Brian Drake [Drake - The Dangerous Mr Wolf

There are only three rules in this city:

Never cheat your partner,

Never take more than your share,

And never cross

WOLF

Five bodies littered the dry street. Blood smeared the pavement, mixing into the asphalt grime to produce a red/black gunk.

The police had blocked off the street at either end; patrolmen directed traffic around the crime scene while detectives and the forensics team examined the casualties. The two a.m. chill made the work a chore. A large utility truck with a spotlight lit up the scene but cast odd shadows about. Everybody held up an arm or a hand to block the blast of light.

When Inspector John Callaway arrived and exited his car, he didnt know where to begin. Or even if he should. His men had the place covered. He wandered around. The guys were dead, all right. The ambulances had only been summoned as a formality; the medics hung about doing nothing. Callaway stopped. He put most of his weight on his left foot. His right was sore, for some reason. It had been aching lately. Maybe it was finally time to shed some of the extra pounds he carried around. Maybe then his feet would stop aching. He waved down one of the detectives.

What do we have?

The detective was young, maybe late 20s; his hands shook as he flipped back the pages of his notebook.

Take it easy, Callaway said.

The detective nodded. Five victims. Shot with an automatic weapon. Jesus, skipper, their guts are everywhere.

Stay focused.

A deep breath. The detective said, From what the witnesses say, the guys exited the club over there, and when they crossed the street to that Cadillac at the curb, the shooter got out of a car and opened up on them.

One shooter?

With an automatic weapon.

One guy?

Yes, sir.

Then he got in the car and drove away?

Like hed stepped on a spider, skipper, the young detective said. Were checking the red-light cameras and we think the jewelry store on the corner may have had a security camera looking this way, but other than that-- he shrugged.

Good. Lets go see one of the stiffs.

The detective led the way. They stepped under crime scene tape and the young man stopped at a body lying face down on the asphalt, a hefty fellow with a toupee now askew and matted with blood.

I didnt know guys even bothered with toupees anymore, the detective said.

Youd be surprised what guys bother with, said Callaway. He knelt beside the body and examined the mans face. His eyes were still open. He wore a large gold ring on his left hand. Callaway stood.

Know him? the detective said.

Ben Belasis. Hes one of Gulinos boys.

These are mob guys?

Take it easy.

But, skipper-

Just do your job. Let me worry about what it means.

It didnt make sense. Carlo Gulino and the other capo in town, Pedro Sanchez, had coexisted peacefully for over twenty years. The battles of the old days were long settled. Had something happened to change the situation? The rumor mill, usually the most reliable source of such goings on, had offered nothing in the weeks prior to tonight.

Callaway stood and scanned the crime scene, holding a hand up against the glare of the spotlight. There was indeed nothing he could do here. He needed to be elsewhere, and fast.

Almost as if on cue, his phone beeped. A text. Callaway gave the screen a quick glance, said, Stay loose, kid, and returned to his car. The young detective watched him drive away.

Presently Callaway turned into another neighborhood, parked the car and stepped out. He checked the text again and turned into an alley. He climbed the fire escape to the roof. Why did his friend always want to meet on rooftops? Grunting, he swung his legs over the edge of the roof and stopped, winded. Bloody hell, he had to go on a diet.

Another man stood a few feet away looking out at the sleeping city. The glow of the city lights highlighted the man, tall, head-to-toe in black, standing with the steadiness of an eternal sentry.

Why do you always make me climb something? Callaway said as he approached the other man.

Its good for you, the man said. Callaway knew him only as Wolf. Nobody knew his first name. He had arrived in Las Palmas four years ago, taking a leave of absence from military service to find out why his sister Shelly had stopped writing letters, only to find that shed been murdered. He tore the city apart to find the man responsible. Callaway provided a helping hand, and the two formed an unlikely bond between lawman, and outlaw. With his sisters killer vanquished, Wolf made his exit from the military permanent and stayed in the city, operating on the fringes between the cops and the crooks. Callaway didnt think he was a bad guy; wasnt entirely sure he was a good guy; what he did know was that sometimes Wolf came in handy. Because justice, the ever-present underdog, often needed a little help, and, for some reason, Wolf didnt mind lending that help. Callaway wasnt sure what to do about him, so he did nothing. Sometimes it was best to just see how things shook out.

My guys tell me there was only one shooter. I got half a mind to think it was you, Wolf.

Whats my motive?

Thats the only reason Im positive it wasnt you.

The citys glow hit Wolfs face just right. It was a rough face. There was a small scar on his lower lip. Dark eyes, darker hair, a silver chain around his neck which disappeared down the front of his shirt.

Wolf said, Whatever started tonight, we dont have long before it gets out of control. You know Gulino will blame Sanchez and he will retaliate. Innocent people are in danger.

Neither of them is that stupid. Theyll want answers first. Have you heard anything about problems between them?

Nothing. Wolf frowned. Youre right, we would have heard something.

Especially you.

Wolf let out a grunt. Nobodys perfect.

Do you have any action going?

Ive already started working my end, but so far I have nothing for you.

Callaway sighed. I probably wont get any sleep this week.

Try to. Wolf patted him on the shoulder. In your condition you need your rest. He laughed. He started for the fire escape.