How Much is That Werewolf in the Window?

"Wh - ?" Warren stammers, glancing around in surprise when he realizes his dog isn't directly beside him any more. He races around the edge of the warehouse, grinning when he fins Buddy yelping near a large wooden box. "Hey, good boy! You knew just where to find the order, didn't you?"

He glances back and forth to make sure no one's nearby to watch. Then he sets his backpack on the ground, pulls out a screwdriver, and sets to work getting the box open. He slides the lid off and whistles. "Would you look at this!" he whispers. "No wonder the boss was so upset about getting his shipment late."

The box is filled with about fifty canisters of a glowing blue liquid. Warren whistles and pulls one out, holding it toward Buddy so he can sniff it if he wants. "Know what this is?" he asks softly. "This is . . . holy crow, I didn't even know we had this in the area. This is liquid wolfsbane mixed with a few other chemicals. I've heard shifter hunters use it, but I've never actually seen it up close."

He slides the lid back onto the box and shakes his head. "So it turns out the shifter hunters are real. I wonder if the shifters are?" He shrugs and starts tugging at the box, grunting. After a few minutes, though, he huffs and wipes his forehead. ". . . probably should have brought the car for this one. I didn't think it would be so big."
 
The dog sniffed the object offered to him on impulse, but froze at the words that came out of the boy's mouth. Shifter hunters.

Unlike the kid, he knew they were real. His bedtime stories had been filled with hunters. They were the boogieman under the bed, the monster in the night for every child in his pack. If he wasn't good, if he didn't stay within the village, it would be a shifter hunter that would find him and put him down like an animal.

Where... was this crate going? The dog thought, suddenly massively relieved that he'd helped the kid keep this from going wherever it was supposed to go, and even more tempted to knock the kid out and push the whole thing into the ocean, so whoever he was supposed to give it to wouldn't be able to get his hands on it either.

Then again, judging by the man that had accosted them in the alleyway, this wasn't going to any shifter hunter. Eventually, he gave a mental shrug. Better to let the humans use this on each other than the alternative. He glanced back at the boy. What's next, kid?
 
Warren stares at the box for a few more minutes, rubbing his chin. "Tell you what, Buddy," he says at last. "This place is pretty remote. I think we have enough time to go back to the house, get you a snack, and bring the car out here. That'll give us about an hour to bring this stuff to my boss."

Sure enough, Warren walks Buddy home, gives him a piece of steak with gravy for dinner, and then drives back to the pier with Buddy in tow.

He puts the car in park and hops out with a grin. "All right. I think if we can just get all these cans into the back trunk, we'll be fine. I don't think they'll need the box." He walks over to the container and pulls off the lid again. He sighs in relief to find all of the liquid still there. "Sweet. Still plenty of werewolf poison. Don't lick any, Buddy - just to be safe. It's probably not good for dogs, either."

He sets to work loading the canisters into the trunk of his car, soon settling into a rhythm. He doesn't notice the man waltzing toward him from around the other side of the warehouse. The stranger is tall and gaunt, with sunken eyes, neatly combed grey hair and a beard, and walks with a gold-tipped cane. He's whistling softly as he walks over.
 
The dog was rather reluctant to leave this box behind, somehow certain that in the time they were gone, the party it was actually intended for would show up and spirit it away to who knew where. All the same, he was only a dog, and didn't ultimately get any say in where they went. So, after a moment of hesitation, he followed Warren back home, trying to forget about the box full of vials of poison.

It wasn't like it was his problem anymore. If any of his pack caught up with him at this point, he'd be dead for it. He should just... forget about the box and it's contents, enjoy these meals for another day, and then head deeper into human territory to outrun his past.

And that's what he tried to do, as he ate the steak Warren gave him and once again licked the plate clean of any traces of sauce. However, when they made it back to the pier and he saw the box still in place, and its deadly contents still contained within, he couldn't help the trace of relief that washed over him.

He watched Warren start loading up the car, tracking with sharp, blue eyes as the boy walked from box to car over and over and over, slowly filling up the back of the car with its toxic prize. However, as Warren worked, the dog found suspicion building in him. Why would such valuable cargo have been left here, entirely unattended?

Perhaps that suspicion was the reason that the dog noticed the other man as soon as he appeared. Everything about him appeared out of place in the dingy dock, and the dog couldn't help the small bark that came from him as soon as the man turned his eyes in their direction. Warren, he barked again. I think we have company.
 
"There, that's the last of it," Warren announces as he sets the last vial of poison into the trunk. Then Buddy barks behind him. Warren whips around, one hand already on the knife in his pocket. On seeing the stranger approach so casually, he narrows his eyes and huffs. "What do you want?"

The gaunt man smiles and waves the pair off with a bony hand. "Oh, nothing, lad. Nothing. Just out for my evening stroll."

Warren raises an eyebrow. His hand is still on his knife. "You . . . go for evening strolls . . . in a place like this?"

"Oh, yes. No one's usually out here to pester me," the man says with a chuckle. He taps his cane on the ground and licks his lips. "The real question is, what are you two doing out here? It's not every day you see such a young human handling werewolf poison," he adds. "How'd you get into the shifter hunter business, eh?"

Warren grits his teeth and locks the trunk of his car. "None of your business. Besides, we're leaving now anyway."

"Are you? Shame. You seemed like a nice pair to get to know," the man adds. He pulls a business card from his pocket and holds it out. "The name's Eli McShaney. Collector of fine furs and jewels, well known seller of them as well. Feel free to drop by my place any time."
 
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The dog watched the stranger approach with a wary glint in his blue eyes. Something about the man struck him as the bad kind of funny, and it wasn't just the fact that he was walking down the street with a gold staff in hand. He had to suppress the growl from the depths of his throat, but couldn't fully cover up the quiet rumbling.

This suspicion grew from unfounded to entirely reasonable when the other man revealed his knowledge of what was in that box. Whether this man was the intended recipient of the toxin or simply the transporter, he had something to do with the shifter hunters, and that made him bad news.

When the man reached his hand into his pocket, the dog barked once, sharp, loud, and aggressive. Even when he pulled his hand back out and showed he wasn't hold to anything other than a business card, the dog didn't relax. He barked again, before glancing back at Warren.

Can we get out of here? he begged with his eyes. Please?
 
As the man hands him a business card, Warren glances over at Buddy. The dog's tense. Warren already trusts him, so when he looks back to the man, he sets his jaw and nods curtly. "Thank you, Mr. McShaney. We'll, uh, keep in touch."

He whistles and pulls the car door open, ushering Buddy inside. Once the dog's secure, he shuts the door again and drives off, glancing at the rear view mirror. Eli McShaney is simply standing and watching. Warren shivers and presses the gas pedal harder.

He pulls up to an old apartment building a few minutes later. After checking the address on his phone, he nods and hops out of the car. Then he opens the back door and ruffles Buddy's ears. "You wait here, okay, boy?" he asks with a grin. "I'm going to go deliver this stuff to my boss. And I still have fifteen minutes to spare."

Warren grabs one of the canisters of shifter poison as proof he has the rest. Then he races up to the apartment complex and steps inside, pressing the button for room 302. "Hello? Is Salty in?"
 
The dog was perfectly happy to jump in the car the moment Warren opened the door. He sat down in the seat, head turned to the side and looking backwards. He didn't fully relax until the car rounded a corner and Eli was blocked from view.

Of course, as soon as that was done, he found his thoughts turning back to the poison that was in the back of the car. Where was Warren taking this, and why? There was no way the kid was a shifter hunter, not the way he treated animals. Why was he dealing in poison?

When they arrived at the apartment, the dog took the head pat calmly, but moved closer to the car door as soon as Warren walked away. The kid hadn't locked the car behind him, which made it small work for him to paw at the latch a couple of times until he was able to catch it with his foot, and pull it open. He nudged the door further open, before hopping out, not allowing the door to fully slam closed behind him. Ears perked, he moved closer to the building, attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation, while also looking and sniffing around for anything suspicious.

The dog wanted to know who was getting this poison, and he was determined to find out.
 
"He might be. Might not be. Who wants to know?" a gruff voice asks on the other end of the line.

Warren clears his throat, shifting the weight of the canister in his arms. "Uh, Warren. Warren Booker. I've got a delivery here for Salty. The, uh . . . the stuff he wanted by midnight? The -"

"All right, all right. Not so loud," the voice whispers. There's a pause while he talks to someone in the background. Then he returns to the call button. "Yeah, all right. Meet him outside at the back."

"Thanks!" Warren calls cheerfully. He holds the canister close and carefully follows the paved pathway towards the back of the apartment complex. An old willow tree, bending under its own weight, sends long vines wandering towards a duck pond below. Several pieces of playground equipment are set up throughout the yard. Closer to the building, there's what looks like the entrance to a storm cellar.

A man in a green and blue sports jacket is standing with his arms crossed next to it. His peppered beard is cut close to his chin, and his dark eyes glare at the young man's approach. "What took you so long?" he asks sharply.

"Uh, sorry. I got distracted," Warren mumbles, setting the canister in front of the man. "Here's the first one. I've got the rest in my car. Do you want them all back here?"

Salty nods. "Bring the car around."

Warren salutes and starts heading back towards the front of the apartment building, walking towards his car. He's bound to notice the open trunk and missing dog any moment now.
 
The dog tracked Warren as much by smell as by hearing, following him around to the back of the building, head tilted slightly to the side, ears twitching to try and catch every word.

This "Salty" seemed to be the person who'd ordered Warren to go get the poison, and was presumably the same person who had sent thugs after them only a few hours ago. It seemed strange to the dog that Warren would come through for someone who'd done something so clearly hostile, but Warren must be getting something out of the transaction.

There were other people around, as well. All of them had the faint scent of metal clinging to them, along with the all but omnipresent scent of human sweat. All humans had some sort of scent to them, few of them pleasing, but most of these guys just smelled angry. At the very least, few of them seemed competent enough to match with the stories he'd heard of shifter hunters.

As Warren finished his first delivery, the dog turned around, trotting quietly back to the car with his nails clicking sightly against the concrete sidewalk. When Warren rounded the corner, he'd find the dog sitting, almost obediently, in front of the half-open car door, head tilting to the side as he caught sight of the boy.
 
Warren walks towards the car before his face lights up in a grin. "Aww, good boy, Buddy! You stayed and guarded the stuff!" He ruffles the dog's ears and gives him a hug. "Don't you worry. We're getting a big bonus from this job. And even better, these guys will make sure no werewolves bother us. We'll be completely safe."

He pats Buddy's head before heading to the front of the car and hopping in. Then he drives to the back of the house, where Salty and his hired muscle start unloading the poison. The last cannister goes into the storm cellar barely a few minutes later.

Salty clears his throat gruffly and pulls out a wad of cash, leafing through it to count out Warren's cut. "Your share, as promised," he mutters at last. He shoves the money towards Warren, who scrambles to secure it and stuff it into his pocket. "Now, against my better judgment, I need you to do another job. You in?"

Warren smiles and nods. "Yeah! I'm honored you're giving me another chance. Thank you, I - "

"I need a specific map and set of instructions. It's very important that only you and I see what it contains," Salty explains. "I'll text you the location and the due date. Questions?"

"Yeah, I - "

"Good. Head on out," Salty orders. As soon as Warren's out of sight, he folds his arms behind his back and turns toward one of his men. "He should be bringing it tomorrow. Have the supplies ready and make sure we have enough tranquilizer."

~~~

"I can't believe he gave me another job!" Warren bursts out as he drives home. "Buddy, we'll be able to pay the mortgage with another job like this! No more payment extensions. How do you like that?"