A Canadian Werewolf in New York

Chapter Thirteen

I needed to get the busted-up guy to help, and fast.  But I also couldn’t afford to lose the gang members who were beating a hasty retreat, now almost all the way down at the far end of the alley.  Well, two of them, at least.  The first bad guy to run was long gone now, completely off my radar.  But the last two guys to leave were still in sight.

     And if my gut told me anything, it was the one who’d been standing at the head with his hands on his hips who was at the very least the mini leader within their small pack.

     And he was the one I needed to get to in order to get some information about where I would find Howard.

     I reached down for my cell phone, so I could call in an ambulance, but realized for the first time that I didn’t have it on me.

     I’d left my apartment too hastily.  I’d forgotten it.

     So I did the only thing that came to mind.  I lifted Mr. Bruised & Battered onto my shoulder and started to race down the alley after the finely dressed thugs.

     There were a series of hospitals on the East side, such as Rockefeller University Hospital or New York Presbyterian Hospital, and I consoled myself with the fact that, while I was chasing these guys down the alley, at least I was heading in the right direction for the hospitals.

     The guy on my shoulder moaned -- it was the first time he uttered anything, and I took that as a good sign.  His heart also seemed to be returning to a slightly more normal pattern of beating.  I also took that for a good sign.

     The suits finally reached the end of the alley while I was still only mid-way down it.  They headed left, or North onto Park Avenue.

     I quickened my pace, trying as best I could to tune in to the sounds coming from that direction that weren’t traffic, horns or regular walking footfalls.  All I could get was an indistinct sound of multiple racing footsteps, likely from the men I was pursuing.

     The faint scent of the chemical used to clean their suits hung in the air more clearly here, though, and much better than it did back where they’d first been in the alley -- I attributed that to the nature of the air flow in the alley, likely due to the placement of vents from the buildings.  I stuck with that scent and followed it.

     When I got to the street, I turned left and though I couldn’t see them anywhere, I could still make out the scent of their suits.  And here, there was also a unique smell of sweat mingled with the suit.  It was a heavy, damp, musky smell, and I could tell that one of the men I was pursuing, although in pretty decent shape, must have been a sweater.  Not just a regular sweater, but the honey thick perspiration kind.  What was it those radio ads called the condition?  Hyper-hydrosis.

     Woo hoo, I’d hit the jackpot there.  I actually paused to further take in his unique odor, place a marker on it in my mind.

     Particularly since I wasn’t one hundred percent sure I would be able to catch these guys -- I had to at least have something to follow, something to go on.

     “Thanks boys. You’ll help me find Howard.” I mumbled, deciding that I had enough to go on even if I did lose their trail at this point.  And given the heart condition of the man I was carrying it was likely best to get him to a hospital so he could be looked at.

     “Howie?” the man on my shoulder said in a voice so faint that a normal ear wouldn’t have picked it up.

     “What did you just say?”

     “Howie.  They said they had Howie.”

     “Who?”

     “Howie Clark.”  Good.  A first and a last name.  But did he actually mean Gail’s Howard?  I couldn’t be sure because I never learned the guy’s last name.  But the possibility did exist that it was the same person, particularly since the men in the same cut suits were involved with both.