Dark of the Moon
© 2024 by Walter Reimer and E.O. Costello

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Ten

They didn’t stay the night, of course.  My apartment wasn’t that big, but they promised that they’d be nearby to keep an eye on me.  I wasn’t paying them anyhow, but it was a nice thing to do on the part of the packs, and I made sure to thank all three of them when they left.
“You sure you’re okay doing this?” I had asked.
Jack grinned and tapped his nose.  “Hey, good night vision and smell, Knocko, remember?”
"Heh.  Don't I know it."
But our conversation came back to me before I switched my bedside light off, and it gave me an idea.

***

As soon as I got into the office at the World-Telegram & Sun, I made a beeline for the sports desk.  “Hey, Jim, hey Roscoe,” I said before I took a sip of my coffee.  “How’s tricks?”
Roscoe rocked his head back and forth.  “Dodgers are doing well, Yankees not so much.  What’s on your mind, Knocko?”
I took another drink of my coffee.  “Have either of you got an old map of the subways in your desk?  I’m running down a hunch.”
Jim and Roscoe exchanged a look before Roscoe smirked.  “Angling to become a detective, Knocko?” he asked while Jim started checking his desk drawers.
I chuckled and waved a hand dismissively.  “Oh no, not me.  I’m not cut out for that; the hours are crap.”  All three of us chuckled at that.  “Nah, it’s just a hunch.  I figure if I find anything out of the ordinary, I’ll go running and call the cops.  While I’m here, let me ask you: Are the leagues still talking about admitting werewolves?”
Without looking up while he searched his desk, Jim said, “Still talking, and that’s about it.  I asked the head of the Boxing Commission a while ago about their ban on, uh, what do you call it, Shifted?”
“Yeah, Shifted.”
“Yeah, so I asked him about Shifted fighters, and the mug says to me, ‘If they can fur up, they gotta keep it to themselves.  We ain't a circus.’"  Jim glanced up at me.  “No offense.”
I chuckled. “I’m not a werewolf, Jim, so none taken.  I had a few Army buddies over at my place last night, and they talked about it.  One said having a few with the Giants could teach Baltimore a thing or two.”
“Yeah, they could at that.”  Jim straightened up in his seat and held out a rumpled up and much-folded paper.  “Ah!  Here ya go.”
“Thanks.”  I took the map back to my desk and unfolded it.  The maker’s name, Hagstrom’s, had ended up inside the map when it had been folded up, and it was old enough to still show where the Sixth Avenue Elevated had used to run.  This was good, because it allowed me to refresh my memory about which stations had been closed.
The paper's morgue was also helpful.
So after checking the map and the story morgue, I put a few marks on the Hagstrom’s map and went for a walk.
The rain we had been getting was holding off, so it was sunny and getting a little warm as I went from spot to spot on my map.  I was looking for any abandoned stations or tunnels that the barber, Lou Green, might have decided to hide in.  While I walked, I thought.
Yes, I can do both at the same time.  What are you, a comedian?
Whoever killed Terhune hadn’t killed Green.  A gunshot, a cry or a struggle would’ve alerted Terhune that something was up.  Could the shooters have simply scared him off?  He still hadn’t turned up at his apartment, and there hadn’t been any reports of a corpse being fished out of the river.
Inspector Cunningham was likely thinking along the same lines, of course.  He was a cop, after all. 
I went in a bar to get something to eat, and I glanced to my right as Wally sat down beside me.  “Hey, Wally,” I said.
“Knocko.”  He signaled for a beer, and after taking a deep swallow of what was in his mug he said, “You’ve been wandering around a lot.”
“How many times have you lost me?”
He chuckled.  “I haven’t lost your scent yet.  Hell, you could probably roll around in the trash behind a chop suey parlor and I’d find you.”
I wrinkled my nose.  “Yuck.”
The sun was going down by the time I left the bar.  Wally stepped outside with me and said, “Change of shift.  See you around, Knocko,” and he headed down the street in the opposite direction.  I was headed east to my next spot on the map.
“Hey there, Honey.”  The voice came from a shadowy doorway.
She was tall, pretty good-looking, and wore a pleated skirt, and a blouse with a hooded cape over it.  She eyed my red hair.  “You look lonely, Red.”
I chuckled.  “Sorry, Little Red Riding Hood.  Does your grandmother know you’re out late on a school night?”
She smirked.  “Name’s Lola, Red,” and she Shifted.  “Take a walk on the wild side?  I could find something real nice for you – to have.”
“He ain’t interested,” Jack said as he walked up beside me, “but I might be,” and he grinned appreciatively.
She sniffed and looked puzzled.  “What - ?”
“I’m just taking him for his evening walk,” Jack said with a wink and jerked a thumb in my direction, “but if you’re here later on, I might howl you a serenade.”
I had already started walking down the street.  Takes all kinds to make a world, and I figured Jack would catch up after he finished having a talk with the hooker.  
I finally reached the last spot on my map, the 18th Street Station.  The City shut it down back in ’48, but you can still get into it.  I recalled what Wally said about Old Saint Pat’s, but I thought that the Church had closed the catacombs.  
I didn’t want to go there, anyway.  Brr.
I turned as Jack caught up with me.  “You want to go in there?” he asked.
“Yeah, that’s the general idea,” I said, finding a loose spot in the wood blocking the entrance and moving it aside.  I squinted into the gloom.
“Didn’t bring a flashlight with you, huh?” Jack asked.  I shook my head, and he rolled his eyes.  “Here, move aside,” and he Shifted and put his nose into the opening.  He squirmed a little and muttered, “God, I hate pants sometimes,” before sniffing.  His ears laid back, and he sniffed more.
He stepped back and Shifted back to human, and I asked, “Nothing in there?”
“Oh, there’s plenty in there,” he said.  “Rats, a few bums.  Shit and piss.”
“That makes sense that the City’d shut off the bathrooms,” I said.  “No wolves?”
Jack looked uncertain.  “Maybe.”  
“’Maybe?’” I asked.  “Wally said that werewolves could track me even if I rolled in trash.”
“Yeah, we can,” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck.  “Bet he didn’t say how hard it might be, though.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Heh.  Never tells you the whole story.  He’ll make a great lawyer.”  He looked back at the opening to the subway station.  “If you want to go in there, take a flashlight, and one of us is going in there with you, okay Knocko?”
“Sure.  We’ll have to come back tomorrow.  I’ll bring a flashlight.”  Jack nodded agreement, and we walked back to Barclay Street.
I started to go inside, but paused when I saw that Jack wasn’t following me.  “Not coming?”
He shook his head.  “Gonna catch up with Lola and see if I can make her howl,” he said with a grin.
“Heh.  Have fun, but – “
“Yeah, yeah, I know, Sergeant,” Jack laughed, rolling his eyes.  Back in Europe, I had to practically drag him to a pro station sometimes.  V.D. doesn’t play favorites, either with humans or werewolves.  He waved and walked off, while I went inside.
As soon as I got in, my editor waved me into his office.  “Knocko!  Got someone in here to talk to you,” he said, and I detoured from my desk and walked over.
I poked my head in and said, “Hello, Mister Adams.”
Yes, it was Terhune’s lawyer, minus his briefcase.  He got to his feet and we shook hands.  “Mister Walshe.  Are you all right?”
“No extra holes,” I assured him as my editor smiled.  “What can I do for you?”
Adams glanced at the editor.  “I’d like to have a word with you in private.”
“I’ll step out for a moment,” my editor said, and I gave him a grateful smile as he left.
As soon as the door closed Adams stepped close to me and murmured, “Thank you for the information.”
“Inspector Cunningham might give me some grief, but you needed to know.”
“Hm, well.  I’ve been told to tell you two things.  One, you and a photographer are invited to the funeral.  Next Sunday at noon, at Holy Trinity,” he said, naming one of the big Lutheran churches.
“Gotcha,” I said.  “And the other thing?”
He leaned in a little closer.  “Expect to hear more howling.  Soon.”  He picked up his overcoat and hat and offered me his hand.  “A pleasure to speak with you again, Mister Walshe.”
“Pleasure’s mine,” I said, sort of automatically.  I was thinking as he left the office and walked out.
“’More howling?’”  What could that mean?
My editor came back in.  “What’d he want, Knocko?”
“Just telling me that me and a photographer are invited to Terhune’s funeral next Sunday,” I said.  I felt that Adams had given me an important tip.  I needed to keep my ears open, even though I’m not a werewolf.
Oh, and I needed to get a flashlight.