CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Wolfman parked his truck across the street and shut off the lights. In the city, he would never have been able to get away with that, but in the suburbs, people never imagined that anything bad would happen. They were safe in their own little bubble, and the bad things happened to Other People.

Well, everyone was Other People until they weren't. He had learned that the hard way.

He checked his tools and confirmed that they were in running shape. The electric portion of the collar was the electrode from a cattle prod, a radio receiver and a mechanism for limiting the amperage of the shock so he could adjust the current via a modified RC controller. It was a crude looking and rather ugly weapon, but it was effective, and he knew from experience that function was more important than form. Besides, the weapon was unique and, therefore, virtually untraceable as long as he didn't leave anything behind.

He never left anything behind. Nothing that mattered anyway. The boots he wore were probably the most common pair of work boots in the country. Hundreds of pairs were sold every week, even in his large size. They wouldn't be able to track him by his bootprints. He wore gloves and an equally common type of jeans and t-shirt, all bargain basement, all worn by millions of people.

Of course, he left the bodies behind, but that was good. People should see what these men were.

He got out of his car and headed to the house. Today, in addition to his normal clothing and his wolf mask, he wore a hooded sweatshirt, oversized and baggy to give the impression that he was heavier than he was. It was a thin disguise. If anyone did happen to see him, they could give the police a fairly accurate description of his height and gender, but once more, he wasn't all that uncommon. He was a big man, but not so big that he would turn heads.

He knocked on the door. A few seconds later, the homeowner answered because, of course, he did. It was the suburbs. If someone was knocking on his door late at night, it surely was something innocuous like a need for directions or to borrow a phone. No one actually killed people in their own homes.

The homeowner really should have known better, considering the people he ran with, but stupidity abounded.

"Can I help you?" the man asked. Then he saw the mask, and his eyes widened.

The Wolfman shoved hard. The man fell back with a cry, and the Wolfman quickly and calmly stepped inside and shut and locked the door.

"Hey," the homeowner said in a shaky voice. "Hey, I have money in a safe upstairs. I can get it for you. Please don't hurt me."

"You have a gun in the safe upstairs too, Bobby," the Wolfman said. "I'm pretty sure that'll hurt me if I let you use it."

The homeowner, Robert "Bobby" Evans, blinked in surprise. "How do you know my name?"

"Do you remember Fluffy Face?" the Wolfman asked, setting his bag carefully on the floor. Harry started to get up, and in a swift motion, the Wolfman stepped forward and kicked him back to the floor. "Stay still, please," he commanded.

"Fluffy Face?" Bobby said. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"That's the name Jeanie Peterson gave to her pet Wolfhound. Fluffy Face. She called him that because Fluffy Face liked to give her butterfly kisses when she was sad, and his whiskers felt fluffy. She loved that dog, you know."

Bobby looked confused for a moment longer. Then his eyes widened in understanding. "Hey, look, I was just doing a job."

"You can't possibly be so foolish as to think that's an excuse," the Wolfman said, retrieving the collar.

Bobby saw the crude electric mechanism and paled. A stain formed on the front of his pants. Normally, that didn't happen until after the Wolfman started. It seemed Bobby was even more of a coward than the other thief.

"Look, I'm sorry," Bobby said, "I was scared. They're dangerous guys, you know. You can't say no to them."

"Of course you can," the Wolfman said, flipping the shock collar on. "There's always a choice. Besides," he started toward Bobby, "Harvey Harris didn't threaten you. He sent one of his whores to butter you up. And when he suggested to you there was more where that came from, well—" He leaned down, "you just couldn't resist, could you."

Bobby cried out and slapped at the collar, knocking it out of the Wolfman's hands. He scrambled backwards and tried to get to his feet, but the Wolfman was faster. He slammed his fist into Bobby's temple, knocking the man out cold.

He got up and retrieved the collar, then set it carefully around Bobby's neck. He cinched it tight, and the cold pressure of the spikes woke Bobby. He groaned, and the Wolfman rolled him over. "Please," Bobby said, "please don't."

"You sent Fluffy Face to die," the Wolfman said, "now I'm going to return the favor."

"Please!"

The Wolfman pressed the switch.