Page 5 of Licence To Howl
‘What’s the combination?’ He tightened his grip on Hitchens’ throat.
‘Three five oh two four.’
Devereau tutted loudly. ‘You gave that up far too quickly. My instincts were right.’ He sighed as if deeply disappointed. ‘The Wasps are not the gang for me.’ He released Hitchins, who collapsed back down onto the floor again. ‘Never mind.’ He shrugged to himself and headed for the door.
* * *
Nobody stoppedhim as he left the pub. The builders watched him warily and Hitchens’ old mum, if that’s who she really was, scowled in his direction. There was no sign of the teenager who’d no doubt done the smart thing by disappearing out of the front door, but the bartender remained in place, watching him with a white face as he grabbed his coat from where it still lay hooked on the bar stool. Devereau smiled pleasantly before ambling outside. Then he delved into his pocket and pulled out his own phone, calling Sarah Greensmith.
‘It’s me,’ he said into the phone. ‘The Wasps have definitely been blackmailing Carruthers. They’ve already tapped him for twenty thousand. It’s in a safe behind the bar.’ He told her the combination. ‘I suggest you get someone to their pub tout suite to scoop them up.’
Sarah Greensmith didn’t immediately say anything.
‘Are you there?’ Devereau inquired.
‘Yes. Yes, I’m here. I’m merely surprised, that’s all. That was fast work, Mr Webb.’
‘I aim to please. Next time,’ he murmured, ‘try and give me something more challenging.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about that. Your next assignment will be longer and will involve overseas travel.’
Devereau felt a frisson of excitement. Excellent.
‘I’ll be in touch after the full moon,’ she told him.
‘I’ll pack my suitcase and look forward to hearing from you.’ He smiled to himself and ended the call before glancing up at the sky. It was just as well he’d finished up his work for the day. Rain was on the way and he still had a few errands to run.
He supposed that the sensible thing to do would be to wait here until Greensmith sent someone to mop up the mess he’d left behind him. He wasn’t going to waste his time, however. The entire operation had been a set-up from the beginning. The two builders nursing their pints might have had appropriately stained clothes but both their shoes had been brand spanking new and were entirely unsuitable for hard labour. The bartender, who’d done a reasonable job of acting scared, hadn’t been worried in the slightest. Devereau was a werewolf; he could literally smell fear – and there had been nothing on the barman to smell beyond traces of aftershave and stale beer. Part of his lack of fear had probably been because Devereau’s drink, or perhaps the raw burgers, had been laced with some sort of chemical poison that had prevented him from turning into a wolf. No way a small time London gang could get hold of something like that. Not at short notice. MI5 could though. They’d probably fucking developed it in their own secret laboratory. It was hardly surprising that they’d worked out a way to tame werewolves, even if only temporarily. It was an unpleasant discovery but one which Devereau was glad he’d learned about.
The final nail in the coffin – and the one which had damned the whole thing – was Alexander Carruthers. MI5 hadn’t done quite as much research on Devereau as they’d thought they had. He had pursued some dealings with Carruthers several years ago. He’d broken into the MP’s second home near Westminster and divested him of several rather ugly but lucrative pieces of artwork. He knew from the photographs he’d seen in Carruthers’ house that the MP was completely, one hundred percent, unstiltingly gay. Alexander Carruthers wouldn’t pay for a blonde female sex worker’s services any more than Sarah Greensmith herself would. Whoever had been on the other end of that phone, it certainly hadn’t been the Member of Parliament. Greensmith – and by extension MI5 – had been testing him. Could he withstand pressure? Could he lie convincingly when he needed to? Would he steal money if he was given the chance? Was he a loose cannon? He’d been very tempted to throw it all back in Greensmith’s face and tell her that he wasn’t as stupid as she thought he was. And that she wasn’t as clever. However, it served his purposes to know more about MI5 than they knew about him. It was only to his advantage if they under-estimated him. Devereau Webb had agreed to work for the secret services and serve his country as required. But he would never ever trust them.
Chapter Two
‘Can I come with you?’Alice asked.
‘Nope.’ Devereau gave his niece a flat look. ‘You know you can’t. Stop asking.’
‘Martina gets to go.’
From the corner chair, where she sat with her legs tucked underneath her, Martina grinned.
‘Martina is a werewolf.’
‘You could make me a wolf like her. Then I could come.’
‘If I did that,’ Devereau grunted, ‘your mum would kill me.’ Literally.
Dr Yara appeared in the doorway. ‘They are here,’ she announced.
Devereau nodded and got to his feet. ‘Natasha will be here to pick Alice up shortly.’
Yara smiled. ‘Is no problem. I wait.’
‘Thank you.’ He glanced at Martina. ‘Have you called your dad?’
The young girl waved her phone at him. ‘I texted him. He texted back and told me not to eat anyone.’
Devereau kept his expression schooled into a blank mask. Martina’s father was an idiot. She needed support and love, not pointless warnings or admonishments even if they were wrapped up with misplaced humour. It wasn’t the time to comment, however, and it wouldn’t do Martina any favours. She only stayed with him for the three days over every full moon and her blood ties, especially given her history, were not his to break. It had been a few days since Greensmith’s daft test and Devereau had a free pass until the moon completed its cycle so he had been able to give Martina the attention she deserved. However, with only one night left before she returned to her dad, he was keen not to rock the boat. None of them could afford to allow Martina’s riotous teenage hormones to get the better of her composure. Like him, she was a werewolf who wasn’t supposed to exist. Unlike him, she had to struggle with puberty and adolescence as well as her lupine form. They weren’t states of existence which tended to blend well and at this time of the month it paid to tread on eggshells around any werewolf, let alone one barely into her teenage years.
