11.1. An Unexpected Delay

Chapter Eleven

Wolfie, Number Two

Skelemere, Lupine County

The sunlight was fading as Wolfie switched the engine off of the car of him and climbed out into a dank alleyway in Morticfield. He closed the car door and began towards the street without locking it. The eyes of Wolfie scanned his surroundings from behind a pair of shades, roving and always moving. The sidewalk was empty and the street was silent as he stepped up to the edge of it. Looking first one way and then the other, Wolfie crossed the street to a large vacant parking lot. Just beyond that, was another empty, narrow street bathed in the sizzling glow of neon signs.

The signs were plastered across the front of a squat building situated between two taller ones. A large red neon sign across the top of the front door and shuttered windows announced the name of the place. Wolfie knew from experience that the club was called Treads though he could not read the name himself.

He stopped on the sidewalk again just after the empty lot and before reaching Treads to check the street again. A single car crawled by, windows tinted black as midnight. A small circular silver hubcap covered the center of each of the standard black wheels. Wolfie turned his head to follow the movement of the car until it turned at the end of the block. Then he crossed the street and ducked into the front door of the club.

A low baseline echoed through the club. It was sectioned off so that the area closest to the door and around the entire perimeter was filled with tables and other sit-down arrangements for guests. At the center of the club was a dance floor, crowded with bodies. The body odor wafted across the scent glands of Wolfie in the most unpleasant of ways. It was almost overpowering enough for his senses to pick out one person in particular in the crowd.

As soon as the scent of King came across his senses, Wolfie stalked around the place to find the man seated at a large circular booth at the far side of the club. King had his arms spread wide, resting his elbows on the back of the puffy dark green vinyl of the chair. Food was on the table in front of him, and a couple guys sat across from him.

King looked up as the shadow of Wolfie fell across him. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” he said.

The two men, who Wolfie recognized to be Morticfield racers, glanced up. One swallowed and the other immediately shifted his eyes elsewhere. “Of course,” one said.

“Later then,” the other agreed.

They both stood up and pushed around to the single opening offered by the sunk-in booth. The first glanced at Wolfie again as they pushed by, but neither said anything to him. Wolfie slunk between the walls of the booth and dropped into the spot between where the men had been sitting across from the Morticfield czar.

“What’s up?” King asked. “Get you something to eat?”

Wolfie curled his lip at the suggestion. “You know I cannot stomach food prepared like this,” he said, voice trilling in what King had often referred to as his strange, guttural accent.

“A drink then?” King asked.

“I am heading to the barn,” Wolfie said. “Mercedes has called a meeting of the Numbers. I think he would like to discuss the winter events.”

“The Scrap and the Bash?” King asked. “What of it? I’ll be going, of course.”

“No,” Wolfie said. “You will be hosting. I am putting in a bid for Lupine County.”

King dropped his arms to the table. “You’re what now?”

“Putting in a bid—”

“No, no, I heard you,” King said, waving a hand as he cut Wolfie off. He had no trouble meeting the eyes of Wolfie even though they were protected by the sunglasses. Wolfie felt the need to shy away from the eye contact but he managed to restrain himself. “But did you hear you?”

“Pardon?”

King shook his head. “You’re asking for Lupine to host two of the biggest street racing events of the year,” he said. “Can you not even imagine how bad of an idea that is?”

“I can assume you mean that based on the fact that we have never hosted this event in the past,” Wolfie said. “We are the only county that has not hosted the event.” He lifted his lips off of his teeth again. “We even had the thing in the cornfields once.”

“Um, yeah, I’m not going again if we have to race in Orchard County,” King said. “I was cleaning damn corn stalks out of my car for weeks after that. I even had to replace my tires twice because of those damn farmers.”

“Good thing for you, then, that we will be hosting the event,” Wolfie said.

“Just because you put in a bid doesn’t mean we get it,” King said. “Mercedes has to know how much of a bad idea it would be to have those things here with both the state prison and a federal prison in our back yard.”

“I intend to get it,” Wolfie said. “Even if I have to duel over it.”

The color drained from the face of King. He had to know that the only way Wolfie would lose that challenge was if Mercedes himself wanted to bid for the events. Wolfie was the long standing Number Two of Raymond. “Why, Wolfie?” King asked. “Why now?”

Wolfie choked back a snarl. “There is no way that what happened to Bronze was an accident,” he said. “I intend to host the winter events here so that I can personally watch Taboo. He will not be allowed to sabotage any race that Mercedes is a part of.”

The face of King grew taut, hard lines digging into the skin around the eyes of him. “Mercedes ruled Bronze’s death an accident,” King said. “And from what I heard, they were racing on Suicide Road so he kinda deserved it.”

Even though he had been older than Wolfie, with more racing experience than Wolfie, Bronze had been nothing more than an innocent pup playing a game controlled by a hunter. Wolfie had been around Tenth long enough to know that no one was to race that corner by the command of Bronze.

“You are wrong,” Wolfie said. “And that is why we in Lupine County will host the winter events.”

King gave a heavy exhale. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

“Make this place look nice,” Wolfie said, standing. “I will have a meeting of the czars to begin preparations for the event once I return from the barn.”

“Yeah, let me just add a fresh coat of paint to the state pen,” King said. “And I’ll polish up the feds while I’m at it.”

Wolfie forced himself back out of the table prison before turning to look back down at King. “I am sure they would appreciate the help,” he said.

Wolfie made his way back to the front door of the club. He stood outside on the sidewalk for a moment, with the door swinging shut behind him, to clear his palate. The sun was almost completely gone by the time Wolfie crossed the street outside of Treads and began back through the vacant parking lot.

He was already running late for the meeting at the barn. There was still some time before the moon was at the highest point in the sky but stopping to see the czar of Morticfield had certainly jeopardized the chance of Wolfie to have a prompt arrival at the barn in Orchard County. He figured if he got back on the road right then, he would just make it as Mercedes was ready to start the meeting. Likely the new Number Seven would be late anyway. That would guarantee Wolfie some time. Morticfield was on the way, after all, and Wolfie always felt compelled to stop in to see King when he was in the area.

As Wolfie neared the center of the parking lot, he noticed a few cars hanging around that had not been there before. The danger center of his mind put out a weak signal but he continued forward.

Right into a ring of police cruisers.

All of their headlights flashed on at once.

Wolfie halted dead center of the circle. The resounding sound of car doors opening followed. If he squinted against the headlight glare, Wolfie could make out the faces of officers crouching against the passenger side of each vehicle. He did not know why he should not have expected a meeting like this to occur when he rolled into Morticfield. Being the Lupine county seat, it was the understanding of Wolfie that the street racing task force of this city had big aims to take the county ring leader.

It was not as if this had not happened before. It was a regular occurrence for Wolfie when he visited King. His pupils shrank to pinpricks as he tried to focus on the policemen around him. Wolfie did not have to be able to see them to know that they were each leveling a service revolver at him.

“Put your hands up on your head,” the voice of one man called. “Lie down on the ground. Slowly.”

Pulsating signals flashed rapidly through the mind of Wolfie, giving him cues to either stand his ground and fight or to try and run away. The mother of Wolfie had instilled in him that fight was pointless against hunters and their guns, so Wolfie had never made it a habit to listen to the fight signals.

The officers leaning against the side of the police cruiser straightened and began to advance on Wolfie, drawing the circle tighter around him. Soon they would be only the length of an arm away from Wolfie, and his hand would be forced to fight. Fighting was a last resort against guns. He had to flee and he had to do it now.

Wolfie spun in a circle to pinpoint the weakest edge of the approaching policemen. The cars were evenly spaced and each one had a passenger advancing towards Wolfie, gun raised. The men were all of similar girth, so Wolfie did not have better odds at a different point on the circle.

He just had to go for it, and go for it he did. Wolfie stopped spinning and bolted. The sound of wind running by his ears was accompanied by guns cocking. Engines roaring.

And gun fire.

Wolfie broke free of the ring of men. Wolfie ran between two police cruisers, dodging around a passenger door that was hanging open and a driver door that was in the process of opening. He knew the only way to make a clean break would be to reach the end of the vacant parking lot, cross the street, and get into his own car in the alleyway he had hidden it. Then he could run away from the dangers at speeds only a manmade machine could accomplish.

But this time he did not make it. Sharp pain shot through the right thigh of Wolfie and he pitched forward, hitting the ground hard. Unable to run on. His sunglasses bounced against the pavement as they flew from his face. Wolfie squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the police officers catch up to him and surround him again.

“Queen Bastion, you’re under arrest,” the officer who had spoken before said.

Wolfie snarled, cheek pressed against the cool concrete as warm blood pooled on his leg. Despite the fact that it was quite obvious that he was not going anywhere now, an officer tackled him from behind, pinning Wolfie to the ground and wrestling the arms of Wolfie behind his back. Wolfie felt the cool metal cuffs click into place before the officer forced him to his feet. The eyes of Wolfie remained closed. The man did not even give him the chance to search for the sunglasses of Wolfie before walking him across the parking lot.

The walk was a slow process as the bullet wound made Wolfie limp. He did not feel a knot in the wound and so assumed that the round had only grazed him. The man had not been shooting to kill Wolfie. He had only been intending to take him down. The officer must have thought that was humane of him.

As Wolfie was ducked into the back of a police cruiser, he had a vague notion that he was not going to make it on time for the barn meeting after all.