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''My mom and dad. How they died. What they'd think of me now." |
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"What do you mean what they'd think of you? What have you done?" |
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Cyrus laughed bitterly. "Nothing much. I murdered three men in Seattle. I beat the crap out of two men in Calgary and scared the shit out of two more in Banff. I don't much count the rest, they were dead already." |
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"That's a crock and you know it. Dessotti and his men, it was them or us. If you hadn't reacted we would both be history now." |
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"Not unless one of 'em had a fucking broadsword." |
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"Did you know that at the time?" |
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"Well . . . no. But it wouldn't have made any difference. They were scum. I could smell it on them like cheap after-shave." |
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"So you rid the world of three cockroaches. Somebody ought to give you a medal." |
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"Yeah, right." He sighed. |
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The traffic was thinning and Kyna relaxed a bit, slowing the Lincoln to just under eighty. "Come on, out with it. What's bothering you?" |
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"Old lessons die hard, I guess. In spite of everything that's happened, I wasn't raised by wolves. I was taught that all life is precious and that God will forgive almost anything. But taking another life . . . I just don't know." |
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"Would you be happier if we were dead?" |
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Cyrus hung his head. "Of course not. I could never let anything happen to you. It's just . . . I didn't realize how much the talks I used to have with my dad had gotten to me." |
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"What do you think? Because you turn into a wolf, you can't go to church or wherever it is you go?" |
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Cyrus couldn't help laughing. "Yes, I go to church. At least I used to." |
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"Okay. Since you asked. What's the first thing that every- |
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