Пётр Левин – Blood Wolf’s Path (страница 6)
“He knifed three people on the beach. We’ll go question him at the hospital,” I said.
“You’re not going anywhere. It’s a cold case now—Phil Sanchez is dead. You didn’t just hit his leg—you hit his liver. Hospital just called…” Goatface wasn’t doing his victory dance.
“Goddammit…” I spat on the floor.
“Watch where you spit, asshole! The judge signed a search warrant for his house. The team’s on their way. You stay here. Cherry goes alone. Sit tight and keep quiet. Now get out,” Goatface waved me off like he was airing out the room.
At five p.m., Cherry called. In Phil’s trash can they’d found bloody clothes. In his dishwasher—a bloody knife. There were also faint blood traces on his car seat and steering wheel. Everything pointed to Phil being the killer. Forensics would confirm it, but the case was essentially closed.
Five minutes later my boss came in cheerful, carrying a bottle of cheap whiskey and two dirty glasses.
“Jerry Harrison, you can’t drink,” I heard a male voice in my earpiece—it wasn’t my usual operator.
“Why not? I can…” I muttered.
Wait… how the hell did they know? Whatever.
“You can’t—it’s contraindicated for you. You’re infected,” the voice said.
“I’ll just have a sip,” I whispered.
“Who you talking to?” Goatface asked, pouring the piss-colored whiskey into the glasses.
“Just my earpiece,” I waved him off.
“Anyway, nice job with that stunt at the college. Cherry told me about it,” Goatface said, sniffing his glass.
“Oh, that Cherry! She’s got a nice ass,” I said, lifting the glass.
“Don’t drink—it’s dangerous!” came through my earpiece.
I downed it in one go and poured another. Screw it all.
“That’s enough—we’ve got work to do,” Goatface said, taking the bottle and glasses away.
As soon as he left, I felt nauseous. I ran to the bathroom, and as I bent over the toilet, a stream of vomit came out. When I looked down, I froze—in the water floated chunks of flesh. Like I’d been eating human meat.
“Jerry Harrison, it’s okay,” came in my ear.
“You filthy bastards… okay?! Where did this come from… damn it! You’ve been feeding me human meat, haven’t you?!” I shouted.
“Jerry, it’s Cocksucker,” came the familiar voice. “I’m parked outside your work. Come out, I’ll take you home and explain everything. My guys will bring your truck to your house tonight.”
“Fine. But this time, don’t hide anything. No more surprises.”
Cocksucker waited in his pickup. I opened the passenger door, and without turning his head, he said,
“Get in, Jerry. I’ll tell you everything on the way to your place.”
“Go ahead,” I said, closing the door.
“When’s the last time you ate?” he asked.
I thought about it. Since the werewolf attack, I hadn’t eaten or drunk a thing—except for that sip of whiskey today and a couple sips of beer at Brenda’s with her twins.
“Thing is, two or three days after transforming, a person can’t eat anything but human flesh and blood. Everything else gets rejected. You can sip some water, but it’s tough to keep down. Food, soda, alcohol—it’s all off-limits. You saw that yourself today,” he said, pulling into traffic.
“So you’re going to feed me human meat at night, right?” I snapped.
“Right. But we didn’t kill anyone last night. And you didn’t either. We just dropped fresh corpse meat through the ceiling hatch. Didn’t kill anyone just for that, but yeah—it was fresh.”
“Bet you tossed me some poor bastard and then burned the car…” I glared at the right side of his face—he still hadn’t turned his head.
“Oh, the accident? Yeah, that was us. But that was the guy you killed in the park on your third night. Look at the hatch in your cell—too small for a live person. But you need to eat to stay strong.”
Of course, I didn’t believe a word. I was starting to suspect he was playing me. His stories needed to be divided by ten or multiplied by a hundred. Still, since I hadn’t eaten since transforming, whoever they were feeding me didn’t matter—it was on the FBI’s conscience now.
“Alright, Cocksucker… what’s your real name?” I asked.
“Doesn’t matter. Call me Cook if you want.” He wasn’t smiling—but he did sound like he was enjoying the game.
“Okay, Cook… sucker… Fine, you’re right. Let’s keep working. Today was productive. But Crookeddick still hasn’t contacted me.”
“What about Cherry?” he asked, his tone steely.
“Her? She’s a shrimp… no way she’s a gangster. Just a little squirt,” I said, though I didn’t quite believe myself.
“Or maybe she wants you to think that. While you were running around with her, we searched her house. Found something.”
“She’s Crookeddick’s illegitimate daughter?” I laughed.
“No idea—we’re still digging. But it looks like she’s got a contract on you—after the money. We found $100,000 in her couch. And that’s not all, Jerry.” He fell silent.
We pulled up to my house.
“Open the glovebox,” he said.
Inside was a box of bullets.
“Silver rounds—probably meant for you. We found them at her place.”
“You arrest her? Question her?” I asked, not liking this conversation.
“No, we’ll keep watching. Don’t worry—we swapped them for regular rounds, and we’ll replace the ones in her gun tonight when she’s asleep.”
“What if she wakes up?” I asked, palming one bullet before putting the rest back.
“She won’t… she won’t.”
“Cook, you’re one clever bastard—always thinking ahead. But why haven’t you figured out this werewolf thing yet? I’m 99% sure it’s the Chinese getting back at us for COVID… Wait, no—if the killings started twelve years ago and COVID was two years ago, then not the Chinese… maybe the Russians? Revenge for the fall of the USSR?” I said with a smirk.
“If only it were that simple, Jerry. Like I told you—it’s some kind of virus. But not a virus. Some weird shit. And as for China—they’ve got a full-blown werewolf epidemic. According to our data, their entire leadership is turned.”
“And in our government?” I asked quietly.
“Well… I can’t tell you. But since we trust each other, I’ll share a secret. Our president is a werewolf.”
“Knew it! I knew it!” I exclaimed.
“Don’t worry—we’ve got it under control. At night he’s locked in a cell. But imagine if the press found out the President of the United States eats human flesh every night—that’d be a scandal!” Cook turned to me and smiled. I stared, jaw dropped.
“God save us… He can barely walk and he’s got dementia…”
“Yeah, that’s why we feed him dead babies—they’re softer,” Cook said. It sounded like a sick joke—but he was serious.
I got out, shut the door, went inside, and sat on the couch, holding my head and thinking hard. I sat like that for half an hour. Outside, dusk was falling, and as the sun set, the operator reminded me it was time to head to the cell.
Every day I learned something new… But the news about the President—God, what kind of country is this?!
Chapter 4 – The Mysterious Death of the Mayor’s Daughter
The morning began in its usual routine. I stepped out of the “cage” – as I affectionately called my cell – got dressed, and drove to work. My pickup, which I’d left at the office, had been thoughtfully delivered to my house by the agents. Now, of course, I had to spend an hour in traffic.
The truck had been washed and filled to the brim with gas. In the glove box was a note:
And sure enough, it felt like a completely different machine. No more pulling to the right, no engine knocking, no creaky doors. They’d worked their magic – and fast. At least the FBI was good for something.
When I arrived at the precinct, Cherry was already at my partner’s desk.