Werewolf Cop by Andrew Klavan Read Free Book Online Page A

touch that skank.”
    They weren’t alone when they got in the elevator. There were two people in the little box with them: a clerical, female, and a uniform, male. Did that stop Goulart? Shoulder to Zach’s shoulder against the back wall, he went on.
    â€œThese fucking meetings, too.” Muttering, but loud enough for the whole box to hear. “S’what I mean about women in positions of power. Gotta talk about everything. Bah-de-ba-de-ba.” He got an over-the-shoulder glance from the clerical. He smiled good morning at her until she turned back around. “We could be hunting these savages down but no, we have to discuss . We have to process . It’s hormonal, I’m telling you.”
    Zach couldn’t help but snort—it broke out of him—which only encouraged Goulart. The clerical woman was shaking her head at the elevator door. Luckily, it opened now. She and the uniform both got out. One of the local detectives got in. Stooped, silver-haired guy. Nodded respectfully to the two Zero boys.
    The door closed and Goulart muttered, “I mean, look: women—they can’t even go to the bathroom by themselves. One gets up, they all go, right? Like a flock of sheep. They gotta be directed. That’s their nature.”
    The silver-haired guy looked at Zach. Zach rolled his eyes. The local detective grinned.
    â€œRebecca—I’m not saying she’s not a nice person, all that. Whatever,” Goulart continued. “I’m just saying: she’s not a leader, that’s all. All these meetings—everything she does—it’s all about what the bosses think of her, what the press thinks of her. She’s over-responsive to authority, what I’m saying. See, a woman, if she doesn’t have a man to tell her what to do, then she’s gotta have the man tell her what to do. Makes life a misery for all of us.”
    And again, this was the thing about Goulart—about him and his whole belligerent say-the-unsayable routine: crazy as he was, there was always just enough truth in what he said to keep it interesting. Because in the wake of the Paz murders, there was, in fact, a media frenzy ( SLAUGHTERHOUSE! was the headline on the Post ’s website) and there was, in fact, pressure from D.C. and Rebecca Abraham-Hartwell. . . .
    Well, Zach liked Rebecca. And he respected her. She was smart, clear-eyed, and well-intentioned. But Goulart had a point: she did worry too much about what the media thought of her and what her bosses in Washington thought of her and even what they, Zach and the other agents, thought of her. And she did waste their time with too many meetings, too. But then she was the one who had to answer to the federal bureaucracy, not Zach.
    â€œYou look like shit, by the way,” Goulart said as they came down the upstairs hall to her office.
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œNot sleeping?”
    â€œI had a bad night, yeah.”
    â€œThat text you got yesterday, I’m guessing.”
    â€œJust a lot of things,” said Zach, with no hope of fooling him. “Personal crap.”
    â€œWoman trouble?”
    â€œRight,” said Zach with a laugh, as if that were an idea too absurd to contemplate. “I got ’em running hot and cold, that’s me. Can’t sleep for fighting ’em off.” Try to keep a secret in a building full of cops. . . .
    The Director’s office door was open and her secretary nodded them in—then Rebecca Abraham-Hartwell herself waved them in from the far end of the room. It was a distracted gesture. She was standing over the flatscreen TV on her wall, holding the remote in her hand, staring down at the images. She had one of those modes working that showed four different channels at once: all news, it looked like, all shots of burning buildings and running mobs and cops in riot gear.
    â€œCrazy,” she said. “London. Paris. Berlin. Look at that: that’s the