“Better late than never.” Horst kept his hand out, still smiling. The Fed was annoyed, but grudgingly shook Horst’s hand anyway. Stark had hands the size of boxing gloves, but Horst wasn’t the type that was intimidated about such things.
Agent Stark released Horst’s hand and glanced over to make sure the firemen had gone upstairs like he’d ordered. “Somebody saw the explosion and ran over and woke them up. Local PD is missing. Some of them are dead upstairs, and it wasn’t like they had too many to begin with.”
“What’ve we got here?” Horst asked, because that sounded like the logical thing for a professional monster hunter to ask.
“A real mess. Multiple casualties, infected running free, no comms, no idea where the creature that started all this is, and…” His head swiveled on his pot-roast neck, checking for listeners. “I’ve got another issue you might be able to help me with. I’d prefer for my partner not to know you’re here. It’s a sensitive issue. Walk with me, Mr. Horst.”
Horst followed Stark to a side room, which turned out to be a large storage closet. Stark closed the door behind them. Horst realized that the lights must be on emergency juice, because the lone lightbulb in the narrow space was remarkably dim. Stark was sweating. “How high up are you in Briarwood, Mr. Horst?”
I own it, stupid, he thought, but Stark didn’t need to know how small they were. “Management. I’m a team commander. I’m authorized to make any necessary decisions or business arrangements, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“You’re younger than I expected.”
Horst was twenty-six, but it wasn’t the age, it was the mileage, and he’d done things that would curdle the blood of men twice his age. “Let’s just say that I’ve been promoted because of my exemplary record. I get results, Agent Stark.”
“Good.” Stark leaned on a shelf and took a deep breath. Once past his hesitation, the agent plowed ahead. “I’ve got a business idea for you. Way beyond my previous arrangement with your company. I’m talking about something big. Something that could make both of us a ton of money. What I’m about to suggest doesn’t leave this room, you got me?”
“I’m listening,” Horst answered. He knew that Stark was dirty, completely untrustworthy, and if it wasn’t for the extremity of their circumstances he would have assumed that this was some kind of elaborate setup. It was doubtful that Stark was wearing a wire.
“Do you know what the PUFF would be for a werewolf over a hundred years old?”
The Perpetual Unearthly Forces Fund bounty tables cut off way before that. The amount would be astronomical. “Is that a joke?”
“What if I told you there was a century-old werewolf here in Copper Lake, right this minute?”
Horst played it cool. Stark had gone mad. “If I was talking to anyone other than a respected senior MCB agent…” I’d call you a liar and curb stomp your head in. “I’d say you might be exaggerating.”
Stark smiled. “You think I’m full of it, huh? Understandable. I had the same reaction the first time I heard about him. He’s only alive because he’s been granted PUFF immunity for some top-secret reason.”
“If he’s got immunity, then where do I come in?” Horst folded his arms. This sounded like a load of garbage. He’d pulled sharper cons before he’d hit puberty.
“He’s only immune if he obeys the rules, which means acting like a regular human and no crazy werewolf shit. But I’m afraid that our werewolf has gone on a rampage. He’s the cause of tonight’s troubles. He created another werewolf, and who knows how many others. He attacked me and escaped before I could apprehend him. If I could get word to the rest of the MCB they’d come down on him like a ton of bricks. We’ve been itching to get the green light to take him out forever, but our hands have been tied.…If somebody were to take him while I was unable to get hold of the MCB, they’d be heroes.”
There was no such thing as hundred-year-old werewolves. That was ridiculous. Werewolves were just too crazy and violent to live a fraction of that time. They didn’t exactly have a lifestyle well suited to longevity. “Well, why don’t you just point me at this super werewolf, and we’ll take care of him for you?”
Stark paused, fidgeting, as if he was scared to continue. His beady eyes shifted nervously in his jowly face. Finally he blurted, “I want half!”
This whole trip had been a waste. Stark was an idiot. At best, he was looking at a normal werewolf, at worst a new one or a barely infected, and there was no way he was going to split that fifty-fifty. “Forget about it.”
“But the PUFF would be in the millions!” Stark insisted. “There would be plenty to go around.”
Putting his hand on the doorknob to leave, Horst addressed Stark as politely as his growing temper would allow. “Millions, assuming that this superwolf actually exists. If that were the case, you’d get half. Regular creature, regular cut.”
“Trust me. He exists.” Stark reached out and grabbed Horst’s coat sleeve, pulling him conspiratorially close. “His name is Earl Harbinger.”
Harbinger…Horst froze. He knew that name all too well. “Chain-smoking redneck, sounds like he should’ve been in Deliverance?”
“So you’ve met.”
“Oh, we’ve met. Hang on. You’re trying to tell me the leader of Monster Hunter International is a werewolf?”
Stark nodded. “Yes, and he’s here.”
“Dude…” Horst trailed off, but it made a certain kind of sense. Harbinger’s exploits were legendary. Even the seasoned MHI members he’d met had talked about Harbinger like he was some sort of supernatural monster-smashing demigod. Some of the things they’d attributed to him had sounded far-fetched, like the kind of BS stories guys from the old neighborhood had spread about themselves to build street cred, but the MHI bunch had seemed too jaded to believe tall tales.
The stories of impossible battles would be a little more plausible if he was a werewolf. Plus, Harbinger had stood by Paxton’s decision to kick Horst out of training, just because Horst had the balls to do what needed to be done. Harbinger had been a right smug bastard when he’d called Horst into his office that last time. They only talked a big game about their flexible minds, but when it came down to it, they were just as weak as any other regular mark.
Come to think of it, if Briarwood took down the baddest Hunter ever, what did that make Briarwood? He’d be a legend, able to write his own ticket. Why hire those fags at MHI when you could hire Briarwood, the company that smoked MHI’s top gun like a cheap cigar? Buckets of money, plus the satisfaction of seeing the look on Harbinger’s mug when one of his former Newbies took him out? Perfect.
“He’s the oldest known werewolf in the world. It’s like winning the lottery. I’ll handle the MCB. They’ll know that it was a legit kill. You get PUFF. Everybody wins.”
“Except Earl Harbinger.” Horst felt the beginnings of a honest grin form on his frozen face. This was going to be righteous. “You’ve got a deal, Stark.”
* * *
Horst returned to the Caddy and briefed his team on the new mission parameters, telling them about the new primary target but leaving out the part about Harbinger supposedly being over a hundred. First off, Horst had no idea if that was even possible, and secondly, if it was, there was no reason he needed to share that kind of ridiculous bounty with his crew. An adult werewolf with a mess of kills was still worth a considerable sum, so they’d still get paid more than expected. The infected redhead cop chick was a bonus. Stark said that he didn’t even care about getting his regular cut on that one, just as long as she died.
They were eager. Kelley and Lins were in this for the money, and this was more cash than either of them had ever come close to earning in their lives of violent crime. Jo Ann was a danger junkie, and as long as Horst kept buying her shiny things and nice clothes in addition to letting her kill things, she was happy. Everyone except for Loco was pumped. The big man just sat there, quiet as always, as he seemed to mull the new information over. Loco was so quiet that sometimes Horst wondered if he was all right in the head. He knew that after Loco had gotten out of prison, he’d gotten his skull caved in during some super-illegal pit fight. That was the same fight that had cost Loco his eye, and considering how scary Loco was, Horst couldn’t even imagine what the other behemoth must’ve looked like. But it didn’t matter if the guy that had broken Loco’s skull had given him braindamage, too. Horst had hired Loco for his brawn.
Stark had somehow gotten the idea that silver might not work on some of this town’s werewolves. Personally, Horst thought that sounded like more paranoid nonsense, as even the MHI people had sworn up and down in their fancy classes that silver always worked on lycanthropes, but he shared it with his crew anyway. If only he had MHI’s budget, he’d have some of those fancy flamethrowers and flaming chemical grenades on hand. Briarwood would someday, but right now they’d have to improvise. Buying a single case of a thousand composite silver 5.56 rounds that an MCB agent had “misplaced” had already cost him an arm and a leg.
“So, our silver bullets might not work, but you said that Stark burned one to death in there?” Kelley asked.
“Sure did. Place smelled like burnt hair,” Horst said. “Sounds like you got an idea.”
Kelley’s face lit up like it was Christmas. “There was a little convenience store back that way. Lots of glass bottles, and we can siphon gas out of some of the cars, if you get my drift.”
“Way to go, firebug,” Horst answered, having forgotten that Kelley had once made his living as an arsonist, terrorizing Boston industrial sites that didn’t pay their protection money. “Good thinking—” The front passenger door opened, letting in a sudden blast of freezing air. Loco got out. His hulking form headed straight for the fire truck.
“What’s that moron doing?” Jo Ann asked. “Close the door! I’m freezing.”
Loco was quickly covered in snow and took on the appearance of a yeti. He rummaged around the back of the fire truck and returned a moment later, the wicked fire ax looking comparatively tiny in his massive hands. His eyes were too small for his big round head, but he met Horst’s gaze squarely. Horst gave the ax one look and nodded in approval. The big man got back in the Caddy.
Old Earl Harbinger would never even know what hit him.