Police Books

The Brotherhood

By, Rick Huffman

“Is that the old guy?” Desmond Rutgo asked.

“Yeah, that’s him,” replied his partner, known as Skeebo.

“Sure doesn’t look like someone with money,” Rutgo said; watching an old man dressed in worn, torn and dirty clothing bent over the edge of a large dumpster.

“That’s why he’s got so much, dummy. He doesn’t spend any. The old fart probably has the first penny he ever earned,” said Skeebo.

“Well, what makes you think he has money?”

“My uncle delivered a load of lumber to the property he has north of here, way out in the sticks. He paid him in cash. My uncle said he thinks he’s got it stashed on the property somewhere. Probably one of those people that doesn’t trust banks. I heard on the street he owns a condo in Florida too. Probably made money in investments or something,” said Skeebo.

“Well, he sure doesn’t look like much now. Dumpster diver if you ask me,” said Rutgo, putting a finger to the left side of his nose and blowing a stream of snot onto the pavement.

“Hey, you don’t want to do it, fine, I’ll do it myself, but the money is mine,” said Skeebo, a look of disgust pulling at his face as Rutgo wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Alright, let’s do it,” Rutgo said, starting to move from behind the cover of a building and into the dim light of a street lamp.

“No, no, wait. He’s not going to have anything on him. We’ll wait until he makes the next trip to that wooded lot. There’ll be no one around to see us.”


******


“What do you suppose those two idiots are up to? Officer John Mays asked his partner, Bill Young, as they watched Rutgo and Skeebo walking down the street.

“You can bet it’s no good,” replied Young.

“It’s too bad the damn court system keeps kicking them back out onto the streets. Rutgo was just had for a breaking and entering and, Skeebo for that aggravated assault on that elderly woman,” said Mays, taking a sip from a cup of coffee he’d just purchased at the Pri-Mart.

“Yeah, the two have no redeeming qualities, we’ll get them. It’s just a matter of time,” said Young, taking a bite from a frosted doughnut.


******


“Are you sure he went down this two-track?” Rutgo asked.

“It’s the only place he could have gone. You don’t see his tail lights do you?” Skeebo replied.

“Think he knows we’ve been following him?”

“No, no way. The old coot doesn’t know shit, quit worrying,” said Skeebo, turning onto the two track.

“Well, don’t you be getting us lost, these are big ass woods,” replied Rutgo.

“Man, I shouldn’t have let you in on this. All you’ve done is cry about everything,” said Skeebo.

“Shut up, stupid,” Rutgo said, punching Skeebo in the arm, causing him to swerve; nearly hitting a tree.

“I just saw brake lights,” Skeebo announced.

“Better stop here. We’ll walk the rest of the way,” said Rutgo.

The two got out of the car, quietly closing the doors.

“You got that hunting knife I sold you?” Asked Rutgo.

“Yes. Why? You looking to skin a Bear or something?”

“Hey, you know as well as I do we can’t let the old man live after we find out where his stash is,” said Rutgo.

“I know, but you’re doing it.”

“Why, you chicken?”

“Shut up! Here, you take the knife,” Skeebo said, pulling it from its sheath.

“Not a problem,” said Rutgo, taking the knife.

The two fumbled along the two track until they saw dim lights from a small window.

“There it is. Let’s get a little closer and just watch for a few minutes,” said Rutgo.

After watching for five minutes and not seeing movement, Rutgo said, “Let’s go. These Mosquito’s are eating me alive.”

The two made their way to the front of the house. Then, hearing scraping sounds, stopped.

“He’s out back,” said Skeebo.

The two slowly rounded the corner of the small cabin, An exterior light was on providing enough illumination where they could make out the old man with a shovel. He had just dug a few inches into the soil when he bent down to retrieve a silver can.

“I told you,’ Skeebo whispered.

The two watched as the old man opened the can and retrieved some money.

Suddenly, Rutgo jumped out and charged the old man, knocking him to the ground.

“Give me that,” Rutgo shouted, grabbing a wad of bills from the old man’s frail hands.

“Look at this shit. There must be a thousand bucks here,” said Rutgo, excitedly stuffing the money in his pants pocket.

“That’s mine, give it back,” said the old man in a shaky voice.

Rutgo kicked, hitting the old man in the ribs, saying, “Where’s the rest you old fart. I know there has to be more!”

Suddenly, from the darkness of the forest, a series of howls erupted.

“Wolves,” cried Skeebo. “Let’s get this done and get the hell out of here.”

Rutgo went at the old man with the knife then, stopped. Something was wrong. Very wrong. The old man was writhing about, but not from pain. His body stretched first this way then, that. He grew larger, much larger. Hair, thick hair, sprouted like time lapsed stages of growth. Where once there were frail hands now, thick padded paws with razor sharp claws. Springing from the ground, what once was an old man, a huge seven-foot Wolf, it’s dark gums displaying long white fangs, dripping with saliva, looked down on Rutgo.

Skeebo gave a shriek, fleeing to the front of the cabin.

Rutgo; frozen in fear and disbelief, stood like a statue. Suddenly, the beast stepped forward and the voice of the old man, garbled somewhat by a deep guttural sound, came out saying, “We thought you boys would never get here. You’re just in time for supper.”

Rutgo managed to bring the knife up slicing into the monsters right forearm. The open wound closed up before one drop of blood escaped.

“Now why’d you want to go and do a thing like that?” The beast said.

Skeebo; now half way down the two track, found himself face to face with officer Mays. Next to him was officer Young.

Relief flooded Skeebo’s features.

“You’ve got to save me,” Skeebo shouted.

“Sure, we’ll save you,” said Mays. Then, suddenly he and Young both quickly turned into beasts like the one Skeebo had left Rutgo with.

“We’ll save you for dessert,” said the beast known as Young.

An hour later three sated Werewolves pushed themselves from the table.

“That’s it for me,” said Young.

“Me too,” said Mays.

The third beast was taking human form again.

“Yeah, that was one great meal,” said the old man. “We’ll have to start working on the next worthless bums, using their greed to get them here on their own volition.”

About the Author
Richard Neal Huffman, of the Bangor Police Department, is the author of Rubal and Dreams in Blue: The Real Police, along with other short stories.