Blood Wolf’s Path - стр. 8
“No, not the loony bin. A steel cage. I’m currently working the triple homicide case in Albany. And what happens to you next depends on me. But we can settle things right now, as they say – on the shore – and find a good way out for you in this complicated situation. After all, technically it wasn’t you who killed… it was the beast inside you,” Cocksucker said, his last words full of sympathy, trying to worm his way into my trust.
“Get to the point. I’ve got nothing to offer you,” I said, hopping on one foot – the jeans just wouldn’t go on.
“That’s where you’re wrong. You think I’m some twenty-seven-year-old fool who got into the Bureau by accident or through connections? That’s not the case. The investigation into the prison murder of the agent you sent to Crooked-Dick – that’s just a cover. Speaking of Crooked-Dick, I found out the details of that story from your colleagues – it’s actually pretty funny. But now to business. The government has tasked me with solving a much more serious problem – where all these werewolves in the U.S. came from.”
“All? There’s more of us?” I asked with interest. I’d finally gotten my jeans on and was looking in the closet for a shirt.
“All over the country, unexplained murders with extreme brutality are being recorded. But so far we’ve managed to keep it hidden from the public. We’ve already cleaned up the scene at Brenda’s house,” Cocksucker reassured me.
“And how many murders are we talking about?” I asked.
“In the last twelve years, more than twenty-five thousand,” Cocksucker whispered, “but that’s classified information – don’t tell anyone.”
“In the U.S., people are being killed by werewolves. The government doesn’t know how to fight it. Fine. What do you want from me, a blood sample?” I said. Instead of a shirt, I pulled on a red T-shirt. Now I stood before Cocksucker in blue jeans, a red shirt that was too small for me, and no socks.
“We could take one for the record,” Cocksucker sighed, “but we’ve got a whole refrigerator full of your kind of blood in the lab. So far, our virologists can’t figure out how to fight this infection.”
“So it’s a virus?” I asked.
“Well, you can think of it as a virus for simplicity. But let’s not get into details yet. Let’s get to the point. We tracked that the killings recorded by the FBI started twelve years ago. Then they grew exponentially. And now they threaten humanity. You could easily be sent for experiments right now – like we’ve done with others like you – but there’s one ‘but.’ You’ve turned out to be the key to the investigation,” Cocksucker said, pausing for effect.
“A golden key?” I laughed.
“Yes, exactly. The thing is, everyone we caught turned into beasts, but when they changed back into humans, they remembered nothing. Only Crooked-Dick’s brother remembered. That’s what Crooked-Dick said in prison, and I have no reason not to believe him. Which means his brother may have been one of the first werewolves – if not the very first. We traced his life, and everything points to it. Exactly twelve years ago, the once-close brothers parted ways. Crooked-Dick’s brother disappeared. That’s when Crooked-Dick turned to drugs and eventually burned himself out. But just a few days before the murder of the family of three, Crooked-Dick met his brother. Apparently, that’s when he snapped and killed those people…” the agent said.