I talk non-stop on the ride to Murzim’s loft, convinced that if I leave the slightest lull in conversation unfilled the boys will have second thoughts about the entire escapade. My gums have been flapping so hard for so long that my jaw is starting to ache. Worse yet, behind the constant chatter I’m starting to second guess myself, starting to ponder the dangerous lines of self inquiry that only arise once you have pushed a situation just beyond the point of no return.

However, once we arrive, these pointless questions evaporate before we even reach the crumbling cement stairs to the The Loft’s front door. My investigative instincts immediately start humming again. The air is tense with a particular flavor of forced silence. The sounds of quickly shuffling feet on ancient floorboards and the sharp hiss of frantic whispers and stern paranoid shushings creep through the rusted bars and yellowed glass of the weathered industrial windows. Rodriguez has caught the same vibe but the beat cops, CatBait and QuickDraw, are still skeptical. I am convinced that the only reason they are here is that they have too much time and energy invested in this particular boondoggle not to see it to the end. That, and CatBait is still looking for a reason to lock me back up.

At the top of the stairs, Rodriguez lays his best gestapo knuckle rap on the battered metal door. A flurry of footsteps and whispers erupts from inside. I look down at the gray, stained stairs. A puddle of blood and torn up rubber bracelets litter the landing by Rodriguez’s feet.

“You may want to watch your step Detective.”

Rodriguez hotfoots it back away from the blood and then squats down to investigate.

“Well, looks like we’re not going to have to call for a warrant.”

All three of them switch into some crazy cop overdrive at the sight of blood. The uniforms draw their pieces while the detective lays another ear-rattling knock on the door.

“This is NYPD. We just want to ask you a few questions about a young girl who used to live here. It will only take a moment.”

After a minute or two, the door creaks timidly open and a thin pale girl steps out looking like she just lost a best of forty rochambeau tournament for the honor of greeting us. She tries her best to block our view inside but it does not really matter. Rodriquez and the boys slide right past her and storm into the dark loft. As my eyes adjust, I make out Liahna bolting across the room and up a flight of rickety spiral stairs. The cops, even Rodriquez, sprint off after her, unable to resist a fleeing perp. I let them go. I have no interest in chases or collars. I want answers and I have a good idea where to find some.

I navigate my way to the back of the building. Among the makeshift labyrinth’s crooked corners and shadowy nooks, freaked out kids are trying to hide or are hastily tossing their meager possessions into plastic bags, hoping to make a run for it. I eventually find my way to the study and, in Dee’s honor, pick the lock with a hairpin and let myself in. However, once in the study things are not as I had expected them. Slouched over, tied to an old wooden chair is Jimmy Murzim with a vacant sweaty look that makes me think he has been drugged. Instinctively, I start to untie him and then instantly regret it.

“Swingshift, you sorry bastard, did that crazy bitch Liahna rope you into this. Man I’m telling you she has lost her mind. You have to help me out of this…”

“Can the victim routine Murzim. I know what you’ve been up to. I’m here to stop you before anyone else gets dead. If I can swing it so you survive, all the better, but that is not my primary interest. I suggest you don’t piss me off from the get by whining.”

I help Murzim up out of the chair. His arms have been neatly sliced with a razor and blood pools around the chair legs. The slices are not meant to kill him. However, paired with the blood out on the front porch I cannot help but feel that there is an angle I am missing. Rodriguez and the boys appear with Liahna in handcuffs. Rodriguez’s brow furrows sharply when he gets a look at the state of Jimmy Pop.

“Well I’ll be. A bit of the rough stuff for you then Mr. Murzim? Mind telling me what the hell is going on here?”

“Why do you have Liahna in cuffs?”

“Well Ms. MacEndroe has decided not cooperate, unless her cooperation involves kicking Jennings in the jewels.”

CatBait looks at the floor uneasily and Liahna, cuffed and ten feet away, tries to have another go at the officer’s manhood.

“She’s gone mute and is going downtown for assault at the least. Though that may change depending on what went down in here.”

“Nothing happened here that concerns you copper. Just let her go and be on your way before I call my lawyers in.”

I shoot Murzim a sharp shut up and save your ass stare, but then I realize that there is more at stake than a night in the cell for Jimmy Pop.

“You can’t just barge in to my home without a warrant…”

Rodriguez cuts him off short.

“Funny thing is Mr. Murzim; you have a sizable puddle of blood pooled up outside your front door. We had no choice but to enter the building out of concern for your well-being. Concern that, judging by the slurring, bloody state of you person was well founded.”

Rodriguez then turns to the uniforms and makes his next move.

“That’s it. Take her downtown and let her spend the night in holding. If Mr. Murzim is not going to talk to us. I’m sure as hell not leaving her here so they can get their story straight.”

The Detective shoots me a sly wink. It is a dangerous play and it does not take long to turn and bite him in the ass. In a sudden burst of energy, Murzim lunges across the cluttered room, scooping up a rather large ceremonial dagger from a shelf. Well before the uniforms can pull their rods, he has Liahna in a chokehold from behind with the knife laid across her throat.

“I’m afraid Liahna and I are not going anywhere. At least not until morning.”

To prove his point Murzim slowly backs away. I follow his lead deep into the study. This must be some breach in hostage situation protocol because the cops slowly back out into the hallway and Rodriguez gives me the crook eye.

“Listen Jimmy you don’t want to do this. You’re backing yourself into a corner. We’ll find a way to help you. We’ll think of something to get the dog off of your back.”

Liahna does not look frightened or panicked. She has the distant gaze of someone keeping an extreme emotional distance from her own kidnapping.

“Fuck you, Swingshift. If she leaves, I’m fucking dead, worse actually, as that beast is going to repossess my eternal soul. Which is a serious bummer from where I’m sitting. Ya know?”

“Jimmy we’ll figure something out. We’ll keep you safe but you have to let Liahna go.”

My pleas fall on deaf ears. Jimmy’s face runs pale and his eyes grow wide. A chill climbs my spine and all the hair on my neck stands straight up. I swear I can feel the Shuck’s breath on my legs.

“Let’s all stay calm and try and figure this out.” I feebly declare to no one in particular.

Murzim has gone mute and paralytic with fear. I am trying to summon the strength to turn around and face the beast when suddenly the loft outside the study fills with a thunderous chaotic roar. A hundred racing paws stampede across the aged wooden floorboards. The Pack has arrived just slightly behind its leader. The shock of the mad racket freezes everyone for a moment. Everyone save Liahna who, snapping awake from her supposed emotional catatonia seizes on our moment of distraction. She spins around and lays a jarring knee to Murzim’s crotch. Jimmy drops the knife and Liahna bolts for the door, with Rodriguez again chasing after her.

In my own sudden moment of action, I slam the study door shut and bolt the lock. This leaves me alone in the small room now with a near catatonic Murzim, moaning and clutching his balls, and a massive, sinister demon dog. It is perhaps the dumbest decision I have ever made but I have an irrational faith in my secret weapon.

I scoop the slumbering cat out of my coat pocket and toss him in the Shuck’s general direction. Simultaneously a string of undulating Gaelic syllables spill from my mouth, the product of a little hypnotic slight of hand on Rube’s part no doubt. The cat hits the floor solid and poised, his back arched and every bit of his mangy fur standing straight up in the air. He emits a low guttural growl for dramatic effect.

It had taken a bit of searching around the precinct, but we eventually located the charmed little scrapper tucked into a cushioned box under the front desk. He was being doted on by half the station while he plowed through most of the desk sergeant’s tuna sandwich. Needless to say, the cat was rather reluctant to leave this life of leisure behind. I have the claw-inflicted wounds to prove it. However, now dropped in the heat of a battle, the little guy is primed and ready for action; all teeth and sharp edges with none of we humans tepid fear of the big black beastie.

In the shadow-drenched room, the cat’s eyes glow a luminous pink, directly confronting the dog’s fierce green orbs. The Shuck stops short. It is not so much afraid but confused and cautious. I try to read the demon dogs expression. I can only assume that his eyes see more than a mangy cat with its dander up.

I sneak around the cat and next to Murzim who has fallen back into a chair, slack and baffled.

“That’s a hell of a cat you have there Dick.”

“Yep, Murzim, he is, but to be honest I’m not sure how long he can keep that bastard at bay. So I need some answers from you and I need them quick?”

Murzim nods in agreement.

“OK, judging by the state of you, the back story will go quicker if I lay it out and you correct me on the off chance I’m wrong.”

“Here we go. Rockstar / boy adventurer camps out in the mystical highlands of Scotland. Late one night he comes across one of the Shee in the brush and decides to catch the marvelous little being and keep it as a pet. However, the Shee do not do well in mayonnaise jars with air holes poked in the lid and by morning, the tiny little sprite was dead. Little did you know the fine for such an act of murder was your soul and the tax collector was a massive demonic beast. Do I have it right more or less?”

“More or less.” Murzim nods limply.

“I hate to break it to you. You are not the first dumb tourist with such a story. You are however, the first to my knowledge, to make it out of town alive. What I don’t understand is what all the bloody bracelet shit is about.”

Murzim takes a deep breath and answers in a raspy near whisper. He is squinting as if he is reading the lines from a page on the far side of the room.

“Well I discovered that the Shuck tracks using the scent of bodily fluids.”

I look down at where Jimmy’s blood has stained the front of my shirt and wince a bit.

“While my initial plan to just fuck a lot of girls had its crude advantages, it became obvious that I could get a bunch of naïve party kids to wear the awful bracelets full of my blood. Thereby confusing the Shuck and sending him off chasing his own brimstone scented tail. It worked fine for a time until reports of feral dog attacks started hitting the papers. Fortunately that was when I managed to track down Liahna.”

On cue, a chorus of howls bellows out from the floor above.

“The dog pack.” I shake my head slowly.

“Something about the Shuck’s presence sets those street dogs off, gives them the blood lust. This bastard here doesn’t touch anyone. He’s too patient for that. He is just waiting on me.”

We stand in silence for a moment. I want to ask Murzim why he did not stop the bracelet routine when he found Liahna, why he did not just face his fate head on. But I know the answers, know them as if they were my own and I do not want to hear them, not now. I just want to put an end to all this madness and move on.

The cat has backed the black dog into a corner but the beast is looking less intimidated by the minute. Its head is cocked to one side as if it is working out a long division problem. Eventually he is going to sort out whatever cheap hallucination is rolling off the brave little feline and then there will be nothing we can do. It is time for a last hailmary pass.

I manage to pull my arm free of Murzim’s frightened grip and slide around to the door. The Shuck is totally focused on the cat and pays me no heed. I walk slowly to the door, quickly flick the locks, and pull it open enough to stick my head out.

“Where the fuck is Liahna?”

I look around but only a confused officer QuickDraw is out in the hall, gun trained on the doorknob.

“Detective took her out to the squad car.”

“Well go, run and get her before we are all dog chow.”

QuickDraw hurries off down the hall but is met by a stream of crazed dogs sensing the call of their leader through the cracked door. I am too slow getting the door shut and the study is soon overrun by dogs howling, crawling over furniture and running in frantic circles in every direction. The cat wisely realizes he is outnumbered, even with his new spooky powers, and scrambles up a bookcase to high ground.

The Shuck, un-phased by the arrival of its crazed posse, keeps his sights on the cat, running the angles, trying to ascertain whether it can get to Jimmy before the cat can pounce. I attempt to wade against the current of fur and drool toward Jimmy but find myself repeatedly lifted from my feet and slammed to the floor. In the end, it is all I can do to keep from being trampled.

The Shuck takes a few measured steps toward Murzim; sniffing the air excitedly. Then finally, Rodriguez appears pulling a defiant Liahna behind him through the chaos.

“Liahna get in here.”

As Rodriguez shoves Liahna into the room, the Shuck stops in its tracks and turns, slowly looking up at her. It sits stiffly, its head high and at attention. I try to shout over the ruckus.

“Liahna, you have a boon that keeps you and yours safe from this creature. That story, of your great grand da saving the little fairy in the wood. It’s all true and I think if you tell the Shuck to leave Jimmy alone, for good and forever, I think the it will listen.”

Liahna’s expression turns contemplative. The Shuck still sits patiently, every part of him playing the obedient pup. Her eyes fall to Jimmy cowering in the corner, a pathetic wretch waiting to be saved from his own pathetic actions. This is not playing out as I had anticipated. The look on Liahna MacEndroe’s face slowly transforms into something honed, sharp and immensely cold. She turns her attention to the Shuck.

“Great Black Dog of the highlands, I do not know this man. He does not travel with me and I certainly do not care for him. He is a sad pathetic wretch and you may feel free to do with him what you please.”

With that, she pats the Shuck gently on its head and turns her back on us. The sea of dogs parts and lets her pass out of the wretched study. As she leaves, the cat decides to make a break for it as well. He leaps from the bookcase and darts out the door into the hall. The dogs erupt in a deafening chorus of barking and bolt after the escaping feline, breaking furniture and tossing tattered book pages into the air.

I am still on the opposite side of the room pinned behind a turned over desk chair. The Shuck is on Jimmy instantly, no longer willing to waste time. He knocks him to the floor pinning his shoulders down with massive front paws. The giant black beast leans in close to Jimmy’s face, locking him paralyzed in his fierce green eyes. I can see an odd cloud of iridescent gas rolling from Murzim’s nose and mouth, like heat rising from summer pavement and The Shuck is lapping it up out of the air with its massive purpled tongue.

Finally, the room clears out enough that I can move again. However, it is too late. The Shuck, its work complete, brushes by me and pads softly into a dark corner of the room. There, without looking back, it disappears into the shadows.

On the floor, Jimmy Pop’s body lies lifeless, beyond lifeless if there can be such a thing. All warmth has been siphoned from his flesh and it is as cold and gray as a slab of marble. His lips and nose have turned a horrid black and his eyes are glazed as if by severe cataracts. It is a sickening sight but I stare anyway, transfixed with horror and guilt. The sound of yet another stampede erupts out in the loft, this time on the boots of an NYPD back-up unit. I rise and make my way out of the battered study hoping to slip unnoticed through the chaos, deciding that it is best not to be found alone with a corpse.

***

The cops are pissed that they have no one to pin the wrap on. As conciliation, they are bagging up any of the kids found hanging around the loft for possession of drugs and other contraband found amongst the rubble. Animal Control is having a hell of a time rounding up all the strays but they will be essential for the photo op. The streets will again be safe from hell hounds, or at least that is how the papers will read.

I am spent on every level and, at least initially, afraid to split and end up labeled a fugitive. So I sit on the unused loading dock out front and stare out into the night. When things settle down the gray mastiff from the other night appears around the corner. The massive dog lumbers casually over to me and drops his head in my lap as if we were old friends. I instinctively begin scratching him behind the ear. He looks up at me, his one good eye making sure I am the same dude from before. He has a deep knowing look to him. I swear that he is offering me an apology. He is making amends for dropping that girl’s arm on me and entangling me in the whole horrid affair. It is a mad thing to believe but I am known to believe many mad things.

Some dogsnatcher comes out to take the mastiff off but I persuade him that the mangy man-eating bastard is my pet. To be fair, several days unshaven and dressed from precinct lost and found, we probably look like a pair. As the guy relents and goes back inside, the mastiff decides not to press his luck further. He raises his massive head from my lap and gently walks off down the street. I give him a few minutes head start, just in case, and then head out myself into the steamy summer night.