"C'mon, Ivan, you feeble little fuck! We
kicked your butt back in the other house, and we'll kick it
here!"
Without taking his eyes off George, Ivan
suddenly reached out his arm, grabbing Lou by the throat.
Shit...
George was about to rush
him, but Ivan held up a hand, palm-out.
Don't move.
George decided not to
move.
Ivan's head transformed back into its human
form. Though it should have looked ridiculous to have a big strong
wolfman with a human head, George found nothing even remotely
comical about his appearance. The bloody bullet holes in his face
helped with the lack of amusement value.
"Hey, George, remember when
I had my claws on
your
throat?"
Just had to talk, didn't you? Couldn't
resist a little mockery.
"I remember."
"I let you live. Lou's fucked."
Lou slammed the cross into Ivan's arm,
burying it about an inch deep. Ivan screamed and released his grip
on Lou's neck. His face began to switch between human and wolf
features the way it had after George kicked him in the nuts.
Now!
George moved forward. No other chairs were
immediately available, so he'd just use his goddamn fists.
Ivan ripped the cross out of his arm, which
sizzled at the wound. He flung the cross at the bearded guy, who
had almost made it to the open doorway. It struck the back of his
head with skull-shattering velocity, and the bearded guy slumped
forward, clutching at the immense gash.
The woman kicked the window. This time, her
foot broke through.
George threw a punch, aiming for Ivan's
kidneys. Let him find out how it felt. The punch connected and Ivan
howled.
Ivan spun around and grabbed George. Using
both hands, he threw George into Lou, and the two of them stumbled
across the bar and hit the floor for the umpteenth time that
evening.
The woman kicked at the glass twice
more, opening up a hole big enough to escape through. She ducked
through the new exit, then lost her balance as Ivan grabbed her by
the ankle, digging his claws in deep. She fell onto the glass,
breaking through it most of the way to the floor. Ivan dragged her
back inside over the jagged remains. Her screaming and flailing
around made things much worse for her.
George cringed. Where the hell were the
cops?
The cross wound had stopped sizzling and
bleeding. Ivan stepped on the woman's legs, grabbed a handful of
her long black hair, and jerked her head back, snapping her
neck.
The one-armed man lay on the floor and
groaned.
The bearded guy wasn't moving. He was either
unconscious or dead. Probably dead. Six for Ivan, if you didn't
count the trampled woman or the person who'd been shot
upstairs.
That only left the couple underneath the
table, George, and Lou.
Ivan held up five clawed fingers on one hand
and his index finger on the other hand. Then he pointed to the man
and woman under the table and held up two more.
They screamed as the werewolf strode over to
them. Ivan picked up the table, exposing them completely, then
threw it at the bearded guy. Direct hit. Even if he wasn't dead
now, he'd never walk, speak, or eat solid food again.
The man and woman cowered against the wall,
hands in front of their faces as if that would stave off Ivan's
attack.
Ivan transformed his head back again, then
beckoned to the man. "Come here."
"No!"
"Here's my offer," Ivan said, speaking
calmly although he was breathing heavily. "You get up, walk over
here, and let me gouge your eyes out, and I'll let your woman live.
Otherwise I'm going to jump over there and rip you both to
shreds."
George picked up another chair.
Ivan looked back at him.
"Are you fucking kidding me?
Enough
with the chairs, George! I'm tired of punching you
around."
"Really? I'm sure not tired of hitting you
with chairs."
"Hilarious. You're a funny guy,
George. But I'm not talking to you right now." Ivan looked back at
the couple. "It's a straightforward deal, sir. Walk over here, let
me poke out your eyes, and she goes free. I swear. How about
it?"
The man stood up. Without hesitation and
ignoring the woman's horrified wail, he walked right up to Ivan,
fists clenched and head held high.
"Holy shit! You actually did it!" Ivan looked
around the bar as if to confirm that everybody had seen the same
thing. "I can't believe it! I am absolutely flabbergasted! You must
love the absolute shit out of her, huh?"
The man nodded. "Yes, I do."
"Well, I--I honestly don't know how to react
to this. I kind of figured that I'd just be ripping you two apart."
Ivan gestured to the woman. "Go. Get out through the broken
window."
"Please don't hurt him," she said, getting to
her feet. Sobbing, she ducked underneath the broken pane of glass
and left the bar.
"I'm stunned," said Ivan. "Just stunned. Wow.
I don't know if you're brave or a complete idiot. You know what? I
don't even feel like gouging your eyes out after that. You deserve
to keep them. Go follow your woman and get some mega-pussy
tonight."
The man turned and hurried out through the
broken window. Ivan let him go.
"Can you believe that?" Ivan asked George.
"He was going to let me do it. Would you do that for your
girlfriend?"
"I don't have one."
"And it's probably because you wouldn't give
up your eyes for her. So what's my count? Six..." Ivan walked over
to the nice guy with one arm, and slammed his foot down on his
head, several times. "Seven. I could cheat and count the poor bitch
who got crunched at the door, but I like to play fair."
"So you're one short," George said.
"Yeah. What a disappointment. Do you think
anybody else will be dumb enough to come inside?"
"The cops."
"Cops count. I could definitely make it to
eight if the cops show up. But that would involve more waiting
around, and I can't help but feel that there's another way to
achieve my goal. Hmmmm. Let me think..."
George looked at Lou. They
exchanged a knowing glance, and then both rushed Ivan at the same
time. The "bash him with a chair" tactic hadn't been entirely
successful thus far, but if they
both
got in good hits
simultaneously...
Ivan leapt at George, jumping into the air
like a wolf going for the kill. George didn't even get to swing the
chair before Ivan landed on him, knocking him to the floor yet
another time. He had an instant to think that counting the number
of times he hit the floor would make a good drinking game, and then
his head struck the floor and nothing mattered anymore.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A Bad Time To Be Lou
Considering the circumstances, Lou thought
he'd done a pretty good job of keeping himself together. He wanted
to yell and cry and run around in circles and let the dark specter
of madness completely engulf his ass. He could use a little bit of
insanity right now to keep him from focusing so much on the current
reality.
Unfortunately, either he was locked
away in a padded cell having hallucinations about a bloody werewolf
massacre at the Cotton Mouse Tavern, or he was entirely sane. If
this was a hallucination, he could just sit back, relax, and enjoy
his tranquilizers and lobotomy, but for now he had to assume that
this was all real, and so he had to act.
Lou was not a man who liked to lose.
If he wasted fifty bucks at the slots, he'd be pissed about it for
hours. The big difference between himself and George was that Lou
would ultimately decide that losing fifty dollars was punishment
enough and walk away, whereas George would keep pumping coins into
the machine hoping to win enough to make up his losses. And,
usually, George would leave with enough cash to pay for the hotel,
meals, and a topless show, whereas Lou would be out his fifty bucks
and fuming.
But there was no "win" this time. Maybe
they'd recapture Ivan, and maybe they'd kill him, but there was no
happy ending in store for anybody here.
As George hit his head on the floor, with
that werewolf bastard on top of him, Lou saw a sudden flash of his
partner's funeral. Closed-casket, of course. Maybe a separate
coffin for each piece.
You know, George,
Lou had said once,
when I
die, I don't want a funeral. I don't want people sitting in a
church crying over my dead body. I just want a few of my close
friends to get together and drink to my memory. Maybe share some
stories.
Fuck that,
George had replied.
When I
die, I want people to be depressed. I want them to wear black and I
want a thunderstorm and I want people to throw themselves on the
casket. Why should people be happy I'm dead?
I don't want them to be necessarily happy
that I'm dead. They just don't have to be all bummed out about it.
They should remember the good times.
Well, Lou, I hate to break it to you, but
when you die, I'm going to be sad.
Lou figured that the best way to save his
partner's life was to jam the cross right into the back of Ivan's
neck, deep enough that it popped out the other side, and watch him
claw at it desperately as his throat dissolved.
Lou would probably fail at that.
Especially since he didn't have the cross anymore, and the cross
wasn't long enough to go all the way through Ivan's neck anyway.
He'd also somehow lost his sterling silver switchblade when Ivan
threw him across the bar.
So he had to resort to the second best
way to save George's life: lure the werewolf away from
him.
He ran past Ivan, shouting "Ferret!
Ferret! Ferret!" The insult was just as lame when he shouted it as
when George used it, but hopefully the sheer inanity of it would
piss Ivan off enough to make him follow.
Ivan did.
Lou ran behind the bar counter. There
was a swinging door that he assumed led to a kitchen, but first he
grabbed the nearest object, a bottle of white wine, spun around,
and flung it at Ivan. It shattered against Ivan's chest, sending
glass spraying back at Lou. He grabbed a second bottle and threw
it, hitting Ivan in his now-wolfman face. The bottle bounced off
and broke in half against the counter. The third bottle also hit
Ivan in the face and smashed against his teeth.
Lou pushed through the swinging door, which
did indeed lead to a small filthy kitchen. He kicked the door back
as hard as he could, and it bashed into the werewolf, knocking him
against the counter. Lou heard the crash of a few more bottles
falling to the floor.
The door flew open with enough force to knock
it halfway off its hinges.
Lou decided to attack before Ivan could leap
at him. He rushed forward just as Ivan made the jump, colliding
with the werewolf's stomach. The werewolf was stronger. Lou let out
a loud grunt as Ivan knocked him back against the metal sink.
Lou thrust his hand into the warm soapy
water, grabbed the handle of a frying pan, and smacked it into
Ivan's face with a loud clang. Ivan growled and spit out a bloody
fang.
Lou took another swing. This time Ivan ducked
out of the way. Ivan grabbed Lou's wrist, squeezed hard, and then
bashed the frying pan against Lou's face using Lou's own hand. Lou
released his grip and the pan clattered to the floor.
Some blood trickled from Lou's nostrils.
Ivan grabbed the back of Lou's neck and
shoved his head into the sink. Lou's forehead struck a pot or some
other large metal object as he plunged into the water.
He braced his hands against the edge of the
sink and tried to push himself up again, but Ivan was too strong.
Holding his breath and closing his eyes against the sting of the
soapy water, Lou pushed as hard as he could.
His head popped out of the water for an
instant, not long enough to gasp for air. Ivan shoved him back
down, and Lou hit the same fucking pot. At least he knew his head
was durable.
He stomped his feet several times, trying to
crunch one of Ivan's paws underneath his shoe, but didn't even hit
a toe.
Lou put his hand back in the water and fished
around for a moment. He found a fork. He grabbed it by the handle,
then slammed it over his shoulder, hoping to strike
lycanthrope.
He hit something.
Ivan's grip on his neck loosened. Lou pulled
his head out of the water and gasped for breath.
He spun around. The tines of the fork were
buried halfway into Ivan's upper right arm. Ivan yanked out the
fork and tossed it aside. Too bad it wasn't silver. Then, in a
motion like flicking a bug off a table, Ivan slashed his talon
across Lou's cheek. He immediately repeated the gesture with his
other talon, giving Lou matching cuts.
Ivan grabbed the front of Lou's shirt, then
threw him away from the sink. He almost collided with the grill,
which was still on. A pair of burnt hamburgers sizzled on it.
Clearly the cook had been smart and gotten the hell out of
there.
The werewolf pounced. Lou tried to move out
of the way but was unsuccessful, and a quick contortion later he
found himself in the same predicament as before, except that
instead of his face being shoved into warm dishwater, it was being
shoved toward a hot grill.
He tried to elbow Ivan in the gut but
couldn't get sufficient leverage. His foot slipped out from under
him, and his chin came down on the surface of the grill with a
thump and a hiss.