Visions of being chained in his basement as a torture slave for the rest of her life flashed through Michele’s mind. “I don’t believe you.”

“Do you believe me about the horrible bloody death part?”

Michele hesitated. “Yes.”

“The ‘let you live’ part is just as true. I think you should trust me on this one. I’m not sure I can emphasize enough how much better of a deal option two would be for you. Give me your hand.”

Michele really did not want to do this...but for some freaky, messed-up reason, she believed Ivan when he said that he wouldn’t kill her. Whatever he did to her would be awful, there was no question about that, but she could either trust him or hope that she could beat him when he crawled into the cage.

Better to trust him.

She scooted to the front of the cage.

“You’re making a good choice.”

Michele took a moment to work up her courage, then slid her right hand through the bars.

Ivan took it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A Job For The Pros

“Are you sure you’re not going to bleed to death?”

Lou nodded. “I’m getting blood all over this poor guy’s car, though.”

“It’s probably insured.”

“This piece of crap? No way. I guarantee you he’s only got liability. It would probably cost more to insure it than the trade-in value of the car.”

George considered that. “What do you think it’ll cost him to get the bloodstains out?”

“A shitload.”

“Poor bastard.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess in the grand scheme of what happened tonight, the guy with a bloody car isn’t getting such a bad deal, but I’d still be pissed if I were him.”

“Plus, we’re not done with the car yet,” said Lou. “We could end up wrecking it.”

“Yeah, the way things are going a blown-up car is a definite possibility. Although I think the worst is over.”

“Well, so did I, until you just now went and jinxed it.”

George smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Hey, Lou, is it okay if I get all deep on you?”

“Aw, crap.”

“Bear with me. It’s my fault that all those people died today.”

“No, it’s the werewolf’s fault. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“I should be beating myself up. This is a really appropriate time for that kind of thing. Look, I know we’re basically scumbags. We hurt a lot of people, but it’s usually people who deserve it.”

“Not always.”

“That’s why I said ‘usually.’ When we do bad things, we’re shaking people for money, breaking a couple of bones, maybe cutting somebody if they need it. We never orphaned kids. We never murdered people just for kicks.”

“We didn’t, but we still suck.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to be a good person.”

“May I speak freely?” Lou asked.

“Of course.”

“Fuck you, George.”

“That’s how you respond to me wanting to be a good person?”

“Yep. You don’t want to better yourself. You’re just a selfish prick. This is about making you feel better, not about helping anybody else. If you wanted to become Mother Theresa, you should have done it when that poor old guy begged you not to break his thumbs, not while we’re driving away from a bloodbath. I don’t want to hear about any recanting of your previous ways in the middle of a really bad situation. You want to be a better person? Make that decision when we’re sipping Margaritas on a luxury cruise.”

“Margaritas are chick drinks.”

“No they’re not. Jimmy Buffett sings about them.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I’m going to make it up to the victims for what happened.”

“How? By bringing them back as zombies?”

“I don’t know yet. Those kids who lost their mother, maybe I’ll pay for their college education.”

“What? Are you brain damaged?”

“What’s wrong with doing that?”

“I know I said the term was offensive earlier, but George, that’s completely retarded. You’re not going to send those kids through college. What are you going to do, go around offering financial support to everybody we’ve wronged?”

“Not everybody. Just the worst ones.”

“Give me a frickin’ break. You want to help somebody you’ve wronged? Help me. Buy me a new shirt and pants. Get me some goddamn Band-Aids.”

“I will.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m being completely serious. I’m going to start helping people. Sure, maybe I’ll wake up in the morning and decide that the college education idea is kind of stupid--”

“You will, I promise.”

“--but I’m going to do whatever it takes to clear my conscience. Maybe it won’t be big things. Maybe it’ll be a bunch of little things. Maybe I’ll...I don’t know, entertain kids or something. Dress up as a clown.”

“Kids don’t like clowns. Kids are scared of them. You’re going to terrorize the children you’re trying to entertain.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. I’ve never been more lost in a conversation in my life.”

“I just want to be a better person.”

“We’ve established that. We’ve also established that it’s stupid.”

“Becoming a better person is stupid?”

“Maybe the concept isn’t, but the ideas you’re throwing out there are.”

“Well, my brain isn’t working at full capacity right now, okay? Give me a break. You should be encouraging me.”

“Fine. Be a scary clown.”

“I don’t mean the clown thing. But if I have a major life epiphany, a positive one, you shouldn’t sit there and make fun of it. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You make fun of me for ordering a diet soda! Don’t pretend that you’re some self-improvement cheerleader. Our relationship is based on blunt honesty, and my bluntly honest opinion is that you’re being an idiot. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be affected by what happened, but do I believe that you’re going to become Santa Claus? Hell no.”

“I think you could stand to be more affected by all of this.”

“I’m compartmentalizing.”

“Fine. We’ll let the whole thing drop.”

“Good idea.”

“Are you sure you’re not bleeding to death?”

“As far as I know.”

“How much further?”

They’d found a mustard-stained road map underneath the back seat. Lou ran his finger along it. “A few more blocks.”

“I hope these guys know what they’re doing. What I really hope is that they let me pull the trigger when they’ve got Ivan in their sights. That’d be sweet.”

“Right. We’ve performed so well up to this point, I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to turn the responsibility right back over to us, just to keep our high self-esteem intact.”

“I can fantasize, at least. God, I hate Ivan.”

George still wasn’t one hundred percent certain that they should be driving to the rendezvous point. The idea that one of the professionals would say “Lost the werewolf, huh? Time for you to die,” and put a bullet in each of their brains seemed like a legitimate concern. But ultimately, much like the rhetorical question of pigeons crapping on your car versus alligators eating your limbs, it came down to the certainty of a life spent hiding from vengeful criminals versus the potential of being executed for incompetence. If the reinforcements successfully recaptured Ivan, it would be much better to be hanging out with them at the time than to get the news from Ricky.

And, to be safe, they’d make sure the reinforcements knew that George and Lou hadn’t shared all of their werewolf wisdom.

“I think it’s this next one,” said Lou, pointing with a bloody finger.

Like Ricky had said, the address was just a small parking lot. As soon as they turned in, a white van with “Ray’s Air Conditioning” on the side pulled out of one of the spaces and drove forward. A man in a tan jumpsuit got out of the passenger side and beckoned to them. George looked at Lou, shrugged, and then pulled into the newly vacated space.

George shut off the engine. “Well, if we get shot, I just want you to know that it’s been a pleasure working with you.”