Werewolf

By Richard W. Brown

"Werewolf" features an ancient werewolf who wants to die. Is his girlfriend up to the task? Thus, we have the premise of "Werewolf," a dynamic story drenched in blood, viscera, and sex.

Ranging from south Florida to the country of Panama to North Carolina, to Washington D.C., this story gets around. All aboard!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9781662440717

Book preview

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Werewolf

Richard W. Brown

Copyright © 2022 Richard W. Brown

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-4070-0 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-4071-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Foreword

Werewolf was originally going to be a screenplay and thus moves like a rocket towards its conclusion. The writer has had a stroke and so proceeds of this book will support his recovery. This forward and about half the book were typed with one hand at great hassle.

1

Life on Automatic

2

The Swamp

3

Donna

4

The Helicopter

5

Agent Taylor

6

Lester's Diner

7

Crime Scene Investigation

8

Research

9

Lou

10

Monique

11

The Quickening

12

The Mephisto

13

Erotic Reality

14

Graycliff

15

Pirates

16

The Grand Guignol

17

Cleanup

18

The Deal

19

Tropic Star Lodge

20

Alexis

21

History

22

Appendicitis

23

FBI Crime Lab

24

Buffalo Creek Lodge

25

Donna and Taylor

26

North Carolina

27

Jail

28

Clyde Ferguson

29

Prison

About the Author

Richard Brown dispenses with ponderous text and crafts a rocket ship barreling towards a conclusion. A writer molded by time spent as a glamor photographer, honed by time spent in the movies, and bordered by time spent as a baker, this decadent menagerie informs a luscious narrative you'll enjoy.

Egged-on by high placed fans, Richard will offer stories which entertain viscerally and emotionally, with a refreshing brevity for such wide vistas. Spend your time well by reading Richard Brown.

Foreword

"Werewolf" was originally going to be a screenplay and thus moves like a rocket towards its conclusion. The writer has had a stroke and so proceeds of this book will support his recovery. This forward and about half the book were typed with one hand at great hassle.

1

Life on Automatic

The club was jumping as usual. Donna and Charlie walk in, all eyes on the celebrated off the hook hoodlum and the stylishly spectacled woman who precipitated his questionable release from death row. No matter how she dressed him, Charlie's ignominy could not be disguised. They had been all over the news for months, she, the stalwart reporter looking more for fame than Charlie's freedom, and her perp turned lover, the kind of guy you'd expect to be picked from a lineup.

Donna always went for the bad boys, and though she enjoyed this jackpot for a while, the routine had gotten old, stale as it always did with the the bad boys. Donna always thought incompatibility had something do to with the usual large gap in education between her and her men, but education saps the animal out of men, and that also applied to sex. More pointedly, her men never made much, if any, money. and this was a roadblock to any relationship.

As usual, they took a corner table to drink a few rounds. Donna knew her limit and never crossed it. She was more interested in the heartbeat of places like this. Raging Hormones. Predators and prey. New lovers. Old flames. Fake I.D.'s looking for a hook up.

While Charlie ogles the very young, half-dressed party girls hovering nearby, texting It's him!, Donna noted a spectacle across the dance floor, adjusting her glasses, looking over the top as well as through the glasses.

The tall, powerfully built man had some kind of magic. Women approached continuously, moths to the flame. Donna figured him for a football player, except his demeanor did not match the type. No raging steroidal antics. The man was cool. Measured. Purposeful. Funny thing, he never turns, keeping his face a mystery.

"Something's wrong," Donna thinks, which intrigued her reporter's sensibility.

Lou was more than tall, dark and handsome. He exuded supreme confidence, casually buying drinks with a bankroll, a literal roll of money nearly three inches across. Cash guaranteed anonymity. A young texter takes Lou's picture with a flash from her smart phone. Lou grabs the phone, and crushes it to reveal its memory cards, which he tears into pieces.

A strange sight, so many, putting phones away, so fast.

Hey! the young girl is outraged. Lou peels off sixteen crisp hundred dollar bills, and hands them to the girl.

What's your name, my dear? Lou asks, placing the bills in the young girl's palm.

"Vicky! I'll have enough left over to get something for my kids! What are you, some kind of spy?

Not exactly. I'm more like a fairy tale. I like my anonymity.

Vicky is amused, and cuddles close, to the chagrin of the other moths.

Charlie, a few drinks ahead of Donna, mugs for the texting girls. Every inch a murderer, Charlie had a face of itching malevolence, which fascinated the young women while providing Charlie with the juvenile thrill his arrested development cherished.

With every look, the vacuous kids cringe and squeal, a pleasure button for Charlie. Donna had developed a tolerant disdain for Charlie's antics, but tonight, it was particularly grating. Charlie, feeling the eyes on him, turns to Donna's frown. A mutual shrug for very different reasons.

Charlie cuts short the uncomfortable moment, C'mon darlin', cut loose for a while. Live it up for a change!

Okay, let's dance! Donna grabs Charlie by the wrist and tries to drag him from his chair.

Hey! You know I don't dance, Charlie behaves like a stubborn mule, unmovable, shrinking away from Donna's smothering closeness.

Across the dance floor, Charlie's antics and Donna's disappointment are observed by Lou, who takes an interest. Smelling the club air, Lou distinguishes Donna without trouble.

As Donna's gaze returns, Lou turns away, Not yet, my dear.

A young, obviously augmented waitress brings Donna and Charlie another round, serving Charlie first. Donna leans in.

You got two minutes! Their eyes meet.

Charlie smiles, grabs his beer, and immediately pivots to a fresh squeal.

Donna feels the server's judgmental eyes on her rather out of date ensemble. No use explaining it will be ruined by night's end in a ritual, never ending ex-con fantasy.

A little bit of alcohol was just the thing to take the edge off Charlie's antics. But past the sex, there was nothing. He had no desire to contribute to anything. In the animal kingdom, Charlie would have been eaten at birth. So, stage two of the ritual—the argument. Donna taps Charlie's shoulder. He turns.

Donna points to her fresh drink, I didn't order this! Charlie had no money. Donna would have to buy the round. The argument ensues.

"Every time we carouse, it's me who pays. Our place is my place. Your car is my old one. Do you ever plan to contribute? Or even dance a little?

On the dance floor, Lou dances with Vicky. Lou steers the dance closer to the increasingly animated Donna and Charlie. Lou keenly observes Donna's body language.

Vicky notes Lou's inattention, Hey! I'm right here, baby!

Lou turns his attention, Yes you are. Would you like to get out of here? Be warned, I will ruin you for other men.

Vicky smiles, brimming with her own confidence, You just wait! She takes Lou by the hand and pulls him off the dance floor.

About eleven in the evening, Donna and Charlie arrive at her place.

Before they get through the door, Donna feels Charlie's hands groping. This time, Charlie's schoolboy antics feel particularly old as Donna folds her glasses, tossing them on on a high table. Juvenile rough housing. It's an exercise in cross speed undressing, on too well practiced automatic.

They undo each other, Charlie, with button popping, fabric tearing efficiency. Donna thanks the stars she wore that out of date, disposable top. As usual, and like clockwork, they stumble into the bedroom. Ex-cons are always ready, Donna thought as Charlie didn't even bother with her underwear, he just tugged on them, pulling them to the side and bodily spin-lifting her to his favorite position, from behind. Donna realized although she liked Doggie Style, there was something wrong with having her world on automatic.

In a limo, Lou and Vicky pull up to his house, across a small lake from Donna's house. Vicky begins to reach for the door latch.

Allow me, Lou says as he exits the car. Long strides bring Lou to Vicky's door, which he opens while offering a hand.

Vicky is a little dazed at the chivalry, but takes Lou's hand, Vicky comments Oh my, a gentleman.

Lou leads Vicki into the house without a key. Vicky can't believe it, You don't lock your door? In this city?

Lou smiles, Locking implies fear.

Lou walks ahead to a sunken bar and plays barkeep, What's your pleasure, ma'am?

Vicky is amused, Right out of the 70's, this place. Nobody would rob you.

Lou looks around, I guess you're right. I just rent. Not my taste, actually.

Vicky pours herself into a plush bar seat, You have wine? A red?

Lou grabs a bottle, Screaming Eagle? It's lovely. I got it for nine-ninety five. A steal.

Vicky smiles weakly as Lou shows long practiced expertise. He opens the wine, grabs a couple of wine glasses and walks up from the pit to join Vicky, who shows a little disappointment as she eyes the bottle, Ten bucks One sip revealed the error in her thinking.

Lou smiles, No, m'lady, just under a thousand dollars. Like I said. A real bargain. Come. The night calls. Vicky lights up, having bagged the rich guy, and follows Lou to a back deck overlooking a small lake.

And just what IS your taste, baby? Vicky asks again.

Considering it a moment, Lou nods to