Blood Wolf’s Path - стр. 5
What now, how do I cure this? In a couple of days—if not sooner—they’ll catch me. My DNA, my prints, they’re everywhere; there’s no simply washing that away, and it’d be pointless besides. I literally told everyone yesterday I was coming to the widow’s. And cameras—there are cameras everywhere—they’ll find me. My car sat outside the house all day. Time of death will be established… I returned to Brenda’s bedroom with my eyes squeezed shut, so I wouldn’t have to see all that hell, and touched Brenda’s hand. Her hand was cold—meaning she’d been dead for quite a while. I threw up.
God, I’m puking up human remains, I thought, and began vomiting even harder.
And then it was like a bolt of electricity shot through me. I remembered the words of that black bastard, Fred “Crooked-Dick” Johnson… He had told me to fear the full moon. Werewolves strike on the full moon. A werewolf had attacked me on the full moon, the day before my meeting with Fred. Which meant Fred knew someone was planning to attack me, but he didn’t know that I had managed to foil it.
Before they caught me, I figured I had one day left – today. I took a shower and put on one of Brenda’s dresses. Using Google Maps, I found the nearest clothing store and bought jeans, a shirt, and a jacket. Now I could head to the prison to see Fred Johnson… One last meeting, or so I believed.
The prison warden—incidentally an old friend of mine and someone who owed me—was in a surly mood and didn’t want to let me see Johnson.
“The feds are here. Not a good time,” Leslie said.
I asked to speak with the fed. An agent named Cocksucker (that’s how he introduced himself) turned out to be a friendly young man of about 27. He actually wanted to talk to me about this case; he’d dropped by our precinct, but I wasn’t there.
“So why did you send the undercover agent Taylor to Fred Johnson?” asked the tall young agent. He was ugly—his tiny lips were repulsive.
“As you know, Agent, my partner was killed two months ago. I’ve been conducting an independent investigation… and I’m coming up empty. So I was tugging on old cases, seeing if it might have been revenge. I didn’t especially suspect Johnson – that black-ass junkie – but I decided to probe that angle just in case. And after meeting him it started to seem plausible. He said I was next, that I should be looking over my shoulder. And the way he said it, it was like he knew something about my partner’s murder.”
“Now that’s interesting,” said Agent Cocksucker, clearly intrigued by my story.
I continued:
“That’s why I decided to plant Agent Taylor in his cell, to get the truth out of him. And now, after my man was killed, I want to meet with Crooked-Dick again…” I said.
“Crooked-Dick?” Agent Cocksucker repeated, confused.
“Yeah, his dick got broken during his arrest. But that’s another story. Anyway, I want to see him again and talk—maybe something will become clear. To tell the truth, the day before I met him, I was attacked; the doctor said my wound was shallow. I opened fire, the perp ran off, and Fred Johnson, as I now understand, doesn’t yet know about the attempt on me. So I have something to surprise him with,” I said.
“That might work. Let’s try it,” Cocksucker agreed.
Twenty minutes later I entered the room where Fred Johnson was being held. He wasn’t as cocky as during our last meeting. His hands were cuffed and chained to the table, and his feet were in irons. When he saw me, annoyance flashed across his face. I spoke plainly, laying out the situation as I saw it. I knew our conversation was being recorded and that the agent was behind the one-way glass listening to everything.