Werewolves - Chapter 5

It turned out that London’s day at the office turned into London’s day and night at the office. He had been working on a complicated case involving a Brazilian nun, a Georgian baby, a Canadian mother, a Siamese cat, and American greed. So he didn’t get home until almost midnight. Ronnie was waiting up for him. She was sitting on the couch.

“Hey big guy,” she said when he walked in. “It looks like you had a rough day.”

London grunted. “Tell me about it.”

Ronnie smirked. “No, I think that’s what I’m supposed to say.”

London plopped himself down on the cushion next to Ronnie. “We’re working on this adoption case that’s going to court tomorrow. The adoptive parents are having trouble getting the kid into the country. There’s a corrupt nun and former Soviet agencies involved. It’s like something out of a bad novel.”

“That sounds crazy,” Ronnie said.

“No kidding. I can’t really talk about it which is actually good because I don’t want to talk about it. So how was your day?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Malcolm has me looking for a financial analyst who’s on vacation.”

“Why?”

“Key to the banking crisis apparently.”

“Of course.”

“Hey, it’s my job. It pays the bills.”

“And I’m grateful for that, I really am, but don’t you think, oh, I don’t know, that you’d want to report on things that were actually relevant?”

Ronnie shrugged. “Meh. I try to concentrate on reality and ignore my shattered dreams.”

“Always a pragmatist.”

“Well, at least one of us has to stay grounded in reality, Mr. Idealist.”

“I can’t help that I think that things can get better.”

“And that’s what I like about you.” Ronnie scooted over, put her arm around London’s arm, and rested her head on his shoulder. “So, Londie…”

London sighed. “What do you want, Ronnie?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes. “What makes you think I want something?”

London raised an eyebrow. “You only call me that when you want something. And you know what happened last time.”

Ronnie did know what happened the last time she had asked London for something. On one of Ronnie’s first assignments for the Speculator, she had to interview an olive oil importer from New Jersey. (Who, incidentally, had nothing to do with Mrs. Gianopoulos’s husband. The US imports almost 300,000 tons of olive oil a year. That’s a lot of olive oil.) Anyway, the reason Ronnie was interviewing this olive oil importer was that Malcolm had gotten it into his head that this particular gentlemen had ties to organized crime. Of course Malcolm had seen too many gangster films and believed that all olive oil importers had ties to organized crime. So viewing this as a very dangerous assignment, Malcolm insisted that Ronnie take someone with her to the interview for protection. Malcolm suggested his cousin Archie. Ronnie had met Archie at the Speculator’s holiday party the previous year. Archie had a giant head of flaming red hair and the temperament to match. He had nearly gotten into a fight with Malcolm after Malcolm had informed him that he was using the phrase ‘begging the question’ incorrectly. The same way that nearly everyone in the English speaking world does. To which Archie had replied that perhaps that meant that the meaning of the phrase had already changed, that English was a living, breathing, adaptable language determined by its users, not some textbook. There then ensued a fifteen minute argument about the sanctity of the English language which was so petty and vindictive that everyone within earshot was sure that the argument had nothing to do with the sanctity of the English language and everything to do with something more personal, a view that was confirmed when Archie ended the argument by saying he was not sorry he’d run over Malcolm’s dog, the little shit had bit him like seven times and it could rot in hell, and Malcolm screamed that the dog never would have bit him if he had left it alone and not yanked its tail that time they got drunk after their aunt’s funeral. Eventually the cousins made up, but Ronnie, as you might guess, was a bit of a dog person, and she’d rather not hang out with a guy who yanked a puppy’s tail and then ran it over. So Ronnie had to promise Malcolm that she’d take someone else with her on the interview. Naturally she chose London. So she had cozied up to him after she got back from Malcolm’s office, scratched him behind the ear, and said, “Londie.” The next thing London knew he was in Ronnie’s car flying down the New Jersey Turnpike.

“Why am I here again?” London had asked.

“Because I asked you really nicely?” Ronnie suggested.

“I refuse to believe I consciously agreed to go to New Jersey. You must be practicing the dark arts.”

“London, please. Do you really think I have to resort to magic to get you to do what I want?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you think there are any other possibilities?”

“No.” London crossed his arms over his chest.

“Why, don’t you think I have other ways of getting what I want?” Ronnie reached over and scratched London behind the ear.

London started to grin, then caught himself and batted her arm away. “Damn you, witch. I’m onto your weirding ways.” After which, they both started laughing, and the rest of the drive passed in good humor.

No, the trouble didn’t start until they got to the olive importer’s office in Secaucus. The importer’s name was Salvatore Martinelli. And the first thing he said when Ronnie and London walked into his office was, “Who’s the shaggy dog?”

London’s fur bristled, but Ronnie laid a calming hand on him and said, “Mr. Martinelli, this is my friend London Wolfe. He’s a bit sensitive about his condition so-”

“London Wolfe? You’ve got to be kidding me. The one who ran amok in Kent? I’d like to meet his tailor.”

London began to growl. Again Ronnie stepped in. “Sir, I’d appreciate it if you ease off on the wolf jokes. My friend-”

“Can you get that thing to stop growling at me? It’s making me nervous.”

Ronnie turned to her friend and sighed. “London, maybe you’d better wait outside.”

“Fine.” London glared at Martinelli. He turned to leave. “Fucking Guidos,” he muttered just loud enough for Martinelli to hear him.

“What was that?” Martinelli said.

London didn’t answer.

“You come into my office and call me a fucking Guido? Do I look like a fucking Guido to you? Those fucks on the Jersey shore, those are fucking Guidos. Fucking giving my people a fucking bad name. Fucking calling me a fucking Guido. Fucking fuck. Joey!”

A middle-aged man in an Italian suit stuck his head in the door. “Yeah, boss?”

“Get this piece of shit out of my office.”

Joey looked at London. “Uh, boss?”

“What?”

“What if he don’t cooperate?”

“What do you normally do?”

“Oh, OK.” Joey looked at London again. “Uh, boss?”

“What, Joey,” Martinelli said very slowly, “do you not understand? Do I fucking stutter?”

“No, it’s just, ah, I don’t exactly have any silver bullets if you know what I mean.”

“It ain’t the fucking movies, Joey. He ain’t a real werewolf. He’s just a hairy freak.”

“Oh, OK. All right, big boy, let’s go. Unless you want to get rough with me.”

London growled.

Ronnie tried to laugh. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” she said. “We were just leaving anyway, weren’t we London?”

London stared at Joey and then at Martinelli, but he let Ronnie lead him out of the office and back to the car.

*

And that was the last time Ronnie had asked London for anything. Until now.

“Do you still have that friend at the TSA?” Ronnie asked, her arm still wrapped around his.

“Phil? Sure. Why?” London’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s like you’re questioning the purity of my motives.”

“I am.”

“Don’t be so cynical,” Ronnie said, running a finger along London’s jaw. “I just want him to check the flights for the last couple of months to see if this Jon Brody guy flew somewhere.”

London pushed her hand away. “That information’s confidential. He could lose his job.”

“And how is anyone going to find out? Can’t you at least call him?”

London looked up at the ceiling and groaned. “Fine, I’ll call him tomorrow.”

“Could you call him now? It’s not too late.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

Ronnie smiled. “London, this is New York, the City That Never Sleeps.”

London sighed. “Fine.” He pulled out his cell-phone and made the call. “Hey, Phil, it’s London… Yeah, I know it’s kind of late, but I’ve got a favor to ask you… You know my roommate, Ronnie? The one that… Yeah, that’s right… No, we haven’t yet… That’s none of your business. Anyway, she’s writing this story on this guy, and she’s wondering if you can find out if he’s been on any flights lately… Yeah, I know you can get in trouble… No, no, I don’t blame you, I wouldn’t do it either, but I told her I’d try. Thanks anyway.”

Ronnie snorted and grabbed the phone away from London. “Phil, are you still there… It’s me, Ronnie… Are you sure you can’t help me out? I’d be grateful… Yeah, you know what I mean… His name is Jon, no H, Brody, B-R-O-D-Y. Got that? Good… Can’t you look it up now? It would have been in the last two months… I’m sure you can come up with an excuse if somebody asks… Thanks.” She looked at London. “He put me on hold while he looks it up.”

“What did you promise him?” London asked.

“Don’t worry,” Ronnie said, “Nothing I can’t get out of. Oh, hey, Phil… That’s great… St. Maarten, huh… Interesting. Thanks for everything… What’s that? Next Friday? Sure… Yeah, I’ll see you then. Bye.” Ronnie hung up the phone and handed it to London. He stared at her for a minute.

“What?” she said, wide-eyed and, well, not exactly innocent.

“You know what.”

“I just told him that if I was around next Friday, I’d go out with him.”

“But you’re not going to be around next Friday are you?”

Ronnie shook her head. “Nope, we’re going to be in St. Maarten.”

“Where’s that?” London asked. He looked away, thought for a second then returned his stare to Ronnie. “Wait a second, ‘we’?”

“You don’t want me to go all by myself, do you? Do you have any idea what might happen to a little blonde girl who travels alone in the tropics?”

“The tropics? No way.” He started pointing at himself. “London and the tropics do not go together. You see this fur? Do you know how hard it is to get the sand out? Nuh-uh, no way.” He crossed his arms.

Ronnie tilted her head to one side. “Aww, you’re so cute when you get all determined like that. It’s like you think there’s actually a chance you’re not going to do what I want you to.”

“I’m a grown man. I make my own decisions. I’m not bailing you out this time.”

“Of course not. I’m sorry for being so presumptuous. You can’t stop your life for every little thing I need.” Ronnie stood up with her back to London, turning her head to the right so he could see half her face. “I’m too reckless and forward. I always rush off without thinking things through. I run my mouth off and get myself into the worst situations. You’re right. I’ve got to learn to take care of myself. I’m sure I’ll be fine in St. Maarten by myself. Where it’s hot and I’ll have to wear next to nothing and be surrounded by drunken vacationing men trying to paw at me constantly. Where I know no one and no one could help me if the slightest thing were to go wrong. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Ronnie walked off to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

London growled at himself. He knew that Ronnie had already won, he would cave, but he was also angry that he let Ronnie manipulate him like that. She was right. He always did what she wanted him to. He’d have to put an end to that. But it wouldn’t be tonight.

Still, he had to admit that living with Ronnie wasn’t all bad. When London had first gotten his job downtown and found the apartment in Soho, he'd had to look for a roommate. His dad was picking up most of the bill, but London couldn’t afford his half of the rent without some help. So he resorted to that most American way of finding a roommate – Craigslist. As one might imagine, London got all kinds of responses. He did his best to filter out the whackjobs, but a few slipped past his radar. Of course this was less of a worry for London than it might be for others. Being a six and a half foot tall wolf-man kind of took the fear out of things.

He interviewed one guy who claimed to be grad student. When the guy showed up he was respectably dressed, sweater and slacks, and had a friendly face. They exchanged pleasantries, London showed him around, and everything seemed to be working out. The first hint of trouble was when the guy looked out the windows, and said, “A lot of buildings around. Good. Makes it harder for the satellites to spy on us.” London thought that perhaps it was just a bad joke, so he let it slide, but then he made the mistake of asking what the guy was studying. “Astro-metaphysics.” Oh, shit. “I haven’t decided if I want to go to Columbia or NYU yet. Which do you think is better?” London tried to escort the guy out, but before he left, he had one pearl of wisdom. “Be careful. The Google imaging cameras follow you everywhere. They watch you while you masturbate.” London thanked him and slammed the door shut.

Another time he met with a construction worker. Seemed a little dim, but friendly enough. And London’s grandfather on his mother’s side was a carpenter so he had a soft spot for tradesmen. London showed the man around, and they started talking about their hobbies. They both liked poker. London told him about a weekly game he played with some of his friends in Brooklyn. “You should take me sometime. If we work together we could clean them out.” London tried to explain that it really wasn’t that sort of game. To change the subject, London asked the man about his knuckle tattoos. “I’ll tell you one thing. They’re not getting me back in that cell.” London told the man that he’d call him when he made a decision.

Of course, plenty of normal people answered the ad as well, but for some reason none of them ever clicked with London. He knew his appearance was scaring them off. He knew they’d love him if they got to know him, but that was the hard part, wasn’t it? So he was about to give up. He had one interview left, but it was with a female grad student. In his experiences thus far, the women had run screaming at the first sight of him. Well, not literally, but they generally made excuses and slipped out as quickly as they could after a cursory glance at the place.

So London had no great hopes when he heard the knock on his door. When he opened it, he found a small blond woman with delicate, elfin features, but a blue fire in her eyes. She looked him in the face and offered her hand. “Ronnie Bell, nice to meet you.” After they shook hands, she brushed past him and gave herself a quick tour of the apartment. “I’ll take it,” she said. At first London thought it was strange, but then he realized that she was the first person he’d met who hadn’t either been a freak or treated him like one.

“It’s yours.”

*

Remembering it now, London sighed. As manipulative as she might have been, Ronnie treated him more normally (or what he thought of as normally, he didn’t really have a frame of reference) than anyone else he knew, and that was worth more to him than just about anything. He got up off the couch and knocked on Ronnie’s door.

“Come in,” she said.

London opened the door. Ronnie was sitting at her desk in front of her computer. “Fine,” he said, “I’ll go.”

Ronnie smiled. “I know. I just booked our flight. It’s in a couple days so you should have time to square things at the office.”

“Damnit,” London said. “You can’t just, I mean, how do you, suppose I wanted to…”

Ronnie got up and put her arm around London. She led him over to her bed and they sat down on the edge of it.

“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m such a bitch. I do feel guilty about it. But it’s for your own good. You’ve just been so uptight lately, ever since, you know. I just want you to loosen up a bit. I know you hate the heat and the sand, but there’s pools and the ocean and air-conditioning. Don’t you want to take a vacation with your best friend? You haven’t had any time off in like forever.”

“But, it’s not a vacation, you’re working,” London said.

“I’m chasing after a guy Malcolm thinks is behind our financial crisis. More likely he’s just some dude who got sick of his job and decided to take some time off. I don’t think this one is going to stretch the limits of my investigative capabilities.”

“Then why go?”

“Duh, because Malcolm will pick up the tab. I figure we can get at least a week or two out of it before he calls me back to chase down a lead on his next conspiracy theory.”

“Oh.”

“But, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. You know I’m not actually afraid. And you shouldn’t be either. St. Maarten’s actually a pretty safe place as long as I’m not stupid.”

London grinned. “But you are.”

Ronnie smiled back. “Then maybe you should come.”

“I guess I have to now.”

Ronnie gave London a hug and scratched the top of his head. “All right,” she said, “get out of here. You look exhausted. And you’re kinda stinky.”

London frowned.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m just being honest.”

“Grumble, grumble,” London grumbled. He stood up and walked to the door.

“See you tomorrow!” Ronnie said as he left the room.

London went to his own room, undressed, and got in bed.