The Frenzy War (6 page)

“And that assassin was killed, which is why they sent more than one this time. The police said their witness saw four people drag Rhonda to the van. I bet they were all Torquemadans, even the woman. The driver makes at least five.”

Gabriel stared out the taxi window at pedestrians and buildings.

“Damn it, we have to
do
something.”

Turning to his brother, Gabriel gave him a hard look. “Don't tell me what we need to do. I know what we need to do. I'm the leader of the pack.”

Raphael's nostrils flared. “Then what's your plan?”

“Whether we're dealing with Torquemadans or someone else, we have to assume they want Rhonda to identify us.”

“And she's just a girl.”

A mistake on our part.
They should have hired only experienced Wolves at the store. “Regardless of how long she resists interrogation, they must know she's a Wolf and that Jason was too; their families are automatically targets. The police are already protecting the Wilsons. That means we have to watch over the Lourdeses.”

“The cops have Jason's body. They have his head. Did you see his eyes? He was in mid-Transformation. Even if we take care of these murderers, we could still be exposed. The clock's ticking, Brother.”

Karol parked in front of a two-story home in Rosedale covered with unlit Christmas lights. The neighborhood, with its wet green lawns, felt far removed from Manhattan.

Willy had hedged in answering her, but he did see a connection between Jason Lourdes's murder and the Manhattan Werewolf—and he believed the Manhattan Werewolf really was a werewolf.

“Welcome to the burbs, homegirl,” he said as they got out of the car.

Karol cocked one eyebrow at him, loaded for bear. “You think I never been to the burbs, esse?”

“It makes me hot when you speak Spanish.”

He and Karol mounted the brick-style steps, and he knocked on the front door, which opened a moment later.

A woman with watery eyes and long red hair noted Karol, then shifted her gaze to Willy.

“Mrs. Lourdes?” Willy said.

“No, I'm Sharon King, a friend of the family.”

Willy showed Sharon his ID. “Detective Diega and Detective Williams, Manhattan Homicide South.”

“Please come in.”

Willy and Karol followed Sharon inside.

“Were you expecting us?” Willy said.

“Gabriel called and said you were coming. He asked me
to stay with Jennifer.”

Willy shot Karol a look as they followed Sharon into an immaculate home. Gabriel had no business interfering with the case. Karol closed the door, and Sharon led them to a sofa in the living room, where a woman with curly black hair and running mascara looked up at them.

“Is it true?” Jennifer Lourdes said.

Willy removed a manila envelope from inside his coat. “We have some photos for you to look at, Mrs. Lourdes.” He withdrew the pictures Karol had taken and held them out. “Are you able to tell us if this is Jason?”

Mrs. Lourdes took the photos with shaking hands and looked through them. Tears dropped from her eyes onto the pictures, and she nodded, her face torn with grief.

Sharon sat beside the woman and put one arm around her shoulders.

“We're very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Lourdes,” Karol said.

Jennifer sobbed, her chest quivering. “My baby …”

Willy sat on her other side. “Is your husband at work?”

“He's on his way home,” Sharon said.

Did Gabriel call the husband too? Willy
held his tongue. “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Jason?”

Weeping, Jennifer shook her head.

“He was a good boy,” Sharon said. “He never made trouble.”

Willy did not want to upset Jennifer by antagonizing her friend, so he made a show of looking straight at his interview subject. “How long were Jason and Rhonda dating?”

Jennifer blew her nose and summoned words between sobs. “They started dating after Raphael hired Rhonda to work at the store.”

“Jason had already been working there for a few months, and Raphael promoted him to assistant manager,” Sharon said.

Willy raised his eyebrows. “I'm sorry, Mrs.—?”

“King.”

“Mrs. King, I know you're trying to be helpful, but I really need to hear from Mrs. Lourdes right now.”

Sharon made an indignant expression.

Willy returned his attention to Jennifer. “Forgive me. I have to ask these questions. It looked to me like Jason had a pretty muscular build. Did he lift weights?”

“No.”

“I think the detective is asking if Jason used steroids.”

Jennifer stared at Sharon, then Karol, then back at Willy. “Jason was a healthy boy. He didn't use drugs.”

“Yes, ma'am, I believe you. We need a list of Jason's friends. Is it possible for my partner and me to look in his room?” He didn't want to get a warrant.

Nodding, Jennifer broke into tears again.

“I'll show you his room.” Sharon led them up a narrow stairway to a closed door, which she opened.

Willy and Karol entered the bedroom and pulled on latex gloves. Posters adorned the walls; dirty clothes covered the floor.

“I'll wait downstairs,” Sharon said and disappeared.

“Fucking Gabriel Domini,” Willy said under his breath.

R
honda's head rolled from side to side, and her body shivered. She reached down for the blanket, but her hand came away empty, her fingernails brushing her naked thighs. She tried to open her eyelids, but they wouldn't budge. She raised her head, then laid it back down. She inhaled the scents of several different humans: four … five … six.

The base of her skull pulsed. What happened?

Jason.

A man with a beard had shot her with a tranquilizer dart, and two others had shot Jason. The man who had shot her had also decapitated Jason with a sword. Who the hell were they?

A sword
…

A sword made out of silver.

The Blade of Salvation.

Rhonda raised herself on her elbow, her eyes finally snapping open, and stared into gloomy near darkness; a single low wattage bulb shined down on her from the high ceiling. She hopped onto the balls of her feet, crouching, and heard the chinking of chain links. Metal manacles gripped her wrists and ankles. She had been lying on straw, some of which now clung to her back and legs.

With slow caution, she stood. The chains were bolted to the floor: four points forming a square. Glancing at a metal door and a mirror set in one cinder-block wall, she seized one chain and pulled it with all her strength, which was not enough to liberate herself. She tried again until her fingers, wrists, elbows, and neck hurt, then released the chain with a frustrated cry.

Panting, Rhonda searched the ceiling but saw only what she decided must be a steam pipe. So where was the steam heat? Cold numbed the soles of her feet.

“Hello?” Her throat felt dry.

Her captives had left three metal buckets against the closest wall. One contained water. She guessed the other two were for her to relieve herself.

Like an animal.

Raising her hands to her neck, she touched a leather band, perhaps two inches high, which encircled her neck, tight against her flesh.

I'm not a dog.

“Hello!”

She listened to her own breathing. A metallic clanking sound filled the room. Her body continued to tremble, as
much from fear as from the cold.

The door swung open, and a figure stood silhouetted across the room.

Discerning feminine curves, Rhonda covered her exposed breasts with one arm and her private area with her free hand.

The woman stepped forward. In the dim light, Rhonda saw she wore black boots, tights, and a sweater and held a tranquilizer gun. As she stepped closer, her features became distinguishable in the gloom: long blonde hair and a hawkish nose that did not diminish her beauty.

“Who are you?” Rhonda said.

“You don't need to know my name. You don't need to know anything about me, except that I control your life.”

The woman had a foreign accent.
Italian,
Rhonda thought. “Is Jason dead?”

“The beast at the bookstore? Yes.”

The beast.
Rhonda's eyes filled with tears. “What do you want from me?”

The woman aimed her gun at Rhonda. “For now, a confession.”

“I haven't done anything wrong.”

“Confess your nature.”

Rhonda blinked.

“Tell me what you are, bitch.”

“What I am?”

“Your species.”

The nightmare became clearer. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You're a beast. A wolf disguised as a woman.”

“Can I have my clothes?”

“Wolves don't need clothes, except for sheep's clothing.”

“You're crazy.” Rhonda's voice cracked.

The woman holstered her weapon and took from her belt a black object that resembled a remote control. “You're a werewolf. We know this to be true. Your colleague was reverting to his true self when we took off his head. Do you really want to play games you can't win?”

Rhonda steeled her nerves. “There's no such thing as werewolves.”

A slight movement of the woman's thumb caused Rhonda's head to fling back and her jaw to fall open, her limbs going rigid and unresponsive at her sides. With her back arched, Rhonda tried to focus on the ceiling pipe as electricity coursed through her body, but the steady vibration prevented her from doing so.

Just when she wondered if the agony would ever end, she fell to her hands and knees and gasped for breath. Even though the charge had stopped, her brain tingled and her muscles continued to shake, a sick feeling spreading through her stomach. She looked at the woman. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“I can increase the voltage. Confess your true nature, or I'll force you to reveal yourself to me.”

The sobs emanating from Rhonda's chest sounded more like coughing. Her eyes clouded, and mucus descended from her nose. Electricity seized her body, and she tried to scream.

Mace was laboring over a schedule when he saw Cheryl speaking on the TV. Outside, a Bell JetRanger police helicopter took off, so he raised the volume on the portable television atop his filing cabinet. He recognized the bookstore behind her. She wore a long coat and held a microphone in one hand.

“I'm standing outside the Synful Reading occult bookstore on St. Mark's Place, the scene of a gruesome murder and kidnapping this morning.”

Footage of a body bag being carried out of the store on a gurney by two paramedics replaced the image of his wife.

“Police say Jason Lourdes, an employee of the bookstore, was murdered by an unknown assailant.”

A high school yearbook photo of a smiling young man with short, curly brown hair filled the screen.

“Lourdes graduated from Rosedale High School in Queens just this summer.”

The image switched to another high school yearbook photo, this one of a pretty young woman with short straight hair and a slender neck.

“A witness told police that Rhonda Wilson, a fellow Synful Reading employee and recent high school graduate, was abducted from the scene by four men and a woman who drove away in a white van.”

Cheryl's image returned. “Police believe the two incidents are linked, and a search is under way for the van. Anyone with information is encouraged to call …”

Mace took out his cell phone and pressed a number. The phone on the other end rang four times, and he was about to hang up when Landry answered in a low voice.

“Tony? It's been a while.”

“How are you, Ken?”

“I'm a little busy right now.”

“So I hear. I just saw my wife's piece on TV.”

“How bad was it?”

“The word werewof didn't come up.”

“Today. What about tomorrow? We have to reassure the public that the Manhattan Werewolf isn't back in business.”