Gary Brandner - The Howling

"Yeah. I close at six, so if you're comin' in today you better hurry it up."

"Yes, it has to be today." Chris checked his watch. Jesus, could it be after four already? "I'll try to make it by six, but wait for me if I'm a little late, will you? I'll pay you for any overtime."

"This ain't a joke, is it?"

"It's no joke."

"Okay, but be here as soon as you can."

"I will."

Chris hung up and turned quickly back to the Yellow Pages.

Silver Bullion — See Coin Dlrs… 547

He flipped the pages quickly and found the Excelsior Coin Co., Gold — Silver — Platinum Coins & Bars Bought & Sold. The address was on Venice Boulevard in Culver City. There was no need to bother with another telephone call. He could save the time by heading straight over there.

Chris started out the door on the run, then snapped his fingers and turned back. He went into the bedroom and reached up to the high closet shelf for the Stoeger.22. He checked the magazine and chamber to be sure it was empty, then pulled the trigger to test the action. The pistol gave a sharp, satisfying click. He dropped it into a jacket pocket and hurried out to his car.

It was twenty minutes to five when he pulled into the lot beside the Excelsior Coin Company. The sun was low in the west and turning an angry red. Chris jumped from the car and ran into the building. A clerk looked at him in surprise from behind the counter.

"I want to buy some silver," Chris said.

"Yes, sir. Coins or bars?"

"Bars, I think."

"In what quantity?"

"What sizes do they come in?"

"Most of our bullion transactions are in five-ounce and ten-ounce bars. For anything larger we'd have to — "

"Those should be large enough. Can I see what they look like?"

"Certainly." The clerk stepped to the rear of the store and returned in a minute with two ingots of pure silver in the shape of tiny Hershey bars.

Chris hefted them, one in each hand. How much silver did it take to make a bullet? He said, "How much for the ten-ounce bar?"

"A single bar is sixty dollars, but if you intend to purchase in volume — "

"One will be enough."

Chris walked over to the cash register to discourage further conversation. He paid for the ingot with his Master Charge card and took it back out to the car.

The Santa Monica Freeway was clotted with rush-hour traffic. Chris pounded the steering wheel in frustration as all lanes jerked along in an angry dance of flashing tail lights.

The sky was dark when Chris finally turned off the freeway at the Vermont Avenue exit. The surface street traffic was lighter, and he reached the K&K Gun Shop in a few minutes.

The inside of the shop smelled of cosmoline, wood polish, and leather. The walls were lined with rifles and shotguns. In a heavy glass case were handguns ranging from tiny Derringers to a cannon-sized.44 magnum. In the back of the shop a chunky man in a T-shirt worked a piece of metal on a lathe.

"Hello," Chris said. "I called you earlier."

The man turned off the lathe and looked up. "Oh, yeah, the silver bullets."

"That's it."

The gunsmith came around the counter and locked the front door. "Might as well close up," he said. "Won't be no more customers tonight." He pulled an expanding steel lattice across the show window and locked it into place. "Hell of a neighbourhood for a gun shop. Did you bring the silver?"

Chris fished the ingot out of his pocket.

"Uh-huh. What caliber bullets you want?"

Chris showed him the Stoeger. "To fit this."

"Twenty-two Long Rifle," said the gunsmith. "How many?"

Chris had not thought about it. The magazine of the Stoeger held eleven. And one in the chamber. Surely that would be enough.

"Twelve," he said.

"Jeez, you brought enough metal."

"Well, use whatever you need."

"Come on in the back."

Chris followed the gunsmith into the workroom and watched as he shaved off what looked like very little of the silver bar and put the shavings in a crucible.

"Is that enough?" Chris asked.

"Hell, yes. A.22 Long Rifle slug only weighs forty grains."

"Oh."

The gunsmith placed the crucible over a gas flame and turned to a shelf behind him to select a mold.

"How hot does it have to get to melt the silver?" Chris asked.

"Nine hundred and sixty point five degrees Centigrade," the man said without turning around.

"You know that by heart?"

The man turned to face him. "Look, buddy, I didn't go to no fancy college and I don't read a whole lot of books, but guns and ammunition are my business. I'd be a piss-poor gunsmith if I didn't know the melting point of metals."

"Hey, no offense," Chris said. "I'm impressed, that's all."

The gunsmith relaxed into a grin. "Don't mind me, I've had a long week." He stuck out a big hand. "My name's Buzz Klinger. Call me Buzz."

Chris took the offered hand. "Glad to know you, Buzz. I'm Chris Halloran."

Klinger returned to his work and went about it with the smooth economy of motion that comes with true craftsmanship. Chris stayed out of the way and watched. When the silver shavings had melted, Klinger poured the molten metal into the molds, filling twelve of them exactly.

"You want regular load or high-power in the cartridges?"

"Better make it high-power." It occurred to Chris that Buzz Klinger had not asked what he wanted with silver bullets. His respect for the man increased.

When the silver had cooled in the molds, Klinger mated the twelve slugs to the loaded cartridges and handed them to Chris along with the unused portion of the silver ingot.

"What do I owe you?" Chris said.

"Ten bucks will cover it."

"How about your overtime?"

"I figured that in already."

Chris peeled off a bill and handed it to Klinger. "Thanks, Buzz. It was a pleasure watching you work."

Klinger unlocked the front door and Chris started out.

"Hey," the gunsmith called as Chris started down the sidewalk.

Chris turned back.

"Give my regards to Tonto."

The little house was empty when Karyn returned after her call to Chris Halloran. In a way, she thought, it was just as well that Roy was not there. He had been so strange lately, that it was difficult for her to be around him. The prospect of being alone tonight was not pleasant, but it would be the last night she would spend in Drago.

She locked the front and back doors and all the windows, making sure the heavy screens on the outside were secure. While she was in the bedroom, Karyn went to the closet and looked through the pairs of shoes, hers and Roys, on the floor. She found one of Roy's white-and-blue Adidas. Just one. No time to dwell on the implications of that now. Roy would have an explanation when he came home.

Moving to the hall closet, she took out the shotgun. She loaded the weapon and propped it up beside the front door. Against the thing she feared was out there, the shotgun was almost useless, but it was better than nothing.

Karyn sat down and directed her thoughts to Chris Halloran. Would he come for her? She tried to remember exactly what she had said into the recorder, but the words would not come back. She could only hope that it would not sound too crazy when Chris played it back.

If he played it back. Karyn knew she could not count on Chris or anyone else to help her tonight. She had only herself.

With a suddenness that shocked her, the sun dropped behind the mountains and darkness claimed the valley. Karyn turned on every light in the house. She flicked the switch for the outdoor light that illuminated the clearing in front. Nothing happened. A hell of a time, she thought, for the bulb to burn out. She took a good bulb from one of the lamps and opened the door to put it in the outside fixture. Then she saw it was not a burned-out bulb. The old bulb had been smashed, and the metal socket battered out of shape, making it impossible to screw in another bulb. Karyn slammed the door and leaned against it, breathing hard. After a minute she returned the good bulb to the lamp and lit a fire in the fireplace.