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“Christ, I hope so,” Crow said, but he didn’t think it was. Not with those enigmatic last words of Karl Ruger nibbling at him night and day, but he didn’t want to tell Terry about that quite yet, especially with the look of strained exhaustion painted on Terry’s face. He took a sip to let the moment pass before broaching a different subject. “So, tell me, bro, you still having those nightmares?”

Terry stiffened, but did not turn. “Did Sarah say something?”

“No, you did, you lunkhead. In my store, couple days ago, just before all the fun and games started.”

Terry nodded. “Fair enough.” But he didn’t elaborate right away. Crow gave him a “go ahead” arch of the eyebrows but by the time Terry finally answered Crow’s coffee had cooled by several degrees and Party Cat had fallen asleep, his head on Crow’s crotch. The air was utterly still and off in the distance they could hear music from the bars on Corn Hill. Despite the ongoing manhunt, tourists were still pouring into the town and everywhere there was laughter and music. Even Crow thought that was weird.

When he spoke, Terry’s voice was soft and Crow had to forcibly tune out the music to catch his words. “Crow, next to Sarah you’re the one person I really trust.” He turned to see if Crow was going to make one of his smartass comments, but Crow just raised his cup in silent acknowledgment of the trust, so Terry continued, “And I know that if anyone is going to have my back, and to not judge me based on what I’m about to say, it’s going to be you.”

“We’ve been each other’s wingmen for a lot of years, Wolfman.”

“And don’t ever think I don’t appreciate it. I know I’m sometime high maintenance.” He sipped his coffee and set the cup down. “For the last month or so I’ve been having problems, and the nightmares are just part of it…but let’s start there.” He described one of the dreams to Crow, going into more detail than he had even shared with his psychiatrist, and once more he turned to see if there was any mockery or humor on Crow’s face, but while Terry was talking, Crow had just leaned forward, listening, his face very serious, his cup forgotten in his hands.

When Terry finished, Crow asked, “And you say you’re having some hallucinations where you think you see this monster face in mirrors and such?”

Terry nodded. “How crazy is that?”

Instead of answering, Crow asked, “What does the beast look like?”

It wasn’t the question Terry was expecting and his surprise showed on his face. “What does it matter? A monster’s a monster.”

“When it comes to nightmares, I don’t think so. Maybe if we understood the kind of critter you’re seeing it might mean something, you know—the way one thing means something else in regular dreams. You dream of hotdogs flying through the Lincoln Tunnel and it means you need to get laid.”

A crow flapped out of the east and landed in the tree above him, cawing softly. “It’s a wolf,” Terry said at last.

Crow nodded. “Well, that much makes sense.”

“How?” Terry loaded that one word with a hundred questions.

“Well, last time I looked at the name on those checks you give me to manage the Hayride, your last name is ‘Wolfe.’ Not really much of a stretch. If you’re dreaming about becoming a beast and fate conveniently gives you a last name like that, it’s pretty much a gimme. Plus, we’ve all been calling you Wolfman since grade school. Look at me—Crow—if I dreamed about becoming a bird, what do you think would be first on the list?”

“No,” Terry said with a vigorous shake of his head, “it can’t be that simple.”

“Not saying it is, brother,” Crow said, “but it’s at least part of the puzzle. What’s your doc say about it?”

“He thinks it’s stress.”

“And you don’t?” He waved his hands to indicate the town. “You’re the mayor of Shitstorm, USA. Can we say ‘blight’? Can we say ‘township-wide financial crisis’? Not to mention Ruger and those other ass-clowns shooting up the place.”

“This started before Ruger.”

“Has it gotten worse since he’s been here?”

A silence, then Terry nodded. Crow gave a “well, there you are” hand gesture.

“No,” Terry said, “there’s more.”

(2)

Vic always drove carefully. He’d never so much as logged a parking ticket, let alone a speeding ticket, so when he saw that there was a police unit behind him he didn’t sweat being pulled over. On the other hand, he was less than half a mile from the hospital, heading away from it on the only major road that passed those gates. He stared at the headlights of the cruiser in his rearview mirror and his mind was working, working.

When the light ahead turned red, he made a decision and braked to a stop, pulling halfway onto the shoulder and waving his arm out the window. As the cruiser pulled up Vic could see that it was Dave Golub riding alone. He knew Golub through Polk. A big Jewish kid playing cop to pay his way through law school. Vic grinned. “Hey! Dave!”

Golub peered through his passenger window and saw who it was. He put his unit in park and hit the button to drop the window. “Vic?”