Darrell Schweitzer - Full MoonCity

Certain now that this had to be a dream, but fully alert, Jake sat up so quickly that he banged his forehead on one of the jungle gym’s bars. “And Bob’s your uncle?” he repeated.

“And everything works out,” said Ben. “We’re safe; we leave no incriminating evidence behind us, and we go back to our jobs and families except on those nights when our pack meets.” He put his large, thick hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Think about it, okay? We’d be glad to have you.”

Jake’s thoughts were suddenly racing, and possibilities flared in his mind. This was so much cooler than Shape Shifter ! Dream or no dream, he was suddenly all for trying this promise of a secret identity life, just to see what it was like; he took the collar and held it up, squinting at the arcane writing on it. “What does it say?”

“It tells your body how to change,” said Ben as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

“This dream gets better and better,” Jake exclaimed as he tied the collar around his neck, expecting nothing much to happen. Almost at once he felt a straining of his arms and a lengthening of his feet, his heels rising and making a sharp bend in his legs. His neck and shoulders changed, and his ears did something creepy on his head. His nose thrust out of his face and his teeth rearranged themselves in his suddenly much longer mouth. Looking down he saw his hands condense into paws with long, hard nails, and he felt the base of his spine tingle as his tail appeared. For a minute or so he itched fiercely as the fur sprouted, and then he could see more clearly in the night and was overwhelmed by the rich sea of odors everywhere.

Ben patted his head. “Good boy, Jake. Give it a try. See how it feels. Make the most of your first kill.”

Jake tried to say all right, or even cool, but his mouth could no longer accommodate the shape of the words, so he yipped, then started off, clumsily at first, but gaining balance and confidence as he hurried toward 22 Barrington Court to find out what Uncle Bob and Mom would think of him now.

Iancu Svekis sat in the chair beside the bank manager’s desk. He sat still, his outward calm belying the turmoil of impatience within. He awaited word that the transfer of funds from Romania had gone through as it should have done by now; he awaited also the return of his passport. While Pascu had confirmed in a phone call that he would have as much money as he needed to continue his quest here, the bank manager-Erica Langdon was the name on her cubicle plaque-had explained that with all the antiterrorist checks and verifications nowadays, things like this took much longer than in the past. He ought to have been gone by now, and with a full wallet. Instead, tired and unshaven and hardly presentable so far as he was concerned, he was sitting unattended when the robbers showed up.

There were three of them, and one-a blonde woman-must have been in the bank awhile, in plain sight. He had no doubt looked right at her earlier. Now she wore a Wonder Woman mask and pressed a gun to the neck of the guard while her crew strode in carrying two canvas satchels and waving their weapons as if no one would notice them otherwise. One had an autoloader, a carbine with a profile that reminded Svekis of a shark. “Hands up! Everybody move!” shouted the taller robber. He sported a George Bush mask.

The guard went to his knees compliantly, but one of the tellers reacted by hitting an alarm button in her cage, and George Bush shot her. The low Plexiglas barrier on the front of her counter splintered and she fell.

People screamed then. Seventeen customers and three tellers hit the floor. Erica Langdon ran to the fallen teller, and the killer might have shot her if Wonder Woman hadn’t spun him around and punched him in the chest. “What in hell are you doing?” she yelled.

“She hit the button!”

“Yeah, and?”

When he didn’t respond, she shoved him backwards. “I wanted her to do that, you stupid shit. I told you someone would.”

She swung about and faced the robber with the carbine. He had on an imitation hockey goalie’s mask. “You and your fucking brother!” She thrust a finger at the guard. “Let’s try not to shoot the damn cop at least, okay? Just stand over him!” He nodded and took his place. “Jesus,” she snarled. She shoved a satchel into the hands of George Bush. “Go collect their cells from them.” She walked into the midst of the crouching customers. “All right, who’s the manager? Who’s in charge here?”

In the distance sirens sounded.

Svekis continued to sit, to observe, as motionless as the furniture, amazed at how quickly a plan could unravel. The thought made him wince. His wife was dead because of an unpredictable unraveling. Nothing he could have done about that, but he was here for this one.

Erica arose from behind the teller’s cage. “I’m the manager,” she answered the robber. Her terror and anger had her trembling.

“Great. Buzz me into the back now. How’s your girl?”

“Unconscious, but-but not dead. The barrier…”

“That’s good. No one else needs to get hurt here, okay? But you get it that we mean business, right?”

Erica nodded.

“Buzz me in and get the rest of your people out of there. I want ’em on the floor out here like everybody else.” She took one empty satchel the others had brought. Erica released the electronic lock, and Wonder Woman went through the doorway. The vault stood wide open, and the robber led Erica inside. Svekis studied the other two.

Beside the kneeling guard, Hockey Mask shifted back and forth on his feet, anxious. Bush the Idiot strode up and down through the trembling crowd of hostages, collecting cell phones in his bag like an oversized trick-or-treater. It wasn’t until he was walking back toward his brother that he looked at Svekis.

“Hey! Hey, you. What the hell are you doing?”

Svekis looked around himself. “Nothing,” he replied.

“Yeah? Well, you better do your nothin’ over here on the floor.” When Svekis didn’t move, he pointed his gun. “Now!”

Wonder Woman had come out of the vault. “What’s the problem, dickhead?”

Bush pointed at Svekis. “Him.”

She set the satchel on the counter. “Here, get the drawer money.”

She unlocked the door and came out from the back, but left the door ajar. Behind her, Erica stood in the vault doorway. She stared at him fearfully. He smiled to her.

“We got cops!” shouted Hockey Mask. Flashing, colored lights striped the side of him.

“Good, that’s what I want. You stand right there and let them see you, the guard, and that gun, so they don’t think they can rush in here,” she answered. She walked over to Svekis. “You got some nerves, Pops.”

He lowered his head. “Not really. I am too tired to react to anything today.”

“Bad week, was it?”

He thought of the strigoi he’d battled, the child and mother who would go on living because of him, the horror of that unbridled hunger he’d slain. “You would not believe.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You want to sit here, that’s okay with me, but you don’t try to call anybody, okay?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your name, in case I have to yell at you all by yourself over here.”

“Iancu.” When she continued to stare, unmoving, he added, “In your language, it’s John.”

“John.” She repeated it as if doubting it. “You give him your phone, John?”

He dug into the pocket of his raincoat and handed her his phone. “He did not ask me for it,” he said.

“Thank you.” She turned and carried his phone away, but hadn’t gone ten steps when the desk phone beside Svekis rang. She turned back to answer it. He pretended not to notice her, but he had already satisfied himself that her clothing was bulky and ill-fitting as if she was wearing extra layers against the cold. Except, it wasn’t all that cold outside.