Lycanthropus: A Clem MacDougall Adventure, Take V

V. THE CREATURE IN THE SHRUBBERY. Access to the residents’ parking areas at Excelsior Mews Condominiums was supposedly tightly controlled, but the guard on duty after sunset that evening owed Sly Talbott a favor. Besides, he knew Talbott and MacDougall conducted a lot of their most successful business after dark. He recognized the beat-up lime-green Chevy Vega when it cruised unchallenged past his brightly-lit check point. “Hey, man,” he hollered at the open driver’s side window. “You got another dent in that piece o’ junk. Nice neighbors you got, man.” The guard did a double-take when he noticed how heavy the driver’s beard was, and how long his face – it looked almost like a snout. And did he see a reddish glow in the eyes? Nah. Long day. He shook his head and went back to his racing form. The lime-green Vega rolled to a stop in a space marked “Reserved” just below the balcony of Clem MacDougall’s apartment. The door opened slowly and a form on four legs darted into the rhododendron. The door hung open, but there was no dome light.

***

The waning moon had lost two more days’ worth of influence over the creature now hiding in the rhododendron below Clem MacDougall’s balcony. Despite the moon’s weakening pull, however, the creature watched it as it sailed over the treetops and lit the night sky with silver. Feeling the tug of forces beyond its ken, the creature lifted its head and howled. But what came out sounded more like a cry of human frustration than the howl of a wolf on the hunt. The creature snuffled and growled and yelped and uttered what sounded like guttural recitations of ordinary human profanity.

***

Gennady Kuznetsov had stepped outside onto Clem MacDougall’s balcony, the better to admire the moonlight and the sweetness of the night. At the sounds from below, he cocked his head like an attentive poodle and listened. Quietly, he turned and gestured at MacDougall and Doyle to join him. “What is it, Gennady?” MacDougall made tiny mincing steps as he joined Kuznetsov on the balcony, wincing each time gauze or fabric chafed against the raw skin of his buttocks. “Quiet! Please.” Kuznetsov spoke in a whisper and put a finger to his lips. “Listen. I heard something. Just listen.” Doyle wandered out, carrying a ham sandwich and a half-liter mug of Watney’s ale. He opened his mouth to speak, but again Kuznetsov gestured for silence. “Just listen,” he whispered. The three men stood in silence on the balcony, listening to the night and watching the three-quarter moon drift higher and higher in the sky. Then the hairs on the backs of their necks bristled as they heard it, seeming to come from directly below them: AROOOOOOOGLE! ARROOOOOOOOOGLE!! “Why, saints preserve us,” Doyle said. “That sounds like a bitch in heat calling your name, Mac. You didn’t tell me you had a lady friend down there in the bushes – you old dog, you.” He chuckled, took a swallow of ale and burped. Kuznetsov turned pale. "Oborotyen'," he whispered, crossing himself. “Another blasted cur on the premises,” MacDougall said. “I can handle this.” ARRROOOOOOGLE!! MACDOOOOOOOOOOGLE!!! MacDougall went to the telephone and dialed the Excelsior City Humane Society’s Twenty-Four Hour Emergency Hot Line. He spoke briefly into the receiver, then hung up and poured himself a stiff Tobermory and a frozen Stolichnaya for Kuznetsov (Doyle, he knew, could attend to his own refreshments). He joined the other two on the patio and handed Kuznetsov the glass of vodka. “I am technically on duty, Mister MacDougall,” Kuznetsov said. He smiled and accepted the drink with a stiff-waisted imperial bow. “But I am most grateful for a small taste of the Dutch courage. ‘Zdrovie.” He tossed off a gulp, shuddered and sighed happily. MacDougall passed around cigars and the three sat in wicker chairs and smoked and listened to the weird serenade from the rhododendron bush. STAY TUNED FOR THE EXCITING CONCLUSION!