boucher book oct28.pdf - Index of

46 Anthony Boucher
his flank. His forepaws struck Robby and thrust him out of danger. They fell to the
ground together, just as the car ground over the last of Wolf’s caudal vertebrae.
The cute dish screamed. “Homer! Did we hit them?”
Homer said nothing, and the jalopy zoomed on.
Robby’s screams were louder. “You hurt me!! You hurt me! Baaaaad woofwoof!”
His mother appeared on the porch and joined in with her own howls of rage.
The cacophony was terrific. Wolf let out one wailing yelp of his own, to make it
perfect and to lament his crushed tail, and dashed on. This was no time to clear up
misunderstandings.
But the two delays had been enough. Robby and the policeman had proved the
perfect unwitting tools of Oscar Fearing. As Wolf approached Emily’s little bungalow,
he saw a gray sedan drive off. In the rear was a small, slim girl, and she was
struggling.
Even a werewolf’s lithe speed cannot equal that of a motor car. After a block of
pursuit, Wolf gave up and sat back on his haunches panting. It felt funny, he thought
even in that tense moment, not to be able to sweat, to have to open your mouth and
stick out your tongue and …
“Trouble?” inquired a solicitous voice.
This time Wolf recognized the cat. “Heavens, yes,” he assented wholeheartedly.
“More than you ever dreamed of.”
“Food shortage?” the cat asked. “But that toddler back there is nice and
plump.”
“Shut up,” Wolf snarled.
“Sorry; I was just judging from what Confucius told me about werewolves. You
don’t mean to tell me that you’re an altruistic were?”
“I guess I am. I know werewolves are supposed to go around slaughtering, but
right now I’ve got to save a life.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Ah,” the cat reflected philosophically. “Truth is a dark and deceitful thing.”
Wolfe Wolf was on his feet. “Thanks,” he barked. “You’ve done it.”
“Done what?”
“See you later.” And Wolf was off at top speed for the Temple of the Dark
Truth.
That was the best chance. That was Fearing’s headquarters. The odds were at
least even that when it wasn’t being used for services it was the hangout of his ring,
especially since the consulate had been closed in San Francisco. Again the wild
running and leaping, the narrow escapes; and where Wolf had not taken these too
seriously before, he knew now that he might be immune to bullets, but certainly
not to being run over. His tail still stung and ached tormentingly. But he had to get
there. He had to clear his own reputation, he kept reminding himself; but what he
really thought was, I have to save Emily.
A block from the Temple he heard the crackle of gunfire. Pistol shots and, he’d
swear, machine guns, too. He couldn’t figure what it meant, but he pressed on.