Page 14 of Bad Medicine

Then I heard the sound of my horn,and knew we were about to have more trouble than just the footage. “Shit,” Isaid. “Robby, I’m going to need to take your cell phone and the camera, and I’mgoing to need you and your gram to keep your mouths shut about either of thesethings existing. Do you understand me?”

He mopped his face and nodded.“Yes.”

“Why?” Grandma asked.

“Because, Gram,” Robby toldher, “if the cops find those things, I’m going to prison for the rest of mylife. Someone did something terrible, and it’ll be blamed on me.”

Her faded eyes cleared. “Thenwe’ll keep them to ourselves. Now eat.”

“Police are going to come,” Itold her. “They’re going to look at Robby. But neither of you know how thoseshrubs got back there or how a body came to be buried—”

“Abody,”she said.“Robby?”

“Robby has an alibi. He waswith his friends. Just don’t mention the camera.” I looked at him. “You lostyour cell phone. Get a new one.”

Then I hurried from the houseto deal with Pocket assholes who were likely ganging up on Joe. After that, I’dcall Rick and tell him what I’d seen on the video. We were now dealing with ahomicidal shapeshifter. And that wasnevera good thing.

Chapter Seven

I jogged from the house and putmy mind firmly on the most urgent threat at that moment—the gang of femaleswho’d jumped from a battered pickup truck and were advancing upon Joe and mycar. I couldn’t allow either Joe or my car to be hurt, but I couldn’t bring outmy claws or a gun to stop the irritating guardians of the Pocket. Didn’tmatter, really. I was faster and stronger than any of them, and I was pissedoff and impatient enough to make short work of a fight they were eager tostart.

“We don’t like outsiders in thePocket,” their gang leader said. “You come in here without asking, so we’regoing to give you a lesson on manners.” As one, she and the others—six ofthem—pulled blades from sheaths at their sides.

I grinned as Joe tapped hismachete against his leg. “It’s the middle of the day. Don’t any of you havejobs? How do you eat?”

She curled her lip. “The peoplewe protect pay us. Protecting them is our job.”

I nodded. “So what I’m hearingis, you’re thugs who extort money from your neighbors.”

That pissed them all off. Theystiffened and stomped toward us, though there was just a touch of hesitancy intheir advance. They expected us to be scared, for one, and two, Joe and hismachete were intimidating as hell.

Across the street, a few peoplecame out onto their porches to watch the show. One of them had a bucket ofchicken, which, I had to admit, smelled pretty damn good to my always hungrywolf. “You,” I called, pointing at the woman with the bucket. “Once I’m donehere, I’m going to want some of that chicken.”

“Honey,” she called, laughing,“if you come out of this with enough teeth left to chew, you’re welcome to it.”

Another vehicle, an ancientjeep, lumbered to a stop and five more females jumped out. Apparently thefemales roved during the day and the males at night. And maybe they didn’t getenough opportunities to prove themselves, because every single one of them wasbursting with eagerness.

Joe and I went to meet theknife-wielding gangs, but Joe was uncharacteristically hesitant. He didn’t wantto fight a bunch of women. Then two of them rushed him, and he paid for hisreluctance with a slice across his ribs. Somewhat shocked, he automatically puthis hand over the wound, leaning slightly forward, and the other female, a bandof spikes across her knuckles, broke his nose.

After that, Joe wasn’t soaverse to kicking a female’s ass.

We had to hurry—more peoplewould come, both male and female, and I did not want to be trapped in thePocket fighting the day away. I needed to call Rick about the dead body inGrandma’s back yard.

I knew I had to pull mypunches—they were human, after all—but there were a couple of times when Ithought I might have injured a couple of them a little too severely in myhurry.

By the end of it, Joe and Iwere the only ones still standing. Joe was bloody and battered, and I’d gottena cut or two, nothing concerning, and those who lived in the Pocket would be alittle less inclined to take on strangers in the future.

The fight was quick andvicious, and in the not-too-distant distance, I heard a rumbling sound ofapproaching vehicles. Quite a few of them.

“We need to get out of here,”Joe said, wiping blood from his face.

“Help me move these people frombehind my car,” I told him, “then we’ll go.”

We tossed them out of the way,and then I ran across the road to meet the woman with the chicken.

“You deserve it,” she said,grinning. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

I gave her a wink, grabbed thebucket, and jogged back to my car. Joe sat in the passenger seat with his handover his ribs, glaring at me.