Revenge of the Gray Wolf
“A trade, in my favor, of course, Bill said. He walked into the dealership to the corner pine wood desk. “My brother’s Jeep outside was traded for that car.”
Bill was like a tiger: bold, quiet, and intelligent. The Audi dealership’s top sales manager turned from his executive chair and glanced in the stranger’s direction. The buddy he was chatting with on the phone identified Bill’s voice, the finisher, and instantly ended the call.
There was silence, except that the people waiting for their car to be serviced could hear a fly flirt above the free morning croissants next to the pot of coffee: “Sorry?”
“Yes! I’m the original fucking finisher.”
The top sales manager noticed the Jeep’s roof and hood were crushed partly in, and the front windshield was rippled. He tilted his gold eyeglasses carefully, fighting a spontaneous and absurd laugh that would end his life. It was the first Friday of the month, and he had massive commission deposits leap into his checking account, which he would split between sports betting and provocative women.
A beautiful woman, Bill’s companion, walked in behind him. Her beauty and laugh were a welcome lifesaver. She opened her leather purse and pulled out a mascara tube while the Audi R8 shone and rotated in the center of the showroom.
She, indeed, was exceptionally charming, as Bill was creepy. The warning sirens were instant on this odd couple as the top sales manager’s thoughts, usually controlled, ordered, uncluttered, and relaxed, were ablaze even before the scary man gave his name, “Oh shit, that Bill.” The person never spoke of, not even in the safety of the swirling frost of summer’s tireless sunlight.
“A simple contract,” Bill said. An enormously generous one that allows you to live in your current state. I also want the warranty with the car.”
The square lights on the ceiling danced, the pace crashing onto the large showroom’s black marble. The sprinkles on the front of Ivory’s sweater ballooned her c-cup breasts to triple D. Her grace and fancy posture were irresistible, and her movements locked the eyes of the waiting room guests.
Ivory crossed the fully loaded black Audi and leaned beside the glossy side mirror to darken her eyeliner and lashes to the shade of the car’s paint and marble floors. ” She wore white leather boots and brown suede skinny pants.
Whatever this fascination, the sales manager padded his elbows and sat far back on his executive desk. The phone rang on his line, interrupting the gloom like magic. He reached for the computer mouse instead of the handset, praying the couple would sign the contract terms with the warranty quickly after it was printed. There was both the flight and fight instinct. the desire to run and summon security. Fear had a collar around his neck and an ostrich egg nested inside his throat.
“Initial here and then sign.” He was panicked, but he didn’t dare look away from Bill’s eyes.
Ivory opened and closed the driver’s doors as the car spun on its base. The natural lamb leather felt soft beneath her body. She thought of artistic and gruesome ways to hurt Bill. Get him lost by using the forgotten roads. where she was free to give him pain. She twisted the tanzanite and diamond engagement ring, where the platinum band was visible, where she intended to slip the Owl Ring on. Bill, she’d burn and let the vultures disembowel him in the desert, as does the snow. Check him off as dead, like another coyote in the hot Utah hell.
“Hand the keys to your beautiful fiancé, right?”
“A test drive, eh?” Bill stared lustfully at Ivory, and he would finally have her. The sales managers gave Bill the second pair of keys, which he pulled from the top file drawer with a trembling hand. “Get me some coffee; I don’t care to dam it if there’s cream,” the top sales manager said. The serviceman was just walking in with a finished work order. He mumbled and went over to the break station.
Ivory felt ill, so she squeezed her scarf around her shoulders. The colored birthmark, the size of a plum pit, on Bill’s forehead, motivated her to start his torture there. So when The Boss came looking, he’d concluded it was the Canyon Butcher and his bloody obsession for skin as trophies. Bill would be found chained around a road sign and left for the desert critters to take the remaining rest.
Ivory plucked a stray hair from her left eyebrow. It was a steel razor mask resembling a skinny mascara brush. Ivory could press it deep into his jugular vein if he tried anything to escape.
Bill put his arm around Ivory’s bare and sore shoulder. “No, remember, I have the solution to who killed your brother.” He signed the contract, left for the top sales manager’s position behind the round black table, and broke all five fingers on his hand. “Punishment is necessary to train.”
“Let go, Bill. The Scarlet Owl Ring.”
“Fuck the Scarlet Owl Ring?” Bill said. “By chance, you play me. I will market you in exchange for the Owl Ring for the red soldiers of the Surreal Forces.”
“What’s the plan?” Ivory said.
“Bait the Surreal forces with bones and blood. We don’t need the Owl Ring
“How?”
“Trap the Canyon Ripper, and I’ll rule the Mountain Gorillas, Surreal Forces, and the Owl Ring. But if you are not mine.
“Enough,” Ivory said.
***
Silverback was stirring his second cup of coffee, and Nelson finished his pile of pancakes. They were at a little cafe in a city in Utah’s Horn. When the surreal forces realized the Owl Ring was gone from where they buried it, they would attack anybody, including the Utah killer and Bill. Silverback was fine with both. The coffee eased his reflections.
Nelson was concerned about the boss. Silverback would tell Bill, and Ivory or not, Silverback could not shield him. Nelson drank his medicine.
What are you thinking of doing?” Silverback read his thoughts.
“The Owl Ring was not meant to keep the Gray Wolf from rising from the desert fire. It’s the opposite, a weapon,” Nelson said. “Whoever this truck driver is, he knows the Gray Wolf combined with the owl ring will vanquish him from the canyons.”
Silverback said, “Ivory and I were at his place for months while he was gone on a truck run. If it weren’t for your brother Bill, we’d never know he was a vicious serial killer. Silverback ate his meat omelet with a fork.
“Have an idea how the ring works yet?” Nelson asked. He took his napkin and put it on his plate.
Maybe, “But first, let’s get back home.” Silverback put a twenty on the table, and they stood up and left.
The canyons were worse in the late afternoon. The night seemed alive and hungry; it wanted revenge stronger than the Gray Wolf. Night knew precisely how to stalk, wound, and kill like a Komodo dragon. The night had no enemy, yet it could not beat the unlimited armies of stars. Like the Gray Wolf, it was also thirsty for revenge for being called out of its sleep.
Silverback wore the Owl Ring. Nothing could cease his success. The addiction he had to the Gray Wolf would not affect him anymore. So he prayed that Nelson had skills bigger than scuba diving, more prominent than The Bermuda Triangle.
The Gorillas wanted him to believe that Ivory had betrayed him. The truth was that he had betrayed her and deserved the punishment. Ivory also lost her brother; Nelson lost, too; the only difference was that Bill was still more active and dangerous than a dead ghost. Yet they have both been equally changed.
What’s wrong, Silverback? Nelson asked as the medicine lowered his stomach acid and blood sugar.
“We have the Owl Ring. How do we use it against this hell?” Will guilt be ours alone if we do this wrong? It will lead us to Canyon Butcher before he moves on and remakes himself.
They returned to their rental car, and a sheriff’s white van pulled beside them. They turned off their engines.
A detective wearing a bulletproof vest approached them. “There have been weird things happening up in the canyons. We intend to minimize that drama. The Utah killer needs to get in and out of those canyons; we have the FBI and our expert law enforcement tracking. You two outlaws have some ideas about how he’s been evading us, huh?”
Silverback turned to Nelson and signaled to keep his mouth shut.
The detective sighed, “Those bastard Mountain Gorillas…I am not a fool. Keep them motherfuckers away.”
“I am not interested in protecting the Mountain Gorillas from arrest. We’re going out to the snowy Utah canyons,” Silverback answered.
Celia Garza 