Beast of Prey

Chapter One

Two days after he injured himself by getting hit in the face by the medicine cabinet door, Howie Gersten found his precious healing time disturbed by an onslaught of phone calls - surprisingly, all from Jazz. As it were, for Howie, healing time consisted of staying up way too late and hosting movie marathons for himself in the cold comfort of his bedroom. Tonight, it was every movie in the Shrek franchise, complete with spin offs. And in between the chuckling at the actual scripted jokes of the film, and chuckling at the innuendos that Howie was able to find, his phone kept ringing. Long ago, Howie'd set ringtones to each of his contacts - his mother's was some kind of NKOTB song, his father's was the Bob the Builder theme, and Jazz's was this sick dubstep soul jam thing that Howie had found on the internet. Why is he calling me? Howie wondered. Does Jazz even know what time it is? I told him that I needed time to heal and my face still hurts. I wonder what he needs.

For Howie, phone calls from Jazz were of rare occurrence. Jazz had a phone now, thanks to the combined efforts of the local chief of police and Jazz's girlfriend, but it was as if Jazz didn't know a thing about cell phones because he never used it. And in those rare instances that he did, it was for recruitment purposes - like, Hey dude, I know it's late but I was wondering if you wanted to come stake out a crime scene with me? And it wasn't that Howie didn't want to help out his best friend in times of need, but right now, Howie was feeling rather drained and woozy. His forehead still ached, and staking crime scenes was literally the last thing in the world that he wanted to do. Sorry dude, he texted. But I am literally not feeling the whole Sherlock thing tonight - maybe another time?

However, despite the text, the phone kept blaring, insisting. Howie tried his best not to get annoyed, but after the tenth constant call he quickly came to know: something was wrong. Jazz may be stubborn, but he wasn't so stubborn that he would constantly call someone until they answered - unless, of course, it was G.William. An alarm went off in Howie's mind, and best he could, he contorted his body across the length of his bed in order to reach his cell.

"Jazz - what's wrong?" He answered. "What is so important that you're going all panic mode on me?"

Expecting an emotionless "shut up" from Jazz, and a request for help to stake out a crime scene, Howie was surprised when the response he got was a "I'm sorry" in a dialect and voice that Howie knew was not Jazz's at all. For starters, the voice was female and it was distinctively British. Howie's internal alarm system turned on and his mind went to Jazz being held captive somewheres - the line was a crazy serial killer looking to prey on the best friend. But all that faded when the girl on the phone, who called herself RJ, told Howie that she was the bartender of a local pub downtown who'd witnessed Jazz get drunk off his ass. So drunk, in fact, that he was now passed out on the floor.

"I realized he was underage," RJ said. "Initially, I was going to call the ambulance for him but then his ID fell out of his back pocket. You see, I value my job and I figured it would be better for both me and him for me to just call the first person I could to get him help on the DL."

"That makes sense," Howie decided. He thought, for a second, about G.William. The sheriff was pretty easy going - and actually kind of nice for a cop - but how far could the poor guy be stretched? How many free passes did he have saved up for Jazz's illegal activity? All wells run dry, all oceans have a bottom Howie figured, and for all he knew, underage drinking could be the breaking point. "Yeah, it was better for you to call me."

"I thought so."

"But are you sure, like completely sure, that it was Jazz - Jasper Dent - who got drunk off his ass at your bar? He doesn't drink much. Maybe you got him confused for some other, good looking blond kid." Howie scratched the back of his neck, being mindful of the bruise that could begin to form. Jazz was a law breaker, sure, but he usually broke the law for things related to crimes. "Jazz doesn't drink, and, besides that, his stomach is really weak."

"I'm pretty sure it's him," RJ said. "I recognize him from the news and the bar is completely empty - it's two in the morning after all. And, he may not be a usual drinker, but tonight he went all out. Do you mind coming to get him? The manager is going to be back soon, and I'd hate for things to get out of hand."

"Yeah, yeah." Howie agreed before he hung up.

He moved the laptop off the bed, and then stretched. Even though he was officially out of high school now, and one year away from being a legal adult, Howie felt the exuberant need to sneak out of the house, the way he'd done so many times before. So he dug into his drawer, pulled out oil, and went out the window. I'm Spiderman. He thought as he went to the Honda, And now I'm going to get my Mary Jane.