth in her I could feel her try to pull away. It made the bite worse. I realized it was an evolutionary thing. The better my teeth are at inflicting pain, the more damage my bite is going to do to living prey, because pulling away does as much damage as biting.

I don’t really remember much more. You make some kinds of choices and then everything else is decided for a certain amount of time. You wake up with a little blood on your face and an upset stomach and a feeling like you want the choicelessness to last a little longer. Even as it was fading I was hoping that we could just keep going, running out into the neighborhood like wild animals, running down the streets screaming, “It’s happening.” As long as it was happening it hadn’t happened. That’s what I wanted. I wanted it not to have happened. I wanted it to keep happening.