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Chapter Ten: "Adventures On Parole"

Crimson and the missus, the four Rollers, and the two San Diego detectives began making their way south on Interstate 5 at about 9 p.m. Sunday. They would stop and load up on breakfast and coffee in the small hours, then continue on to arrive at Oakland by noon. To retain a more widespread logistical positioning, Sandy and Kitty were remaining in Tacoma to guard the home front. There were still a few moon dogs loose in the area anyway.

The southbound caravan regrouped at a truckstop somewhere north of the border between Oregon and California. Some showered, some exercised, they all ate, and decided to spend the night where they were for the sake of their safety, health, and sanity.

The identity of Lydia Chapel, the mysterious woman with Crimson who had yet said very little to anyone, was made much clearer to the traveling party over the meal they had at the truck stop restaurant that night. She was a victim advocate and a prison reform activist, with an institutional interest in Crimson’s welfare and his community reintegration, leading up to and subsequent to his ADC parole. Her personality incorporated a fierce and charismatic devotion to her work and her subjects in any case, and when she and Crimson fell in love, it engendered a magnetism beyond words. For this couple, their future was bright and their past was a formidable education for their now-combined course in life. The S.N.A.F.U. of them bungling into werewolf weirdness only served to enable them further in their campaign of love and righteousness, leaving them at the doorstep of a mysterious, challenging, adventurous cause, the likes of which they were ill-equipped to reject.

Late Monday morning, the group arose and re-breakfasted. One has to eat, and anyway, there was no reason for this to be a hell run. It was more of a business vacation.

While they ate, Veronica outlined the attack plan as it would be presented to Chief Wilson of the Oakland P.D. Their quarry was grouping in small groups, a tendency that had been exemplified by the Inland Inn situation. It seemed they came out at night because they were nocturnal to begin with and also because they could integrate at minor levels with only the darkest and most seedy of nighttime subcultures. Even if they had wanted to, the moon dogs would not be able to come and go freely in well-lit places, because any normal upright citizens would immediately recognize them as some kind of drooling, monstrous abomination dug up from hell that needed to be immediately exterminated. Anyway, the traveling party set out from Glendale about noon.

They arrived in Oakland about 8 o’clock., and met with the OPD’s Sam Wilson at a diner near his office not far from Oakland Inner Harbor. Something about diners. Detective Thompson had done a fair and thorough job of explaining to Wilson what he should expect from his visitors, so this short meeting served as a pro forma introduction with a get-straight-to-business leaning. And that they did. Luckily, Wilson had worn his leather, and about 15 minutes later they were off to some sort of rave or another. An ideal place for the moondogs to blend right in and kill weirdos.

The girls knew exactly where their targets were gathered, which was the main reason why the various local law enforcement agencies could easily be convinced to work with them. They rounded up Wilson’s vehicle into their caravan, and headed south down Loop 880 for a few miles, toward Raiders stadium, where the drug culture event was only just getting underway.

The rave setting was a who’s who of the vice squad and pushers, and a general nightmare scenario for parents everywhere. There were plenty of old crusty types, but the crowd was very young. There were plenty of obvious examples of kids who were not legally adults. Not that kids in their early 20s can be trusted with much—not unless you know them well enough. Anyway, this was primarily not the college crowd. This wasn’t even the aspiring circus crowd; certainly not in a good way. These were the drop outs, and a huge portion of this crowd were here to do hard pharmaceutical drugs known to have lifelong negative physiological effects. Not to mention the many other hazards present. It was a perfect place for these monsters to lurk in the shadows and people-hunt.


Meanwhile, back in Tacoma, Thompson and Kitty were having a nice lunch after getting a good night’s rest and sleeping in. After the exciting events of Sunday night, Thompson was sold on hiring the whole Lickers team onto the state police force. Natural bio-electrical weaponry such as what he witnessed being wielded by Kitty last night was the answer to anyone’s problems, as far as he was concerned. He offered to help again that night. No slackers here, was the message he wanted to send. Quid pro quo.

After they had blistered the storage area the night before, the county boys had again come and fetched the two werewolf carcasses, which were now in the custody of Dixie. They paid their obligatory visit after finishing their meal.

These were not wearing their uniforms bearing their erstwhile human nicknames, so their identification was not a task so precise for the police as it had been some of the previous derby wolf bodies. The corpses did not appear to be in any real different condition of dead as a result of the means of their demise. That is, they did not show the forensic indicators that a “regular” person would after being electrocuted. This was not to be regarded lightly, because dead as they were, the things proven their tendency to revitalize and kill again. Dixie, being well aware of this pesky trait, had bound them in full body cuffs which were courtesy of the Pierce County Sheriff’s Office.

Kitty was, however, in a position to give a strong approximation regarding the previous identities of the two, prior to their demonification, that is, even before she examined their telltale tattoos. The late and former Ginny Rater and Butter Beaver of the Chino Wheeled Beavers squad.

“At this rate, it won't be long before we are plumb out of Wheeled Beavers,” Thompson observed.

“Yes, and it bothers me some. I am concerned that the witching hour may descend upon some other squad just as soon as the Beavers run out,” Kitty said.

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