Lanky Dog

            The van stinks of old coffee and menthol, along with the lingering perfume of Crombie’s date from the night before. With the feeling of my tie wrapped around my neck, the added blend of the sickening aromas feels like it’s suffocating me. Rolling down the driver window, I stick my head out into the night air. Harsh winter gusts toss my dark hair into my eyes. City lights twinkle in the vans side mirror. A pale night sky lit up by hundreds of homes looming above. My eyes narrow on Crombie, standing across the street at a late-night meat cart, stuffing his red cheeked face with sausage. My stomach growls. I’m pretty sure that the sausage he is chowing down on is the one I’d asked him to order for my dinner. My skin is growing prickly as I sit in this oversaturated sponge we call a work vehicle. I pop open the door, stretching out my legs once onto the filth slushed street. Soggy newspapers blending in with the dark snow beneath my boots. Standing, my head clears the top of the van by a foot. I notice the growing rust damage taking over its roof. The red paint chipping away to reveal pocked metal and decay. Cracking my jaw, I begin my walk over to Crombie. The stench of the meat cart alluring to my empty stomach.

            I call out to the vendor, “Hey, Martel, the regular please,” my husky voice interrupts whatever conversation the two men have been having.

            Crombie smiles with meat filled cheeks and I dip my chin at him, pointing to his wallet. I can see Martel reach a gloved hand into his cart, pulling free a sausage and covering it in relish. With a grunt from Crombie he hands Martel a five from his otherwise Benjamin filled wallet.

            “So, what are you boys working on tonight?” Martel asks.

            My brows raise at Martel as I take the meal from him. He doesn't look a day over thirty, even with his weather worn features. Like us he was bundled up in a thick jacket and scarfs. Tanned features blushed by the wind. He was a good deal shorter than Crombie or me, but rail thin. He reminded me of the runt in a litter of mice. Frail, yet with a determination for work lighting up his blue eyes.

After another bite from his sausage, Crombie says, “We’re after the big bad wolf tonight,” Crombie speaks with sloppy words, spitting little bits of meat as he talks, Martel’s eyes narrowing on him with each word.

I ignore Crombie’s loose tongue and bite into the greasy meat, savoring the satisfying taste as it spreads across my tongue. Crombie takes a final bite of his sausage, rubbing the relish residue from his cheeks with the end of his red scarf.

            “Big. Bad. V’olf?” Martel asks, adding emphasis to each word, his head crooking to the side like a confused puppy.

            Crombie sweeps his large arms around him to note the basically empty street, saying, “Haven’t you noticed this part of town has been a’little sparse lately with its nightlife?”

            A few bums are hiding in the alleyway, my nose tells me that much. But besides us standing at the cart, the only fellow street go-ers are the seedy businessmen returning home to their bleak brick apartments towering into the grey sky above.

            Martel nods before saying, “Business has been hurting without the whores around, they love my meat after a long night’s work.”

            The piece I was currently chewing on sours in my mouth as Martel and Crombie share a chuckle.

            Crombie continues his divulging, “Well, you’re not the only one missing their business. The guys who make money off them don’t enjoy their merchandise going missing. Especially gal’s like Flamingo, I know I’m not the only guy missing her.”

            Allowing the wind to blow my hair over my face, I roll my eyes. Flamingo most definitely was not missing Crombie, she’d told me such. Clearing the hair from my eyes, I look over at Crombie, his cheeks growing redder with each minute we spent in this chill.

            Noticing me looking his way, Crombie adds, “I know you’re missing Passera, you two spent a whole lotta’ nights together! Oh how I would love to hear her Italian little tongue try to say your name. Vistelankerton! Oh Vistelankerton!” His deep voice taking on a poor imitation of a feminine tone towards the end. The screech of it causing me to suck in my cheeks, chewing on them instead of punching Crombie in the face.

            Martel continues the mock female tone, “His name might have been the biggest mouthful Lanker could give her.”

            My teeth sink into my cheeks, drawing the taste of blood against my tongue, “You realize they’re dead right? That’s what we’ve been hired to figure out, who’s committing these murders?”

            The two men halt in their laughter, regarding me with stony faces as I’ve refused to partake in their joking around.

            Martel ruffles his jacket around his neck, exhaling a foggy breath before saying, “So - who hired you guys exactly?”

            Crombie and I share a glance. I narrow my eyes at him, hoping he won’t be stupid enough to reveal that to Martel. His sausage is good and it would be a shame to have to dispose of him in the Hudson.

            Crombie smirks, “The three piggies.”

         “Your bosses are the piggies? Wouldn’t it make more sense to call them the wolf?”

 “Our bosses do a lot more than blow your house down,” I explain, tone without any hint of comedy.

With a nod Martel gives us a final side eyed glance, stepping back near the warmth of his cart, “Well best of luck to you both, I hope no wolf blows you. You’s guys are two of my best customers.”

I give Martel a parting wave, stepping back onto the street and making my way to the van. Sucking in a few breaths of perfume free air before opening the door. The vehicle tilts as Crombie joins me on the passenger side, giving an audible effort as he reaches to buckle himself in.

I squeeze my fingers around the familiar battered steering wheel, “Where to?”

Crombie adjusts the seat and pulls out a small notepad from his dress shirt pocket, “157th on Marrow Way. That’s where Flamingo lived. On the tenth floor of that dilapidated shit hole. Boss didn’t find her there dis’morning, so we’ll search the place for clues. No body, just like the last few times. But the place is torn to shreds. He says there’s more blood than he thought could fit into a tiny gal like Flamingo.”

“Alright.” I start the car and turn us onto the next street. I can see Crombie with the peripherals of my eyes, attention still focused on the upcoming traffic.

Crombie mutters, “Everything okay with you, bud? You’ve been acting a’little off lately.”

I squeeze the steering wheel harder, feeling the metal crunch inward slightly, “I’m fine, it’s just that time of the month.”

“Eh? Are you on the rag or somethin’? After a year of working together, I think I would have noticed if you were a broad. Maybe boss man can have you work the streets, instead of enforcing with me.”

Taking my eyes off the road for a second, I glare at Crombie.

“Too bad you’re one ugly broad, Lanker,” he adds.

With a huff of meat scented breath, I turn my attention back to the road. Flamingo’s apartment sticks out from the rest. It’s just as monotonous and otherwise unmaintained but I can see her vibrant pink curtains peeking out from the top floor balcony. Glad to be able to get out of the car, I step onto the curb and make my way quickly across the sidewalk. Waiting on the stone steps for Crombie to catch up. There’s no doorman or even a front door, so we’re able to step inside the hallway and make our way up the stairs. A smile spreads across my lips as I pull myself onto the 5th floor, hands grasping the rusted banister and looking down through the bars to Crombie still on the 3rd floor.

I call down, “I’ll race you!”

His exhausted breath echo’s through the stairway, “Fuck you, Lanker.”

“You’d have to catch up to me first,” I whisper, smiling with all my teeth bared, not that he can see me doing so.

Once at the top floor, I catch the scent of Flamingo. Lavender and feathers, the scent of her pet parakeets that always clings to her. Flamingo’s apartment door is ajar, but before I can reach out to push it open fully, Crombie reaches the final step. His flushed cheeks are expanding as he sucks in breath. Straightening his spine, he looks up at me and gives a wide smile. He pushes open the apartment door and I follow him inside. My eyes immediately taking in the dried gore. The balcony’s glass door is open, allowing a steady gust of fresh air to blow through the small apartment. Besides Flamingo’s usual flare for color, is the un-ignorable splatter of blood along the walls and floor. Crumpled bed sheets lay torn and scattered around the foot of the large bed. Her remaining bird cages lay scattered around the room, small blue and green feathers dancing around the mess with each breeze. My shoe squishes down on a bit of intestine hiding under her welcome mat, the smell of it reminds me of Martel’s sausage cart.

Crombie stands in the doorway still, mouth agape as he surveys the room, “Wow! To think all this came from one thin chica’.”

As his words end, a noise stirs in the bathroom. The hair on the back of my neck stands up in anticipation. But as Flamingo walks out of the bathroom, her frail hands wrapped around a bottle of bird medication, my heart sinks.

            “What the fuck are you doing here, Flamingo?!” Crombie darts past me, faster than I’ve ever seen him move, his hand snatching up her wrist, “Boss thinks you’re dead! You’re gunna’ have some real explaining to do!”

            Flamingo’s green eyes lock on mine, bleary and bruised. A snarl rips through my throat and before I can stop myself my fist is impacting Crombie’s face. Knocking him onto his ass, he stares at me from the floor. His forehead creases as he looks up at us. Flamingo cowers behind me, but I spin around to grab her and give her shaking arms a comforting squeeze. I pull my scarf off and wrap it around her head, hiding away her familiar red hair. She looks so small in the dark wool jacket she is wearing. I recognize it as one from the back of my closet.

            My voice comes out horse, “Get back to the safe house with the others, I’ll meet you all there later.”

            She nods, giving Crombie a narrow-faced glare before darting out the door. Crombie is too busy dusting the knees of his pants off to notice. Recomposing himself as he stands, his eyes lock on mine.

            “You’re the wolf!” he declares, his tone deepening, “Except you aren’t killing the girls, you’re stealing them from the Boss! Was this your plan from the start, why you joined the family?”

            A familiar pain spreads through my jaw, muscles hardening as I grit my teeth. Finally, I say, “They’re not property to be owned. And it’s a sad imitation to call this little cluster fuck of a mob a family! I was hoping I could win you over to my side with time....”

            He takes a step towards me, “You’re a dead man, Lanker,” he pulls his jacket back, revealing the Glock he has holstered to his side. But instead of pulling it out, he pat’s his bulging wallet, “I’m on the side of money, simple as that.”

            My lips turn down, anger dissipating from my features, “You’re really going to turn me in? You get paid either way tonight, so what does it matter if you let me get away. I can get these women to safety!”

            Crombie laughs, stepping past me and onto the balcony. He pulls a cigarette from his coat pocket. The glow of the lighter makes his eyes look red, crows-feet highlighted by the flame. He ignores me, exhaling a harsh breath into my face. Coughing on the smell, I join him on the balcony.

            “Don’t you see this is wrong? Those women aren’t here of their free will! We’re no better than beasts if we keep them caged up, served up to pigs on a platter!”

            Crombie takes a step forward, his shoulders raising up around his neck, “You callin’ me a pig?”

            Crombie’s hands feel delicate against my chest as he pushes me, but the strength he holds in his chubby fingers is a surprise. The impact of him is enough to throw me off my step. Caught off balance, I step backwards. My arms swing to try and grab for the rail, but as my fingers grasp the metal, I feel the bolts give way. Time slows. My heartbeat feeling as hesitant as the dripping of a sink. Crombie’s usually soft features are pulled to angles I have never seen, eyes wide enough for his brown pupils to be a drop in the bucket of white. His mouth flares open, muscles creasing his cheeks as each passing second shows more and more of his bared teeth. There is no time to reflect on what emotions run across my friend’s face. For as soon as I note the oddity of his expression, time resumes its speed. The icy wind flutters through my jacket, a ragged sound as I fall the hundred feet to the ground. I am too stunned to scream. Too entranced by the speeding by city lights to care for my emotions. This is going to hurt, is the only thought passing through my mind.

            With a crunch, my body impacts the top of the van. Metal splitting inward as my muscular body breaks through. I can feel the impact on my spine, a radiating warmth as my flesh spreads out and recoils; muscles and bones rippling in place with force. My eyes slam shut as the pain sets my skin on fire. Fingers digging in and crunching the remaining metal under me. I feel my bones begin to pop. My toes and fingers snapping free of their usual shape, elongating and rearranging their structure. Next is my face, my jaw buckles as human teeth turn into fangs that pierce through my gums, nose elongating into a muzzle. The transformation is on par with the pain of the fall, reforming broken bones is never fun. With the aid of claws and teeth I rip free from my clothes, now having a thick coat of midnight fur to keep me warm. I stand on the remains of the van’s roof, four paws spread out around the rusted hole in the shape of my human body. With eyes designed for night, I look up at Crombie, his dark form standing out among the brilliance of the full moon above him. Our gazes meet and I can smell the stench of his fear even with the distance between us. He takes off in a run, likely in the direction of the stairs. I have his scent. The hunt is on. Come here little piggy!