Gary Brandner - The Howling II

Chris rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "You can come to our room."

"All night?"

"At least until we can think of something better."

"Audrey will love that."

"Audrey will have to learn that things don't always go her way."

"Have you considered telling her?"

"You mean about Drago and the werewolves?"

"Yes."

"No way. She'd laugh in my face. It's better to let her think I've got the hots for you. That's something she can understand."

"It kind of messes up your relationship, though, doesn't it?"

"That relationship is on the downslope anyway," Chris said.

Audrey came back to the table and sat down, her spirits unimproved. Karyn felt oddly guilty, as though she and Chris really did have a secret love affair going.

Audrey lifted the coffee cup to her lips, then set it down in the saucer with a thump. "I've had all this crap I can take," she announced.

Chris spoke up in a tone of artificial gaiety. "I've got an idea. Audrey, we still have that bottle of tequila that we bought at the airport. Why don't the three of us stop by for a nightcap or two?"

"Karyn's probably tired," Audrey said quickly. "Remember, she was up early this morning."

It was time, Karyn decided, to score a few points for the visiting team. "As a matter of fact, I'm not tired at all," she said, turning on a brilliant smile. "It sounds like great fun. Chris and I can talk over old times. And you and I, Audrey, can get to know each other better."

"Terrific," said Audrey.

"Fine," Chris said. "Then it's all settled."

He called for the check and signed it. They got up from the table and walked out through the archway. Passing the desk, Chris stopped.

"I just happened to think, how many glasses do we have in the room?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Audrey said.

"If I remember right, there were only two. Big water glasses." He stepped over to the desk and spoke to the manager. "Could we have some small glasses sent out to Number 7?"

Senor Davila carefully avoided looking at the two women. "Of course, Senor Halloran," he said with a professional smile. "The girl will bring them out to you."

"And send along some limes and salt," Chris added. To the women he said, "I'll show you how to drink tequila Tijuana style."

"Whoopee," said Audrey flatly.

They left the building together and walked the short distance down the path to the first cabana, the one where Chris and Audrey stayed. Chris unlocked the door and they went in. The room looked the same as Karyn's, and had been neatly tidied up by the maid. Karyn tried not to make a point of looking at the bed, though it dominated the room. Audrey walked by it deliberately and ran her hand across the spread.

Chris waved the two women to the wicker settee and pulled up the chair for himself. He carried a small table over and set it between them. From a drawer he produced a bottle of tequila. He opened the bottle and sniffed at it.

"This will be good for what ails us," he said lamely.

Audrey and Karyn looked at him without expression.

A knock on the door saved him from having to make further small talk. Blanca, the pretty young maid, came in carrying a glass bowl of fresh lime wedges and three double shot glasses along with a salt shaker.

"Now maybe the party will pick up," Chris said, forcing a laugh. He handed a bill to Blanca, who slipped it prettily down the front of her blouse.

"Gracias, senor," she said, with a coquettish lowering of the eyelids. With a bare flicker of a glance at Audrey and Karyn, she went out and closed the door.

Once outside, Blanca stopped and pulled the bill from its warm valley between her breasts. Five dollars, American. This was a night of good omen. And with the blond American lady busy with her friends in Number 7, it could be a beautiful night.

She hurried to a utility shed at the rear of the hotel where Roberto was busy repairing a broken chair. He looked up from his work and smiled at her.

"Can you do that later?" she said, her eyes flashing with mischief.

"Why? Now that I have started, I may as well finish the job."

"Maybe you would change your mind if I told you a secret," she said, moving close to him.

"A secret about me?"

"About us." She sat beside him on the wooden bench and ran a hand along the flank of his tight black trousers.

"Ay, girl, when you do that I have no secrets," he said.

Blanca looked down at the bulge in his pants and smiled. She brushed it with her fingertips. "Are you saving that for someone?"

"What a question, shameless girl. Take care that I do not lay you down right here where Senor Davila would surely find us."

"Would you like to make love to me now?" the girl said.

"Very much. But we have no bed. To go to your room or mine is too dangerous, and on the beach one gets sand in unmentionable places."

"We do not have to go to the beach tonight. One of the cabanas is waiting for us."

"How is that possible? No one checked out of the hotel today."

"The senora from California who arrived yesterday spends the evening with her friends in Number 7. Her cabana is at the far end, and there is no one there."

"She might return."

"Not for at least an hour. Maybe more. They have a bottle of good tequila and a bowl of limes, and the Lord knows what games in mind to keep them busy."

"Even so, she will know we have been there."

Blanca clucked her tongue impatiently. "She will know nothing. I will put fresh linen on the bed and leave the room spotless. All these objections! I think you do not really want to make love to me."

Roberto's eyes flashed. He jumped to his feet and seized Blanca's wrist, pulling her up after him. "Come along. I'll show you if I want to make love or not."

Pulling the girl behind him, he ran out of the shed, up along the side of the main building, and down the path until they came, laughing and breathing hard, to Cabana Number 12.

Blanca used her pass key to let them in. She peeled the spread, blanket, and top sheet back from the bed and folded them neatly in the chair, bending low as she did so to let the skirt ride up in back over her plump brown thighs.

She turned to face Roberto, but he had her in his arms before she could speak. His mouth found hers, and his hands raced over her body, rubbing, caressing, squeezing. After a minute they pulled apart just long enough to fumble out of their clothes and let them drop to the floor. Together they fell across the bed. Blanca opened her legs to him. With the exuberance and impatience of youth, he entered her.

At the edge of the clearing, behind the Palacio del Mar, a huge tan wolf arose from the ground where a moment before a man had writhed silently. The wolf stretched and shook, feeling the exhilarating play of its muscles. Then, leaving the pile of clothes where Roy Beatty had dropped them, the wolf moved silently through the heavy tropical growth behind the row of cabanas.

The last one in this row was the one he wanted. The windows showed no light. She would be inside asleep. Or maybe not asleep. Awake, perhaps, and staring into the darkness, fearing what she must know was somewhere outside. Soon there would be no more fear for Karyn. No more anything. The faint spark of humanity still alive in the wolf brain rebelled at the thought of the coming kill, but the dominant animal part burned with excitement.

A few yards from the cabana the wolf stopped. He raised his muzzle and tested the scent that had brought him up short. The scent of sex. Humans in rut. The wolf cocked his great head and heard the rhythmic slap-slap of naked bodies, one against the other. Belly pounding against belly as the man drove his organ into the woman.

Animal rage blazed behind the eyes of the wolf, rage fired by the memory of human jealousy. The long, sinewy legs stretched out into a loping run as the wolf closed on the cabana.