Night Howls on the Hudson

Chapter 8: Wicked Game

"Dean and Sam discovered a zombie who was running toward the campus on 118th Street," Neal said, tossing his rubber band ball into the air. "They lost it when it ducked into an alleyway. Dean figures it slipped down a manhole cover."

Peter swatted Neal's feet off his desk. The rubber band ball, the feet on the desk—they were both running jokes that these days Neal played with greater frequency. His justification was that they helped Peter relax. What with the zombies, a leech-man running amok, Neal's bondage to Astrena, and the Mansfelds on the loose, Peter had so much to stew about, the worry lines on his forehead were threatening to become permanent.

The news about Weewillmeku had spread throughout the team, but Hughes advised against informing anyone else until and if there was clear evidence. That didn't keep the bullpen from joking about Willy, Manhattan's version of the Loch Ness Monster.

"Are they sure it was a zombie?" Peter challenged. "How do you recognize a zombie if you run into one?"

"Good question. That's what I asked Mozzie. Sam told him there are several different types of zombies and the ganking method is different for each one."

"Ganking? If you're going to use hunter lingo at the Bureau, you better supply the team a glossary."

Neal shrugged. "With the type of foe we're facing, the term is appropriate. Sometimes it's a stake through the heart, or it could be a silver bullet. Who knows what's deadly to Lenape leech-zombies? Firewater maybe? Sam told me their gait is odd—a distinctive awkward lope." Neal got up and demonstrated the shuffle, holding his arms out like boards and pacing stiff-legged around Peter's office.

Peter snorted. "You look like a bad imitation of Frankenstein."

"That's not my fault. I'm simply imitating what Mozzie did. Of course, the most obvious clue is the leech mouth." Neal opened his mouth wide, forming a gaping circle, and tilted his head to one side just as Jones knocked on the frame of the open door.

Jones quickly formed an X with his hands. "Back off, demon scum!"

Neal faked a lunge but stopped before Jones got any ideas about retaliation.

"Simmer down, leech-zombie!" Peter ordered, trying to sound stern through his laughter. Mission accomplished. The worry lines were gone.

"More zombies I take it?" Jones asked.

Neal filled him in. "Did you hear anything about the missing students?"

"That's why I'm here. Quint Worland, Travis's friend, thinks he saw the same man he'd earlier spotted talking with the first missing person. I'm going to Columbia to interview Quint this afternoon." He turned to Neal. "I can give you a lift home."

"Good idea," Peter said before he could respond. "You're supposed to be home anyway, working on that Renoir forgery."

A sensitive subject. He'd much rather be at work, away from thoughts of Astrena, but he didn't want to admit it. "Thanks, I could use the extra time to get ready for my date."

"Where are you and Bianka going?" Jones asked.

"Back to Riffs. I intend to wear her out so she won't be interested in other games afterward."

"Don't count on it," Jones warned.

"I haven't staged an interruption yet," Peter said. "You want me to be the one to call you?"

"Sure. Make it around ten. That will be late enough for me to convince her how passionate I am without getting into trouble." Electra had called him in the morning and invited him to an art gallery reception that evening. It would have made an ideal excuse for Bianka, who would have readily understood and commended him for taking advantage of the opportunity. But then Bianka would have wanted to see him afterward.