A Canadian Werewolf in New York

Chapter Two

I could only hope that this person who was quickly approaching wasn’t one of my fans.

     Based on the unfamiliar scent, I knew this was a person I hadn’t met before -- that was something at least.  There was also the slight tinge of ammonia or a similar cleaning agent on this person, so my initial thought was that this might be one of the cleaners leaving the Wall Street office towers after a busy night of work.

     He stopped as I rounded the corner, and there he stood, about five and a half feet tall.  He had a large round face, receding hairline and a half-grown attempt at a goatee on his face.  His eyes were almond shaped and a very bright blue.  He wore a red plaid shirt and bright yellow suspenders to hold up his brown pleated slacks.  Over that he wore a thin windbreaker jacket.  On his feet were long red sneakers, and his stance was such that his feet were angled outwards, the way you sometimes see a clown standing.

     He smiled at me.  A huge, unabashed full tooth smile and said in a loud and deep voice.  “Lovely morning, isn’t it!”

     Not one double-take for the way I was dressed.

     Yeah, I know, I know, this is New York after all.  But still, you’d expect at least a slight pause.  And, even in the average New Yorker used to seeing the strange relatively regularly, I would expect to smell at least the slightest twinge of fear.  After all, a strange man in a pair of tight pink panties wandering the streets typically signaled that something was amiss.

     Before I could say anything, he asked:  “Do you happen to have the time?”  He said this in the same loud announcer-type voice.  It was obviously a planned and well-practiced line.

     I instinctively glanced at my bare wrist and then took another look at him.  He was wearing a watch.

     Then I understood.  It explained the well-rehearsed line, which was a little conversation starter, something it was okay for one stranger to ask of another.  This poor guy was a little slow.  But he certainly wasn’t living on the street -- he had a clean, recently bathed smell to him, and also had that tinge of ammonia.  My instincts kicked in, knowing he was a person who required adult supervision, protection.  So, either he was lost, having wandered out of a protected area, or his supervisory support was nearby.  I knew the second option couldn’t be right, because I would have smelled another person in the vicinity.  And I could tell that he and I were the only people within about one block of here at least.

     “I’m sorry,” I told him.  “I don’t have the time, but I think I can guess.”

     His eyes lit up.  This was going to be a game of sorts.  He raised his wrist and looked at his own watch.  “Okay, then you guess.  And I’ll tell you if you’re right.  I’m Wally.”

     “Hi Wally.  I’m Michael.  So, Wally, if I guess correctly, what sort of prize is that worth?”

     “Prize?”  he asked.  Again, he wasn’t trepidatious in the slightest.  His scent revealed playfulness and wonder.

     “Yeah,” I said.  “I’m a little short of clothes here.  Maybe you could help by lending me some clothing if I guess correctly.  Like, maybe your jacket.”

     Immediately fear fused out of him.  But he didn’t step back.  He wasn’t afraid of me, but of something else.  A consequence of the thought of giving away his clothes?  “No,” he said quietly.  “Can’t do that.  Can’t do that.  Ma says that I need to keep track of my things, like my clothes.  Have to keep track of them.  Can’t do that.”

     “Okay, okay, maybe you could help me find some clothes.”

     The fear was immediately replaced with the playfulness again, and deeper excitement.