Missing Ch. 61-70

After sending him home, I drove to Miesville for the night. I stayed long enough to join Sharkbait and Amy on their weekly trip to SeaLife Aquarium at the Mall of America. After lunch at Bubba Gump Shrimp Factory, I told them goodbye and rode east.

I made it to Chicago in time to eat deep-dish pizza, drink beer, listen to a great blues band, and beat the crap out of a guy who hit his girlfriend in front of me.

I left wearing handcuffs while he left in an ambulance.

I got booked and spent a few hours in an interview room at the precinct before they let me go. I think the County Attorney called Sheriff Ty before she decided not to charge me.

It didn't matter. My arrest would get back to Alpha Anthony as soon as the police hung up.

Crazy Bonnie was on the loose.

Ch. 68

Council Fixer Clyde Lassiter's POV

Werewolf Council HQ, Pisgah Mountains, NH

Friday, June 12, 2020

I'd eaten dinner with Bobby and Karen Shatford, enjoying the home cooking that was a rare treat for me. Karen was after me about my retirement, pressing me on why I'd retire when the Council could send me around the country at their expense. "What if my mate isn't a wolf?" She looked shocked. "What if I've been looking in the wrong place? Maybe I need to spend more time in the human world because what I've been doing hasn't worked."

"I pray to Luna that isn't the case," Karen replied. "You know the statistics on turning humans, Clyde. I can't imagine you'd have to go through that. It's better not to find her than losing her on the turn."

"I have to try," I answered. "My life is going nowhere, and I need the change. I have enough saved up to take a few years and search for her, so that's what I'm going to do." I thanked them for dinner and headed out.

I drove to my apartment just after nine at night, worn out after another day of overseeing the search for were-coyotes in North America. I took off my suit and hit the shower before checking the phone. I smiled as it powered up and retrieved the text; respecting her hiding from the world was tough on me. I knew it was the right thing; I needed to be here to help find her mate's killers, and she needed time to heal. The lake home had always given me peace and rest, so now it was her turn.

I looked at the text. "Big cookout near Quebec City recently," it said. The meaning was obvious; our Cartel cook had gone back to work in the same general area he'd been found six weeks earlier. Bonnie must have gotten the information from her law enforcement sources.

I needed to check this against the latest information I had. I quickly dressed and headed back to headquarters, walking through the dark hallways to reach my office. Booting up the computer, I brought up the mapping program Bonnie had sent me earlier. My team used the information as a starting point for my search. I sent Enforcers to areas far from werewolf populations. Where Packs were nearby, I asked them to do a "driveby" of the target areas to see if there were any fresh were-coyote scents. Of course, they weren't to approach or confront any coyotes if they were there. It was strictly a sneak-and-peek operation.

So far, we'd had about a thirty percent success rate. Our database of Were-Coyote locations was filling out nicely. I zoomed in on the area around Quebec City for potential den locations. Now that I thought about it, staying there made sense. The Mounties knew what the meth cook looked like but thought the two shooters were dead. The cook could avoid risky travel, use the same supply lines, and maintain his Cartel contacts by staying put. All he had to do was put together the lab equipment and head to a new spot in the vast wilderness. The bonus? If the police caught him, Canada wouldn't extradite him with the death penalty on the table in the United States.

I wrote down every potential location within a hundred miles of Quebec City and on the Canadian side. There were only six, and only one of those in the last five years. Putting the notebook back in my pocket, I shut everything down.

I wanted these fuckers dead. I had the weekend to go looking for them. If I couldn't find them, I'd see about bringing the Packs and the Council in on the search.

I grabbed breakfast on the way, arriving at the first location outside Montreal in time for lunch. Bertheirville was a small town on one of the islands dividing the Saint Lawrence River, and Google showed there was a brewpub in the center of town. The summer day made driving with the windows down comfortable as I sniffed for coyote scents. I had a few beers and a burger at the Locomotive Brewing Company, but a check of this and adjoining towns gave me nothing. I drove north to check a location in Saint-Gabriel and then east to Saint Alexis-des-Mont. I tracked down two in the latter village, but neither were my targets. Sunday, I checked potential spots near Quebec City, finally giving up about three in the afternoon. It made for a long six-hour drive back to my apartment.

I'd have to ask for help. I made an appointment Monday afternoon with the Chairman, only to have him call me to his office just after nine. He and Counselor Randall Albertson were closing out a videoconference with the other Chairmen when I entered. I waited until he closed the connection. "You sent for me, Mr. Chairman?"

"Yes," Chairman Sanders said. "I'm shutting your team down."

That wasn't what I expected at all. "Sir? We're finally making progress!"

"I know you are," he replied. "Unfortunately, so do the were-coyotes. When we get close enough to scent them, they might scent us back. That's the problem we have now with their leadership."

Albertson picked up the story. "Harold Pembroke called us this morning to complain about the number of contacts we'd been having. He rightly suspected that we were actively searching for his people and demanded we stop it."

"And if we didn't?"

The Chairman tapped the table. "Harold threatened to provide information to law enforcement about illegal activities ongoing for at least one Pack. He warned us again of the consequences of breaking the treaty and then hung up. The Council has agreed to stop all efforts to locate the coyotes. I am ordering all North American Pack Alphas to instruct their people to turn around and leave if they scent a coyote."

"So we are rolling on our backs and giving up?" I couldn't believe what was happening.

"Watch your attitude, Fixer," Albertson warned.

"What is to happen with my team?"

The Chairman leaned forward, his dominance rolling off him. "Your team will return to their previous duties. You will be retiring, effective immediately."

You have GOT to be kidding me! "Why?"

"He specifically complained about the harassment of his people in Saint Alexis-des-Mont on Saturday night. Harold wanted to know what my senior Council Fixer was doing in a small Canadian town chosen because it is so far from the nearest Pack? I know I didn't send you there."

"I was following up on a lead," I protested.

"You were tracking were-coyotes when my instructions were to locate and monitor. Your actions hurt the Council and our cause. Your identification, please."

I couldn't believe my career was ending this way. I took out my wallet and removed my Council Identification card, cleverly disguised as an employee ID card for the company owning this land. I looked at it one last time, then tossed it across the desk. "I'll be out of here in an hour."

"Mr. Lassiter," the Chairman said in his Alpha voice.

"Yes, sir?"

"You will not attempt to locate, track, or contact any were-coyotes. If you scent one, you will turn around and leave. Do you understand this Alpha order?"

I hated it, but I did. "I understand, sir." With that, I walked away from my job of twenty-five years.

Bonnie Woods' POV

Sunday, June 14, 2020

I'd gotten a hotel late on Saturday after my release from the precinct and slept until late checkout at ten. I had to take a taxi back to the bar to retrieve my bike, and I stopped for a big breakfast. I wasn't out of Chicago until one in the afternoon on Sunday.

That meant Chicago traffic, and I couldn't avoid that. The smell, the heat, the backups? It just sucked. It was a hot day, so I was rocking a Harley shirt, tight leather pants, and my biker boots. It took two hours to get through the traffic to Interstate 94. I joined up in the back of a group of Patriot Guard Riders heading to Detroit for a serviceman's funeral. We stopped for gas, and several came by to introduce themselves. The last to greet me was the Ride Captain and his old lady. "You're welcome to ride with us," he said. "I recognize the knife. Was that your husbands?"

"It was," I said as my voice cracked a little. "My husband was a Green Beret before joining the Maine State Police. Sean died in the line of duty, and I'm not sure I could handle a funeral like that so soon. It hasn't been a year."

"Oh, dear," the older woman said as she wrapped me in a hug. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," I replied. Five of us headed to the women's room while the men finished gassing up the bikes. My story had spread like wildfire from the looks I got when I came out. The Area President waved me forward as our group fired up the bikes. He invited me to ride two spots behind the Ride Captain near the front.

If you haven't done formation riding in a large group of bikers, you're missing out. It's the closest thing humans ever get to running with a wolf pack; the wind, the sound, the power of the group. I dropped out of formation when my exit came up. I waved goodbye as I exited for Highway 10 south to Westland.

I'd done a little Google searching about Detroit, figuring I might as well combine a Sharkbait food tour with a Crazy Bonnie visit. I'd heard about Gus's World Famous Fried Chicken but never tried it. No time like the present, right? The other reason was that the bar I was going to didn't serve food.

For fried chicken, it was pretty dang good. It was closer to Popeye's than KFC, spicy and juicy, but I decided I preferred Raising Cane's more.

I turned down Cass Avenue and found a place to park my bike across from The Old Miami. It was a legendary dive bar for veterans and for the Detroit music scene. It was popular with bikers based on all the motorcycles backed against the curbs. Inside, it wasn't very crowded, Sunday night not being the big entertainment night. I made my way back to the pool table area, placing a bill down to get my place to play. The guys around the pool table were checking out my ass as I drank beer and played pinball while I waited. I kept my jacket on because it had my wallet and weapons. I tied my shirt up under my tits to expose my ripped abdominals. Still, my leather-clad ass and long legs attracted the most stares, and I might have wiggled around while working the bumpers.

One of the players decided to make his move, offering to be my partner in a four-player game. Our opponents were a biker in his thirties who looked like he'd been a football player in his day and his old lady who outweighed him. Joe was a building contractor and a decent player, but not in my league. I don't think the guys minded my skill; they were more interested in looking down my shirt or ogling my ass while I lined up my shots. We held the table after that game and four more. The beer was cold, a guitarist was singing the blues in the other room, and I was in the zone. I couldn't miss! I was feeling like Tom Cruise in The Color of Money.

It couldn't last, so it didn't.

That biker we beat in the first game? He couldn't stop staring at my ass, and his girlfriend was jealous. Maybe he wanted an ass that fit in his hands and not a hammock? It wasn't my fault he was staring at an older woman. I didn't know what was going on in their relationship, but the shots of Jaegermeister she'd been downing didn't help. Eventually, she will learn that nothing good ever happens after someone says, "Let's do shots of Jaeger!"

Joe was up next, so I got up to head to the bar and buy another round. The biker's old lady got in my face, accusing me of trying to take her man. "Lady, I've got a man. I don't need yours, so get out of my face." I kept walking to the bar, listening to her argue with her man. It wasn't going well for him, and she was out of control. The bartender was getting the bouncer instead of taking my order. I watched in the mirror as her tantrum continued.

He finally gave her the "Fuck you, you jealous harpy! We're over!"

The bouncer was almost there when she flipped out. Pulling a knife from her purse, she screamed, "BITCH!" I could see in the mirror that she had the blade in an ice-pick grip, her hand high as she ran towards me.

Instinct and repetitive practice took over. Spinning to my left and stepping back, I got off the attack line. My left hand swung up and around, pushing the attack arm away. My hand then caught her forearm and added to the downward momentum. Her knife ended up stuck in the bar top.

At the same time, I'd drawn my knife with my right hand. I slammed the blade down on the woman's hand, pinning it to the bar. She let out a piercing scream as she dropped the knife. It went clattering to the floor behind the bar.

Our Biker Guy wasn't as over his girl as we thought. When his old lady screamed from my knife sticking out of her hand, he pulled a tiny.22 caliber revolver from his pocket. I responded by drawing my custom stainless steel.45 caliber 1911 and pointing it at his face. "STOP," I warned him. "This isn't some peashooter like that toy you have. Mine will blow your brains out of your head and all over that wall. Put it down before I make a mess."

He dropped it. The bouncer picked up the pistol and sat the guy down, I put my gun away and sat down by the pool table, and the bartender called the cops. The ambulance guys had to pull my knife out of the bar while not pulling it from her hand, but that's not easy. She screamed when they did it.

This time, I spent TWO nights in lockup. It wasn't until Tuesday before the detectives turned the investigation over to the County Attorney, and she declined to prosecute. The surveillance video showed the whole thing, including the attack from behind. Add in the witness statements, and it was a clear case of self-defense. My knife and pistol were legal, so I got them back as they let me go.

As for the idiots, I declined to press charges. Stupid should hurt, and it did.

I signed all the forms and put my biker clothes back on. They handed me my weapons at the door.

When I walked out of jail, I froze. Clyde was standing by his car, waiting for me.

Ch. 69

Bonnie Woods' POV

Detroit, Michigan

Tuesday, June 16, 2020

"What's with the U-haul," was the first thing out of my mouth when I saw my mate standing by his SUV, towing a short trailer.

"Things have changed," he said. I moved into his arms and tilted my head up for a kiss. He didn't disappoint; the tingles engulfed my body as we touched, and I could smell my arousal building. Clyde's eyes flared with lust before he pushed me back. My wolf fought for control, but I didn't let her. Our wolves wanted to complete the mating and had little patience with our human sides. The longer we went together without mating, the harder it would be to hold them back. "Hop in. We need to get out of here before anyone finds us."

"Were we followed? Tracked?" I'd been careful to inspect my Harley for tracking devices each morning.

"I don't know." He started his blue Ford Explorer and rolled the windows down despite the early summer heat. My scent would be driving his wolf nuts in an enclosed vehicle. "Where do I need to go?"

"Cass Avenue and Shelden." I had an old-fashioned Garmin GPS on my motorcycle, not trusting modern smartphones or in-car navigation systems. The Government or Council agents could use them to locate you. I only carried the burner phone and checked that once a day. He pointed to the unit on his windshield, and I programmed it. "You're not using your car's navigation system?"

"Too easy to hack, so I disabled the GPS. I let my smartphone battery run out after hearing what happened to you. I didn't want anyone to know I was heading your way." He let out a breath as he made the first turn. "The Council forced me to retire. I'm out."

"What?" He filled me in on his meeting with the Chairman and the latest Alpha command given to all Pack wolves. "The locations you had didn't contain any of our targets, and now I'm out. If they hear I'm anywhere near Quebec City, they'll send a Fixer after me. You know how it works, Bonnie. If I break command, I'm rogue, and we're both hiding for the rest of our lives."

We couldn't do that now. I had planned to do it if I found Sean's killers, but I had to have faith he would help me now. He was my mate, so we were in this together to the end. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm driving to Minnesota," Clyde replied. "You can't stay with the Council Pack if you aren't a Council Fixer anymore. The Chairman expects me to change my allegiance to another Pack within the next few days. I have no interest in returning to my home Pack, and you don't want to stay at Baxter."

"You could go anywhere," I said.

"Not really. Most Packs won't want anything to do with me due to my dominance, as I'm as strong as a non-Mantled Alpha and all Betas. No leaders want to bring in someone who can turn around and challenge for their positions. I'm also on the wrong side of forty. At my age, there isn't a big advantage to taking me on. That leaves Miesville; they know me, Leo isn't intimidated by me, and we both like it there. I'll ask Leo and Adrienne if I can join their Pack."

"Am I coming with you?"

"Hell, no." I looked hurt, so he quickly continued. "You are the only wolf left who can find the killers, Bonnie. I'm under command, and by now, so is every other Pack wolf in North America. Everyone is under Alpha Command to avoid any Coyote interactions and leave if they scent one, except YOU."

"Because I've been in jail, and my Alphas haven't been able to talk to me," I agreed.

"That doesn't mean they don't WANT to talk to you. I already got two calls from Alpha Anthony, both asking me to have you call home if I see you. He can't command me, so fuck him. Your lawyer would have called for you if he'd shown up this morning for your release."

"Why didn't he?"

"Car troubles," Clyde said with a sly smile. "You need to be careful, Bonnie. Head to Canada and search, but be smart about it. Ride through the areas, don't get too close, and call me if you find anything. Only turn on that phone if you have a line on it, in case I get Alpha commanded to give up the number."

It was that serious. "I'm still under command."

"Yes, from the first order the Council gave at Saint Raymond. The command prevents you from attacking a coyote or violating their homes or businesses. It doesn't keep you from looking for them. You're the best tracker on the continent, Bonnie. We have to put that nose to work."

"If the Coyotes detect me, they'll inform the Chairman. The Council will come after me."

"Count on it. As soon as there is any information showing you are still searching for Sean's killers, the Council will send every Fixer and Enforcer they can spare to stop you. Baxter Pack will get squeezed to rein you in, so you have to shut down the Pack link."

There was one problem with that. "And if Anthony or Pamela push through?" Alphas could 'shove open' the Pack link from their end, even if you didn't want to talk.

"You can't go rogue, Bonnie. When Anthony puts command on you, smile and go on with life. We will find another way."

We'd arrived at my motorcycle. "What happens when I find the killers and call you?"