6
Terry first heard about the missing man when he went for breakfast one morning at the diner. Bob was sweating over the grill but paused to greet the person who had now become his favorite customer.
“Terry, good to see you man,” he called, deftly flipping a row of bacon with the edge of a greasy spatula. “I guess you heard all the ruckus.”
Taking a seat on the worn stool by the cash, Terry looked up in surprise. “What ruckus?”
“Hilary was down here yesterday morning, bitching and crying that Mike hadn’t come home from the bar the night before. He’s probably off tom-catting, but the Sherriff’s taking it pretty seriously. He dragged in a bunch of volunteers and they’re out combing the hills behind your place as we speak.”
After sleeping late, Terry hadn’t noticed anything odd as he fumbled his way to the truck. His mind was fixed on coffee and stopping in to give Clyde a hand with a bunch of new deliveries. They’d spent the night before locked in an endless debate about the merits of brains over brawn, and they’d settled the matter as they always did - with Clyde eager to show off his physical prowess and Terry being smart enough to let him.
Distracted by his thoughts, Terry barely registered the story of the missing Mike, but Clyde brought it up as soon as he entered the store.
“You hear about Mike?” he asked, barely stopping to give Terry a quick hug.
“Yeah, Bob was just saying something about him. He’s missing?”
“He’s been gone two days and I’m getting worried. It’s not like him to just disappear. Hilary said he was only going to the bar for a quick beer after work. I don’t like it.”
“Is he a friend of yours?” asked Terry with concern.
“He’s not just a friend, he’s a pack member. You would have seen him at the gathering, but of course you wouldn’t recognize him in his human form. He works down at the mill and we usually see each other a couple of times between full moons.”
“What do you think happened to him?”
Clyde bit his lower lip and frowned. “I don’t know. But nothing good, I can guarantee that much. We can hold our own in wolf form, but the rest of the time we’re just the same as everyone else, and every bit as vulnerable.”
The bell above the door of the store tinkled and the man Terry had been advised to see for the plumbing came in.
Emmet paused awkwardly when he saw Terry, directing his attention to Clyde. “Laura and I wanted to invite you for supper,” he muttered. “Tonight, at seven.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the store.
“Well that was a cozy invite,” exclaimed Terry. “Bet you’ll have a barrel of laughs tonight at his place.”
“That wasn’t an invitation,” said Clyde sternly, “it was a summons. Werewolf gathering. Laura’s Tavern. Seven o’clock tonight. I guess I’m not the only one worried about Mike.”
“So, I’m not coming then?” asked Terry grinning.
“No,” replied Clyde giving his arm a shove. “You’re definitely not invited.”
Laura’s Tavern was out on the highway, a few miles from town and off the beaten track for tourists and sightseers. It was owned by one of the pack members who kept a room in the back for emergency gatherings like the one Clyde attended that night. Ten men squeezed themselves around a scarred wooden table as Luke called the meeting to order.
“You all know Mike’s missing,” he began. “We’ve sent the word out through the associated brotherhood but nobody’s heard a thing. He was last seen having a beer at Lyon’s, but we can’t tell how long he stayed or whether there was anyone with him when he left.”
“I know what happened to him,” one of the men broke in angrily. “Clyde’s shit-eating pet warlock.”
Clyde pushed himself away from the table and balled his fists. “You know something you want to share with the rest of us Dave?” he asked with mounting fury.
Luke rapped sharply on the table and made a motion for Clyde to take his seat. “Let’s just settle down here. We don’t know for sure what’s happened to him, so let’s not jump to any conclusions.”
“I know for a fact that Terry had nothing to do with Mike’s disappearance,” said Clyde in the calmest voice he could muster. “I’ve been with him for the last two days, and there’s no way he was at that bar.”
“You willing to take the oath on that?” sneered Dave.
Before anyone could move, Clyde drew his pocket knife and sliced it across the palm of his right hand. “Upon my word and the sanctity of the pack, I do swear that Terry knows nothing of what happened to our brother Mike.”
The men stirred uncomfortably and Dave paled at the sight of the rich red blood. To swear a false oath meant expulsion and eternal damnation. There were none present who doubted the truth of Clyde’s words.
When it was clear that nobody had any useful information, Luke broke up the gathering and the men drifted out to their vehicles. Dave caught up with Clyde as he opened the door to his truck.
“Oath or not, your little friend is behind this thing and if anything’s happened to Mike, we’re going to rip his guts out.”
Three or four other men stood behind Dave and nodded, leaving no question as to the sincerity of their intentions.
“He’ll be found,” said Clyde calmly. “Now why don’t you all go home?”
Clyde could feel the approach of others at his back, pack members who had supported Terry’s call for peace. The two sides faced off in the garbage-strewn parking lot, brother against brother, blood against blood. The distant roar of a passing semi broke the impasse. Some of the men began to drift away with their heads bowed in shame.
“Just watch your back,” muttered Dave as he turned to leave, “because we’re coming for you.” He pointed a finger at the young men standing with Clyde. “That goes for all of you other whelps as well. Those who disrespect the sacrifices of the elders that perished in the Great War will find no pity when your sins are judged. You have been warned, and will not be told again.”