The Werewolf Whisperer (The Werewolf Whisperer Series Book 1) (22 page)

"If
you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand
these rights as they have been read to you?" The officer finished
Mirandizing Memo.

"¿Qué?"
Memo glanced up at the officer and gave an exaggerated shrug, which drew a
guffaw from Feo. His chuckle died abruptly as Officer Gorski shoved him
outside.

"Usted
tiene el derecho de guarder el silencio. Cualquier cosa que Usted diga puede
ser usada contra Usted en una corte de ley," Ignacio Ramos broke in. "¿Entiende
Usted?"

A
handful of officers from the Metropolitan Division had entered the scene with a
group of soldiers in grey camouflage, led by Major Rice.

"Usted
tiene el derecho de hablar con un abogado y tener un abogado presente durante
nuestras preguntas," Ignacio continued quoting the Miranda warning calmly.
"¿Entiende Usted?"

Lucy
bent down to support Xochitl who was struggling to get up on her own.

"Better
stay down, Xochitl. Ambulance will be here soon," Lucy said and brushed a
strand of blood-smeared hair out of Xochitl's eyes. Getting a good look at
Xochitl's bruised face and bleeding shoulder and arm, Lucy feared for the
woman.

Those
sons of bitches beat her before siccing her brother on her.

"Help
me up," Xochitl said firmly, biting down on the pain.

Lucy
helped Xochitl up, clamping her hands tight to keep pressure on Xochitl's
bleeding arm. Xochitl just stared at her little brother who was slowly changing
from Werebeast to teenager again.

They
passed Memo on their way out of the ring. Before Lucy could stop her, Xochitl
lurched at the kneeling Memo and kicked him in the crotch.

"¡Memo,
chinga tu madre!" Xochitl spat blood from her torn mouth in his face and
careened backward. Memo yelped and fell over writhing. Lucy thought she heard
him retching but was too busy catching Xochitl to gloat.

Undeterred,
Ignacio continued
, "
Si Usted quiere un abogado antes de o durante
nuestras preguntas pero no tiene medios para emplear un abogado, se le asignará
uno, sin costo, antes de iniciarse las preguntas."

Hands
came, as if from out of nowhere, and helped steady Xochitl. Two paramedics
lifted her onto a gurney, leaving Lucy to follow wordlessly.

"¿Entiende
Usted cada uno de los derechos que le he explicado?" Lucy could hear
Ignacio conclude.

I
don't understand. I don't understand any of this.

She
walked from the darkness of the warehouse into the glare of the day.

The
scene outside had blown up into a circus; beside the parked SWAT truck, several
police cruisers, an armored vehicle, the prisoner transport box truck and
several ambulances had pulled in. The Los Angeles Coroner van arrived followed
by a number of news crews. Officers rushed around to set up a police tape
perimeter, and Lucy saw Captain Burch hold back the early-bird reporters with a
terse, presumably empty statement.

The
younger of the two paramedics paused before the ambulance. "Is this one
human or Were?" The older paramedic glanced up at Lucy.

"Human,"
Lucy answered quickly. She felt panic rise up in her. "Why?"

"'Cause
the Catchers are taking the Weres. It's a separate vehicle," the young man
said and got to work on Xochitl. "We'll take this lady to the hospital."

A
different truck for the Weres? What about Miguel?

Reluctant
to leave Xochitl with emergency services, Lucy circled around the ambulance. At
a distance, a black truck was being loaded with people in various stages of
transformation. Lucy thought she spotted Miguel Magaña being hoisted up by two
Catchers. Lucy recognized them as two of her fellow ACTF officers, Tolbert and
McNeal, but instead of their LAPD uniforms they were now clad in grey
camouflage and carried submachine guns.

"Hey
Micah, what's going on?" Lucy approached the truck with feigned levity.

"What's
going on is that you got us a hella huge Were haul." Micah Tolbert, a
tall, green-eyed man of Caribbean descent, slapped Lucy's back in approval. "You
are one solid bitch. Hardly back, you deliver the grand slam package."

"Rice
is gonna hand out bonuses you keep this up," Ann McNeal chimed in, tossing
her dishwater blond braid over her shoulder. "Damn dirty dogs, I say."
She cackled at her own joke.

"Where
are you taking that kid?" Lucy stepped up to the open truck door and
pointed to Miguel who was hunched over, sitting with nearly a dozen people
— all human looking and dressed in torn and dirty clothes. They sat zip
tied on hard truck benches facing each other. Two guards with submachine guns
manned the front, ready for trouble.

Didn't
Gyssell Sandoval say military was picking people up and forcing them into black
trucks? Choteros! Crap, that's us.

"You
guys are all Catchers now?" Lucy asked Micah and backed away slowly.

"Yeah,
all of us except Heckman and Dawn. Dawn's pulled desk duty. Wouldn't shoot a
beast critter, said it looked at her like her beagle. Puppy eyes, or some shit."
Micah snickered. "Dumb blond bitch."

Lucy
ignored him and turned to Ann. "Where are you taking them?"

"The
pound, the clinic, jail. What do you want I should do? Drive them up to
Lancaster and set them free in the desert?" Ann scoffed.

"Why
don't I take Miguel Magaña off your hands? I have questions. He has answers.
And his sister is my CI. I can take care of the paperwork," Lucy said,
trying to sound casual.

"Are
you kidding with that? Rice would kick my ass into next week if I let that
little prick go," Ann McNeal shot back forcefully. "You think I'm a
moron, don't you? Next you're going to tell me the thing has rights or some
sanctimonious malarkey. Get stuffed, Lowell." Ann seemed to savor her
words, as if she had planned them.

I
thought you were my friend.

"Leave
her be, Ann. You know Rice has a hard-on for her since the thing at the
station. Learn to make friends, you silly cow." Micah turned to Lucy,
leaving Ann to slam the truck doors. "But she's right, Luce. You don't
seem fully committed to the cause here. Shit or get off the pot, Lowell."
He strode away, whispering something to Ann that made the woman look back at
Lucy and laugh like a hyena.

Lucy
had never seen this ugly side to Micah or Ann.

What's changed so fast?

For
years, these two had been her comrades, her peers, her fellow officers. They'd
seen things together. Awful things. She could never trust them as her backup
now that she'd witnessed their deep callousness and true cruelty. What the
likes of Micah and Ann didn't understand, but what Lucy sensed was that these
Were creatures, no matter what, were still people.

She
looked around for Burch, but he was busy with the impromptu press conference.
Deep concern drove her toward the reporters flocking around her boss, sticking
microphones in his face and shouting out questions.

"Hey,
Burch!" Stress robbed Lucy of all decorum. She knew she was stepping over
a line, but she couldn't help herself.

"They
loaded Miguel Magaña on that black truck." She pointed at the Catchers. "I
want him out, and I want to know where they are taking the rest of those
people."

An
audible swell in jibber jabber rose from the gaggle of reporters. Burch just
turned to Lucy very slowly.

"Not
now!" He spoke clearly and loudly but looked at her with apology. They
locked eyes for a moment before he turned back to calm the rising speculations
flung at him at excessive speed. Some reporters had taken his pause as an
opportunity to lurch toward the black truck, waving to their cameramen to get
it all on tape.

Soldiers
flooded from the sidelines, protecting the perimeter and closing access to the
black truck, which was starting to drive off slowly. Three Humvees followed it
to the street, and two more escorted it up Vineland.

Unsure
what to do, Lucy started toward the squad car she'd arrived in. Her intention
was to follow the black truck, to follow Miguel for Xochitl.

"Don't
go there, Lucy." Ignacio Ramos jogged over, surprising Lucy with his close
proximity. "Don't go back to the black-and-white," Ignacio murmured. "Get
in your car and go home. Not your apartment, but home."

"What
are you—" Lucy started, her adrenaline instantly spiking again.

"Rice
sent a report about you and the Were at the station to his superiors. I typed
it for him," Ignacio spoke quickly, beads of sweat forming on his
forehead. "It's not good, Lucy. He asked them to lock you up. Study you.
Rice said, since the National Guard has been federalized, we're all under his
command."

Lucy
felt like she was about to be shoved into a cage. Her breathing came fast; only
self-preservation counted now.

"I
had Dawn drive your Jeep down here. Hot-wired it myself," Ignacio said
with a slight ring of pride.

Lucy
fought to pull herself together. It all made sense: The Catchers, Rice's sudden
cooperation, even Burch's apparent friendship.

I'm a freak to them!

They'd
shape her into what they wanted her to be before she'd even have a chance to
figure out what she was — a specimen to be studied, a tool to be used in
their werewolf apocalypse.

"Where
is it?" Lucy looked around for her Jeep.

"Dawn
parked it between the warehouses. Get out of here. I'll cover for you."
Ignacio started to walk away.

"Thank you," Lucy said quietly.
She felt rattled and couldn't be sure that he had heard her.

Lucy hit the
freeway a few minutes into rush hour traffic. It would take an extra thirty minutes
or so, but she'd get to the ranch before dinnertime. In the rearview mirror,
Lucy watched L.A. city limits disappear behind her.

Now
what?

She
flicked on her radio for the long drive ahead.

Maybe somebody's broadcasting some
sanity. Maybe somebody has a clue what's goin' on. Maybe somebody can tell me
why insane, slavering horror creatures obey me.

"...tame
Werebeast who appealed to Governor Holly Hollis at Sacramento's Capitol found
out to be fraud in fur coat."
Click.
"Vancouver halts Hollywood
film productions as our neighbors to the north shut the Canada-U.S. border."
Click
. "What do you say caller?" "I say round 'em up and
skin 'em all."
Click
.

'Course
not. Nobody knows. Nobody knows anything. Time to gather intel and plot a
course of action. Time to go home.

Chapter 15

The wolf flu
strain that has health officials concerned is now confirmed in Hong Kong's New
Territories. Our government is doing its part to fend off the spread of the
virus, but we also have an important role to play by using common sense and
being vigilant.

Of the 153 people
so far stricken, all have died. That is 100% fatality rate. The wolf flu is an
emerging human virus and much is still to be learned. It has undergone genetic
changes that suggest it could evolve and a pandemic would then loom. But alarm
is not needed. Our scientists are world virus virtuosos and our government is
as prepared as possible. Co-operation with the Mainland is robust.

-South China Sea
Daily

Lucy
frowned at the messed up rig. "You sure you want that beaten up piece of
crap, Mac?" She shoved the trailer door closed, hoping it would stay shut
this time.

Lucy
and Xochitl had abandoned the horse trailer with its broken axle on Swimford
Street under the Vincent Thomas Bridge, before dragging Travis to the
dilapidated Catalina Express building where Captain Azov's crew had crated the
boy and shoved him below deck — an inauspicious start to a journey that
was more of a gamble than a guarantee.

Exhausted,
Lucy felt sad for Travis. In one night, the teen turned Werebeast had lost his
home, his family and his girlfriend. Even if he lived through his first few
days on the island, his life would be a nonstop contest for survival with other
refugee Weres.

Lucy's
thigh throbbed where Travis had clawed her earlier.

The gas station fiasco didn't help
either.

"I'm
gonna have to get my leg looked at after all, Xochi," she said to her
partner, who was still fiddling with the lock.

"Close,
pendejo!" Xochitl spat at the unruly lock, too cranky with exhaustion to
keep her voice down. She acknowledged Lucy with a sympathetic turned-up lip and
scrunched-up face.

Lucy
took in the wrecked trailer with its bulged walls and broken axle. Travis had
not gone gently.

"Give
it a rest, Xoch."

Lucy
let out a long slow breath meant to focus her. She looked at Mac.

The
old security guard could have been sixty or six hundred years old for all she
could tell. He stood up straight, wiry muscles showing through his security
uniform, but his skin gave away his age. The tone was more grey than black,
matching the iron grey of his very short hair. He seemed frail to Lucy, barely
hanging on somehow.

"That
thing's gonna be a pain to haul outta here." She wanted to give Mac an
out.

"My
brother's got a flatbed. He'll come get the trailer in the mornin'," Mac
said, dismissing further discussion. He seemed agitated.

"Meantime,
why don't you pull your ol' car around. Let's take a ride. I got somethin' you
oughta see on Terminal Island, just over the bridge."

Xochitl
bristled. "Hey Mac, you might be like a thousand years old, and you're
doing us a solid by getting rid of that paliza trailer, but don't go dissin' my
ride." She lovingly ran her hand over the fire orange fender.

"This
is a 1966 Oldsmobile Toronado. Pure power, Turbo Hydra-Matic, and quadrajet.
His name is El Gallo. Respect!" She tossed her long blond hair and gave
Mac an exaggerated withering stare.

Lucy
tried to suppress her smirk.

"No
offense, miss," Mac said quickly, looking unsure. "Please. I just
need you to come over to the container yard on the other side."

"Why?"
Lucy asked. She was cold and on edge from an already long and grueling day.

Mac
visibly made up his mind.

"We
had some trouble," he began cautiously. "Something has been loose in
and around berth nineteen for days. It broke out of a shipment from Hong Kong.
When Customs inspected the container, it came tearin' out."

"Call
Homeland Security or ICE, homes." Xochitl jangled her gold rooster key
chain impatiently. "Lucy's 'The Werewolf Whisperer' not La Migra."

"Please,
you have to listen." Mac grabbed Lucy's arm. "It's a Were, not a
human."

Lucy
pushed his hand from her arm firmly. "I'm listening."

"No
one has been able to get close to it, but I saw it earlier tonight at our
security shack." He halted, making sure he had their full attention.

"It's
not a Werebeast. It's a Hound. A boy." Mac was starting to sweat. "He
took sandwiches. I caught a glimpse of him through the blinds. Looked so human,
but not, you know? The eyes just aren't human." The man seemed lost,
briefly.

"I
told my boss, thinking he could get ICE to lay off the port for a while,"
Mac said. "But he called the Catchers instead."

Lucy
shot a somber look at Xochitl.

"They'll
gas him, Xoch." She felt deep bitterness and resentment toward the
officially sanctioned Werebeast police. Over the last two years, the Catcher
unit had turned from a first line of defense against the chaos brought on by
the Kyon Virus into a group of unchecked sadists lacking accountability. Lucy
hated dealing with them.

"Pinche
Choteros," Xochitl said. "Show us, old man." She slid into El
Gallo's driver's seat and surprised Lucy by fastening her seat belt.

Lucy
scooted to the middle of the bench, leaving space for Mac to join her. He
climbed in slowly, as if his legs weren't cooperating. Once seated, he leaned
as far away from Lucy as possible.

Lucy
wondered if he was giving her space to be polite, or because sitting next to "The
Werewolf Whisperer" was just too weird.

Of
course since her last shower, she'd chased down several Weres, taught a Hound
class, sat in mind-bogglingly horrible traffic for hours and hours, and carted
about a tranquilized Werebeast weighing about a ton with a creaky hand truck.

Maybe I just stink.

Lucy
sniffed in Xochitl's direction. She didn't seem to smell so bad.

"What?"
Xochitl asked.

Flustered,
Lucy sharply turned back to Mac who was staring at her intently.

"You
probably don't remember me," Mac started. Lucy shook her head, apologetic.

Mac
held up his hand. "Don't you worry, Miss Lucy. You meet a lot of people, I'm
sure." He stopped again, apparently trying to gather his thoughts. "You
helped me with my son little over a year ago."

Lucy
strained to remember the man but couldn't come up with anything.

"It
was at Point Fermin Park," Mac continued. Lucy remembered the Point Fermin
classes sponsored by Hound Chow. They had been fun.

"I
had to work, but my wife took our son Kenny to one of your workshops. I only came
by at the very end to pick 'em up." Mac looked out into the darkness.

They
had pulled onto the Vincent Thomas suspension bridge that connected San Pedro
and Terminal Island. Lucy was momentarily mesmerized by the beauty of the blue
LED lights illuminating the suspension cables and the sparkling skyline ahead.

"San
Pedro's Golden Gate. That's what they call it." Mac's voice had a warm
resonance.

"Tell
me about your son," Lucy said. "Is he a Hound or a Feral?" She
hoped for the former.

"My
Kenny's a Hound." Mac sounded almost proud, Lucy noted. "Kenny always
had troubles...drugs, fighting. It didn't get any better when he got older. He
was forty and a drifter when he turned. That was two years ago. It was hard at
first, but your workshop saved us. Really did. You probably don't hear this a
lot, but Kenny becoming a Hound saved his life. After you taught my wife how to
train him, he's been so good. He's been living with us, and he's the best kid.
Makes me sad we won't be around to take care of him forever."

Lucy
didn't know what to say.

"I
feel for those critters." Mac's voice shook with emotion. "I don't
know why any of this happened, the Wereflu, the attacks. It was all so bad for
a while. But they're not all violent. Some can be saved. Right, Miss Lucy?"
He looked at her, searching her face for answers she didn't have. "I want
to help."

"It's
okay, Mac," Lucy said automatically, in her calming tone of voice. It
seemed to work because Mac stopped escalating. He looked determined.

"I
want to help, but I can't lose my job. My wife and Kenny are counting on me."
He didn't look at her. "Can you get the stray Hound quietly, without
anyone knowing?"

"We'll
do our best." Lucy knew she couldn't promise anything, but she didn't know
what else to tell him.

"Take
the exit off the bridge at Ferry Street," Mac directed Xochitl. "Then
go straight until you get to the grey guard shack. My shift's over. Aaron
should be there already. He's pretty freaked out about the Were. Stupid kid
almost shot at it when it first broke free. I don't know why they let him bring
his own gun."

"Fabulous,"
Xochitl said and started to pull into the large, empty parking lot. Mac made an
"uh-uh" sound and pointed to a secluded overflow lot hidden under the
bridge across the street from the guard shack.

"Faster
to get out. You just take Ferry Street right back onto the bridge from over
there," he explained. "In case there's trouble."

Xochitl
let out an exasperated sigh, made the turn with a squeal of the tires, pulled
the car into the shadows under the bridge and cut the engine.

"I'll
take you to the place where I saw the Hound," Mac said, scrambling out of
El Gallo.

Lucy
stepped out of the car, stretched and scanned the area with some misgivings.

Dank,
dark and out of sight.
Perfect
.

Xochitl
popped the trunk and grabbed her shotgun. "Come to Momma."

Lucy's
eyes passed over the AK-47 and their new TAR-21, before resting on the tranq
guns.

"We're
out of tranq darts, and we can't take the elephant gun because we don't know
the Hound's weight," Lucy pondered out loud and grabbed her Beretta.

"No
guns, please. No guns." Mac started to shake. "I won't take another
step if you take guns."

"Are
you kidding?" Xochitl looked completely surprised. "What's wrong with
you?"

Mac
looked at Lucy, fear in his eyes. "If someone accidentally gets hurt, gets
shot, gets killed even, it's on me." He looked toward the water. "I
don't want any trouble. It's just a Hound. You're 'The Werewolf Whisperer.' Why
do you need a gun to take in a Hound?"

"It's
not the Hound I worry about." Lucy tried to sound reasonable. "What
if you're wrong?"

"I'm
not!" The man was adamant.

"But
what if you are, and it's really a Werebeast?"

"I
read you can control Werebeasts." His challenge gave Lucy pause.

"Mac,
it's not always clear cut. What if there's more than one?" Lucy sounded
like a coward to herself.

The
man's face had started to change during their argument. He was losing respect
for her; she could tell.

Maybe he's right. Maybe we've grown too
paranoid.

"Fine,
no guns!" Lucy decided impulsively.

"What?"
Xochitl gripped her shotgun tighter to her chest. "Are you out of your
mind?

"You're
scaring the man." Lucy looked toward the guard. "Mac, give me your
nightstick."

Mac
handed over his side-handle baton with no reservations, a relieved look on his
face.

"¡Jódame!
He's scared? I'm scared. This is bullshit," Xochitl muttered but returned
her shotgun to the trunk, instead selecting her Karambit knife harness.

Lucy
backed away from the trunk filled with firearms, strapped on her utility belt
and slid the nightstick in place. "I've missed my baton," she said,
feeling at ease with the familiar weapon at her fingertips.

"Gabe
used to be the tonfa king, Xochi. He studied some Okinawan Martial Art. The
name of the school kept changing. I can't remember. But we spent soooooo many
breaks practicing with the batons."

Lucy
gave Xochitl a sidelong glance. "You would have liked Gabe. Before he
turned I mean."

"Yeah,
I guess I didn't meet him at his best." Xochitl shrugged. "All I
remember is him tearing a hole in a gangbanger on my cantina floor."

Mac
looked uncomfortable again. Lucy felt sorry for the old man. He was living in a
violent world, trying to keep a small corner of his life peaceful. On the one
hand, he was brave and honorable for looking out for a stray Hound. On the
other hand, involving "The Werewolf Whisperer" without getting
approval from his boss could cost him his livelihood. Or get him killed. Lucy
knew that things as a rule had unintended consequences in her line of work. She
made up her mind to send Mac home at the first opportunity.

As
they crossed the street to the guard shack, Lucy spotted a black van pulling
into the big parking lot.

"Crap!
Catchers are here already." Lucy walked faster, hoping to head them off.