Dark of the Moon
© 2024 by Walter Reimer and E.O. Costello

Thumbnail art by  pastelpastel

Twelve



I was off-balance as I dodged away from the oncoming subway cars. So of course I stumbled and I lost my grip on the flashlight as I fell forward and ended up on all fours. I crawled, scrambling to grab the flashlight as the three werewolves scuffled about ten feet to my right.

The gun was what really concerned me. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to get hurt.

“STOP,” George bellowed, followed by a pained whine, and I knew that he’d shouted in Green’s ear. Werewolves have much better hearing than normal, as you’d expect. Coupled with whatever else he’d been doing, the scuffling died away and I aimed the flashlight in their direction.

Michel had flinched backward, but he had the gun in his paw. His ears were flat against his skull, but he looked like he was okay. George had Green pinned face-down on the floor, with his wrists behind his back. Nice to see that he hadn’t forgotten his hand-to-hand combat training, and I couldn’t help recalling the way the werewolves in my old unit would sort out who was senior among them.

It also reminded me of what Michael told me about how the packs would choose a new Alpha.

Green looked the worse for wear, his fur dirty and unkempt. He was shaking his head as far as he could, his ears swiveling, and his eyes were tightly closed. I kept the flashlight on him as I got to my feet and walked over to crouch in front of him. “Ease up off him a little, George.”

He gave me a look but did it, and I reached out to tap Green on the top of his head between his ears. “Hey.”

He squirmed under George, and I tapped him on the head again. “Look, we’re not trying to hurt you, but a lot of people were thinking you were dead or out of the state.”

Green shivered and looked up at me. “Can you get this fat lump off me?” he asked. He had a trace of Italian accent. “Ow,” and he turned his head slightly to glare at George.

“Not until you behave,” George said.

“Fanculo la mia vita,” the werewolf muttered. “All right, I give, I give. At least let me get a bath before I get killed, okay? I don’t want to die with my fur itching.”

“Yeah, you ain’t a perfume shop,” George said as he started to move off of Green. “How long have you been down here?”

“Ever since the shooting,” Green replied, looking around. “Where’s my gun?”

Michael patted his pocket. “I’ll keep an eye on it for you.” From his expression, he could smell Green as well as George could, and wasn’t enjoying the odor. “Is that your breath? What have you been eating down here?”

Green’s ears went back. “Rats.” Both Michael and George made disgusted sounds.

I’ll admit I felt a little nauseous, but I forced it down. “The Thirteenth Precinct’s about three blocks away,” I said. “It won’t take too long to get there, and the cops will keep you safe.” Green looked dubious, and I asked, “Where’s your clothes?”

He jerked his head. “Back there in the maintenance room. I’ll go get it it – “

“I’ll go with you,” George said, showing teeth and planting a hand on Green’s shoulder. “What’s your name, kid?”

“L-Lou.”

“I’m George. Don’t worry,” and after the next train went through the two werewolves went into the tunnel.

Michael stepped over to me. “Hey, Knocko,” he said quietly, “can you, um, look after this?” He pulled the gun from his pocket. It was a snub-nosed revolver, probably a .38. “I’m not real comfortable around guns.”

“Sure, Michael.” I took the gun and slipped it into my pocket as George and the barber came back. Green Shifted to human and put his clothes back on, and we headed for the station entrance.

All four of us kept looking around while we walked north, even craning our necks upward to look at the rooftops. I swear, we must have looked like a bunch of tourists, and I breathed a sigh of relief as we started up the steps of the precinct house.

The desk sergeant wrinkled his nose and gave Michael and George the eye. “Dog catcher’s off duty,” he said.

I put a hand up before either of them could say something, and I showed the sergeant my press pass. “This man,” and I pointed at Green as Michael and George both Shifted back to human, “is a witness to the Terhune murder. He’s afraid for his life, and Inspector Cunningham will want to speak with him.”

“Yeah?” The sergeant looked skeptical. “Why not take him to Centre Street?”

“This place is only three blocks away. And I brought him here because the same people who likely killed Terhune might be looking to bump off the only witness,” I said, “and I don’t have a car.” I leaned toward the desk. “Now, you going to call Cunningham?”

He gave me the eye as he reached for the phone. “Stay right there,” and he started dialing. He asked to talk with the inspector, and after a few moments he said, “Inspector Cunningham? Sergeant Daniels, at the One-Three . . . well, I’ve got a guy named Walshe flashing a press card at me and wanting me to tell you that he found the witness in the Ter - . . . Yes, Sir . . . Yes, Sir,” and the cop looked up at me. “Yes, Sir. I’ll tell him,” and he hung up the phone.

“Yes, Sergeant?” I asked.

Daniels looked like he’d bitten into something sour. “I’ll have an officer escort you four into an interrogation room.”

“Okay,” I said. “Can we get something to eat? He,” and I pointed at Green, “hasn’t had a decent meal in days.”

Daniels blinked. “No kidding? Where’s he been hiding?”

“Old subway station,” Green muttered.


***


I sent Michael and George out to get sandwiches, and the barber was just finishing his first when Cunningham came into the interrogation room. He scrunched up his face and said, “Who’s been rolling in trash?”

George opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when he saw me glare at him. “Hi, Inspector,” I said. “This here’s Lou Green. We found him in the 18th Street subway station.”

“There was a report of a shot being fired,” Cunningham said.

“He had a gun,” George said, and I took the revolver from my pocket and gave it to the Inspector. “He missed.”

Cunningham eyed George. “I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky. Okay, I need you three,” and he pointed at me, George and Michael, “to step outside while I ask Mr. Green here a few questions. You can wait in the next room. Hey, Walshe,” he said as I turned to leave. I paused and he said quietly, “Thanks. This squares us for you telling the packs about that cross.”

“Can I talk to him when you’re done?” I asked. “This is an exclusive.”

He thought for a moment. “Yeah.” I nodded and left the room.

The three of us sat around the table, eating sandwiches and drinking coffee. Michael wiped his mouth and said, “I gotta make a phone call, Knocko.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” I’m not slow on the uptake. Michael was my go-between for the packs, and they would want to know that the only witness to The Alpha’s murder had been found. I nodded, and he left the room.

“He’s good people,” George observed.

“Yeah. His folks invited me over to dinner the night I got shot at.” I sipped at my coffee. “Their daughter’s a widow.”

“Oho,” George said with a knowing smile. Sure, he knew about Doris. A few in my old unit did. “Nice girl?”

He grinned when I smiled. “Yeah,” I said.

The door to the other interrogation room opened and Cunningham stepped out. “Okay, Walshe, he’s all yours.” His expression was – well, he looked disturbed, like he’d gotten bad news. And he’d ended the questioning early.

“Thanks, Inspector.” I stepped out and got another cup of coffee for Green before I went in.

Green looked up at me and smiled when I gave him the cup. “Thanks,” he said, taking a sip. “Got thirsty talking. That cop’s thorough.”

“He’s the only one working the werewolf beat,” I said, “so he has to be. Me, I’m just a reporter,” and I took out my pad and a pencil, “so what was Terhune doing in your barber shop?”

Green took another drink of his coffee. “I’m going to need a bathroom break soon,” he said, half to himself. To me he said, “Mr. Terhune was a regular customer, Shifted or not.”

“You must be pretty good.”

He smiled. “Yeah. I think I’m one of the few around here who can cut both normals and weres.”

“You union?”

“Yeah, in good standing. Why?”

“I’m working on a story about werewolves in unions,” I said. “Anyway, he was a regular customer.”

Green nodded. “He’d call ahead and tell me he was coming, and I’d make sure that everyone else was gone for the night. He only lived on the other side of the park, see, so he’d Shift and go for a run before coming to the street entrance of the shop.”

I was nodding as I jotted notes. “So, um, the night he died?”

Green crossed himself. “Poor guy. Like I told the cop, Mr. Terhune, he comes in for a fur trim, so I get him in the chair and I start getting out my things. See, I keep clippers and furbrushes in a hiding place. No one needs to know.” I nodded encouragingly. “I step out of the shop, and there’s these guys in the hallway, all Shifted – “

“Wearing clothes?”

He nodded. “And they got guns, like Tommy guns, you know? Like in the old movies?”

“I get the picture.”

“One of ‘em just growls at me, ‘Get lost.’”

“’Get lost.’”

“Yeah. I can take the hint, so I start running.” He sighed. “I started hearing the shooting as soon as I hit the street, a-and breaking glass.” He closed his eyes as a pained expression crossed his face. “I had a gun at the apartment. I got it and looked for a place to hide.”

I sat back, looking across the table at him. Damn. Werewolves had killed John Terhune, the Alpha of New York.

I gulped, thinking of what might happen.

Green suddenly looked up. His eyes went wide and his expression went from sad to scared.

I’m not stupid. “What do you hear? What’s wrong?”

Just then the door banged open, with George in the doorway and Michael right behind him. “We got trouble,” my Army buddy said.

“What?”

“Someone’s shooting up the front of the precinct,” he said.

I turned to Green, only to find that he’d Shifted and was hiding under the table.

The rest of us hit the floor and I heard Green mutter, “Well, I don’t have to go to the bathroom any more . . .”




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