Monsters in the Midwest (Book 2): Northwoods Wolfman (3 page)

Chapter 5

The
morning sun was in his eyes when he woke, and something much less adult than
Porky’s
was playing on the T.V. Unfazed
by spending another night on the bedroom floor, Dallas sat at the foot of the
bed, giggling at
Ernest Scared Stupid
for
a few minutes before rubbing his face and pulling himself to his feet. The bed
was more of a recreational accessory to be used with company. If he just needed
to get some shut-eye, it didn’t matter if he landed on the bed, couch, floor,
his pickup’s back seat, front seat, the back yard, the front yard, whatever.
One of the wonders of alcohol was how it made anywhere into a perfectly fine place
to sleep. Only downside was waking up.

Fall
was shaking leaves off the trees, a stern reminder to the Wisconsin Northwoods
that winter wasn’t far off, so folks in the area were getting their furnaces
ready. After making his rounds, he headed back to Stein’s for an early dinner
and maybe a game of pool. As he walked across the parking lot, memories of
hustling some out-of-towners with Herb came to mind. Dallas and Herb had
squared off against a couple of mullet-heads in Vikings jerseys. Dallas had
taken the lead, and they played the hustle like pros. After schooling those
purple-clad posers for every bill in their Velcro wallets, Dallas, Herb, and
Stanley had celebrated by emptying Stein’s beer cooler. It was, Dallas recalled
fondly, an awesome night.

He
was halfway through the parking lot en route to Stein’s front door when he
stopped abruptly. He would
not
think
about that monster. That demon. He was going to get a drink, shoot pool with
whoever wanted to shoot pool, and
not
think about that night. With a deep breath to shore up his resolve, he made his
way into Stein’s and staked out a space at the bar. Soon, the whiskey shots and
beer chasers had floated his unwanted thoughts back to his unexplored
subconscious where they belonged. He was a goddamn hero, and if any other
blood-sucking monsters showed up, he’d give ‘em what for, just like he did
with… with…

“…the
vampire. That’s good to hear,” a voice close to his ear said.

Dallas
didn’t remember saying anything out loud. “Wasshat? Yoush talkin’ t’me?” he asked.
As his eyes focused on the face in front of him, he thought he recognized the
man. Widow’s peak, scraggly goatee. Not a local, that was for sure.

“The
vampire. You’d give them what for just like you did with the vampire. I know
all about it, Dallas.”

Dallas’s
face split into a grin. “GODDAMN HERO!” he roared, slapping the bar.

“Dallas,
I need to ask you a question,” the man said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial
whisper. “Do you know how bad things can get?”

Dallas
leaned back and squinted at the man. How did he know this guy?
Oh, I probably fixed his furnace
, he
reasoned.

“You
bet I do,” he answered. “You don’t replace your filter, s’gonna cut your effin.
Your effinsee,” he tried again and then licked his lips and said carefully,
“efficiency. By like, five pershent.”

The
man frowned, his mouth working for a moment. Apparently reaching some sort of
internal decision, he asked again, “Do you know how bad things can get?”

Was
the guy a little deaf or something? Dallas was still trying to place his face.
Guy probably worked up at the paper mill and couldn’t hear so good anymore.

“Yes.
I. Do.” Dallas spoke slowly and loudly. “Change. Your. Furnace. Filter. Every.
Year.”

A
look of understanding crossed the man’s face.
Thank Christ,
Dallas thought. He couldn’t stand idiots.

“Okay,
buddy. Nice chatting. You have a g’night now,” Dallas offered, returning to the
rocks glass of whiskey requiring his more immediate attention.

“You’re
right. This ain’t the best place. Too many people. I’ll be in touch again.” With
an approving nod, the man stood, clapped Dallas on the shoulder, and headed out
of the bar.

Hmph,
Dallas thought as he took a drink,
simultaneously waiving to Stein for another.
Another happy customer.

Some
indeterminate amount of time later, Dallas staggered to his truck, Deloris. The
raised up four-by-four Dodge was the love of his life. It had a custom electric
blue paint job,
chrome
jaws on the grill, and matching chrome fenders, running boards, bed rails, and
exhaust, and windows tinted black as night. He’d named the truck after the
first girl he’d ever slept with. She was tough, sexy, and scary as hell, so it
seemed like a natural fit. Giving Deloris an affectionate pat on the rear
bumper, he
belched and
resumed his song.

“Packers! Go, you
Packers, go and get ‘em, Go, you fighting fools upset ‘em,

Smash their line with
all your might, A touchdown, Packers, Fight, Fight, Fight, Fight!

On, you Green and
Gold, to glory. Win this game the same old story,

Fight, you Packers,
Fight, and bring the bacon home to…”

“Do you know how bad
things can get?”

Dallas acted on
reflex. He grabbed a wrist and yanked, pulling the voice’s owner off-balance
and driving his face into the side of Deloris. A wet thwump preceded the
appearance of a slobber mark on the truck’s electric blue paint. Bouncing off
the truck, the man recovered, crouched, and swept a leg out, catching Dallas
behind the knees. Dallas went down with a curse, rolled, and pulled himself to
his feet, the flurry of motion ending in a well-placed punch connecting with
the man’s jaw at the exact moment that fifty-thousand volts coursed through
him.

Dallas stiffened and
fell over again with a high-pitched scream-turned-gurgle. The volts charged
through his veins like a swarm of ornery electric eels, standing his hair on
end and leaving his toes numb. The stranger massaged his jaw, cursed, and
looked around the lot before leaning over the still twitching Dallas.

“What the hell is
your problem?” he whined, glaring down through squinty eyes. “Shit. It feels
like you broke both sides of my face.”

Dallas looked up in
disbelief. “Me? You frickin’ attacked me. What did you expect me to do? Send
you flowers?” Wincing, he lifted his shirt and stared at the burned skin with
growing indignation.

“And you tased me?
What kind of pussy uses a taser? Well, you should’a kept the juice flowing. You
should’a killed me,” he advised, voice raising in volume. “But you didn’t. You
blew it, and now you’re in a world of hurt.” Dallas pushed himself to his feet,
turned his profile to the stranger, and raised his fists.

“You got two options
here. Try to do that again, and I beat you bloody, or run for your frickin’
life. And just so you know, if you run, I’m taking my girl Deloris here and
driving right over your punk ass, backing up, and spinning the tires.”

The
man dropped the taser, put his hands up, and took a slow step backward.

“Hey,
calm down. I just wanted the password, that’s all. Things were fine before. Why
are you being such an asshole about the password? It’s protocol.”

Dallas
lowered his fists and squinted. Password? Protocol? Revelation sparked. “Wait a
sec, you’re him. The T.V. guy. That’s you!”

The
man glanced around the dark lot. “Shhh. Yes. Now just give me the password, and
let’s get outta here.”

Dallas
considered the man carefully, thinking back on his earlier conversation with
Stanley. “You ain’t looking to get your furnace fixed,” he reasoned slowly.
Pieces falling into place, Dallas realized he was talking to a bona fide member
of the C.I.A. Or F.B.I. Or maybe NASA.

Why do they have so many letters,
he grumbled to himself.

“No
sir. Sharp guys like you don’t worry about the furnace. Oh, wait. You like
letters. You don’t worry about the HVAC,” Dallas conspired with a heavy wink.
“And yeah, I got your password.”

The
guy never saw the punch coming. Dallas slugged him so hard in the gut it
doubled him over, his breath coming out in a pained, “Uff!” before he slumped
back against the side of the truck.

“That’s
for the taser. Now to answer your question, things only get as bad,” he paused
and patted his pockets. “Um, things only get as bad,” he stalled, shoving his
hands into first his front jean pockets, then his back pockets. Finding what he
was searching for, he flourished a torn and much-folded envelope, pulled it
open, and read out loud.

“As
you’re willing to let them. Which, by the way, you totally shouldn’t have let
me gut-shot you like that. I expected more from you C.I.A. fellas.”

Widow’s
peak looked up at Dallas, still catching his breath after getting floored by the
cheap shot. Already squinty eyes narrowed even further as he replied, “C.I.A.?
Oh no, Dallas. I’m part of something much more important. Something you can be
a part of too, if you stop acting like such an asshole.” Standing, the man
brushed gravel from his jeans and straightened his shirt.

“You
got the password. Hooray, you passed the second test. Can’t say I’m too
impressed though. It was one of our easier ones.” Reaching some sort of
decision, the man grudgingly extended a hand.

“Randall.
Warrior of the Society.”

Dallas
shook the offered hand on reflex. “Dallas. Owner and Proprietor of That Blows
HVAC and goddamn Hero of Trappersville.”

Randall
nodded. “We know who you are.”

A
testosterone-soaked silence descended between the two men.

“So.
What now?” Dallas finally asked.

“Now
you need to reflect on things, Dallas. Might help you get your bearings.” With
that, Randall turned on his heel and walked to an orange and yellow moped
parked in the shadows. It wasn’t until after Randall had sputtered off into the
night that Dallas noticed a familiar, white rectangle lying in the dirt by
Deloris.

“Find
us. You’re needed,” he read aloud after picking it up. “Find you? Why bother?
Every time I turn around, you pop up like a sneaky ninja with a taser.”

Turning
it over, he discovered that it was different from the first card. Instead of a
cryptic message on the back, it had a cryptic map. At least, it seemed map-ish.
Cartoon trees, drawings of triangles on boxes, a few squiggly lines, and a
small “X” covered the card’s back, but there were no names or anything else to
indicate where the map was supposed to be.

Dallas
ground his teeth in frustration.

“Frickin’
C.I.A.” he grumbled, shoving the card into his back pocket. “Lucky for me, I
got a Stanley.”

Chapter 6

Petro
Patterson’s wasn’t really on the way to Stanley’s, but it was a worthwhile
detour. If Dallas was going to suss out mysteries and the like, he needed brain
fuel. The waning moon and rising sun shone down on Patt’s parking lot as Dallas
pulled into an open spot out front. He put Deloris in park alongside a
well-used pickup truck just as the owner ambled outside, plastic bag in one
hand and keys in the other.

“Nice
looking dog,” Dallas offered as he stepped down to the pavement, referring to
the old golden retriever standing ramrod-still in the bed of the truck. “Hey
there, buddy! Who’s a good dog?” he called. In response, the dog just stared,
tail straight out, unmoving.

“Name’s
Bo. Had him since he was a pup,” grinned the truck’s driver as he leaned back
to pat the dog’s head. “He’s famous, too. You heard about the vampire in these
parts?” he asked with a chuckle and a sly wink.

The
remnants of Dallas’s morning buzz drained away, replaced with a sort of
nothingness.

“Sure.
Everyone ‘round here’s heard about that,” he replied, the forced nonchalance
making him momentarily dizzy.

“Bo
here met him. In the flesh,” the man said with a note of pride.

Dallas
shrugged, feeling for all the world like someone else was moving his shoulders.
“How’d you know it was him?”

“Paper.
I come up this way a lot from Madison to fish. Nice to page through the local
tabloids. Saw that red-headed guy’s picture with the big headline, ‘Wisconsin
Vamp Ravages Town,’ and I knew I’d seen that face before. Then it hit me. He
was here pumping gas. Yessir. Bo’s a regular celebrity now,” he chuckled.
“Vampires in Wisconsin. Too funny.” Reaching back to scratch the dog’s ears, he
asked, “You a dog fella, too?”

Dallas’s
forced smile faded as the dog added a low-throated snarl to its unyielding stare.
“Uh, not really. Although if I was gonna get a dog…”
I wouldn’t get some overbred mongrel that’s only good for catching Milk
Bones and Frisbees,
he thought, staring right back at the dog while
scratching a sudden itch on his thigh.

Bo’s
low snarl stopped, replaced suddenly with plaintive whines. Tail wrapping
between its legs, the dog licked the man’s hand as it wriggled backward in the
truck’s bed.

“Huh.
Guess Bo ain’t feelin’ too social, mister, no offense,” the man said with a
quizzical look at Dallas. “Well, we’ll be on our way then. And don’t forget to
tell your pals you met an honest-to-God celebrity,” he added with a
good-natured laugh. “Vampires. What’ll they think of next?”

Mood
thoroughly ruined, Dallas watched the man back out of his spot and drive off.

“Well,
at least Bo didn’t have a taser.” Putting it from his mind, Dallas entered
Patt’s and made for the beer cooler.

There’s
a certain sameness to roadside gas stations in rural America which Patterson’s
embraced. Tchotchkes clung to every inch of available space, encouraging
shoppers to empty their wallets and walk away with nothing of value to show for
it. Dallas remembered the way Herb used to go on and on about roadside gas
stations. The guy loved them and had this crazy idea that if the rest of
civilization fell and only roadside gas stations survived, everyone would
pretty much be ok. The memory hurt like a bruise, the kind of hurt that you
just had to deal with because nothing could make it go away. He continued past
the aisles, drawn to the hum of the coolers while nineties pop music bounced
and jarred the soggy space between his ears. A twelve-pack of beer and a few
jerky sticks later, he was at the counter.

A
young teenage girl leaned by the register, watching reruns of some teenie-bopper
crap on a small television behind the counter. When the girl continued to favor
the T.V. instead of him, Dallas cleared his throat.

“Today,
please?” he asked politely.

“Whatev’s,”
the girl replied. A bright yellow tipped finger pressed the register keys, each
jab expressing complete indignation at the girl’s lot in life.

Trying
to stifle his impatience, Dallas’s head turned and eyes roamed, a newly
captured animal exploring the confines of its cage.

“Sorry.
Screwed up,” he heard the girl say without looking up. “Gotta re-ring you.”

“Uh
huh. Okay,” Dallas responded, impatience coloring his tone. Still his eyes
continued to rove, cigarette rack to jerky display to Slurpee machine to
newspaper stand to magazine rack, only to start the circuit over again. The
ding of each key on the register clanged against his eardrums, wearing on his
already thin patience. Frustrated, he pressed his lips tightly shut and drew a
deep breath in through his nose. When the smell of dried beef filled his
nostrils, it eclipsed every other thought.

“You
must really need this jerky,” he heard the girl say. Perplexed, he cocked his
head to one side as he looked at her.

“I
can like, hear your stomach growling. So I’m guessing no bag, right? You’re
just gonna scarf these down?” the girl asked, looking up at him with interest.

Dallas
rested a hand on his gut and cocked his head to the other side. His tongue
flicked out and around his lips, followed by a jaw-popping yawn as his eyes
locked on the jerky stick she was holding toward him. Dropping into a squat,
hands firmly on the floor between his boots, he looked up and watched the girl
lean forward over the counter. Her eyebrows drew together in confusion while
the jerky stick drooped forgotten from her hand. Focused solely on the jerky, he
chuffed, licking his lips again and scooting a smidge closer to the counter.

“Um,”
the girl said, voice gone brittle. “So, no bag?”

Dallas
blinked, looked down at his boots and back up at the girl.
What the hell?
he wondered, wiping a small tendril of drool from
the corner of his mouth. Making a show of tying his already-tied boot laces, he
stood and passed a twenty over the counter.

“Oh,
uh. No, thanks. I can carry it,” he mumbled with uncharacteristic
embarrassment. Scooping up his change, he backtracked out of Patt’s and hoofed
it over to Deloris. Tossing everything in the passenger seat, he gobbled up a
jerky stick in two bites, freed a can of beer, and drank deep, excitement about
the next clue and a fresh supply of brewskis conveniently erasing the recent
events from his mind.