Prowlers - 1 (22 page)

Jack sighed and nodded slowly. He glanced at the moon-and-stars clock on the wall—quarter past ten— then at the Superman cookie jar on the counter. His mother had bought it a couple of months before she died, and it showed the wear of time. Superman's nose was chipped, and there was a fleck of paint missing from the S on his chest.

"They weren't listening," Jack explained. "I mean really weren't listening. This one cop, in uniform but obviously outranking these other guys, he comes over and makes sure we're okay, takes our names and addresses and stuff, then tells us to go home."

'All the people ..." Molly chimed in, the three words drifting across the kitchen like the scent of something cooking, lingering in the air.

Courtney reached across the floral-patterned tablecloth and laid a hand on hers. "Molly? You all right?"

"Not even close," Molly replied.

But Jack saw that her eyes were suddenly a bit more focused, and that was good. That was very good.

"What were you saying?" he asked.

Molly nodded, as if to herself. 'All the people came up from the subway. And those drunk guys?

They all saw it. But one of the cops said something to me, like "Wow, did you ever see wolves come down into the city like this before?” Then he went on about how they had a moose stomping around Melrose a couple of years ago and a bear the year before that, and more and more deer finding their way into the city. When any moron could just look at the thing on the ground and know it was no wolf."

"Hunh," Bill grunted. He took a long swig from the bottle of Sam Adams in front of him.

"What's 'hunh'?" Jack asked. Though his own mind was already turning it all over, like the tumblers of a lock.

Courtney let go of Molly's hand and sat back in her chair, also watching Bill.

The bartender shrugged. "Well, you said they hustled the monster out of there pretty quick, right? The cops sent you on your way in a couple of minutes, and you said the Prowler's body was gone before that, right?"

"There were no chalk lines and no crime scene photographers," Jack told him, "but there wouldn't be, if the cops really believed these things were animals."

"That's the if that concerns me," Bill replied.

"Oh, man," Jack muttered. He leaned his elbows on

the table and lowered his face into his hands. When he looked up, he saw that Molly and Courtney were both staring at Bill.

Courtney tapped her fingers on the table. "I see where you're going. A handful of people got a good look. The cops hurried to make sure the dead Prowlers were out of there quick, and talked to the witnesses so that they would start to question what they'd seen, question if it really was wolves."

She looked at Jack. "You tried to talk to the police, and they brushed you off."

Jack nodded. "Like they see this kind of thing every damn day."

"Maybe they do," Bill offered.

The words resonated in Jack's head, and he shivered. He glanced at Molly and saw from her expression and the way she shuddered that what Bill had said was sinking in for her as well. It was impossible, but it was dev-astatingly simple.

"The cops know," Jack said, voicing the thought they all shared. "This isn't the first Prowler they've seen. They've already connected all these murders together and come up with Prowlers as an answer. If the monsters have killed before, there have to be other reports from other police departments. Maybe some of them are thought of as crazy, like UFO sightings or something. But after a while ..."

"Yeah," Molly whispered. 'After a while, when you see it happening in your own town, maybe right in front of you, you don't have any choice but to admit

that those who claimed that werewolves or whatever were killing people in their towns may have been on to something."

Courtney got up so quickly that her chair squeaked on the linoleum. They all watched as she grabbed her cane, went to the cabinet above the sink where they kept the goodies, and came back with a bag of Chips Ahoy. The corners of Jack's mouth twitched up in just a hint of a smile. His sister always resorted to chocolate in a crisis.

"And they just hide the information from us?" Courtney gazed at each of them in turn, anger burning in her eyes. "Why? Because they don't want to cause a panic or they don't want people to laugh at them. The mayor doesn't want anyone thinking he believes in this crap, even though they've got corpses now. The dead bodies of actual monsters are sitting in the city morgue."

With a scowl of disgust, Courtney shook her head. She reached for the cookies, but there was no pleasure on her face as she did so.

'Actually, I'd guess they'll dispose of the bodies. Cremate them or something," Bill suggested.

Molly hugged herself and shuddered, though it was warm enough in the apartment. "If they know all this, why are the Prowlers still out there? Why haven't the police stopped them?"

The clock ticked louder on the wall. Jack noticed a tiny spray of green spots on one wall and had no idea where they had come from. Paint or something, from a

project of Courtney's, no doubt. He had a can of Coke on the table that had been sitting there getting warm and flat. Now he snaked a hand out, picked it up, and took a sip. He rolled the soda around in his mouth for a moment and contemplated what it was doing to his teeth.

"The cops don't know where the Prowlers are," he said.

"I hope that's it," Bill replied.

Everyone looked at Jack. He nodded quickly and set the soda can down again. "I'm sure of it," he said. " I met that guy, Jason Castillo. The homicide detective. He's on Artie and Kate's murder case, and I think he really cares about this. If there's a conspiracy here, it isn't that the cops are

protecting these things. They don't know where the Prowlers are hiding."

"They don't have to hide," Molly said. "They look like us. Like people. They could be anywhere. Driving a city bus, reading a newspaper on a park bench, teaching high school. Right?

They don't even have to be all together."

"I guess," Bill said hesitantly. "But from what you've all said, I'm getting the feeling that we're dealing with a pack. If so, they'll stay together like any group of animals. They'll have one lair that they share."

Jack took another sip of warm Coke and sat up a little straighter. "Then we have to find this lair. And we've gotta kill them."

"How do you propose we do that, little brother?" Courtney asked, looking doubtful.

With a deep breath, Jack looked at each of them in turn. When he glanced at Molly, he reached out and held her hand tightly in his own. They had shared a horrifying experience, but now there was strength between them, and reassurance.

He looked back at his sister. "I'm working on it."

Molly could not sleep.

With all that had happened, she did not want to go home. Did not want to be alone, and being around her mother was an awful lot like being alone. They had no reason to suspect that there were other Prowlers hunting them, but Molly felt safer with Courtney and Jack. Never mind how late it was when their conversation finally wore itself out.

Bill and Jack had gone downstairs to close up, put up the chairs, and say good night to the few staffers who had hung around after closing. Then Bill had gone home.

Courtney gave Molly a pair of warm sweatpants and a Harvard University T-shirt to sleep in, and made up the pull-out sofa in the living room. When they turned in for the night, neither Jack nor Courtney shut off the light in the hallway, and Molly was glad. The last thing she wanted was to lie there in the dark.

Lie there and think about Artie. Now that she had seen the monsters that had killed him—Oh, my God, how could such things exist in secret in the modern world? But they did. They did. And now that she had seen them, she could imagine all too well the terror and

panic her poor, sweet Artie had felt in the last seconds before the Prowlers tore him apart, viciously ripped into him.

Molly lay on her side on the pull-out bed and kept her eyes on the light in the hall, never even glancing at the shadows pooling around her. Her eyes began to fill with tears, her soul tormented

with thoughts of Artie's final moments. And yet, even as the first of those tears slid sideways down her face to dampen the pillowcase, a change began to flow through her.

Grief gave way to hate, sorrow to anger.

Something had to be done. Molly had no idea what she could do to help the police locate the lair of the Prowlers, even with help from the Dwyers and Big Bill Cantwell. But she knew it would be impossible to keep her mind on anything else until she knew they had been found and destroyed.

At length, she forced herself to close her eyes. Though being in Jack's home made it almost impossible for her to get her mind off all that had happened, Molly felt safe with him and Courtney. Jack had always exuded a kind of easy self-confidence that she found almost intimidating in a guy. Not arrogant, not cocky, just himself, and that was enough. With all his babbling and sweetness and self-deprecating humor, Artie had always been much more her kind of guy. Artie had needed her.

Molly had the idea that since his mother had died, Jack Dwyer never needed anyone except his older sister. Jack was good, decent to the bone, but maybe because

of how hard he had worked, he never had the sweetness Artie did.

Still, Molly thanked God for Jack. And for Courtney. Here in their home, she felt more like she was with family than she ever did with her mother.

Mom. As she finally began to drift off to sleep, Molly realized she would have to find a way to warn her mother, tell her to be extra careful, particularly in the dives she hung out in. Her mother would ignore her, Molly knew that. But she had to try.

Sleep came on while she struggled with the bitterness of that thought.

Then, in those first moments of sleep, a voice. A whisper.

"You saved our asses."

Molly opened her eyes. She peered at the light in the hall. The voice had come from Jack's room. Who the hell was he talking to on the phone this late at night? she wondered. He kept talking, but Molly only heard small snippets of his whispers.

"She doesn't know.. . didn't say a word." There was a long break when she thought he must have been listening to his caller. Then he went on, a little louder: "We'll get them, man. I swear to you."

Jack lowered his voice again. Molly swept back the sheets and swung her legs out of bed. It wasn't as though she wanted to eavesdrop, but Jack woke her just when she had finally been able

to drift off. Now he was being all mysterious, and the way she figured it, she was in this thing too. She wanted to know what was going on.

As she walked out into the hall toward his bedroom door, which was open just a crack, she could hear him much more clearly.

"I know you hate guns. You've never been quiet about your opinions. But if I can get one, I'll use it. These things aren't human, man. They never were. You know that. The 'no guns' rule can't possibly count with them. But, hey, look, I'll be more than happy to let the cops take care of things, as long as they do it soon. Then there's... What?... No, I'm not going up against these things without something more than a baseball bat."

Molly held her breath. I know you hate guns. When Jack spoke those words, and as she listened to the way he spoke to whoever was on the phone with him, she had a terrible, confusing moment where he seemed to be speaking to Artie. It was just the thing Jack would have said to him, if Artie had still been alive.

Blinking, she shook the chilling thought from her mind and knocked softly on the door.

"Jack?"

The door was open a couple of inches but it was dark within. The light from the hall barely reached inside. She heard the sheets rustle, but nothing more. Jack did not say good-bye to anyone, nor did she hear the familiar plastic clack of the phone being returned to its cradle.

Jack came to the door.

He wore a white T-shirt and ragged blue Champion shorts, and his large form filled the doorway. Though

obviously tired, he seemed wide awake, if a bit flustered. His chin was covered with dark stubble, and he scratched at it as he looked down at her.

"Hey, Mol. What's up? Can't sleep?"

Her gaze skittered over to Jack's bed and to the phone on his nightstand. She shrugged. "I just ... I heard you talking. About all this, y'know? And yeah, I couldn't sleep and . . . Was it Bill? On the phone, I mean."

Jack hesitated, then he smiled softly. "Yeah. Bill. Just kinda making a game plan."

But even as he spoke, he glanced back into his darkened bedroom as if there were something there that he didn't want her to see. Molly chuckled at the very thought of such a thing. Jack was probably just uncomfortable with the idea of her in his bedroom, and she couldn't blame him. It was a little awkward.

"Hey," she said softly. She reached out and took his hand, held it tight until he met her gaze.

"You saved my life today."

Jack smiled, suddenly himself again, the guy she had known most of her life. The one they had all looked up to.

'And you saved my life. I'd say we're even."

Molly hugged him dose, laid her head on his chest, and sighed deeply. "I couldn't get through this without you, Jack"

He kissed the top of her head. "Same here."

At twenty past two in the morning, Tanzer went looking for Eric Carver. He found the lawyer on the

seventh floor of his church-tower home, in a small but comfortable room he had asked the pack to stay out of. Carver called it the library. The only furnishings in the room were three fat leather chairs, several standing lamps, two large plants that needed trimming, and the books. Floor-toceiling shelves on every wall were filled with them: law books, history books, and hardcover mystery novels, Tanzer had perused these shelves for several minutes one afternoon, but he had seen little of interest there aside from the history books.

History had value. There were lessons there.

When he slipped into the library this night he found Carver sitting in one of the leather chairs with a book on his lap, one finger holding his place. He had paused in his reading and was now sitting forward and staring out one of the large arched windows at the lights of Copley Square. Even this late at night, Boston was a city that glittered. Tanzer was sad that they were going to have to leave so soon. Another week or two at most. Just long enough to research their relocation.