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


Three


Yeah, we’d stopped, and while the driver got out the guy sitting in the back with me Shifted back to human. “Sorry for being so abrupt. Orders,” he added with a shrug.

I bit back telling him that they hanged guys at Nuremberg for ‘following orders,’ and when the driver opened the back of the truck I clambered out and straightened my collar and hat.

It was still raining, and we’d stopped on a gravel driveway inside a walled-in area. I glanced back the way we came and caught a glimpse of Central Park. Huh. My escort got out of the truck, and he led me to the back door of the building.

I kept my eyes open, and from the steep roofs, carved gargoyles, and the fact that Central Park was within view, I realized that I was at Terhune’s house. It made me feel a little more awake, although I was still tired, and painfully aware that I needed a wash and a change of clothes.

Of course, my escort wasn’t inclined to give me the opportunity to do either. “This way,” he said, beckoning me to follow him. His expression told me that I’d be carried if necessary, so I followed him.

The last time I was here, I didn’t have time to appreciate the marble floors or the art on the walls, and I didn’t have the time now, either. We went up the curving grand staircase, down a well-carpeted hallway and into a large room lined with bookshelves. There was a huge desk at the far end, but the windows overlooking Fifth Avenue had the curtains drawn across them.

The carpets in there reminded me of something my grandmother said, when describing something similar: “You’d bog to the ankles in them.” Well, maybe not as bad as that, but it certainly made walking comfortable.

A trio of Shifted werewolves in suits stood in one corner, talking in low tones, and one sniffed at me suspiciously as my escort led me to the desk. There were two guys in suits standing beside the desk, with a woman standing beside the leather-upholstered chair.

She was a tall, leggy brunette, wearing black, and she lit up a cigarette as I took off my hat. “You are Mr. Walshe?” she asked, taking a puff.

“Pete Walshe, Ma’am.”

She nodded and took a look at the lit cigarette in her hand before she said, “I’m Louise Terhune, J . . . John’s wife.” She stubbed out her cigarette and looked at me, her lips quirking in a sad smile. "I really should stop," she said. "It does my sense of smell no good at all."

"I met your husband, Ma'am, several years ago," I said. "Please accept my condolences for your loss."

She managed a fleeting smile. "Thank you, Mr. Walshe. It's appreciated, and you always try to help us counter the, the bias you people have for us." She smiled and glanced at the two men near the desk. They may as well have been wearing signs that read LAWYER. "Tell, me, please," Louise said, "who do you think killed my husband?"

I glanced around and didn’t see a chair for me. The pause gave me a moment to think, and I said, “I think you should be asking Inspector Cunningham about that, Ma’am.”

“He’s already been here.” Of course; Cunningham was very thorough. She caught the eye of one of the Shifted trio in the corner and nodded toward me, and in a moment I was seated comfortably in a chair he’d brought for me. I made sure to thank him, and he huffed through his nose.

Waiting for a chair also gave me more time to think. “This is just me talking off the top of my head, Ma’am,” and she nodded as she took her husband’s seat behind the desk, “but Mr. Terhune’s death appeared to me to be like a gang hit.”

The two lawyer types, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, glanced at each other. Dum spoke up, “We have an understanding with them, after what happened in ’28 and the meat rationing dispute during the war.”

I nodded. Nineteen twenty-eight had seen a gang of bootleggers try to muscle a minor pack in the Five Points area. There had been a lot of gunfire, but the entire gang had been wiped out in the most gruesome manner you can probably imagine. After that, relations between the packs and the gangs settled down for a while.

I was in Europe when rationing started hitting the werewolf population hard. Shifted or not, they do like meat, and were willing to pay a good price on the black market. Said black market was, of course, run by certain people with largely Italian last names, and I found out after I started working for the World-Telegram that things had started getting very tense.

Apparently Terhune had called a conference, him and the other Alphas meeting with the various heads of the Families, and got things hammered out.

“But you can’t ignore the possibility,” I said. “Freelance talent, out of town concerns.”

The two looked at each other before looking at Louise. The widow nodded, and Dee said, “Good point.”

“Thanks.” I looked down at my hands and took a breath before asking, “What about the other packs?” Even the trio in the corner stopped talking, and I got that prickling on the back of my neck that tells me that someone’s staring at me. “Look,” I said, and I spread my hands apart, “I don’t even pretend to know anything about your internal politics – “

“Michael,” one of the trio behind me growled.

I half-turned in my chair. “He’s too far down your pecking order to tell me anything about what really goes on,” I said. Michael’s a good sort. “You gave me a postman, and he’s good at that.”

“There’s a lot that John never talked about - at least to me,” Louise said, and I turned around to face her. “But we should look into it,” and she glanced at Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Damn, they even nodded in unison. “Anything else, Mister Walshe?”

“I – “ I paused, blinked, and tried again. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but you’re asking me to think, and I’m very short of sleep at the moment.”

Her lips twitched in a smile. “I understand, Mister Walshe. I’ve had a long day as well, particularly sending telegrams to the children.” She paused to get herself under control. “We’ll let you know when the funeral will take place. I’m sure your editors will want you to be there.”

I nodded and got to my feet. “Thank you, Mrs. Terhune. I didn’t mean to add to your burdens.”

Again, a twitch of a smile. “I’ll have someone drive you home.”

“Not in the back of a truck?” That caused a few chuckles behind me.

Her smile turned wry.

“Only if you want to.”


***


One of the Shifted wolves changed back to human, and after he put his socks and shoes on, we set off down the hall to the stairs. “Never met you before,” he said as we walked down the staircase. “Name’s Phil.”

“Pete.”

“Pleased t’meetcha.” We paused on the stairs to shake hands. “I read your stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. We all do, really. You’re a helluva lot better than that guy Armbruster.”

I shrugged. “He’s biased. Nice suit."

"Yeah. Macy’s is good, and we have guys in tailor shops that don't ask questions or make smartass comments."

“Eh, don’t I know it.” We headed out of the house to where several cars were parked. The truck that had delivered me here was gone, and Phil headed for a smart-looking ’54 sedan. He opened the driver’s door and got in, and I got in on the passenger side.

“So, where to?” I gave him the address, and off we went.

He had a real good sense of the traffic, and I told him so. “That a werewolf thing?”

Phil chuckled. “Naw. I drive a hack. Know the island like the back of my paw – er, hand,” and we both chuckled at the slipup.

He dropped me off and I shook hands with him, and he drove off while I went up to my apartment to get a nap. I almost didn’t get out of my suit before I passed out on the bed.

When I woke up, it was sometime around four, so I got cleaned up, got dressed, and headed back out toward 125 Barclay Street. Stopped by a diner on the way for a bite to eat, and while I’m eating the waitress changes the channel on the TV set.

It’s a new item about the Terhune murder. Pretty basic, just saying that the police are investigating, and the newsreader moves on to sports. I just keep my head down and keep on eating, pay the check and head on out the door.

“Knocko!” the night editor says as soon as I get in the office. “Got someone here wants to talk to you.”

“Oh?” The editor points at his office, and after hanging up my coat and hat I follow him. I stop at the doorway. “Michael?”

“Hi, Pete,” my friend says. He’s sitting on the chair next to the door, looking like a kid in the principal’s office. “How’re you doing?”

“Not bad,” I said. “You?”

Michael flinched a little. “I-I got called in.”

“’Called in?’”

“Yeah, to my Alpha.” He gave the editor a scared look and he said, “Th-they gave me a message to give you. Just you.”

I glanced at the editor and held out a hand. “Well, I’m here now. Were you supposed to wait for an answer?”

He shook his head and reached into his coat. He pulled a sealed envelope out and offered it to me, so I took it and looked it over. Very good paper, with the name Peter Walshe written in a nice, flowing script. A woman’s hand, maybe?

“You doing anything later?” I asked Michael.

“Got a ticket to the wrestling,” he said. “Sammy Berry and Chief Sabu.”

“Damn,” and I grinned. “I wanted to see that match. Tell you what; meet me at Fazio’s around eleven, and you can tell me all about it, okay?” My werewolf friend agreed, and he left while I looked the envelope over again.

The editor offered his letter opener, and I slit the envelope open and took out a single sheet of paper. Typewritten, with a note attached: “I trust that the W-T&S will continue its tradition of tolerance toward my people. L.T.”

The typewritten contents were a formal statement from the Terhune Family, lamenting the death of their patriarch and expressing the hope that the police would find the murderers swiftly.
I passed the paper to the night editor. “Bets on it being an exclusive?” I asked.

He was smiling when he gave it back to me. “No bet. Get it written up.”

“On it,” and I headed to my desk. Sure, the statement was great, but I’d also had a little face to face with the widow. While I hadn’t taken any notes, I could just touch on it in passing. More of our readers would be interested in the statement, anyway.

While I fed a sheet of paper into my typewriter, I grinned, thinking about the look on Armbruster’s face when he found out the World-Telly had scooped him.




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