Vice(31)
“Careful he doesn’t slit your throat out there, man. His dogs love lapping up blood from the dirt.”
“Fuck you.”
“Whatever.” He shrugs. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I don’t have my gun now, either. I searched for it among my scattered possessions after Harrison and his men left, but it was nowhere to be found; he obviously took it with him when he left my room, and asking for it back seemed inappropriate. So I follow after Fernando with my hands in my pockets, my fingers closing around the handle of my small balisong knife. His men clearly left it for me because of its size. It’s tiny, but they have no idea what I can do with the smallest sliver of sharpened steel. It’ll definitely be enough to protect myself from a hungry wolf. I’m hoping that’s the case, anyway.
When I reach Fernando, he puts his arm around my shoulders again, and points into the trees. “All of Ecuador used to be forest and jungle for hundreds of years. Before the conquistadors arrived, the indigenous people of this country were farmers and hunters. Excellent hunters. The wolves were a spiritual animal to us. They are still spiritual to me. If I find out that someone has harmed a wolf here, I am not a happy man. I had a favorite wolf many years ago, Kechu. He was silver, with brilliant blue eyes. Very rare. He was brave. He was so courageous that he would come up here to the house and sit on the lawn, and he and I would watch each other for hours. It felt like we were communicating in some way.
“And then, one day, I came back home after visiting family for a few days, and I saw Kechu chained to a post out here by the trees. He was struggling to get free, whining and afraid, and I was filled with rage. I stormed into the house, demanding to know why my favorite wolf was being treated that way, and my father explained what had happened. Kechu had attacked my eight-year-old sister, and ripped out her throat. He had killed her.
“I was distraught. I loved Kechu, but I had loved my sister more. It felt as though he had betrayed me. I realized after a little while that I was wrong, though. Kechu had not betrayed me. He was following his natural instincts to kill, to eat, and my little sister had been easy prey for him. I took my father’s gun, and I shot Kechu here.” Fernando taps my face with his index finger, above my right eye. “He was my favorite wolf, Mr. Garrett, but he had done something I could not forgive. Even though it was his nature, and even though his actions were not a personal attack to me, they still could not go unpunished. I did what I had to do, even though it broke my heart.”
In the distance, a single, low howl splits the night air apart. Back by the house, the group of men and women gathered in white robes mutter and mumble to one another, panicking like sheep as they shift against one another, trying to move to the rear of the party, further away from the forest. The howl goes up again, and this time it’s joined by another, and then another.
“Their song is quite haunting,” Fernando says. “I’ve always loved it, though it seems to disturb some of my other guests.”
Yeah, no shit. I’m not surprised they find it disturbing, if you’ve been feeding their friends to your little pets. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I manage to keep my thoughts to myself.
Fernando squeezes my shoulder, sighing. “What do you think of my story, Mr. Garrett? Do you think I did the right thing in killing Kechu?”
“I think once an animal turns against its master, there really isn’t anything else you can do.”
He seems pleased by this response. “Exactly. I am pleased you understand. You remind me of him, you know. In a strange way, I think of him every time I look at you, and it’s like I’m visiting with an old friend. I think I will call you Kechu, if it doesn’t bother you too much.” It’s not a request. He’s going to do it, regardless of if it does bother me or not. I’m not stupid enough to ask him not to, though. And I know what he’s doing: he’s giving me a warning. He will accept me, we can become friends, but no matter how much he likes me, if I f*ck up and do something to offend him, or hurt those he cares about, he will shoot me in the head without thinking twice.
“I don’t mind,” I tell him. “I don’t mind at all.” I should be giving him a warning of my own. If I find out my sister has been here, if Fernando has even laid eyes on her for one f*cking second, I will do worse to him than shoot him in the head. I’ll be murdering him with my bare hands, and I will be taking my goddamn time with it.
The wolves arrive then. They appear like ghosts, forming out of the shadows, taking shape slowly, gradually. It feels like my eyes are playing tricks on me as they slink forward out of the darkness, as if they aren’t really there, only the suggestion of them as the prowl up toward the house. Their paws make no sound on the short grass. They make strange chittering, yipping noises to one another as they weave around each other’s bodies, eyeing the situation before them.
Are there ten of them? Fifteen? The way they move around one another, dipping in and out of the shadows, makes it impossible to count. Their coats are stunning—brindle, gray, black, tan and stone, all blending together as they shift and press cautiously forward.
The guy I shot, William, has been taken out of the sheet he was carried out in and has been laid out on the grass, arms spread out wide on either side of him, his eyes closed, his skin pale and ashy; the way they’ve arranged him makes him look like some sort of offering. A sacrifice. A worried rumble goes up from Fernando’s players. The men in black have all looked stoic and cool up until now. Some of them have even looked turned on by the whole situation, their eyes bright and shining, filled with anticipation, their hands rubbing at their cocks through their suit pants. Now they don’t look so excited. They look concerned as the wolves pad silently toward them, as if they are made out of the thick silence and the oppressive darkness of the night.