Page 4 of Creature
“No. But tell me if I’mright: the real reason you wanted to join the Bureau is because youcan’t destroy your own monsters—the inner ones—so you figured you’dkill some creepy-crawlies instead.” He pushed away his empty plateand waited, eyebrows raised.
“What are you—an agent ora shrink?”
“A good agent needs toknow more than how to fire a weapon. He needs to be able to readhis target.”
“I’m yourtarget?” Harry hoped hecame across as annoyed instead of afraid.
“In a way, in a way. Butnot for anything negative.”
Harry had had enough of this conversationand of Townsend in general. He simply wanted to climb into bed andpull the covers over his head. He could still do that—his rattrapof a room was paid for two more nights.
The waitress came by and slapped a bill onthe table, but when Townsend handed her a five and told her to keepthe change, she almost smiled. She knew full well she’d never havegotten a tip that big from Harry.
While Townsend was occupied with lighting acigarette, Harry abruptly stood and grabbed his light jacket.“Thanks for breakfast,” he muttered before making a beeline for theexit.
He was halfway down the block when Townsendcaught up, latching onto Harry’s upper arm with a grip hard asiron. “Not done with you, boy.”
Trapped in the middle of the sidewalk, Harryglared. “What? You ain’t happy until I spill my guts? Fine. Yeah, Igot some ugly stuff inside me, I guess. Dunno if it’s any worsethan what the average Joe’s carrying. I figured if I joined theBureau I’d maybe get to be a better man. That good enough foryou?”
Judging by Townsend’s wide smile, it was.But he didn’t loosen his grip. “Very good. Now listen carefully. Ihave an assignment in mind. It’s important. It’s also a bitdelicate in nature. And the agent who takes it on must be veryyoung. I’d originally assigned it to one of my boys, then another,but it didn’t work out.”
“So? I’m not one of youragents.” But Harry’s heart danced a hopeful rhythm.
“This will be a trial run.I won’t swear you in, not yet. But if you can pull off thisassignment, well, that’ll prove something, won’t it? You can jointhe Bureau then.”
Harry jerked his arm away—he’d have bruisesthere soon—and pretended he possessed pride and dignity. “But youdon’t want me, remember? I’m weak.”
“Oh, son, don’t be anidiot. You can pound the pavement looking for another shitty job,and you can spend your last couple of nights with the roaches atthe March Hotel. You can fade into obscurity. You’ll end upshriveled and dusty before you know it.” Townsend held out a paw.“Or you can take this one last chance.”
For a long moment, Harry considered runningoff, even though he knew that no bright future awaited him here inLA or elsewhere. He wasn’t especially smart, he wasn’t especiallyskilled, and his good looks would be gone after a little more hardliving. Maybe he’d just fall into a bottle and never climb out,like his old man. He’d always figured that was his destiny anyway,so why fight it? And he sure as hell didn’t trust Townsend.
But maybe it was true. Maybe he had onefinal shot.
“Okay.”
Townsend grinned as he gestured at agleaming red Cadillac parked across the street. “Come for a ridewith me, boy.”
Chapter Three
The Bureau’s West Coast building hulked nearthe Four Level Interchange just north of downtown. At one time theheadquarters might have boasted Art Deco lines like the nearby cityhall, but the grimy cement structure had been marred over the yearsby asymmetric additions that stuck out like tumors. Townsendsteered his Cadillac into the gated parking lot, and a uniformedguard waved as they entered.
“We’re building a new HQup in Sherman Oaks. We’ve barely broken ground on it, but it’ll bea lot nicer. Give us more room to stretch out.”
Unsure what he wasexpected to contribute to the conversation, Harry remained silent.Townsend had refused to divulge any details of the assignmentduring the short drive. He’d seemed cheerful, but his demeanorhadn’t calmed Harry, who didn’t trust him. Every time the carstopped at an intersection, Harry had been tempted to bail out.Surely he could outrun a big guy so recently stuffed with breakfastand pie. But Harry had nowhere to runto, at least nowhere that wasn’t adead end, and anyway, he couldn’t help but be curious about whatTownsend had in mind.
Instead of parking, Townsend rolled to thecurb adjacent to the big front doors. A young man in a suit camedashing out, and when Townsend and Harry got out of the car, thekid hopped in and drove off without a word. Harry didn’t get achance to see where he drove to, because Townsend swiftly led theway into the building.
Harry had come here for his interview, andon that occasion he’d had plenty of time to take a look around thelobby. Not that there was much to see: well-worn marble floors,white walls empty of all décor except for a large sculpture of theBureau’s emblem, a few uncomfortable wooden benches, and areception desk. Townsend whisked him through without even a glanceat the woman behind the desk. He headed for the bank of elevators,but instead of pressing the call button, he took out a key andunlocked a slightly battered wooden door off to one side. “Afteryou,” he said, gesturing at the dimly lit descending stairway.
Obediently, Harry started down the steps.Townsend closed the door—the lock snicking into place—and followedclose behind. Their footsteps echoed loudly. Although Harry couldeasily imagine Townsend giving one good shove between his shouldersto send him flying onto the floor below, he kept his pacemeasured.
The narrow corridor at the bottom of thestairway had scuffed walls and a few flickering lights. Althoughthere was nothing overtly sinister about the space—which includedseveral identical doors distinguished only by the black letterspainted above them—the hairs on Harry’s nape prickled and hisstomach knotted tightly. Townsend unlocked door C and waved Harryinside.
A grizzled man in uniform, sitting behind adesk, rose to his feet as they entered. “Chief,” he barked. Hisleft arm was missing, the empty sleeve folded and pinned to theshoulder; deep scars etched his cheek and jaw on that side. Hecould have sustained those injuries in the war, but the markslooked suspiciously like they’d come from claws.
“Good morning, O’Keefe.You’re having a quiet shift?”
“Always do,sir.”
