A Canadian Werewolf in New York

Chapter Two

     “Speaking of your Ma, Wally, where is she?”

     His scent got frightened again, but also worried and concerned and confused.  “She’s on the ferry.  I stopped to tie my shoes and watched this ant.  Then I caught up with Ma again, but I started to worry about the ant.  I ran back to him.  I didn’t hear the ferry man announce the gate was closing.  I couldn’t find the ant, but I kept looking.  Then Ma was calling for me, and the ferry was leaving.  So I’m waiting here for Ma.  I still can’t find the ant, so I started walking to find him.  Still can’t find the ant.”

     “It’s okay, Wally.  I’m sure that the ant is okay.  And your Ma saw you on the dock, didn’t she?”

     “Yes.  She was calling to me.”

     “She’s probably going to be on the next ferry.”

     “You think so?”

     “Of course,” and then my nurturing instinct kicked in slightly higher.  It suddenly seemed likely to me that Wally’s mother was a cleaning lady with neither the family support nor the money to afford someone to look after her son for her while she worked.  So she likely did what she had to --adhere him to the same schedule as her, working throughout the night and sleeping in the morning.

“And I’ll stay here with you until she does.”  Of course, it would certainly be tricky for me to not be seen by anybody dressed the way I was, but I’d deal with that when the time came.

     “Okay,” he said.  “But do we still get to find some clothes for you?”

     “Sure,” I smiled.  Then I caught the scent of someone approaching from what seemed to be South Street.  It was a man, not quite as clean smelling as Wally, but not so unwashed as to be a street person.  Also, he wasn’t wearing cologne or after shave, so it wasn’t likely a business person.

     “Wally, listen,” I said.  “Someone is coming.  And I’m . . . a little shy about people not seeing me dressed the way I am.  So I’m just going to hide.  I’ll still be nearby, though, okay.”

     “Okay,” he said.

     Just a few yards to the west there was a series of concrete barricades, due to construction that was going on with the pier and docking station.  I quickly bounded in that direction, easily leapt over the barricade and ducked down behind it.

     As I’d ducked down, I was struck with another memory from my last stint as a wolf.  This time it was the deafening roar of a gunshot and the unmistakable smell of gunpowder; a flash of pain in my leg and somewhere, muffled, in the background a child-like voice that said something like:  “No, not the nice doggie!”

     I shook my head -- now wasn’t the time to have a flashback -- and focused on Wally and the approaching stranger.

     The footsteps got closer as the scent became stronger.

     “Well, what do we have here?” a voice called out.  It was deeper in tone than Wally’s voice and spoken in a loud, carefully pronounced way.  The accent was different in pitch, not the same New York/Brooklyn flavor of speech common to this area, but more like my own accent, which had a New England ring to it.

     “Good morning.”  Wally said.  “Would you happen to have the time?”

     “The time?” the stranger responded in a sneering tone.  “You’re the one wearing a watch, dude.”  There was a pause.  “Oh, I get it, you’re a retard.”

     “My Ma says that it’s not nice to use that word.”  Again, Wally’s scent wasn’t fearful, it was indignant, offended.

     “Well your Ma isn’t here to stop me, now, is she bub?”