Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set (84 page)

Dewey was seriously pissed about Ivan getting away, but seriously thrilled with the new discovery about Ivan’s power. Bateman was much more pissed than thrilled.

All he could say was, thank Christ they’d put in the chip. They could pinpoint Ivan’s location anywhere he went. His arm had healed right up before he regained consciousness, so he didn’t even know about it.

Bateman’s non-emergency “civilian” cell phone rang. Unknown caller. “Hello?”

“Hello. It’s your former captive. I assume you got word that I escaped?”

Bateman sat up straight at his desk. “Where are you?”

“I’m around. Here and there. But I’d like to register a formal complaint about their treatment of me. George in particular was very rude.”

“Why are you really calling? I take it you’re not going to be nice and turn yourself in?”

“No, but you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I need to get a hold of George and he apparently has an unlisted number.”

“I’m not giving you shit.”

“Seriously? From your point of view, you actually think that putting me in touch with George is a bad thing? I’m all in favor of making things difficult for people, but don’t be stubborn just to be stubborn.”

“I don’t have his number.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because we don’t do direct contact for jobs like this.”

“Well, that’s inefficient and stupid. I guess put me in touch with that guy Ricky instead.”

* * *

“Aw, crap, that’s Ricky,” said George. Maybe it would be good news.
Hey, we found the werewolf at the movies. Something with Sandra Bullock. He didn’t put up a fight. Everybody’s enjoying a good laugh at the whole thing, so you and Lou can just upgrade to first class and bask in luxury on your flight home.
He answered. “Yeah?”

“It’s Ricky.”

“I know. Any updates?”

“Yeah, I’ve sort of got your werewolf on a conference call.”

“Hello, George.” George’s grip on the phone tightened at the sound of Ivan’s voice. It was a tiny phone, so he relaxed his hand so as not to break it.

“What do you want?”

“World peace. No, scratch that, world destruction. But at the moment I just want to chat.”

“So chat. Where are you?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Hey, Ricky, did George tell you about how I made him so mad that he opened up the cage?”

“That’s not how it happened,” George said.

“He opened the cage and dragged me out by my feet. Said my attitude needed adjusting. Lou sat there and watched him.”

“I don’t care about any of this,” said Ricky.

“You should. He was going to beat me bloody. If it weren’t for his temper, I’d still be on my way to Tampa.”

“Is this why you called?” George asked. “To make shit up?”

“No. Well, that’s part of it, but that’s not the whole reason. Hey, Ricky, I’m going to need you to drop off the call. Wait, you’re the host, so before you do that give me George’s number in case we get disconnected.”

Ricky gave it to him and then hung up. George was surprised he didn’t protest.

“You still there, George?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, good. So I was thinking that we should meet up.”

“I’m all in favor of that. But why do you want to do it?”

“Because being a werewolf doesn’t pay that well, and I heard you and Lou chatting about the briefcase of drug money, back when you thought that I’d never, ever, ever get out of the cage. I could hide away for a couple of years with sixty-three thousand dollars.”

“It’s less than that. We spent some on jewelry.”

Ivan chuckled. “You’re a funny guy, George. So I’m offering you the chance to meet with me, give me the money, and have your problems diminish.”

“If we give you the money you’ll lock yourself back up in the cage? That doesn’t even make sense.”

“I didn’t say that your problems will go away completely. But if you hand over the cash, I’ll disappear. You’ll never hear from me again. Otherwise, there will be a bloodbath beyond anything your criminal mind can imagine. I’m talking about dead women and dead babies. Dead grandmas, dead grandpas, dead aunts and uncles, dead moms, dead dads, dead sisters, dead brothers...I will kill and kill and kill, and I will write ‘George Orton Was Here’ in the blood of every victim.”

“The cops will take you down.”

“You think so? Maybe. I might only get to murder twenty newborns instead of thirty. I guess if you can only kill twenty babies, why even bother, right?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s fine. I wouldn’t believe me, either. But this is a one-time offer. Once the Everglades genocide begins, I’m not going to take a time-out to see if you’ve changed your mind.”

George knew the skinny bastard was up to something, but he also believed that Ivan would make good on his threat. If they were going to drive around looking for him, they might as well meet him somewhere. “All right.”

“Superb choice.”

“Where should we meet?”

“I’m in Naples.
How far away are you?”

George punched in some information on the GPS. “About fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes. Lie to Ricky when he asks what’s going on. If I get any kind of feeling that you’re not playing fair, the deal is off.” He hung up.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

No Time For A Good Plan

“What are we going to do with her?” Lou asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You could let me go,” Michele said, helpfully.

Though they had a perfectly good cage to lock her in, the broken windshield meant that she could scream for help and attract attention. They could gag her, in theory, and you couldn’t really see the cage from outside the vehicle, but the broken windshield would also make the van very enticing to thieves if they left it unattended.

They
could
just let her go, except that if they did succeed in recapturing Ivan, they’d wish that Michele wasn’t free and blabbing to the police. It was a big loose end they didn’t need. But what else could they do? Bring her to the meeting with Ivan and get her killed?

“I didn’t run before,” she said.

“Actually, you did.”

The phone rang. Fifteen minutes on the dot. “Yeah?” George answered.

“Where are you?”

“We’re in Naples. Just passed a Seven-Eleven.”

“Well, that’s helpful. Put the Cotton Mouse Tavern into your magic machine.”

George entered the name in the GPS. “Nine minutes away.”

“Then be there in seven. Find us a cozy booth.”

At 2:47, exactly when the GPS said he’d get there, George pulled into the parking lot of the Cotton Mouse Tavern, a bar with about three billion neon beer signs on the outside, along with an ugly-ass rat-thing on the roof. There were about eleven or twelve other cars in the lot, none of them fine automobiles.

George parked, shut off the engine, and turned to Michele. “This is our chance to negotiate with this psycho. If he thinks we called the cops, he may start killing people. So I’m not going to lock you up, but I’m going to trust that you’ll make the right decision and not cause any trouble that will get anybody killed.”

“You’re letting me go?” Michele asked.

“Yeah. It’s either that or drag you in there with us. You want to tag along?”

“Not really.”

“You know, it would’ve been nice to be consulted on this,” said Lou. “I’m just saying.”

“Where were we going to talk about it?”

“We could’ve talked about it right in front of her. What was she gonna do?”

“Are you saying that we shouldn’t let her go?”

“No, I’ve been in favor of letting her go from the beginning. I’d just like to be part of these decisions. We’re partners. You’re not my boss.”

“Then I apologize. But for the past nine years our relationship has generally involved me making the decisions and you cheerfully going along with them. Forgive me for not realizing that suddenly you want to--”

“I get to go, right?” Michele asked.

“Yes,” said George.

“Yes,” Lou added.

“Thank you. I’m not going to get anybody killed, I promise.”

George and Lou got out of the van. Lou carried the briefcase, while George carried the folded-up blanket. Michele followed them, then stood there, looking uncertain.

“I guess it’s inappropriate to, I don’t know, shake your hand or anything like that.”

“It
would
be weird,” said George.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I hope you guys catch the werewolf. I’m rooting for you.”

“Thanks.”

Michele stood there for another moment, then walked away from the van. George watched her go, wondering if he’d just made a huge mistake.

“Did we just mess up?” Lou asked.

“I don’t know. What else were we going to do with her? Hobble her?”

“I kind of liked her. Not just because she was hot.”

“Well, damn, you should have asked her out on a date. That might keep her from rushing right to the cops.”

“Think I’d have a chance?”

“Not in hell.”

“Yeah. Oh well. So in addition to letting her go, are we really going to walk in there and talk to the werewolf?”

“Yep.”

“This is a decision we’re making on purpose, as opposed to, say, getting in that van and driving for the border?”

“Which border?”

“Whatever one is closest. Canada or Mexico. I don’t care.”

“You don’t have to come with me.”

“Yeah, I know. But if I didn’t, you’d get all killed and stuff, and then I’d have to deal with funeral arrangements, and your financial affairs are probably completely screwed up.”

“They’re actually very solid. I’ve even got a living will. It says that if I can’t go to the bathroom on my own, pull the plug. That’s my minimum standard for quality of life. So if Ivan doesn’t kill me but he turns me into a paraplegic, that’s what you need to know.”

“Got it. Hey, George?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re just standing here talking so we don’t have to go in there and face this guy, aren’t we?”

“That’s why
I’m
standing here, at least.”

“We should get it over with.”

“Yeah.”

They walked into the bar. A jukebox played a country/western song that immediately became George’s least favorite song of all time. All of the stools at the bar were taken, though a couple of the booths in the back were unoccupied. An extremely intoxicated sixty-year-old slow-danced (even though it was a fast song) with a twenty-one year-old who had one hand in each of his back pockets. The place smelled like smoke, booze, and desperation.

It wasn’t even three o’clock in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Didn’t these people have lives? Granted, George’s line of work didn’t stick to a strict nine-to-five schedule, so who was he to judge?

There was no sign of Ivan.

“Now what?” Lou asked.

“I guess we have a seat.”

They weaved through the crowd to the booth furthest in the back and sat down on the same bench, giving the werewolf a place to sit across from them. George brushed some ashes and a wet straw wrapper off the table, put a finger in his left ear to block out the hellish noise, then called Ivan.

“Are you there?” Ivan asked.

“Yeah. Where the hell are you?”

“Making sure you’re not setting a trap.”

“We’re not that clever.”

“I see that. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Ivan hung up. George tucked the phone back into his pocket. A waitress who was neither the appropriate age nor the appropriate body shape for her tight t-shirt walked over to their booth. “What can I get you?”

“Coke,” said George.

“Diet,” said Lou.

The waitress gave them a look of mild disgust, as if they’d announced their intention to simultaneously urinate on the floor, then rolled her eyes and walked away.

“If you end up dying today, you’ll wish you at least had a regular Coke,” said George.

“If I live, I’m getting back in shape.”

“Fair enough.”

Right after their drinks arrived, Ivan walked into the bar. He looked confident. Fearless. Arrogant. Like a complete prick.

He walked through the bar and sat down at their booth, then gestured to their drinks. “Didn’t you order me anything?”

“No,” said George. “Order your own drink.”

“Did you bring the money?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me see it.”

Lou took the briefcase off his lap and set it on the table. He kept it close, as if worried that Ivan might make a sudden grab for it.

Ivan nodded. “Open it.”

Lou popped open the lid. He held the briefcase open just long enough to give Ivan a glimpse of the cash inside, then closed it back up.

“Thank you,” said Ivan. “Now burn it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Take out a lighter and set the money on fire. Right now.”

“We really aren’t in the mood for any more of your games,” George said, leaning across the table in what he hoped was a threatening manner. “Now are you here for the cash, or are you here to waste our time?”

“Well, I’m
definitely
not here to waste your time, George. And we all know that this could never be as simple as you bribing me to go away, because I’ve already proven that I’m not a man of my word. Remember when I kept insisting that I wasn’t a werewolf? Good times.”

“So what’s it going to take for us to make a deal?”

“Oh, there won’t be a deal. Just a massacre.” Ivan looked around the bar. “How many people do you think are in here? Twenty-five? Thirty?”

“About that.”

“How many do you think I can kill? I think I can get eight before this place completely clears out. What’s your guess? Higher or lower?”

“We’re not playing around, Ivan.”

“You’re not? Then why are you here? You actually think you’re going to stop me?”

“We might.”

“Okay, I’ll make you another deal. Both of you take your drinks and slowly pour them on your heads, and I’ll surrender.”

“I’m not kidding,” said George. “We’re done with the games.”

“We’ve barely even started the games. What have we done so far that qualifies as a game? You chased me around that neighborhood, but that wasn’t really a game, that was just a chase. Doesn’t count. There weren’t any games played at poor Diane’s house--personally, I consider that cold-blooded murder. If you thought it was a fun game, well, you’re just not a very nice person. Are you two playing games without me?”