"Just lie and say you killed ten."
"Hmmmm. I never thought about that. I
hate to be deceptive, though. There has to be a better way.
Thinking...thinking...thinking..."
"Do you really want people to know about your
feat?"
"I like that you called it a feat. I figured
you'd feel a little more revulsion than that."
Michele ignored him and tried to steer the
conversation back toward reasons he shouldn't kill her. "I could
have run away. They let me go."
"You did run away. I found you at the
hospital."
"I had a chance before that. I stuck around
because I want to tell this story."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah."
"So, what, you want to
write
The Dastardly Deeds of Ivan the
Werewolf
?"
"Something like that."
"Or maybe
Interview With a Werewolf
.
Let Anne Rice sue."
"If you let me go, I'll make you famous."
"If I wanted to be famous, I'd walk onto
Oprah's set and transform in front of her cameras. Then I'd rip out
her throat. I appreciate your efforts, Michele, but there's really
not much you can offer me."
"I disagree."
Ivan smiled. "Well, I mean,
there's
that
. You
like it wolfy style?"
Michele felt the blood drain from her face,
but tried to keep her voice steady. "Why are your aspirations so
low?"
"What do you mean?"
"You have this incredible power, something
that's so amazing that nobody who hadn't seen it for themselves
would ever believe it could be true, and yet you just use it to
kill people."
"Killing people is fun. It's
better than
not
killing people, I'll tell you that."
"There's so much more you could do."
"Like what? Bring canned food to
homeless people? Teach our children about the wonders of
volcanoes?"
"You could be a superstar celebrity.
How much earning potential do you think a werewolf in the public
eye could have?"
"A lot, until somebody put a silver bullet in
his heart."
"There are plenty of rich celebrities who a
lot of people want to assassinate and they do just fine. With that
much money, you could keep yourself safe."
"I've got it! Maybe I could be a
superhero!"
"Maybe you could."
"I could be Werewolf Man, and I'd go around
biting evildoers. I could wear a furry cape with a big W on it. Oh,
man, I never even dreamed I had so much untapped potential. You've
opened up a whole new world for me. How can I ever repay you?"
"I'm serious, Ivan."
"Are you trying to become my manager or
something?"
"Maybe."
"I think you're talking just to keep yourself
alive. I think you're too adorable and innocent to actually want to
go into business with a big bad werewolf, who would probably ruin
all of his promo ops by going on bloody rampages."
"That's not true."
"You're certainly an opportunist. I admire
that. But, again, let's say for the sake of argument that I was
interested in your idea. Maybe I looked in the mirror one day and
said 'Golly, I've devoted my whole life to evil. How shameful. Woe
is me for my poor decisions. I must balance out all of the death
and destruction by doing good deeds.'"
"I didn't say they had to be good deeds."
"You mean I should become a supervillain? Now
that might be cool."
"You're not taking me seriously."
"What's a good name for a werewolf
supervillain?"
"Ivan..."
"What about Wolf Killer? No, wait, that
sounds like I'm killing wolves. Death Wolf. Blood Wolf. Ghost Wolf.
I'm not really a ghost, but that sounds kind of scary, doesn't it?
Beware the evil done by the Ghost Wolf. Oh, hell yeah."
"I'm trying to help you."
"No, but thanks. You really aren't very good
at trying to negotiate yourself out of death. The only thing I
might need you for is a sweet piece of ass."
"If you try it, I'll rip your dick off."
"There's no need to be crude. You could have
just said 'penis.'"
"I'm serious."
"Are you? Do you really think that I'm afraid
of you? With all the people I've slaughtered today, you expect me
to be worried about you injuring my wee-wee?"
"If it gets anywhere near me, you'll lose it.
I promise you that."
"See, now, you almost had me convinced to go
along with your idea about cashing in on my werewolf fame, but then
you had to go and threaten my genitalia. Rude, rude, rude. And yet,
strangely arousing."
"Try it and see what happens."
Ivan laughed. "Relax, sweetheart. There'll be
no sexual violence tonight. I'm not the kind of guy who needs to
take it by force, if you know what I mean and I think you do. I am
going to murder you, though."
Michele clenched her
fists.
Don't cry, don't cry, don't
cry
...
"Nothing to say to that? Surprising. Do you
want to know how it's going to happen?"
"Okay."
"I love how you tried to sound brave
when you said that. Here's the plan: I'm going to pull this van
over to someplace nice and secluded. I'm going to search through
the radio stations until I find some appropriate mood
music--hopefully they've got a jazz station around here, but if
not, we might go for some classic rock. Then I'm going to walk back
there, open the van doors, and then I'm going to stand there and
stare at you. You know that creepy feeling you get when somebody is
just staring at you, where your skin crawls and you can't
concentrate on anything else? You'll have that, except you'll know
that as soon as I'm done staring at you, I'm going to kill you. I
might stare at you for a minute, I might stare for an hour, but
when it's over, I'm going to very slowly unlock the
cage."
"You're making a big mistake."
"No, I think I'm making a wise decision.
Don't interrupt my scenario. After I open the cage, I'm going
to--"
"I don't want to hear it."
"I don't care what you want to hear, little
lady. You're going to hear what I want you to hear, and I want you
to hear about your upcoming horrible death. If you want to put your
hands over your ears and go 'la la la la la' there's not much I can
do, but it would be kind of childish."
"There's no reason to kill me."
"I want to. That's a pretty good reason. I
mean, if you really think about it, there's no reason to eat a
great big chocolate chip cookie dunked in a glass of cold milk, but
it's something you'd want to be doing right now, isn't it? You're
my cookie. That's what I'll call you from now on. How's it going,
Cookie?"
"Fuck you."
"Oh, see, now you're just resorting to
expletives. Not cool, Cookie. I guess that means you're done trying
to have an intelligent conversation, which in turn means that it's
time for you to die. Oh well."
They drove in silence for a few more minutes.
At one point Michele had to choke down some vomit, but she still
didn't cry. She refused to cry.
Ivan stopped the van and shut off the engine.
"Here we are. Looks like you'll be dying in...actually, I don't
know the name of this place. It'll be in the obituary, though. Your
family will know."
"You don't have to do this."
"That's already been well established.
You're not bringing anything new to the table. Offer me something
better than the lame observation that I have a choice in the
matter. Come on, offer something now. You've got ten seconds.
Nine...eight...seven..."
"I can bring you George and Lou."
"No, you can't."
"Yes, I can."
"Did you bond with them? Got some of that
Stockholm syndrome going on, huh? Sorry, Michele--I mean,
Cookie--but I feel like I have no other choice but to messily kill
you."
Michele's mind raced as she tried to think of
something to offer him. But she just couldn't concentrate. She was
going to die. Oh, God, she was going to die.
Ivan got out of the van. A moment later he
opened the back doors. "Miss me?"
Michele scooted to the back of the cage.
"Don't do that. I'll think
you don't trust me." Ivan grinned. He ran a hand through his
blood-slicked hair. "How does it feel to know that you only have
minutes to live? Wait, don't answer that, let me guess...it feels
like...wait, I can get this...it feels
bad
! Am I right? Do I win?"
Michele didn't respond. If he opened the
cage, she'd attack him like a wild animal. She'd probably lose the
fight, but she'd go for his eyes with her fingernails and put up a
hell of a struggle.
Ivan's grin faded. "You
know, I like to joke around a lot, but when it comes right down to
it, I'm a pretty serious guy. So let me present you with your
options, and I'd like you to truly focus on which one you prefer.
The first option is to let me come into that cage after you, at
which point I will transform into a wolfman, pin you down,
and
ruin
you." He
paused, presumably to let that sink in. "In the second option, I
won't kill you at all."
"What do I have to do?"
"Just give me your hand."
"No."
"No? I just offered you the chance to stay
alive. Don't dismiss it so quickly."
"What are you going to do?"
"It's a surprise. Give me your hand."
Michele shook her head.
"When I said that I was going to ruin you, I
didn't mean that in a 'put you out of your misery' way. You will
die worse than anybody you've ever read about. You'll be wishing
that all I was doing was ripping out your fingernails with my
teeth. We are talking about a level of agony that people base
religions on. Is that your choice? Because it seems like a bad
one."
Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry...
"You really should give me your hand."
"Come in here and get it."
"So let me get this straight. You are
choosing a horrible, bloody death where your body parts will be
scattered for miles over the option where you live?"
"I'm not giving you my hand."
"I'm not going to
keep
it! Jeez. Okay, I'm
going to do something that I never do. I solemnly swear that if you
give me your hand, I will not kill you. Not tonight, not ever.
That's a promise."
Visions of being chained in his basement as a
torture slave for the rest of her life flashed through Michele's
mind. "I don't believe you."
"Do you believe me about the horrible
bloody death part?"
Michele hesitated. "Yes."
"The 'let you live' part is just as true. I
think you should trust me on this one. I'm not sure I can emphasize
enough how much better of a deal option two would be for you. Give
me your hand."
Michele really did not want to do this...but
for some freaky, messed-up reason, she believed Ivan when he said
that he wouldn't kill her. Whatever he did to her would be awful,
there was no question about that, but she could either trust him or
hope that she could beat him when he crawled into the cage.
Better to trust him.
She scooted to the front of the cage.
"You're making a good choice."
Michele took a moment to work up her courage,
then slid her right hand through the bars.
Ivan took it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A Job For The Pros
"Are you sure you're not going to bleed to
death?"
Lou nodded. "I'm getting blood all over this
poor guy's car, though."
"It's probably insured."
"This piece of crap? No way. I guarantee you
he's only got liability. It would probably cost more to insure it
than the trade-in value of the car."
George considered that. "What do you think
it'll cost him to get the bloodstains out?"
"A shitload."
"Poor bastard."
"Yeah."
"I guess in the grand scheme of what happened
tonight, the guy with a bloody car isn't getting such a bad deal,
but I'd still be pissed if I were him."
"Plus, we're not done with the car yet," said
Lou. "We could end up wrecking it."
"Yeah, the way things are going a blown-up
car is a definite possibility. Although I think the worst is
over."
"Well, so did I, until you just now
went and jinxed it."
George smiled, but there was no humor in it.
"Hey, Lou, is it okay if I get all deep on you?"
"Aw, crap."
"Bear with me. It's my fault that all those
people died today."
"No, it's the werewolf's fault. Don't beat
yourself up."
"I
should
be beating myself up. This is a
really appropriate time for that kind of thing. Look, I know we're
basically scumbags. We hurt a lot of people, but it's usually
people who deserve it."
"Not always."
"That's why I said 'usually.' When we do bad
things, we're shaking people for money, breaking a couple of bones,
maybe cutting somebody if they need it. We never orphaned kids. We
never murdered people just for kicks."
"We didn't, but we still suck."
"I don't want to do this anymore. I want to
be a good person."
"May I speak freely?" Lou asked.
"Of course."
"Fuck you, George."
"That's how you respond to me wanting to be a
good person?"
"Yep. You don't want to
better yourself. You're just a selfish prick. This is about
making
you
feel
better, not about helping anybody else. If you wanted to become
Mother Theresa, you should have done it when that poor old guy
begged you not to break his thumbs, not while we're driving away
from a bloodbath. I don't want to hear about any recanting of your
previous ways in the middle of a really bad situation. You want to
be a better person? Make that decision when we're sipping
Margaritas on a luxury cruise."