Act 2
From a distance, as if we are riding a helicopter, we see a tall apartment building. We approach the building, and then start to circle over it. The building has a recessed penthouse.
The scene shifts to the large and opulent living room inside the penthouse. Seated in a chair next to a closed door, reading Entertainment Weekly,is the Indian from the Black Inferno Club. Except for his shirt, which is now black, red, and yellow checked, his outfit looks the same. From behind the closed door, we hear Roskoff's voice. It is raised and angry, and he appears to be speaking in Russian. Suddenly, there is a crashing noise, as if something breakable was thrown against the door. The door opens, and Long Sideburns comes out of the room. His face is bright red, and his expression is a mixture of anger, fear, and humiliation. Long Sideburns stops and looks at the Indian, who doesn't look up from the magazine, then turns and walks away.
"Hunter!" Roskoff yells.
The Hunter stands up and carefully lays his open magazine on the floor. He goes through the door and enters an office almost as large as the living room. The office has a large window that looks out over downtown Toronto. Roskoff is looking out the window, absently itching his bandaged right hand.
"Incompetents, Hunter," Roskoff says. "I am surrounded by incompetents."
The Hunter doesn't say anything. He simply stands quietly and waits.
"I have put a contract on those people," Roskoff says, turning and looking at the Hunter.
The Hunter now reacts with a look of surprise and even indignation.
"Peter," he says. "I have been doing your killing now for three years. A contract? Why haven't you talked to me about this?"
"Because I need you here, my friend," Roskoff says. "I need your protection right here. Those girls came far too close. In fact, they were not girls at all. The dark haired one, she had pointed ears and pointed teeth. She was a devil, perhaps even a vampire."
"She was a werewolf, Peter," the Hunter says.
"A werewolf?" Roskoff says, his eyes going very wide. "You know this?"
"I've run into one or two before," the Hunter says with a shrug.
"Someone sent werewolves to kill me?" Roskoff says.
"I don't know," the Hunter replies. "Maybe. It might explain why the girls were such amateurs."
"I'm not so sure the red head was such an amateur," Roskoff says. "But the dark haired one, I agree that she was an amateur. But she's the one who would have gotten me if it hadn't been for Angel…she did a better job at spotting danger than the people I pay to protect me."
"So you put a contract on them," the Hunter says.
"An open contract," Roskoff says.
"An open contract?" the Hunter exclaims. "Every fool with a gun will be chasing after every dark and red headed girl in the Toronto area, particularly those with Goth fetishes! Peter, this is very dangerous."
Roskoff's face darkens with anger.
"Hunter, you forget your place," Roskoff says. "I have always treated you honorably, but I have not gotten where I am by being the kind of bastard that puts up with people trying to kill him. Not only will I have satisfaction from my would-be killers, I will demonstrate to the world how swiftly I deal with those who would kill me."
The Hunter's face is now very serious, and there is a dangerous edge to his voice that Roskoff does not seem to hear. Or, he doesn't think that it pertains to him.
"How much is the contract?" he asks.
"30,000 dollars for the dark haired girl, 20,000 dollars for the red head, and 10,000 each for the other three," Roskoff says.
"Do you even know who these people are?" the Hunter asks.
"No," Roskoff says. "But I have the surveillance photos."
"But they're werewolves," the Hunter says.
"Yes," Roskoff says. "I heard you the first time."
"Lycanthropy is a fatal disease, Peter," the Hunter says. "They're going to die soon anyway. You're wasting your money."
Roskoff's expression instantaneously changes from one of rage to terror. He turns to hide this expression change from the Hunter. As he turns, he fails to notice the Hunter's slight smile.
"Fatal?" Roskoff asks, now trying to sound casual.
"Yes, fatal," the Hunter replies with a shrug. "They become hairier, then their bodies change shape, and then they die. Based on your description of the dark haired one, and my encounter with the red head, they are both in the later stages. My guess is that someone has convinced them that he has a cure. Desperate werewolves can be effective in the right situation. But so far as I know, there is no such thing as a cure."
"You're right," Roskoff says. "I've been hasty. I'd like you to find these two young women and force them to tell you who hired them, and what he promised them. Then kill them."
Roskoff looks at his bandaged hand, and the hair that now is growing around the bandage as well as under it.
"I want to find out just who is pulling the strings here," Roskoff says. "I'm afraid I've made your job difficult, because the open contract has already gone out."
The Hunter closes his eyes and nods slightly.
"Then I better get moving," he says.
He turns and walks out.
Brigitte and Ginger are sitting in a booth in a diner. Through the window next to their booth, we see various pedestrians walking back and forth.
"What are we doing here, Ginger?" Brigitte asks.
"Eating breakfast, B," Ginger says. "What does it look like?"
"But we're…we're supposed to be doing…what we're supposed to be doing," Brigitte says.
"No rule that says we can't eat breakfast first," Ginger says. "Rowlands gave us each twenty bucks, and I always prefer to kill a guy on a full stomach."
"Jesus Christ, Ginger!" whispers Brigitte, her eyes darting back and forth.
"Relax, B," Ginger says. "Nobody's listening to us."
"How the fuck do you know?" Brigitte asks.
"Because I'm listening to them not listening to us," Ginger says. Then she raises her head and looks back over her shoulder. "Hold on a sec."
The waitress comes over.
"Scrambled eggs and toast," she says as she puts a plate in front of Brigitte.
"The Hungry Man's Breakfast Feast," she says as she puts a heaping plate in front of Ginger. The plate contains, among other things, pancakes, an omelet, bacon, toast, and hash browns. "Gotta say, hon. Wish I had your metabolism."
After the waitress leaves with a promise to refill their orange juices, Ginger says:
"Hey B, pass me some bug puke, willya?"
Brigitte passes Ginger the honey bottle.
"So what's your plan, B?" Ginger asks as she squeezes honey on her pancakes. "It's OK. Nobody's listening again."
"I don't know," Brigitte says as she spreads butter on her toast. "It's been a long time since I've killed anyone."
Ginger laughs.
"B," she says. "I've been with you on every errand Rowlands has sent us on. You haven't killed anyone yet."
"Yeah, I have," Brigitte says, her face grim. "I killed before I joined the pack."
"Jason doesn't count," Ginger says.
"Pardon?" Brigitte asks.
"Jason," Ginger says. "You know. The guy we went to school with. The guy I fucked and infected with lycanthropy. The guy who followed you until you beat him near to death and shoved him onto various sharp implements in Ghost's basement. He was in late stage catalyst. He was going to hatch a wolf in a day or two, way too late to reverse. He wasn't human anymore, B."
"Oh yeah, him," Brigitte says. "Actually, I was thinking of Tyler."
"Tyler?" Ginger says. "The guy who was killed outside Ghost's house by Jason?"
"I locked him outside, Ginger," Brigitte says. "On purpose. So that the werewolf would get him."
"No shit??" Ginger exclaims quietly. "Wait. Hold on a sec."
The waitress returns with the orange juices. She asks the sisters if everything is OK, then leaves the bill.
"So why the fuck did you lock him outside, B?" Ginger asks. "What'd he do?"
"Ghost convinced me that he raped her," Brigitte says, closing her eyes. She pushes her plate away. "I've lost my appetite."
Ginger starts to scoop off food from Brigitte's plate onto her own.
"But he didn't," Brigitte continues. "It was just another game that little psycho was playing."
"Something must have convinced you that it was true," Ginger says.
"Tyler was slimy," Brigitte says. "He would give the girls access to a hit of their particular poison for sex or…other things."
"Shit," Ginger says. Her voice becomes quieter, reflecting a quiet but very deep fury. "So did he do something to you? Force you to do something so that you could get your shot of monkshood?"
"Ginger," Brigitte says. "It doesn't matter anymore. He's dead."
"Did he force you to give up your cherry for a hit, B?" Ginger asks, her quiet fury building. "'cause if he did, I'd like to high five you for feeding his ass to Jason."
"He didn't deserve what I did to him, Ginger," Brigitte says. "He was actually trying to help us in the end, whatever else he'd done. And no, he didn't rape me or have sex with me."
"So what did he do to you, B?" Ginger asks. She stares hard at Brigitte, until Brigitte looks away.
"He gave me an injection, Ginger," Brigitte says. "That's all."
"Yeah?" Ginger says. "I'm bettin' it wasn't in the arm, was it?"
"No," Brigitte says. "It wasn't. Thanks, Ginger. I feel so much fucking better for having relived this."
The two Fitzgerald sisters sit in uncomfortable silence.
Finally Ginger speaks, quietly and gently.
"Sorry," she says.
"No, don't…" Brigitte says, shaking her head. "Really, don't. I'm glad, really, really glad, you came with me, Ginger."
Ginger nods. Then she looks at Brigitte, her face very serious.
"B, I know you don't want to, but you do know you have to kill this time out, don't you?" Ginger says.
Brigitte looks up suddenly, and everything about her changes. Her expression is so determined and her attitude is so intense that Ginger jumps slightly in her booth and drops her fork on her plate.
"jesus christ!" Ginger whispers very quietly, probably without even being aware she whispered anything at all.
"I have every intention of taking out Roskoff," Brigitte says. "I will not stand by and let a shit like him spread the lycanthropy that I gave him. That guy was a monster before he became a werewolf. Rowlands and I agree about this one thing: When he became a werewolf because of me, he became my responsibility, and I'm cleaning it up. And I know what that will require of me."
So intense is the connection between the sisters at that moment that neither notices that the waitress has returned to their table. The waitress's eyes are wide. Ginger looks up.
"What?" Ginger says suddenly.
The waitress jumps slightly.
Brigitte looks up at the waitress. Some but not all of her former intensity is gone.
"Sorry," Brigitte says. "My friend gets pretty intense when we are plotting."
"Plotting?" the waitress asks.
"Yeah," Brigitte says. "We're a team. My friend and I write and draw horror comics. We're still trying to get published."
"Oh, I see," the waitress says, allowing herself to be relieved. "Anything else I can get you?"
"No thanks," Ginger says. "Sorry to be so rude."
After the waitress leaves, Ginger says, "That was quick thinking. Still, we probably ought to get out of here."
Brigitte nods.
The scene shifts to the sisters walking outside in downtown Toronto.
"The penthouse is four blocks over that way," Brigitte says, jerking her head to her right.
"So, you have any ideas?" Ginger asks, apparently completely recovered from Brigitte's unexpected show of intensity.
"I figured we'd go over there, then you would somehow distract as many of the guards as you can while I go in and kill him," Brigitte says.
"Bad plan," Ginger says. "It blows completely."
"Yeah, but in case you forgot, I haven't been paying attention in killer class," Brigitte asks. "I assume you have a better idea?"
"Well, yeah," Ginger says. "I do. I figure we get a high powered rifle and shoot him in the head from a distance."
"Are you mental, Ginger?" Brigitte asks. "Rowlands sent us out unarmed."
"Doesn't mean we have to stay that way, B," Ginger says with a shrug and a smile.
"Yeah," Brigitte replies. "I assume you know where we're going to find a fucking high powered rifle just laying around? Hey, wait! There was a 'Help Wanted' sign up at the diner. Maybe we can earn enough money to pay for a rifle before we turn into fucking 300 pound monsters."
"Oh ye of little faith, B," Ginger says. "I already know where we can steal some fast cash!"
"What?" Brigitte says. "Steal? What are we going to do then? Get arrested and wait for Roskoff to come and visit us in jail? Are you completely out of fucking touch?"
"B," Ginger says, putting her hand on her sister's shoulder. "Unlike you, I have been paying attention in killer class. I can get us the money, and once we have the money, I know a guy who can get us the gun. I've dealt with him before during some solo and partner jobs."
"OK, fine" Brigitte says. "But that still leaves one problem."
"What's that?" Ginger says.
"We're also supposed to dispose of his fucking corpse before it can expose someone to the pathogen," Brigitte says.
Ginger shrugs.
"That's not a problem," Ginger says.
"Why's that?" Brigitte asks.
"Because most bodyguards lose interest in the body they are guarding when the body turns up dead," Ginger says. "Body dead, job over, guards go home."
Brigitte shrugs.
"OK, that makes sense," she says. "Lead on, Ginger."
Unnoticed by the two sisters, well behind them and upwind, the Hunter follows them quietly, weaving between the pedestrians without being noticed.
It is a bright, early fall day, and we see the black van pull into the gate, and once again we see the sign for The Canadian Center for Exotic Disease Control.
In the waiting room, before the doors open we hear James' voice ranting loudly. When the glass doors open, we hear what he is saying.
"…sentimental bitch is going to get herself killed over her fucktard sister," James says. "Fuck!!!"
Danielle follows him in, her long dark hair blowing in the breeze created by the pressure difference between the inside and the outside of the building. Her expression is a mixture of anger and fear.
"Why are you so damned upset about Ginger Fitzgerald?" she shouts angrily. "It's not like she showed you any respect when she was here. I hope she does get her ass killed, she and her stupid sister."
James turns rapidly, an inhuman wolf like growl coming from his throat. He immediately grabs Danielle by the shoulders, and she immediately turns her head, exposing her throat with a whimper.
"Do you know what another word for sentimental is?" James asks Danielle, his voice now quiet and icy. "Selfish! Ginger Fitzgerald belongs to me, she shouldn't be wasting her time on her worthless, waste of space sister. We're predators, she should let natural selection take its natural fucking course."
James then pushes Danielle back. Danielle would fall if she wasn't caught by Claude, who has entered the building quietly behind them. Danielle and Claude share a look. Claude shakes his head slightly.
"God damn it!" James says again, his voice getting louder.
The two security guards at the desk look at one another. One of them nods and the other pushes a button on the phone line.
"Yeah," the security guard says. "Yeah, the usual."
James spins and looks at the security guard, another growl coming from his throat. His canines are now longer.
"What the fuck…?" James says. "You boys now telling on me?"
"Mr. Munroe, that's quite enough!"
Rowlands enters into the reception room, followed at a respectable distance by "Doc" Murphy. Both are in their white laboratory coats.
James turns to look at Rowlands, but he doesn't look cowed at all.
"You were the one who let her go in the first place," James says. "But that's always the case isn't it? Can't tell little Ginger 'no'."
"James," says Rowlands. "You are overwrought, and you are in need of another treatment. Besides, you need to have a little more faith in your packmates."
"Brigitte is no packmate, and if Ginger was going after Roskoff alone, I wouldn't be worried," James says, still angry and still meeting Rowland's gaze. "But we both know that 'B' doesn't have what it takes, and it's going to cost us our alpha female when Ginger tries to protect her."
James smiles insolently.
"But then maybe that's it, isn't it?" James says. "Ginger fucks me, not you. Maybe that bothers you, maybe you're ready for Ginger to die."
Claude covers his face with his hand and snorts. James turns angrily to look at him, and at that moment a white blur slams into him. Rowlands has picked up James and pinned him into a wall. His forearm is across James' throat. The growl that comes from Rowlands is much deeper and full throated than the growls that came from James.
"You forget yourself, James," Rowlands says. "When you lose control of your emotions, you lose control of your body, and your mind, and your ability to think.
"I could have had and can have Ginger Fitzgerald any time I please. The reason why I have not coupled with Ginger is because she is not an alpha, and I will not couple with anyone but an alpha female."
James tries to struggle against Rowlands' grip, and fails. His face starts to turn red, then purple. Then Rowlands releases James and swiftly backs out of his immediate reach. James lands on the floor and tries to keep his feet, fails, and falls to his knees. He struggles to his feet, and when he does, he stands up straight and meets Rowlands' gaze directly.
"Ginger's not an alpha?" James asks disbelievingly. "She's strong and she has completed more missions than anyone here but me, including solo missions. She doesn't take crap from anyone, including me, and she'll even stand up to you."
James' insolent expression returns.
"So what are you doing to find this real alpha female, Wallace?" James asks. "Are you looking for just the right girl to bite?"
Rowlands straightens the sleeve of his lab jacket.
"I've already identified our alpha female," Rowlands says. "She will be arriving soon, perhaps as soon as a day or two."
Rowlands raises his gaze from his coat sleeve and back to James.
"And when she does, James," Rowlands says. "I don't suggest you challenge me for her."
James looks startled. Claude and Danielle are also silent, exchanging nervous looks.
"Go to your quarters," Rowlands says. "All of you. You are not to come out until 0800 tomorrow. At that time, James, you will report to the lab for your treatment."
The other three werewolves stand quietly.
"That is all, people," Rowlands says.
The other three werewolves turn and walk out without a word.
The door to Rowlands' office opens and he walks in, followed by Murphy.
"Refreshment?" Rowlands asks Murphy.
"Sure," Murphy says, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of Rowlands' desk. Rowlands kneels before a liquor cabinet, and opens the doors underneath to reveal a small refrigerator. He pulls out two Molson Ales and tosses one to Murphy. Murphy catches the bottle easily, opening it carefully to let the excess carbon dioxide out before taking a long pull.
"So who's this alpha female you're talking about?" Murphy asks. "Someone you're hoping will mentor Brigitte Fitz…"
Murphy's voice trails off at the look Rowlands gives him, a look that is serious and amused at the same time.
"You're referring to Brigitte Fitzgerald, aren't you?" Dr. Murphy asks, obviously stunned at the conclusion. "She's the alpha whose arrival you are anticipating."
Rowlands smiles, takes a long pull from his own Molson, then puts it down on top of the cabinet.
"Yes, John," Rowlands says. "I am referring to the 'waste of space', the 'idiot', or my personal favorite, the 'fucktard'."
At the use of each term, Rowlands makes quote marks in the air.
"Do you know how many people Brigitte Fitzgerald has killed in the black ops missions we've sent her on?" Rowlands asks.
"One or two at the most," Murphy says.
"None, John," Rowlands says, his voice filled with pride. "None."
"Doesn't that support James' argument regarding Brigitte's incompetence?" Murphy asks.
"Quite the opposite," Rowlands says. "It's easy to kill when you are a werewolf, even if you are an incompetent werewolf. For a werewolf not killing, indeed deliberately avoiding killing, is extremely difficult. Ginger and I, in addition to Brigitte, are the only ones who know her secret, and neither of them know that I know. Even James assumes she's killed somebody."
Rowlands approaches Murphy and sits on his desk. He leans forward to look directly at Murphy.
"As paradoxical as it sounds, Brigitte's refusal to kill on missions is a show of unprecedented strength," Rowlands says. "None of the others are capable of it. I'm not even sure that I am capable of it."
Rowlands takes another pull on his Molson. So does Murphy.
"But I remind you," Rowlands says after he swallows. "I remind you that Brigitte Fitzgerald has killed. She killed one werewolf in chrysalis, and she nearly killed her own sister when she achieved chrysalis, and she did so only with weapons in hand. No guns."
Murphy nods.
"I remember," he says. "If we hadn't gotten there in time, Ginger's chrysalis would have been beyond recovery. As it was, we were lucky to resuscitate it to a comatose state and tube feed it until we were able to pull Ginger out."
"So you see, Murphy, Roskoff is doomed," Rowlands says. "He is doomed because Brigitte Fitzgerald will not abide the thought of a man like him spreading the infection she gave him. He she will choose to kill. His accidental infection has afforded me the opportunity to move up the timetable for Brigitte's self discovery. When Roskoff is dead, Brigitte will come back a very different person, and a very different werewolf."
It is now night, and we are looking at a neighborhood with tract housing, mostly small single story ranch style homes. Then the scene shifts to the bottom of a tree along the street. As we start to pan up the tree, we hear Ginger say:
"Cut it out, B! You're shaking the tree."
"I can't help it, Ginger, I'm cold."
"You're a werewolf, B. You're impervious to cold."
"Bullshit, because I'm cold!"
"That's just because you can see your own breath. It's psychological."
Our view has now arrived to the body of the tree, and perched uncomfortably on the branches are both Ginger and Brigitte Fitzgerald. Their breaths are both misting in the night, and their eyes reflect light in a very wolf like way. Brigitte is shivering.
"Or maybe," Ginger says, watching Brigitte shiver. "Maybe you should have eaten more of your breakfast this morning."
"I…didn't think…we…would be…walking…across the…fucking…city, Ginger," Brigitte says. "Now why are we here again?"
"Because here is where the money is, B," Ginger says.
Brigitte looks at her sister as if she has lost her mind.
"Mansions are where the money is," Brigitte says. "Penthouses are where the money is. This is like returning to fucking Bailey Downs."
"Take a look at this house," Ginger says, pointing to a house that is facing them from the next street down. "Look closely."
We are now looking at the house as well. Then we are looking at Brigitte's face as her eyes shift back and forth. She is no longer shivering. Then Brigitte stops and says:
"Wait a minute," Brigitte says. "Cameras."
"Yep," Ginger says. "They aren't easy to see, but those are high tech, expensive security cameras. Not typical for the neighborhood."
We now see a portion of the house, and underneath the roof and just out from the wall, two video cameras are sweeping back and forth.
"They're there for one reason," Ginger says. "To help the people inside see what is going on outside, and that's because they either have a lot of money, or something very valuable inside."
"So we're just going to rob these people?" Brigitte asks.
"It's not like there's a family of four in there, B," Ginger replies.
"Who then?" Brigitte asks.
"Well, B," Ginger says. "Last night while you were researching Roskoff's personal and traveling habits, and his personal security arrangements, Iwas researching his business."
"And he comes here?" Brigitte asks disbelievingly.
"No, B," Ginger replies. "This place is strictly middle management. This is like a product warehouse. The initial contact between a buyer and Roskoff's organization is made on disguised, moving sites on the internet. But the actual purchases are made face to face, in places just like this one."
"With cash," Brigitte says. "Because it's still the hardest thing to trace."
"Yeah, with cash," Ginger confirms. "The buyers come here, make their final selection, and they are the proud owner of an underage girl sex slave who will do things not even legal in Toronto."
"That's fucking sick," Brigitte says. "But that just makes me like your idea more, using Roskoff's money to buy the gun that will kill him."
Ginger nods.
"Problem is," Ginger says. "They don't necessarily make a sale every night and…well, well, well, look what we have here."
A red Pontiac Firebird pulls into the driveway, and a short, dark haired man gets out. Another, taller man gets out from the passenger side and follows the first.
"Looks like we're in luck," Ginger says.
"So what's the plan?" Brigitte asks.
"Well, first," Ginger says. "I need you to hit me."
With that, Ginger tears the right sleeve of her sweatshirt so that it comes partially loose from her shoulder, revealing a thin black bra strap.
Our view shifts back to the bottom of the tree, and we hear a very light slap.
"No, B," Ginger says. "Harder."
We hear another very light slap, barely louder than the first.
"Boy," says Ginger. "Sam sure did taste good going down."
WHACK!!!!!
Ginger comes tumbling out of the tree. Her left eye is now puffy.
"That's better," Ginger says, half groggily. "Much better. Too much better."
"Well you deserved…oh crap."
Brigitte falls out of the tree and lands face down next to Ginger.
"So what's the plan now, big sister?" Brigitte says, her voice muffled by lawn.
"Well, first," Ginger says as she starts to gingerly sit up. "First we get back in the tree."
"Shit," Brigitte says as she slowly pushes herself up. "I was just enjoying being out of the damn tree."
Ginger and Brigitte are back in the tree. Brigitte looks more miserable than ever, and is shivering again. Ginger also looks more uncomfortable. Her left eye is red, and she carefully (because she is perched in a tree) rubs her arm and shoulder where the sleeve has been torn.
Suddenly, we hear the sound of an opening door and both Brigitte and Ginger look up.
We now see the front of the house, and the shorter man is going back to the driver's side of the car. The taller man is walking a small, dark haired girl with a long, black trench coat of the sort commonly seen in The Black Inferno. Her legs are bare and she walks awkwardly in high heels.
The taller man half helps and half shoves the girl into the back seat of the Firebird, then gets in himself. The car starts and begins to back out of the driveway.
Our viewpoint shifts back to the tree.
"You're on, B." Ginger says. "Now comes the time for little discussion and much kicking of ass."
Brigitte drops out of the tree. A second later, so does Ginger.
We are now in the kitchen in the house. A medium sized but muscular man in a white tee shirt is watching a monitor that shows a six picture split screen. He is smoking a cigarette. Over his tee shirt he has a shoulder rig and a handgun. On the screen, we suddenly see the girl in the trench coat run up the driveway, barefoot.
"What the fuck?" the man says in a Russian accent.
Then we see Ginger, head down, chasing the girl.
"Crow!" the man yells. "Front door! Now!"
One of the back bedroom doors opens and a tall and thin man with a scar down the left side of his face strides out.
"What?" he says with no hint of a Russian accent at all.
"The girl we just sold," The Russian man says. "Gigi. She's come back, and some other girl is chasing her."
"Other girl?" Crow asks.
"Yeah," the Russian says. "I think our customers might have gotten greedy with some girl on the street, and bitten off more than they could chew."
"Jesus Christ!" Crow says.
There is pounding on the front door.
"That's Gigi," the Russian says.
"Fine, Yuri," Crow says. "I'll go check."
Crow holds his gun next to his leg as he walks to the door and opens it with his left hand. The door opens, and the girl in the trench coat looks up to reveal the face of Brigitte Fitzgerald.
Crow starts to bring the gun up.
"It's her!" he yells. "The girl from the contract!"
Brigitte grabs Crow's wrist and snaps it. Crow yells as he drops the gun. Before it hits the floor, Ginger, coming up behind Brigitte, reaches down and catches it, then raises it back up and shoots Crow in the chest. Then she steps past Brigitte over the threshold and shoots Yuri in the chest as well as he starts to bring his gun up.
"Jesus, Ginger!" Brigitte begins. "Why…?"
But Ginger isn't listening. She walks swiftly into the living room, her face grim. Then she looks up and starts to shoot at the ceiling, obviously searching for something. Then she stops, looking satisfied. Covering her head and face, Ginger leaps up, hard, shattering the ceiling, then grabbing wooden beams on each side to finish the climb through. There is a shouted commotion from one of the bedrooms in the back of the house, down the hallway, and from above the sound of Ginger swiftly clambering her way through the attic. Then, the door opens and another man armed with a gun comes out. It's one of the trench coated men from the club. He raises his gun towards Brigitte, who is standing in seeming shock over what is happening. But then, there is a large crash in the room behind him and the late Crow's gun barks again, three times. The last time, the chest of the trench coated man lets loose a small fountain of blood as the bullet travels through him, striking the wall just five feet or so to the right of where Brigitte is standing.
It takes a full five seconds for Brigitte to recover her voice.
"What the fuck, Ginger?" Brigitte says. "Have you gone completely mental?"
Ginger comes out of the bedroom carrying a silver briefcase in her left hand. Following her are three young Asian women, all looking shell shocked and all splattered to a greater or lesser degree with blood. Looking at Brigitte, she puts down the briefcase, reaches under her sweatshirt, and pulls out a sheet of paper. Then she walks up to Brigitte and hands it to her. As Ginger goes back to pick up the briefcase, Brigitte looks at the paper.
"Oh God, no," Brigitte says. "This really sucks."
We then see what Brigitte sees on the paper. Pictures of Brigitte and Ginger, and smaller pictures of James, Danielle, and Claude. Under the pictures of each werewolf is typed the amount of the reward for her or his death.
"Where did you get this, Ginger?" Brigitte asks.
"From the Firebird," Ginger says. "They had a Beretta with a full clip inside the car."
"Guess we really pissed Roskoff off," Brigitte says.
"Guess so," Ginger says.
Gigi, with a shocked expression on her face, walks into the house wearing Brigitte's sweatshirt and a very short denim skirt. She is shivering.
Brigitte turns to Gigi.
"Go tell the other girls to stay in the house until the police come," Brigitte says. "Don't worry, we won't hurt you."
"On the other hand," Ginger says, suddenly standing very close to the girl. "Don't tell the cops you saw us!"
Gigi looks back towards Brigitte with a terrified expression. Brigitte puts her hand gently on the Gigi's shoulder while looking significantly at Ginger.
"We won't hurt you," she says.
Then Brigitte opens the trench coat.
"Trade you," she says. When Brigitte opens the trench coat, she reveals that she is wearing a grey cropped tee shirt and that her blue jeans are rolled up from her bare feet, obviously to preserve the illusion that she was Gigi. Gigi takes off Brigitte's sweat shirt, which Brigitte takes and puts back on.
Gigi then walks down the hall and gently herds the other girls into one of the other bedrooms. From behind the door, we suddenly hear several girls voices talking excitedly in a language that is not English.
"So what happened to those two guys from the Firebird, Ginger?" Brigitte asks. "Did you…?"
"What do you think?" Ginger asks. We start to hear sirens. "Time to go, B."
As the police sirens get louder, the Hunter slips silently and gracefully into the house.
He looks at Crow's corpse, then at Yuri's.
""Well, Red," the Hunter says very softly. "It looks like Peter was correct. You are quite the little pro after all."
The Hunter moves through the house quietly and quickly. As he steps over the trench coated guard and into the room Ginger dropped into, the door to the other bedroom door opens and Gigi sticks her head out. The Hunter re-emerges and smiles at the girl, who is obviously terrified. He puts his finger to his mouth and pulls back his plaid shirt to show her his gun.
"Two girls?" asks the Hunter in a whisper. "One with red hair, one with black?"
"Brown," Gigi whispers back, her wide eyes still on the gun.
"Dark brown?" the Hunter asks. "Almost black?"
Gigi nods, apparently too terrified to continue speaking.
"Thank you," the Hunter says. "Now go back in and wait for the police."
The sirens are very loud now. Our view shifts to the front door, and two police officers, one man, one woman, come in with guns drawn.
The man talks into his lapel mic.
"Two, no three dead," he says.
The male officer moves his head in the direction of the interior of the house. He moves back towards the back bedrooms, stepping over the body of the trench coated man. The female officer moves to look into the open kitchen, then backs back out.
"No one in the kitchen," she says.
"Two more dead in here!" the male officer says as he comes out of the bedroom. He then jerks his head towards the other bedroom door, which is closed. They approach the closed door together. The man's hand reaches for the doorknob.
……………………………………………………………………………………………..One plain clothes officer walks through the yellow tape of a police line, holding up his badge. After he is let through, he meets another plain clothes officer.
"So, what have we got?"
"Five guys shot dead in the house, but we also got four alive but very frightened Thai girls. They insist they saw nothing, but based on the fact that we recognize one of the dead guys as a sometimes associate of Peter Roskoff, we figure this was a warehouse."
"White slavery?"
"Yup."
"We've also got two more guys, dead with broken necks, next to a Pontiac Firebird stopped three blocks away at an intersection."
"Customers?"
"Probably, I think we ought to…"
The conversation between the two officers fades into the background as they walk away from us. Our view shifts to the growing crowd on the other side of the police line. Weaving effortlessly between the people in the crowd while watching the proceedings is the Hunter. No one in the crowd seems to notice him.
"Hey!" someone shouts. The Hunter turns in the direction of the shout. Our viewpoint follows his gaze until we see a police officer walking towards the spot where the Hunter is standing.
"You with the red hair," the uniformed officer says to a large, red bearded man. "Quit pushing!"
There is no longer any sign of the Hunter among the crowd.
Our view now shifts to the street well away from the crime scene. The Hunter is walking along the street. He pulls out his cell phone, punches in a number, and brings it to his ear.
"Hello, Grandmother?" he says. "Yeah, it's me. I've seen them."
We hear an angry sounding female voice through the phone.
""Yeah," he says. "I know it's been 4 years. Yeah, I'm still working for him. Yes, I know he is a total bastard."
The Hunter listens to a continued angry tirade that ends in what sounds like a question, although we can't make out any of her words.
"Who else?" he says. "The red and the black, of course."
He pauses to listen some more.
"Yeah, I'm sure," the Hunter says. "Two young female werewolves, one with red hair, and one with really dark hair."
He listens some more.
"Yeah, I know," the Hunter says. "I remember."
He listens some more. The voice on the other side of the phone is surprisingly loud and very angry, but we can't make out what she says.
"I said I remember!" the Hunter says. "Yeah. Yeah. Goodbye."
He folds up the phone and shakes his head.
"Shit," he says.
We now see the interior of a very dark and dingy shop. We then hear a buzzer being pushed repeatedly. The buzzer continues as the lights go on, and we hear a sleepy voice yell:
"Just a fucking minute!"
The buzzer continues to be pushed. A very large and fat man with disheveled black hair, a full mustache and a fuller beard, shuffles in from the back of the shop. He wears black jeans, flip flops, and a black shirt with white letters that read:
FUCK EVERYONE ELSE!
I WANT WHAT'S MINE!
In his right hand, he carries a pistol. As he approaches the front door, he stops shuffling, kicks off his flip flops, and moves with surprising agility to stand with his back against the wall next to the door.
"Stop pushing the fucking buzzer and tell me who you are!" he says loudly.
The buzzer stops, and we hear Ginger's voice say:
"It's Red, Clarence!"
Clarence unlocks the door and backs away from it at an angle.
"Door's unlocked," he says. "Come on in."
"First put the goddamn Luger down," Ginger says. "Or I will shoot you in the knees and feed you your little Nazi toy."
Clarence pales, swallows nervously, and puts his gun down on the floor.
"It's gone," he says.
The door opens. Ginger walks through the door into the shop. Brigitte follows. Ginger is holding the metal brief case. The case is still splattered with blood. Brigitte looks at the gun on the floor.
"Just leave it, B," Ginger says. "Clarence can pick it up after we leave."
Clarence moves behind the counter to his shop. It is obviously a gun shop, with guns, mostly hand guns, on display in glass cabinets behind him. Ginger slams the case loudly on the counter and opens it to reveal that it has several hundred dollars in it, although it is not full by any means.
"Good to see you again, Red," Clarence says, his voice friendly but professional. "The usual?"
"The usual," Ginger says. "With the serial numbers filed off."
Clarence goes through the back door into the back of the store.
"Ginger," says Brigitte, coming up next to her sister. "With the rewards on our heads, are you sure this is wise?"
"It's OK, B," Ginger says. "And call me Red here, OK?"
"And who am I supposed to be?" Brigitte asks. "Black?"
"Why not?" Ginger says. "Mom's nicknames for us when we were little kids. Good as any."
Clarence walks back into the front of the shop, carrying another briefcase.
"It's for her," Ginger says, jerking her head towards Brigitte.
Clarence puts the briefcase in front of Brigitte.
"So has she replaced Big Dog?" Clarence asks Ginger while looking at Brigitte.
"Yeah," Ginger says. "At least for today."
Clarence walks over to Ginger and her open briefcase. Ginger takes out half the money and gives it to Clarence.
"Am I going to have some Russians looking for this money?" he asks.
"No comment," Ginger replies.
"Me either," Clarence says as he stuffs the money into his pants under the shirt.
Brigitte opens the briefcase Clarence gave her. It contains a disassembled high powered rifle with scope. Brigitte starts to put it together with practiced efficiency. In less than half a minute, she has the rifle together and is looking through the sight.
"Wow, B," Ginger says. "I'm impressed."
"Didn't sleep through all of killer class, Red," Brigitte replies as she starts to take the gun apart again.
"You know," Clarence says. "There's quite a reward out for you two."
Brigitte looks up with immediate suspicion, but Ginger doesn't seem bothered by Clarence's comment.
"Yeah," Ginger says. "B here is afraid that you are going to try to collect it."
Clarence chuckles and looks at Brigitte.
"I don't take sides, B," Clarence says. "Bad for business. 'Course, I will give you some unsolicited advice. Crossing Peter Roskoff, very bad for your health."
"Bit late for that advice now," Ginger says.
"Yeah," Clarence says. "Better hope you finish your business with Roskoff before the Hunter finds you."
"The Hunter?" Ginger asks.
"Yeah," Clarence says. "Aboriginal guy. Not very tall, kind of mild looking. He's technically freelance, but he has been doing Roskoff's most difficult killings for four years now. He's supposed to be the best there is."
"Yeah, well," Ginger says as she closes the metal briefcase. "See ya."
After the door closes behind the departing Fitzgerald sisters, Clarence says sadly, "I don't think so."
Our view returns to the interior of Clarence's store. Suddenly, there is a rattling of the front door and then it opens, and slipping silently through is the Hunter, a small flashlight between his teeth, and a lock pick in one hand and an electronic device of some sort in the other. He slips his lock pick into his pocket. Then he fiddles with a dial on his small electronic device. There is a quick but low buzz. The Hunter averts his eyes, then there is a bright flash. He then puts the electronic device down on the floor and effortlessly vaults the counter.
We see Clarence asleep in bed, snoring softly. We see the blade of a hunting knife lightly, so very lightly, touch Clarence's hairy cheek. Clarence rubs the offended cheek lightly but doesn't wake up. Then, the knife blade touches his cheek lightly again. Clarence opens his eyes, and a hand covers his mouth.
"Shhhhhh," the Hunter says. "Don't shout, don't try anything."
Clarence nods frantically, and the Hunter takes his hand away from his mouth.
"How…how did you get in here?" Clarence asks.
"The power for your entire block is out," the Hunter says.
"I have battery back up," Clarence says.
"Small EMP," the Hunter replies.
"No shit?" Clarence replies. "Can you tell me where to get one of those? I've had a lot of interest in them."
"Sure," the Hunter says. "Now, tell me whether you were visited earlier tonight."
"Hunter," Clarence says. "Like I tell all my customers, I don't take sides, it's bad for business."
"Oh," the Hunter says. "I see. I understand. I really have to admire a man who puts his business principles over self preservation."
"No!" Clarence says. "No wait! I'm not that principled!"
"Oh," says the Hunter, sounding mildly disappointed in Clarence for his moral failure. "So you are going to tell me who was here?"
"Yeah, yeah," Clarence says. "Two…two girls...one with red hair, the other…"
"…with dark hair," the Hunter finishes. "Yes. Thank you so much. I will, of course, hold our exchange in strictest confidence."
"Hey!" Clarence says. "Great! Thanks!"
"Oh," the Hunter says. "And I'll tell my source for the EMP that you are interested. If he is agreeable, I'll tell him how to contact you."
"Hey, great!" Clarence says. "Thanks!"
"Good night, Clarence," the Hunter says. "I'll lock up for you."
"Great!" Clarence says. "Thanks!"
The Hunter leaves. Clarence lies in bed, listening as the Hunter locks his front door.
"Man," Clarence says. "Those bitches are so dead."
The sun is rising over downtown Toronto.
Our view now becomes a street corner. A taxi pulls up, and Brigitte gets out. She is now wearing a black skirt, short but not extremely short, a white blouse, a black blazer, and black hose. On her feet are sensible but formal shoes, good for walking, but dressy enough for a female executive to wear to work. Following Brigitte out of the taxi is Ginger. Ginger is wearing light blue jeans, a white tee shirt, and a tan jacket. She is still wearing the white Nikes she was before, and she is holding the briefcase that contains the disassembled rifle.
"B," Ginger says.
"Oh…yeah," Brigitte says. She takes some bills out of her purse and hands them to the driver. "Keep the change."
Before Brigitte finishes talking, the driver drives off, causing her to step back rapidly.
"That was rude," Brigitte says.
"Never mind him," Ginger says. "You ready?"
"Yeah, I guess," Brigitte says. "But I really hate the name."
"Don't blame me," Ginger says. "Claude came up with it, you know how he is."
"Well, it sucks," Brigitte says.
"Hey," Ginger says. "Quit whining, You got the easy part."
"You sure this will work?" Brigitte asks.'
"B, Claude was good at this stuff before he became a werewolf," Ginger says. "He got you the ID and the appointment."
"When did you talk Claude into doing this?" Brigitte asks.
"Right after Rowlands gave you the assignment," Ginger says. "You were too busy studying Roskoff to notice."
"Ginger, I've never known you to be so proactive about anything in your life," Brigitte says.
"Yeah," Ginger says. "I'm showing unexpected depths of maturity, huh?"
"Well, I would have thought so if you had come up with a better sounding name," Brigitte says.
"I'm gone," Ginger says. "And quit whining about the fucking name."
Brigitte opens her mouth as if to say something, but Ginger is already walking away.
"Shit," she says.
Brigitte turns and walks into the office building she is standing next to. She goes up to a reception table, similar to the one in the lobby of the "Canadian Center for Exotic Disease Control", occupied by two security guards.
"Appointment?" one of them asks, a large woman with very intelligent eyes.
"Yeah," Brigitte says. "Beatrice Fanny."
The other security guard, a skinny man with sandy hair, turns his head and snorts slightly. The big woman briefly glares at the other security guard before turning back to Brigitte.
"Never mind him, hon," the woman says. "You do have an appointment with Mr. Finn. Take the elevator to the 42nd floor, go to your right, and it will be the fourth door to your left."
"Thank you," Brigitte says.
Brigitte gets into the elevator. Our view switches to the inside of the elevator. At first, she is one of six other people, but as the elevator travels up, in acquires more passengers. By the time it reaches the 42nd floor, Brigitte has been crowded to the back. Her eyes shift back and forth and she is obviously extremely uncomfortable. On the 42nd floor, everyone gets off. Brigitte cautiously shuffles off the elevator, and is the last one out. She turns to her right, but walks right past the fourth door to her left and continues to walk until she comes to a door that says STAIRS ROOF. Brigitte tries to open it, and finds it locked. She waits, puts her head down, braces her left foot against the door frame, and then gives a hard tug with her right hand. There is a slight crunch, so she gives it another tug, and the door doesn't move.
"Shit," she says.
In Peter Roskoff's penthouse, Long Sideburns knocks on a door. The door opens, and a large bathrobe clad hand reaches out and tugs Sideburns in.
Our view now shifts to the inside of the room. Long Sideburns looks horrified, then he looks sick. He raises his right hand to his mouth and starts to make retching sounds.
"The bathroom is to the left," says Roskoff. He is clad in a bathrobe, all of which except for his right sleeve is covered with blood. Blood dribbles out of his mouth and bearded chin, and his left arm and hand are dripping with it. As Long Sideburns runs retching towards the bathroom, we see a bed that is likewise covered with blood and a jumbled mess of bones, flesh, and viscera that is in no way shaped like a human being. Roskoff himself is wide eyed, and looks completely insane.
As we hear Long Sideburns vomit into the toilet, Roskoff says:
"Don't take too long, I need to wash up."
Brigitte gives the door to the stairs another futile tug, then puts her head against it.
"Damn it," she whispers.
"Excuse me, are you Miss Beatrice Fanny?" a young male voice says.
Brigitte doesn't respond.
"Excuse me, Miss Fanny?" the voice says again, louder and more insistent.
Brigitte turns around and sees a young man, not much taller than her, in a brown suit with a green tie. He wears wire rim glasses.
"I'm Mr. Finn, Miss Fanny," he says. "You had an interview with me?"
Brigitte looks mortified.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I must have gotten lost."
"Oh, no," Finn says as he takes out a set of keys. "I did interview you, and I decided that you are not appropriate for a custodial job with us."
As Finn says this, he winks at Brigitte and unlocks the door.
"Shall I see you out?" he asks as he opens the door.
Brigitte nods as she runs up the stairs
Now we are on the roof, and the door on the roof opens and Brigitte comes through.
"Ginger?" she calls, quietly but insistently.
There is no response.
"Ginger?" she calls again, slightly louder.
As she calls for her sister, Brigitte looks around the roof, and suddenly she sees something. Our view shifts well away from Brigitte so that we see what she is looking at. It is the briefcase with the rifle, laying about 7 feet from the building's edge. Brigitte runs to the briefcase.
"Ginger?" she says again.
"About fucking time."
The voice comes from the edge of the building. Brigitte looks over the edge to see Ginger hanging on by the tips of her fingers. She is hanging over an alleyway which is hundreds of feet below. On the other side, about twenty feet away and twenty feet down, is the edge of another building.
"You tried to jump from the other building?" Brigitte asks. "Are you fucking crazy?
"I refuse to answer on the grounds that expending the energy to answer it will result in me falling off the fucking building!" Ginger replies. "Now help me up!"
Brigitte reaches over, grabs Ginger's right wrist with her left hand, and with just the slightest grimace of effort pulls her up.
"What took you so long, B?" Ginger asks as she flexes her fingers. "Didn't you find Finn?"
"He found me," Brigitte replies. "I didn't know that I really was supposed to have an appointment with him. I thought that was just to get me in the fucking building."
"So you…" Ginger says.
"…walked past his office and looked for the door to the roof?" Brigitte says. "Yeah, that's what I did."
"The solid steel door in the solid steel doorframe?" Ginger asks. "The one that is always locked?"
"Yeah, that one."
"Jesus Christ, B," Ginger says. "I just about lost it out here."
"I'm sorry, OK?" Brigitte says.
"Oh well," Ginger says, handing Brigitte the briefcase. "We're on the same page now, right?"
"Yeah," says Brigitte.
Ginger and Brigitte walk over to the other side of the building. There is an elevated brick rectangle that contains dirt. Obviously, there was once a rooftop garden there, but now there are just a few, sad, dried up remains of weeds. Ginger and Brigitte crouch behind the rectangle. Brigitte opens the briefcase and starts to put together the rifle. Ginger takes out the scope and looks though it. Across the street and about 40 feet lower is Roskoff's penthouse.
"So Finn's the one who took Roskoff's picture," Brigitte says.
"I would guess so," Ginger says. "I see about four guys, all in black trench coats by the way. Don't these guys wear anything else? I don't see Roskoff, though."
Ginger hands Brigitte the scope, and she puts it on the rifle.
As Brigitte starts to look through the scope, she asks:
"What if Roskoff has bullet proof glass?"
"He might," Ginger says. "He's paranoid enough. But we won't know until you take a shot."
"And it's worth a shot, right?" Brigitte replies, the mere beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"Funny, B," Ginger replies. "Really funny. Almost as funny as Beatrice Fanny."
"Fuck you, Ginger," Brigitte says good naturedly as she continues to watch Roskoff's penthouse through her rifle's scope.
"If he does have bullet proof glass," Ginger says. "We'll find another way. And if he doesn't, and you nail him, then tonight you'll be back in solid with the pack."
"Ginger, I've never been in solid with the pack," Brigitte says. "Other than you, the only one I even mildly get along with is Claude. And even when I'm with you, I usually feel like an outsider."
"Well, you won't be an outsider any more after you finish this," Ginger says.
"That's not why I'm doing this, Ginger," Brigitte replies.
Brigitte takes the gun off of her shoulder and turns to look at Ginger.
"In fact, Ginger," she says. "If we are still alive after I kill Roskoff, I am not going back to the fucking pack."
Ginger looks at Brigitte in obvious disbelief. Then she shakes her head.
"B," she says. "That's just crazy talk. If you don't go back to the pack, you don't get the treatment, and if you don't get the treatment, you turn into a 300 plus pound wolf monster that will kill any person she comes across, and then you will die."
"I really don't think so, Ginger," Brigitte says, suddenly showing something rarely seen in Brigitte Fitzgerald before; enthusiasm. "If I can go deep into the forest, where I am likely to only come across deer and elk instead of hikers, I should be OK."
"B," Ginger says, her tone patient. "This has already been explained to you. You turn into a werewolf, and the werewolf is a chrysalis for a wolf. Once the wolf hatches out, you are dead and gone."
"Says who?" Brigitte says.
"Says Rowlands and Murphy," Ginger says. "And they've studied this stuff just a little bit more than we have."
"That's just the point, Ginger," Brigitte says. "I have listened to what they've said. I've listened very closely, in fact. Sure, Rowlands' and Murphy's gene therapy can reverse the change inside the chrysalis from wolf to human, but it's not the gene therapy that causes the human inside to retain all the memories of the person we were before. I mean, if you listen to what Rowlands says, he doesn't know why we kept our memories. It has to be the lycanthropy pathogen that is doing it, not the gene therapy. Rowlands' gene therapy doesn't stop the pathogen, it simply turns it the other way."
"So?" Ginger asks.
"So there's no reason to assume that when the wolf comes out of my chrysalis, that it won't be a wolf with my memories and my personality," Brigitte says. "Sure, it may be wolf memories and wolf personality, but it will still be my memories and my personality. I'll just be a wolf Brigitte instead of a human Brigitte. The best case scenario is I'll be in the forest, and I'll be free. The worst case scenario is that some pack in the forest may make me their bitch, and frankly that won't be a change from what I am now."
"Or," Ginger says. "You might just get your ass killed in the forest."
"That's a middle case scenario," Brigitte says.
"Well, we can talk about this later," Ginger says. "Right now, we need to concentrate on Roskoff."
Brigitte resumes looking through the scope on her rifle.
"I meant what I said, Ginger," Brigitte says. "I'm not going back."
"We'll talk about it later, B," Ginger says.
Long Sideburns stands in the bedroom, still looking very pale. We hear the toilet flush, and Roskoff comes out. His face and hands appear to be clean, but his terrycloth robe is still very bloody. Long Sideburns looks at Roskoff, looks away, finds himself looking towards the bed, and closes his eyes.
"Who…or what was that?" Long Sideburns asks, his voice high pitched to the edge of hysteria.
Roskoff looks in the direction of the mess on the bed.
"Oh," he says. "That was…was…Angel! That's it! I just wanted to thank her for saving my life."
Long Sideburns runs back into the bathroom.
"But midway through," Roskoff continues, as if Long Sideburns was still standing there listening to him. "Midway through I got hungry. So hungry."
Roskoff then starts to giggle.
"And I think I got a little carried away," he says.
We hear the sounds of vomiting from the bathroom.
"Oh," Roskoff says. He goes over and knocks on the bathroom door. "Be a little more conscientious about flushing more than once this time. There was puke left in the toilet when I was in there before."
From inside the bathroom comes the sound of more vomiting.
"I'm going out to get some smokes," Roskoff says. "Would you like any?"
More vomiting.
"Well, suit yourself."
Roskoff walks out of the bedroom and into the living room. A maid screams, and several of the trench coated bodyguards simply stare at the sight of Roskoff's bloody robe. Roskoff walks over to a table and awkwardly tries to hand roll a cigarette. When he fails to do so, he holds out the paper and tobacco to one of the body guards, who deftly rolls it up for him. Roskoff takes the cigarette without a word, then holds it out for the body guard to light, which he does. Roskoff then walks out of the living room and into his office. He walks over by the window and looks out, taking long drags of his cigarette. The body guards in the office exchange nervous looks upon seeing their employer's bloody appearance.
Jesus Christ!" exclaims Brigitte. "I see him. And he's got blood all over him."
"Looks like he's gotten started on the homicidal mayhem early," Ginger says. "Better take your shot, B."
We now see through the scope of Brigitte's rifle. We see Roskoff standing and smoking. We see the crosshairs right in the middle of his forehead. We see the glass on the window shatter into a bullet sized hole right where Roskoff's forehead is. Roskoff looks up and slightly to his left.
"Son of a bitch!" Brigitte says.
"Bullet proof glass after all, huh?" we hear Ginger say. We are still looking through Brigitte's scope. Some of the body guards are now huddled around Roskoff trying to get him away from the window.
"No, the bullet's getting through, but it doesn't appear to have hit him," Brigitte says.
"Then shoot him again!" Ginger says in an urgent tone.
Brigitte fires again, then again, each time putting a hole in the window where Roskoff's head is. But Roskoff not only doesn't fall, he doesn't even look particularly alarmed.
"Someone's shooting at me," Roskoff says matter of factly.
"Yes, sir," one of the body guards says. "I think we need to move you away from the window."
Roskoff follows his guards out of the office and into the living room as more bullet holes appear in the glass.
"Dammit!" yells Brigitte.
"You missed every time?" Ginger says in a tone that is a mixture of disbelief and disappointment.
"I swear I've been lining up the shot correctly, Ginger!" Brigitte says. "I swear it!"
"It's refractory glass," a voice says. "It makes the target appear to the left or right of where he really is. I don't remember which in this case."
Brigitte and Ginger spin to see the Hunter standing behind them, pointing a silenced handgun at them.
"How the fuck did you sneak up on us?" Ginger asks.
"Oh," the Hunter says. "I've snuck up on werewolves before."
Brigitte and Ginger look at one another. When they look back at the Hunter, he still has his gun pointed at them with his right hand, but he has a camera phone in his left.
"Smile for the camera," the Hunter says.
He takes his picture, then says:
"Hey, you have a lovely smile."
We now see that Brigitte is indeed genuinely smiling.
"Why the fuck are you smiling now, B?" Ginger asks. "In case you failed to notice, we're fucking doomed."
"Yeah, Ginger," Brigitte says. "But we're together."
"Together forever, B," Ginger replies.
The Fitzgerald sisters then hug warmly. As they separate, Ginger looks at the Hunter.
"Make it quick, OK?" she asks.
"I always do," says the Hunter quietly as he raises his gun.
Pfft!
Pfft!
End Act 2