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FIVE MINUTES LATER I was walking away from my transaction with the bag lady wearing a slightly torn dress shirt that was a size too large for me and missing two buttons as well as a pair of mismatched shoes, one of which was a perfectly fitting sneaker, the other was a sandal that was a size too large.
Getting there, I told myself, and thought about my meeting with Mack at the Metro Market. I briefly considered my next step. Perhaps it should be to get a quarter so I could make a phone call to his cell phone and let him know that I was running late. But I dismissed the thought given how he detested tardiness. Mack had the patience of a toddler and, despite the fact that I was now making him some pretty decent money, he wouldn’t put up with a client that made him wait even a single minute for an appointment. In his point of view, if a client couldn’t be bothered to be on time for a meeting, he wouldn’t waste another second working on their behalf.
I realized that I was very fortunate to have found an agent like Mack, and while I’d be able to get another agent without issue, I found myself needing him – not just for business reasons, but for personal ones as well. Like Buddy, he was quirky but interesting, and he constantly challenged me. I found myself needing to be challenged in my personal relationships – if you didn’t have to work hard at something, it almost didn’t seem worth it.
And I definitely had to work hard to be in Mack’s good books.
And that’s where I wanted to stay.
I moved to Murray Street towards the subway entrance. I figured I’d be able to sneak onto the subway, but only with the additional thought that the next time I took the subway, I’d pay double to make up for my free ride.
Sure, some people would make fun of me for trying to live my life so straight. But the person who I had to please most was myself, and, in the same way that Mack was true to himself, I set my own personal standards high for a good reason.
And having blackouts of my time as a wolf was the hardest thing to deal with, particularly after waking up the way I had this morning. I mean, if I’d hurt an innocent person, or even worse, killed someone, I’m not sure how I’d be able to live with that.
Another foggy string of memory filtered up to my conscious mind. This time, the sensation was completely non-visual, but I could tell that I was moving through an alley, moving fast, from the sound of my paws on the pavement. I was chasing the wolf ahead of me. And, mingled with his hot breath was the distinct scent of human blood – the same human blood that I woke up tasting.
A blaring horn to my left broke the wispy memory. I glared at the driver as I continued toward the subway entrance.
So there was another wolf. What was I doing chasing him? I knew it was male from the memory of his scent. That and the stink of human mingling with the canine scent meant that, like me, he was a werewolf. What else did I know?
He had the blood on him that I’d tasted when I woke up.
Interesting.
I moved down the stairs, meshing with the morning rush-hour hustle, and, in the midst of the crowd, I was easily able to hop the turnstile and make my way, virtually un-noticed except by the person immediately behind me, down to the lower platform level. I shuffled through the crowd over to the far left of the platform, to ensure I “lost” the person who’d spotted me hopping the turnstile, just in case.
I heard the rumbling of an approaching, northbound train down the tunnel and spotted a clock that told me it was 6:50 a.m. – I’d be able to make good time and get back to the hotel with enough time to get inside, have a quick shower, change, then be downstairs and around the block to meet Mack.
That’s when I heard the faint gasp and brief cry for help amidst a scuffling.
I glanced at the approaching light of the train, then swiveled, looking down the platform toward where I’d heard the cry. There was a balding, middle-aged man in a gray suit surrounded by three twenty-something goons all dressed in blue jeans, black t-shirts and red bandanas. I suspect they were either part of some gang, all had the same fashion consultant, or spent so much of their time stealing and vandalizing that they didn’t give much time or thought to their own personal style. I was betting on the latter. A glint of light from the blade of one of the men caught my eye as he waved his weapon, saying “I said, hand it over now.”
The other two men flanked the bald man, each holding him by the upper arm. The crowd nearby all took several steps back, wanting to steer clear of what was going down.
“Crap,” I mumbled, moving down the platform toward them. They were going to make me miss my train for sure.
Moving through the receding flow of the crowd, I snatched a black toque off of a teenager who didn’t say a word of protest, and pulled it down over my ears, and just beyond my eyebrows. Might as well try to disguise myself as much as I can.
“Hey!” I called out as I neared them. Behind me, the train began arriving at the station.
The leader turned to face me, pointing the knife in my direction as well. His lackeys also turned their attention toward me, and away from the man they’d been assaulting.
I continued rushing the leader, and, just as I got within striking distance, he thrust the blade at me. I dodged the blade, hitting him in the chest hard with my left shoulder.
He actually caught a bit of air on his way to the wall. His head connected with the wall first, making a satisfying cracking noise against the tile before he crumpled to the floor. I kicked the knife he’d dropped toward the train and it fell down into gap that commuters are supposed to “mind” just as the train finished pulling in. Blocking the noise of the train, I focused on the sound of his heartbeat. It was still strong and steady, despite the cracked skull.
The lackey on the thug’s left rushed me while I was partially turned, kicking the knife. I could have easily used his momentum to flip him over my back and send him sprawling over the train and onto the adjacent set of tracks. But my goal wasn’t to kill, merely to subdue.
Yes, I behaved more like a wolf and less like a human every day.
I ducked under his rush, sending a right jab into his gut. My punch easily lifted him off the ground, breaking a few ribs and knocking the breath right out of him. As his feet came back down, I shoved him in the direction of his buddy and he stumbled, as if drunk, in a forward run, trying, vainly, to get his balance.
The third guy pushed the man in the grey suit into his incoming friend and ducked to the side.
I easily vaulted the collision and resultant tangled mass of limbs and groans on the floor, grabbed the third attacker by the scruff of his collar and slammed him headfirst into the wall. He went down like last call at a frat bar.
I turned and offered a hand to the man in the grey suit who was extracting himself from the groaning thug on the tiled floor. I helped him to his feet as the train started to leave the station.
“Th-thanks,” he said, his eyes darting between the three men I’d laid out, as if nervous that they’d be getting up.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They won’t be going anywhere any time soon.”
He looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time, and did a double take. I wondered if he might be a fan recognizing me, as he stood there staring, mouth agape.
He stepped forward, his voice low and gentle. “Listen. I’d like to thank you for helping me out.”
“My pleasure,” I said. I glanced around.
Most of the morning commuters that had been on the platform with us had boarded the last train. However, a few people who’d gotten off the train, and more people coming in from the street, were milling around just a few steps away, curiously looking at us and the unconscious men. I was eager for the next train to arrive and whisk me away.
“No, I mean it,” he said, reaching in his back pocket and producing his wallet. He quickly thumbed it open and produced a twenty-dollar bill. “Here. Maybe you can get yourself a warm meal.”
I couldn’t believe it. He thought I was a homeless person.
Dumbfounded, I tried to protest. “No, you don’t need to –”
“Please, it’s the least I can do,” he said, pulling out another twenty.
Just then, a commotion started near the stairs.
Shit. Security. I couldn’t afford to be held back answering questions about the scuffle. It looked like I wouldn’t be taking the next train after all. Damn.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, sheepishly taking the forty dollars. I started to walk away. “The guards are coming now. You’ll be safe.”