Blood Trail

poor, or, God forbid, you're a woman, the system sees you as less than human. The wer aren't human! How do you think the system is going to see them? And what kind of a life would they have after it was finished with them?"

    He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you trying to convince me or are you trying to convince yourself?"

    "Shut up, Celluci!" He was deliberately not understanding. His own neat little world view gets screwed and he can't adapt. That's not my fault.

    His voice rose in volume to match hers. "I'm not going to stand around and watch you throw away everything you've believed in for so long."

    "Then leave!"

    "You're willing to be judge and jury - who's to be the executioner? Or are you going to do that, too?"

    They stared at each other for moment then Vicki closed her eyes. The pounding of her heart became rifle fire and on the inside of her lids she saw Donald, bleeding, then one by one the rest of the pack, sprawled where the bullets dropped them, their fur splattered with blood, and only she was left to mourn. She drew in a long shuddering breath, and then another, and then she opened her eyes.

    "I don't know," she said quietly. "I'll do what I have to."

    "And if that includes murder?"

    "Leave it, Mike. Please. I said I didn't know."

    He forced both hands up through his hair, closing his lips around all but one of the things he wanted to say. He even managed to keep his voice sounding reasonably calm. "You used to know."

    "Life used to be a lot simpler. Besides," she unhooked the seat belt, gave a shaky and totally unconvincing laugh, and opened the car door. "I haven't even caught the son-of-a-bitch yet.
    Let's worry about this shit when it hits the fan."

    Celluci followed her into Barry Wu's building, concern and anger in about equal proportions grinding together inside his head. Life used to be a lot simpler. He sure couldn't argue with that.

    "Most of all, you need a good set of knives."

    "I have the knives."

    "Pah. New knives. Factory edges are crap."

    "I'll have them sharpened this afternoon."

    "Pah." The elderly man pulled a torn envelope out of the mess of papers on the kitchen table and scribbled an address on the back of it. "Go here," he commanded as he passed it to his visitor, "last place in town that might do a decent job."

    Mark Williams folded the paper in half and tucked it in his wallet. A few questions asked around the fur trade had gotten him the old man's name. A fifty had bought him a couple of hours of instruction. Considering what the pelts were going to net him, he considered it money well spent.

    "Okay. Listen up. We go over this one more time and if you go slow you shouldn't have any trouble. Your first cut is along the length of the belly - almost a seam there anyway - then ..."

    "The problem is, there isn't anyone else. In fact, I'm not positive I could make those shots myself. Not at night." Barry stuck his head out of the bedroom where he was getting dressed for work. "I haven't done much scope work."

    "What about one of the special weapons and tactics people?"

    His eyebrows drew down. "You mean a cop?"

    Celluci sighed. In his opinion, young men always looked petulant when they tried to scowl.
    "You trying to tell me London's never had a bad cop?"

    "Well ... no ... but it's not like we're Toronto or anything." He disappeared back into the bedroom and emerged a moment later, uniform shirt hanging open and carrying his boots. "I guess I could ask around," he offered, perching on the edge of the one remaining empty chair.
    The apartment was a little short of furniture although both the television and stereo system were first rate. "But frankly, I don't think any of those guys could do it either." He took a deep breath. "I know it sounds like bragging but even considering my lack of scope work, none of them are in my league."

    Vicki picked Barry's police college graduation picture up from its place of honor on top of the television. Only one of the earnestly smiling faces in the photograph belonged to a visible minority; Barry Wu. Plus five women and a werewolf. What a great mix. All the women were white. Technically, so was the werewolf. And the police wonder why community relations are falling apart. Actually, she had to admit, the police knew why community relations were falling apart, they just couldn't come up with the quick fix solution everybody wanted in the face of such a long-term problem. Unfortunately, "it'll take time" wasn't