Running with the Pack
Page 27

I shook him awake, and he sat up, startled, and began blinking his eyes.
“You got something highly personal and just a tad improbable that you want to confide in me, Brother Basil?” I said.
“I tried to warn you,” he said plaintively. “I told you to leave, to hurry.”
“You considered seeing a doctor about this here condition?” I said. “Or maybe a veterinarian?”
He shook his head miserably. “It is a curse,” he said at last. “There is nothing that can be done about it. I am a werewolf, and that’s all there is to it.”
“And that’s why all them guys were running away from you at the station and looking askance at you on the street?”
He nodded. “I am an outcast, a pariah among my own people.”
“Yeah, well, I can see how it probably hampers your social life,” I opined.
“It has hampered all aspects of my life,” he said unhappily. “I have seen so many charlatans and poseurs trying to get the curse removed that I am practically destitute. I cannot form a lasting relationship. I dare not be among strangers when the moon comes out. And some of the behavior carries over: you saw me at the dinner table last night.”
“Well, it may have been a bit out of the ordinary,” I said soothingly, “but as long as you don’t lift your leg on the furniture, I don’t suppose anyone’s gonna object too strenuously. Especially since if they object at the wrong time of day, there’s a strong possibility they could wind up getting et.”
“You are the most understanding and compassionate man I’ve ever met, Doctor Jones,” he said, “but I am at the end of my tether. I don’t know what to do. I have no one to turn to. Only these accursed Gypsies will tolerate my presence, because it amuses them. I think very soon I shall end it all.”
At which point the Lord smote me with another of His heavenly revelations.
“Seems to me you’re being a mite hasty, Brother Basil,” I said.
“What is the use of going on?” he said plaintively. “I will never be able to remove the curse.”
“First of all, you got to stop thinking of your condition as a curse,” I continued. “What if I was to show you how the werewolf business could be a blessing in disguise?”
“Impossible!”
“You willing to bet five thousand dollars on that?” I asked.
“What are you talking about?” he demanded.
“You see,” I said, “the problem is that you ain’t never really examined yourself when the moon is out. You ain’t simply a werewolf, but you happen to be a damned fine-looking werewolf.”
“So what?”
“On my way into town, I passed an arena that holds a dog show every Saturday. The sign said that the prize money was ten thousand dollars.”
“You just said five,” he pointed out.
“Well, me and the Lord have got to have a little something to live on, too,” I said.
“What makes you think a wolf can win a dog show?” he said dubiously.
“Why don’t you just concentrate on being a handsome, manly type of critter and let me worry about the rest of it?” I said.
Well, we argued it back and forth for the better part of the morning, but finally he admitted that he didn’t see no better alternatives, and he could always commit suicide the next week if things didn’t work out, and I went off to buy a leash and some grooming equipment at the local pet store, and then stopped by the arena for an entry form. I didn’t know if he had an official werewolf name or not, so I just writ down Grand International Champion Basil on the form, and let it go at that.
The biggest problem I had the next two days was finding a vet who was open at night, so I could get Basil his rabies and distemper shots, but finally I convinced one to work late for an extra fifty dollars, which I planned to deduct from Basil’s share of the winnings, since the shots didn’t do me no good personally, and then it was Saturday, and we just stuck around the hotel until maybe five in the afternoon, Basil getting more and more nervous, and finally we walked on over to the arena.
Basil’s class was scheduled to be judged at seven o’clock, but as the hour approached it began to look like the moon wasn’t going to come out in time, and since I didn’t want us to forfeit all that money by not showing up on time, I quick ran out into the alley, grabbed the first couple of cats I could find, and set ’em loose in the arena. The newspaper the next morning said that the ruckus was so loud they could hear it all the way over in Szentendre, which was a little town about forty miles up the road, and by the time everything had gone back to normal Basil was about as far from normal as Hungarian counts are prone to get, and I slipped his leash on him and headed for the ring.
There were three other dogs ahead of us, and after we entered the ring the judge came over and look at Basil.
“This is a class for miniature poodles,” he said severely. “Just what kind of mongrel is that?”
“You know this guy, Basil?” I asked.
Basil nodded.
“He one of the ones who’s mean to you when you walk through town?”
Basil growled an ugly growl.
“Basil?” said the judge, turning white as a sheet.
Basil gave him a toothy grin.
“Now, to answer your question,” I said, “this here happens to be a fully growed miniature poodle what takes umbrage when you insult its ancestry.”
The judge stared at Basil for another couple of seconds, then disqualified the other three dogs for not looking like him and handed me a blue ribbon.
Well, to make a long story short, old Basil terrorized the judges in the next three classes he was in and won ’em all, and then the ring steward told me that I had five minutes to prepare for the final class of the day, where they would pick the best dog in the show and award the winner the ten thousand dollars.
Suddenly Basil started whining up a storm. I couldn’t see no ticks or fleas on him, and he couldn’t tell me what was bothering him, but something sure was, and finally I noticed that he was staring intently at something, and I turned to see what it was, and it turned out to be this lovely looking lady who was preparing to judge the Best in Show class.
“What’s the problem, Basil?” I asked.
He kept whining and staring.
“Is it her?”
He nodded.
I racked my mind trying to figure out what it was about her that could upset him so much.
“She’s been mean to you before?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“She’s got something to do with the Gypsies who cursed you?”
He shook his head again.
“I can’t figure out what the problem is,” I said. “But what the hell, as long as we let her know who you are, it’s in the bag.”
He pointed his nose at the ceiling and howled mournfully.
“She’s from out of town and doesn’t know you’re a werewolf?” I asked with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
He whimpered and curled up in a little ball.
“Will the following dogs please enter the ring?” said the announcer. “Champion Blue Boy, Champion Flaming Spear, Champion Gladiator, Champion Jericho, and Grand International Champion Basil.”
Well, we didn’t have no choice but to follow these four fluffy little dogs into the ring. The judge just stared at us for a minute with her jaw hanging open, and I figured we were about to get booted out, but then she walked over and knelt down and held Basil by the ears and peered into his face, and then she stood up and stepped back a bit and stared at him some more, and finally she walked over to me and said, “This is the most handsome, rugged, masculine dog I have ever seen. I have a female I’d love to breed to him. Is he for sale?”
I told her that I was just showing him for a friend, and that she’d have to speak to the Count de Chenza Lupo about it later. She scribbled down his address, and it turned out that she was staying three rooms down the hall from me at the Hotel Magyar.
Finally she examined the other four dogs briefly and with obvious disinterest, and then she announced that Grand International Champion Basil was the best dog in this or any other show and had won the ten thousand dollars.
Well, Basil and me stuck around long enough to have a bunch of photos taken for the papers and then high tailed it back to the hotel, where we waited until daylight and he became Count Basil again and we divied up the money. Then he walked down the hall to talk to the judge about selling himself to her, and he came back half an hour later with the silliest grin on his face and announced that he was in love and she didn’t mind in the least that he was a werewolf and all was right with the world.
I read in the paper that the other dog owners were so outraged about losing to a wolf that they tore the building down, and with the dog shows canceled for the foreseeable future I couldn’t see no reason to stick around, so I bid Hungary farewell and decided to try my luck in Paris, where I’d heard tell that the sinners were so thick on the ground you could barely turn around without making the real close acquaintanceship of at least a couple of ’em.