Chapter 8: A Shaky Triad

Stanley Woods was a man of medium height and medium build. He had dark grey eyes, and light brown hair with streaks of grey that began appearing in his early thirties. He lived a quiet life, relatively speaking.

He had a wife and three teenaged kids. Stanley was a volunteer firefighter and worked with his dad in the family vineyard. He went to church on Sunday, Bible study on Wednesday nights (except during harvest) and weekends were filled with high school football games, baseball games or volleyball, depending on the season.

But from the community at large, Stanley Woods garnered a well-guarded secret. Stanley was a werewolf. His father was one, so was his grandfather. As a matter, of fact just about every male in his family as far back as anyone could remember shared the trait. When he thought of his eldest son, Charlie, he knew the change would come about any day, or night, rather. The teen had already started getting facial hair, and would get moody when the moon was particularly bright in the night sky.

Stanley's heart would swell with pride knowing that before the end of the year his boy would be joining their den. The local den was a collective of werewolves who banded together to look out for each other, their families, their community, much like Jaycees, Lion's, or Rotary Clubs. And just as importantly, they kept each other in check.

Rogue werewolves were not welcome. They caused problems, got out of line. Rogues could upset the precarious balance of hunting times, prey population, and the age-old rule to remain hidden from the parts of the community that weren't in the know.

There were exceptions, however. Two mailboxes down from his farm had lived one of the most outstanding vampire hunters he and his father had ever had the honor of knowing. Stanley's den and Alf Hooper's family had teamed up on many occasions to combat a common foe. Old Man Hooper was gone now, but his grandsons maintained their alliance, and as well as trying to keep the farm up. That was proving difficult however, as neither boy had taken up a vocation in agriculture. But an agreement was in the works for Stanley's family to rent out the front part of the property to continue cultivating those dogwoods.

Stanley was about halfway through his workday, pruning tiny, misshapen grapes from the vines so the larger ones could flourish, when the heavy metallic thud of a door could be heard near the barn. He looked over to see who else but Biff Hooper stepping away from his truck, looking around the trellises. Biff had called late last night, just as that storm was moving onward. He'd said it was important, but did not elaborate. Maybe he and his cousin had finally come to an agreeable figure for that rent.

"Eh, Biff! Over here!" Biff's head turned in the direction Stanley had called from and waved as he headed into the vineyard.

"Afternoon, Stan." Biff greeted the man.

"Did you and Buddy come to an agreement?"

"Not yet. I think Buddy's just having a hard time imagining someone other than Papa working that land. But I think your last offer was reasonable." Stanley's face fell a little.

"So you're not here about the farm?"

"Afraid not, I think we've got another rogue."

"Oh, come on Biff. That last one you thought was rogue turned out to be Doug Hodnett's cousin from Virginia, he had permission to hunt. Doug's already apologized a thousand times for that idiot getting out in the road causing that wreck…"

"Humor me, please." Biff removed the tissue from his jeans pocket and opened it to reveal the silvery looking hair.

Stanley sighed, but picked up the strand to examine. He inhaled and immediately paled. He could detect the floral and herbal notes that cloaked the hair. But the scent of the Were it covered was familiar. It stirred memories of panic and danger.

"The Nose…" Stanley muttered to himself.

"Excuse me?"

"The Nose. That's the nickname for this Were. He's a killer tracker, master of cloaking his scent." He handed the strand back to Biff as if it were contaminated with something toxic. "May I ask how you came across that?"

"Some friends of mine thought they saw something last night. I went after it and found the tracks, and this hair. It was a suburban area. I've never known your pack to hunt in the 'burbs'."

"We don't! We have a strict rule about that. And if The Nose is in the suburbs, it's bad news for whoever he was stalking. It's bad news for us too. He's definitely persona non grata in these parts."

"What do you know about him? Who is he and where's he from?" Biff asked, alarmed by his associate's fear. He'd known Stanley all of his life and he had never seen the man this unnerved.

"He's French. Old as the hills, but that doesn't mean much for our kind. He's very slick, and very deadly. Don't know where he is now though, he's been known to hop around here and there over the years. He's got a ton of aliases, but he leans on making up ones that have some sort of meaning. Like, when I had my run in with him, he was going by "Argent Chase". Which, loosely translated, is like Silver Hunter."

"You had a run in with him?"

"Years ago, back when I was nineteen, hell I was still considered a whelp. He'd wanted rights to hunt on our pack's lands. That would have been fine. He was the new sommelier at the winery we dealt with. Granddad thought he seemed friendly enough. But we started hearing about mysterious human deaths shortly after he was granted access. So we tailed him one night, watched him stalk this guy I had gone to high school with. Before he could pounce, my Granddad blocked him, renounced his rights to hunt on our lands.

Oh boy, did he go ape-shit! That was a long fight. We all got roughed up, my Granddad worst of all. But The Nose finally got the message he was no longer welcome, and limping with his tail literally tucked between his legs, he got the hell out of there. Dad and I thought Granddad should have laid the deathblow, but he showed mercy. Two days later we found Granddad dead in the vineyard, motherfucker had mauled him in broad daylight. We'd tried to track him, but he'd quit the winery and had left without a trace that we could pick up on. He'd covered his scent so heavily it threw all of our senses off."

"I'm sorry Stanley. I never knew that was how your grandfather really died. Growing up, I was always told he had an accident on the tractor."

"Alf knew the truth. He and your dad tried to help in the hunt. Granddad and Alf had been pretty good friends." Stanley said fondly, remember the two older men laughing and joking while they ate breakfast at the local diner on Saturday mornings, a ritual they'd shared for years.

Biff tucked the tissue back into his pocket.

"Well, I appreciate the information you've given me. At least I now have an idea of what we're dealing with."

"Thanks for bringing the bastard being in the area to my attention. I'll get my guys to look around and see if we can pick up on anything else for you."

They shook hands and bid each other farewell. Biff mulled over the information he had just received as he drove back to his apartment. If this "Nose" character was after Frank, maybe it would be a good idea to get his friends out of Bayport for a while. Maybe if The Nose could not find Frank, it would give up and leave the area. The trip to New Orleans was sounding better all the time.

…..

Frank hummed happily as he set out bowls of chips and salsa on the coffee table. He glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was just a few minutes after nine. Biff and Amy would be over in a little while. He was curious what sort of solution they had come up between the two of them for his "going out of town" problem. He looked forward to the looks on their faces when he had the pleasure of telling him their worrying was for nothing.

That dose of vampire blood Frank took the night before had done wonders. He'd had so much energy today, he ran, made love to Phil – twice, and moved the furniture around in his office to make it a bit for practical for his use (he would not in a million years have told Phil he hadn't liked the way he'd set it up).

It was too soon and too risky for him to show off his new mobility and strength to the neighbors, so as much as he would have loved to join Phil in the backyard pruning back those hydrangeas and rose bushes and mowing the grass, Frank had to settle for giving the house an impeccable cleaning. Even when he was done with that he still had time to kill and nervous energy to burn. Thus, Round Three with Phil. But this time they had made love slower, lazier, and more gently than the aerobic sessions from that morning.

A firm slap to his behind caught him only a little by surprise. Frank heard Phil enter the room and approach him, even heard the swinging back of a limb before it made contact.

"Youch! What was that for?" Frank noticed the playful smirk on Phil's face, and he knew that look.

"I'm sorry Babe. I can resist anything but temptation, and dat ass just looked like it needed slapping. This is one time I wish Miss Punctuality could run late for a change, by thirty minutes or so…" He gave Frank's tush a squeeze and pulled him close, kissing him possessively.

"Well do not blame me! You can thank Allen for such an early meeting. If you would like, I will keep a look out while you run back to the bedroom and take care of your arousals. I could smell your pheromones from the sidewalk." Amy commented as she entered their home.

"Why hello Amy, why don't you just come on in and make yourself comfortable." Phil snarked. Man, did he ever hate that Amy felt entitled to waltz into their home unannounced anytime she pleased. To her credit however, she usually had a good reason when she did. Phil or Frank could very easily rescind her invitation to enter their home, but with the protection that she and Ezekiel were providing, and the fact that she had given them the house, that would probably come off as a wee bit ungrateful.

"Umm…I appreciate the offer Amy, but…no." Frank replied. He stepped back from Phil and headed back to the kitchen. "Can I offer you some hot tea, or would you like something cold tonight?"

"I'm not thirsty, but thank you." When Frank was out of earshot Phil sat across from Amy and leaned in.

"I finally convinced Frank to try the vampire blood last night. But I think it's sort of gone to his head." Phil whispered.

"You are afraid he will think himself invincible and wave off our help?"

"Yeah."

"Worry not, I believe Allen is going to present information tonight to convince Frank otherwise." She patted Phil's knee in a comforting, motherly way and sat back as Frank re-entered the room.

"Whoa Babe. Are you sure you should be drinking that now that you're on the other?" Phil scolded as he noticed the bottle of Heineken in his lover's hand. "It'll weaken what's left of the serum in your bloodstream."

"It's not like I'm going toe to toe with anyone tonight." Frank scoffed as he sat in the chair to Phil's left. Phil sighed as he ran his hand through his hair and gave Amy a meaningful glance. She nodded and smiled to herself. Frank was going to have to learn this lesson on his own.

"You're late!" Amy suddenly hollered, although no one else was in the room other than the three of them. "Allen is at the door," she amended. "And it is now twenty minutes after nine. He promised to be here at a quarter after." She raised her voice again for the last part as Biff crossed the foyer followed closely by Chet, Biff's cousin Buddy Hooper, and Stanley Woods.

The moment Stanley walked through the door all hell broke loose.