Excerpt

Excerpt from Chapter 13: Muggers in the Night, Exchanging Victims

On the cab ride to my hotel, my mind raced back over the experience of getting to know this mysterious and beautiful woman.

As the evening and hours of conversation with Lex had continued, my normally over-active senses continued to be dulled by the alcohol, the jet lag, the combination of things perhaps. Who knows? It's not like there's any sort of manual. Not for the first time I reflected on the fact that there was no Werewolves for Dummies style guidebook I could depend on.

I had become so dependent, over the years, upon relying on those additional sensory inputs that having a real and normal conversation with someone, had been a unique and enjoyable experience.

But I had blown it, taken a wrong turn at the very end of our conversation.

I resolved to call Lex in the morning; explain myself, ask her to forgive me. To see if we could meet up again for another drink.

That, admittedly, was a scary thing.

I wondered if I should just text her now.

No, that would be too forward of me. Too assuming.

But she was up. Why not do it now?

No. Too forward. Too eager. Too desperate. Wait until the morning.

I shook my head.

I had never been good at this. I suppose I became a little better at direct and in person interactions with people, with my heightened senses, because I could read them, but not as good when over the phone or when I couldn't leverage that sense advantage. And, prior to being bitten by that wolf, I had interpersonal skills so weak that I couldn't negotiate my way out of a wet conversational paper bag. My fear of doing or saying the wrong thing and offending someone made introverts look gregarious.

And I'd proven it with Lex tonight when I offended her.

Should I call her or text her?

Should I apologize now, or in the morning?

And I should also apologize for walking out of the bar without saying goodbye, shouldn't I?

No, her last words to me before she headed for the restroom were goodnight. She didn't expect me to be there when she returned from the restroom. She was disappointed; it was over. The moment was ruined.

Unless she'd been hoping I would still be there, to explain things to her—to work things out.

Damn.

To call me confused would be an understatement of magnificent proportions, like referring to the results of last year's Brexit referendum as a minor parting of ways for the UK.

I needed to think. Get some fresh air. Maybe take a walk. And I couldn't do that in the back of this cab.

When I asked the driver how far away from the hotel we were he said it was still about a five-minute drive. I figured that might be just a long enough walk to clear my head and think more about what I was going to do. What I was going to say to Lex when I called her in the morning.

"Do you think you can let me off here? I'd like to walk the rest of the way to the hotel. You know, clear this alcohol-filled head a bit with fresh air."

"Sure, no problem."

He pulled over, and, as I was paying using the touch screen mounted to the back of the seat in front of me, he let me know which way to head.

"We're facing north on North Highland Avenue. Keep walking in this same direction. It's about a dozen blocks. I'm sure you'll recognize once you get to Hollywood Boulevard, and the hotel is about a couple of blocks past that, on the left."

"Thanks," I said, keying in a generous tip and completing the transaction.

The cool night air hit my face as I stepped out of the cab and immediately made me feel better.

That cool air was refreshing as it flowed over my skin. I immediately noticed the difference in not being able to smell the air the way I normally would, with my senses so muted. But I still enjoyed the refreshing sensation.

Out of habit, I picked up my phone to check on the app how long the walk might be, but the screen was dark and wouldn't come on.

It was dead.

That decided, for me, that I wouldn't be calling or texting Lex.

I slipped it into my back pocket and started walking.

With the debate of whether or not I'd call Lex to apologize now moot, I enjoyed the sights, and got a kick out of some of the names of the streets I was passing. Streets I'd heard about or were part of television shows or songs, such as Melrose and Santa Monica Boulevard.

North Highland was a wider street. Two lanes moving in either direction, with a boulevard in the middle through most of it, some with the palm trees that I now knew, thanks to Argyle, had been imported to the area.

The walk was good for me, for my head. Though I was still quite drunk, I managed to walk mostly in a straight line. The cool night air helped clear my head a bit, and occasionally I picked up on a sound or a scent that came from my more enhanced, heightened wolfish awareness, like it was trying to punch through the drunken cloudy fog in my head. One of those scents along the way was fresh urine from where someone must have relieved themselves within the past hour or so, because it was distinctly fresh and was strong enough that, even without that bit of enhanced powerful scent poking its way through, I'm sure I still would have smelled it. While I was glad for that fleeting return of my heightened senses, I wasn't pleased to note that the guy who had relieved himself must have recently digested a meal that was some sort of medley of asparagus, Brussels sprouts, onions, and salmon. If anything, it relieved me that the sensation and awareness came on strong, then retreated back behind the murky fog again.

As I walked, my thoughts kept playing in those highlight movie reel style clips—applicable, I suppose, as I was walking towards downtown Hollywood—reviewing various parts of the later afternoon, evening, and night, spent with Lex. Our conversation was animated and filled with laughs; she was fun, spirited, and playful. She seemed to get along well with all the regulars and the staff at the bar, being a good friend to them all. And, of course, she was beautiful. Long flowing and curvy blonde hair, those beautiful round high cheekbones, those lovely blue eyes. Combine that with her personality, classic sense of charisma and charm, and it was no wonder I was a babbling idiot in that moment where I should have, in retrospect, just leaned in and given her a quick kiss.

Not that I would ever be so forward upon first meeting someone; no matter how attracted to them I might be.

I was just crossing the intersection of North Highland and Sunset Boulevard, tickled at another street I recognized, Sunset Boulevard, when my fleetingly returning senses alerted me to someone in peril.

It was a whimper and the disturbing sound of flesh hitting flesh combined with the mingled scent of fear and intense anger that reached out through the fog and seemed to grab me by the throat.

I looked in the direction the slight shifting feel of wind on my face told me had carried both the scent and the sounds, and saw what those sensations usually accompanied—a mugging taking place, in the parking lot on the other side of Sunset.

There was a group of four people. Two of them were holding a guy by the arms from either side while a third one was throwing punches at his stomach and face.

Upon closer inspection, it looked like the three guys, dressed all in black, also had masks on. They immediately reminded me of the masks from The Purge movies. One of them was the plastic pale white face with rosy cheeks, and the other was a rubber face twisted into a huge sick Joker-like grin.

I instinctively tried to get a better gage on the situation via sound and scent, but I was pulling nothing. The fog had returned. I reached to my back pocket for my phone, thinking it might be best to call 911, rather than try to take these guys on in my drunken state but I remembered it was dead.

The group hadn't noticed me standing there, and the thug was continuing to mercilessly beat on the one guy, who looked to be a middle-aged black male.

Considering the amount of alcohol in my system and my reduced super powered abilities, I shouldn't have done what I'd done.

But then again, maybe the alcohol also reduced my inhibitions.

Or maybe it was instinct that kicked in, as I rushed toward the group, and yelled out. "Hey, no fair. Three against one. And you didn't even give him a mask."

As I ran at them, the guy throwing punches turned—he was wearing one of those blue LED light masks with crosses over the eyes, and the fog shifted enough that I caught a quick sense of his scent of anger and hatred quickly shifting to surprise.

I threw a hard round-house punch at him with everything I had in me.

I would normally pull my punches, knowing my enhanced strength might kill a person with a single blow, but it was the weakest time of my monthly cycle, my powers seemed dulled by alcohol, and, as I mentioned, so were my inhibitions.

His head snapped to the side, and he went down.

Even without my heightened senses I knew he was unconscious.

One down. Two to go.

I turned to the others. "Who's next?"

The other two guys immediately let go of the man they'd been holding and came at me.

Normally, I would have been able to dodge and deflect their clumsy attack quite easily and take them out.

I had done it enough times.

But the alcohol coursing through my veins seemed to hold those abilities at bay the way these two had just been holding their prey.

I feigned a punch then shifted, in what I felt was a deft maneuver to punch the guy in the white mask in the stomach with my right hand, while kneeing the one in the smiley mask between the legs.

But I failed miserably.

Not only did I not dodge their punches, but I didn't get a single hit in.

A punch from Whitey caught me on the top right side of my head, and a split second after Smiley landed a punch to the side of my throat just above the collar bone.

I stumbled back a half step, and Smiley threw another punch, this time to my solar plexus that sent me stumbling back a couple more steps.

"Hey," I said. "That smarts."

Whitey threw another punch, but this time, a combination of my stumble, and an additional backwards step, to catch my balance, resulted in him missing.

Behind them, I could see the guy they'd been beating on slowly shuffling away. Good. Hopefully I'd be able to distract these guys long enough that he'd get away to safety. Maybe even call 911. Because I started doubting I was going to be able to hold my own.

"Missed me, missed me," I chortled at Whitey. "Now you've got to kiss me."

I'd learned that mocking and insults often set my opponents back a bit with a combination of confusion and anger. I could normally sense from their change in heartbeat or emotive scent, that I was having an effect on them.

Of course, I wasn't able to read anything. Not to mention, the masks were hiding any emotion I'd normally be able to see on their faces.

And, on top of it all, neither one of them said a single word. That, combined with the masks, was frightening and eerie in and of itself.

But I played the only cards I knew.

As I stepped back, I tried again to get a reaction.

"So, what's with the masks? Is it that you're both so terminally ugly that you even have to wear them after dark?"

Smiley rushed me in a heads-down tackle move. I dodged it and threw an elbow into the middle of his back as I stepped aside. He stumbled, off balance, and fell to the ground behind me.

"Or is it because you're ashamed to show your face knowing that a single guy is about to take out all three of you?"

In a similar forward crouched tackle position, Whitey launched himself at me. As I moved to step out of the way, the back of my foot connected with Smiley's leg. I realized, as I was being tackled, that he hadn't missed me; it had been a ploy to get into a duo attack position. Smiley was on his hands and knees behind me so that as Whitey piled into me, it threw me back, the backs of my knees catching on the man behind me and off balance.

I fell back, my left shoulder and the back of my head connecting hard with the pavement.

They both piled on top of me, holding me down while kicking and punching at my face, stomach, and sides.

During this pummeling, I noticed that the guy they'd been beating had gotten away. He was nowhere in sight.

Well at least I'd accomplished one part of my attempted mission. The entire melee wasn't a write-off.

"Fellas," I said. "Don't you think you're coming on a little strong here? Maybe before we get so intimate you could at least buy a guy a drink."

My jibes had no effect; not that I could sense, anyway.

And they remained completely mum, not saying a single word, or even making grunting noises as they threw punches and kicks at me.

One good thing about the effect of the alcohol in my system is how it numbed the sensation of pain a little.

As another blow stuck me particularly hard in the stomach, I yelled out, joking seeming to be my only defense at this point.

"C'mon. No fair. I had a lot to drink last night. You hit me like that again and you're going to make me pee all over myself."

A couple more punches struck me in the face and the side of the head. Another one struck me dead center in the left eye and my vision from that one turned to a red hue.

I felt a wave of darkness start to shroud my vision and I realized I was blacking out as additional blows struck me in the head, chest, and stomach.

As the black blanket started to envelope me, I thought I heard a voice yelling out from somewhere nearby.

"Stop!"

The punches stopped, and the darkness receded a bit as I shook my head and tried to look past the guys piled on top of me. That same voice called out.

"Get up and step away from him. Now."

My vision was still blurry, and I could only see out of my right eye, but as they moved back, I made out a full-figured person—male, based on the voice—in what looked like a blue jumpsuit standing in the parking lot a few feet away.

"That's it." The voice said. "Make one false move and I'll take you both down. Don't try me. This guy is a good friend of mine. It's late. I've had a long day and closed some pretty tough deals. Don't make me close you out, too." The man laughed at his own joke.

It was a laugh I recognized.

As my sight cleared, I took in the middle-aged stocky white guy in a pale blue business suit and tie—not a jumpsuit after all—who looked like a cross between Lou Costello and Buddy Hackett, with a handgun clasped between both hands fixed on Whitey and Smiley.

I'd never before seen his resemblance to that second actor; maybe it was the angle I was seeing him at; maybe it was the alcohol; maybe it was the beating to the head and face I'd just taken. But that second actor's first name was how I knew this guy.

It was Buddy—Buddy J. Samuels—my traveling salesman friend.

What the hell was he doing here?

"Hey, Mikey!" Buddy smiled at me. "Welcome to the jungle. Looks like I got here just in the nick of time, huh?"

I tried to sit up—apparently too quickly—and that's when the darkness swirled back in a double time march and everything went black.