Setting the tone... Attn: CC, Reggie, Jay, Quinn, Garret

[Continued from No Place Like Home]

Trees started to give way to homes as the Expedition sped towards the city. Jay paid it no mind as he shifted through the folder on his lap. Most of them were the pictures from the dead werewolf found in the park, other sheets provided the little information they had on the murder. Murder, more like annihilation. The pictures were gruesome and making out the details was difficult cause at first it just looked like a pile of raw meat. And the thing responsible for it, they were going to go looking for it.

Closing the folder in his lap Jay stared at the window. He hadn't wanted to come. Its not that he didn't care its just....well he thought others were better suited for the job. Although his heart had already been ripped out of him, so who better to send then someone with less body parts to lose. Jay sighed throwing a quick glance over at Quinn in the drivers seat.

He knew Quinn was trying to help by getting him out of the house where he had barely left in months. After returning to Crestwood Jay had spent a month where he moved around in quiet numbness and then getting tired of the worried looks and constant things his packmates cooked up to cheer him up Jay had put on his big boy boxers and started getting back into the routine of things at Crestwood. When he wasn't holed up in the garage working on the cars he joined the rest of the pack for every meal, went on regular runs, played poker and got his ass handed to him in Monopoly by Kayla. She may be small and blonde but the woman had a vicious streak when it came to the board game. He did it all but his spirit wasn't into any of it. He laughed when he was supposed, nodded, replied when spoken to it but it was just him on autopilot. It was enough though and the worried looks lessened.

"So a mutt hunt hunh?" Garret spoke up from the back. "Been awhile since I've been on one. Should be fun."

"Fun?" Quinn asked an eyebrow raised as he stared at him through the rearview mirror.

Jay heard the werewolf in the back seat shrug. "Heart pounding, exciting. Dealing out pain and justice. Right Jay?"

Jay glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah, should be good." He turned back to the window thinking about it. It had been awhile since he had been in on a hunt for a rogue werewolf. A shiver ran though him as he thought of the challenge of it, he was almost surprised at the feeling having been numb for so long.

Passing through the city they headed towards the Taylor District, the houses getting slowly more dilapidated as they went. Abandoned warehouses and boarded up store fronts. The section of the city of the outskirts that you would never find in any tourists brochures.

"And here we are, home away from home." Quinn announced as they pulled in to the The Kokomo motel. The green stucco of the building was streaked in rusted brown from the metal awnings that had been there since the motels inception in 1988. In fact Jay was pretty sure that everything was in its original "state".

"One day I would like to hear about a mutt who stays in five star hotels and goes to the spa." Jay sighed as Quinn parked the SUV.

Quinn snorted. "They exist, but they don't generally slaughter mutts for sport."

As they jumped out of the Expedition Garret eyed the street. "Where's the rest of the party?"

"C.C. had something to do first." Quinn grunted as he grabbed his his bag from the back of the truck.

"Oh." Garret bobbed his head as he grabbed his own bag.

They headed into what passed as the lobby. Its interior was no better then the exterior with its peeling wallpaper and gaudy pink flamingo lamp. Quinn hit the small bell on the counter which immediately activated the hula doll next to it. It gyrated haltingly and whistled. "You so sexy!" it chirped.

"I don't know whether to laugh or be disturbed." Garret chuckled.

"I would go with disturbed myself," Jay spoke up. "You haven't heard some of the other things." Jay winked. Having had to bunk down there once or twice before he had been availed of some of its more colorful sayings.

"Bad?"

"Something about two girls, one hula skirt." Jay made a face as a figure from the back office emerged.

"How can I do ya for gentlemen." Drawled Ricky Sherman, proprietor of the establishment.

"We need three rooms for three nights." Quinn eyed him as he leaned against the counter.

"Oh yeah, you called." Ricky ran a hand through his greasy lank hair.

"Yeap."

After an exchange of cash and keys they were headed back out to the parking lot. Quinn gave a key to Jay and Garret each. "Garret you and Reggie are in 1E, Jay and C.C. in 1D and I'm in 1F."

Jay nodded. "Cool." He didn't see Garret's mouth open to protest or when he thought better of it and closed it. Jay figured since Reggie brought Garret to Crestwood he was responsible him. Quinn probably preferred being on his own. He also figured his fellow werewolf thought he probably needed someone around to keep him on his toes and Casey Capra fit that bill well.

With their keys and their bags they headed to the first floor rooms, located the farthest from the lobby. In his own room Jay claimed the bed closest to the door. He jumped on it and the springs protested in earnest. Settling in he found the tv remote and started to flick through the channels. He wasn't sure how long he surfed through fuzzy channels when their was a knock at the door.

With a small grin Jay rolled his his side and rested his head on one hand and cocked his knee and leg provocatively. "Come innnnn." He called.

C.C. opened the door and stood there a moment eyeing him.

"Well hello there." Jay purred, his eyebrows waggling.

She stared at him and then burst out with a laugh as she kicked the door closed behind her.

"Ouch. I'm crushed."

Eyeing him as she threw her bag on the other bed she smirked. "You try that again and you will be crushed."

Jay put on a smile. "Crush me? That doesn't make sense, I heard you were a man eater, not man crusher."

That earned him an eyeroll. "Lets go. I saw Quinn outside and he wants to meet in his room to go over the plan."

He nodded, his face falling as soon as she turned her back on him. Time to hunt.


[OOG: Continued at Shady Grove Park]

[OOG: Back from the park]

They’d been still following the scent trail when the call came over Garret’s cell. Reggie had been plodding along, and turned to see why Garret had stopped following. When he saw the phone, he sat down to wait it out. It didn’t take long, and the look on Garret’s face told most of the story. “That was Quinn,” he said. “Wants you to change and us to haul ass to another bit of the park.”

Did they find something? Garret continued, “The part where Jay and C.C. were sniffing around.”

Were? This could not be good. Reggie bounded off, heading in that direction, when he was stopped by Garret’s yell, “He said change first. They need extra hands, not paws.”

Reggie growled at Garret. He knew G was just the messenger, but that didn’t mean he had to like the instructions. Whatever they needed, changing would take time. Time Reggie didn’t want to spend if C.C. was in trouble. Still, there was no point in arguing, even if he could do so in wolf form, Garret had no say in the call. So instead of wasting time, Reggie slinked off behind the nearest bush and pushed his body to change faster.

************

Reggie came upon the scene with Quinn already there and checking things out. The first thing he saw was C.C. laid out on the ground. He ran to her side to see how she was. Quinn was already there and in the way, but Reggie could see that she was breathing at least. Maybe this time wouldn’t have to end in a funeral. Still, leaving her unconscious out here in the rain with whoever had done this still maybe in the area was not a good plan.

Garret offered to check the area and took off. Reggie had no desire to join him. He could play hero if he wanted. C.C. came first and she had to be gotten out of there. That bastard’s time would come, and much sooner than he could be expecting. As he lifted C.C. up he got a noseful of the scent on her. It was his - the guy they’d been tracking on the other side of the park. Yeah, his time was coming.

Reggie woke up once again. It was far from the first time since he’d posted himself in Jay and C.C.’s room. Sure his adrenaline was pumping and that chair he was “sleeping” in was lumpier than Odie’s mashed potatoes, but that wasn’t the real reason. The real issue was C.C. as she lay there recovering. Every time her breathing slowed down, Reggie got nervous. He’d brought the keys to the SUV with him, just in case an emergency trip to Ashworthy Memorial was called for. And when he did sleep he kept dreaming of the event, only not the event from tonight. His dreams put him back in Los Angeles, back in that hospital room, back with that nurse telling him C.C. had passed on. And the face on the attacker was always from Dominic, the LA mutt who had caused all the trouble. And every time he saw that leering face, he woke up, convinced the dead mutt would be in the room. Then the cycle started over.

Then finally he woke up and found he wasn’t the only one. In fact, both of his charges were awake. And holding hands. With Jay kneeling in front of C.C. For a second he wondered if he hadn’t woken up, he was instead just switching to a nightmare where Jay and C.C. were getting married.

No such luck. He was too tired to be dreaming. He yawned and raised a quizzical eyebrow at C.C. Really? I carry you all the way back to the car? I stand watch all stinking night? And you’re holding his hand?

After all the drama over Garret, he knew damn well he should just ignore it and not be stupid. Like that was going to happen. “Something I should know about?”

C.C., as usual, gave him a very descriptive answer. “No, just talking politics.”

And demonstrating what? How John McCain asked Sarah Palin to be his running mate? She did, however, give him a look. Reggie hated trying to read women’s looks. He might as well have been trying to read Aramaic. Best he could tell this was somewhere between “it’s not what you think it is” and “back off, this is none of your business.” Of course, it also could have been “shut up, I’m getting proposed to here.” Reggie would never know.

Instead of arguing however, Reggie decided discretion was the better part of valor and beat a hasty retreat to go get breakfast. He stepped outside the room and stretched, taking a deep breath to try and regain his wits from a long night of no sleep. What he got instead was a coughing fit, as his nostrils filled not with the sweet smell of outside, but the scent of him. It was a smell Reggie would never forget for the rest of his life.

He darted his eyes around the area. The scent was several hours old, but the mutt could still be there. Instead, he saw Quinn coming out of his room. “Where you going?” Quinn asked.

“Take deep breath, Q, and tell me what you smell.”

Quinn did as Reggie suggested. “Son of a bitch.” Yep, he smelled it. “Recent, but not this morning. Go get breakfast and bring it back to my room. We need to step up our plan and take this mutt asshole down..”

Reggie nodded. He climbed into the SUV and fired it up. If there’s a time to every purpose under heaven, the time had come to kill a mutt.

This is the worst.

C.C. had never been claustrophobic. Not even remotely. In fact, if she'd been asked, say, a day and a half earlier, she might have said that she preferred close quarters. That they were cozy. Comforting, even. That was before her stay in the Craphole Motel.

The room seemed to get smaller with each passing hour. Too many werewolves in too small a space was bad enough, but the filth of the room, hidden the night before by darkness and general chaos, multiplied the problem tenfold. The carpet was worn flat in dark ruts that travelled the most heavily trafficked areas of the room, pathing the way from the door to the bed, and the bed to the bathroom. The bedspread was threadbare and stained. The bathroom was both overly bleached and speckled with the black peach fuzz of mold in the corners and along the ceiling, where the cleaning staff wasn't paid enough to reach. A thin coat of grime covered nearly every surface of the room, some heavier, more tenacious, cousin to dust. Even C.C., who was no stranger to seedy motels, and who had never been particularly impressed by even the dirtiest dirt, felt compelled to wipe her hand against her jeans every time she touched something that fell under the Kokomo Motel's purview.

She shifted on the bed, uncomfortable, and the sagging mattress answered by repositioning one of its springs into her thigh. She hissed, a sharp intake of breath through her teeth, drawing a worried glance from Reggie.

"Stop it," C.C. snapped, her voice low. Across the room, Quinn was on the phone with Finlan again, presumably receiving instructions on how to proceed, though there was little she could discern from the one-sided, monosyllabic conversation.

"Stop what?" Reggie protested, a worried crease settling into his forehead.

"That. That look."

The crease deepened. "What look?" he asked.

"Knock it off," she said, then softened her tone. "I'm not going to break in two, Reg." She lifted her brow for emphasis, but winced when the motion pulled at the split over her eye.

"You were saying?" Chiding now, less concern. That, she could take.

C.C. made a face, then changed the subject. "How long does this usually take?"

"Awhile," Jay muttered, looking up from the TV. The reception was shit, a heavily edited Tony Montana barely recognizable through the snow as he wondered how he would get a scar like that eating pineapple.

Great. C.C. stood, the offending springs shrieking their farewell, and fished her cigarettes out of her pocket. She tipped them towards Quinn in question. He nodded and waved her off, intent on his phone call.

Free at last.

* * * * *

Free, in this instance, meant staying within the confines of the rust-streaked railing that separated the building from the parking lot, but it was outside, and it was quiet, and it would have to do. The air was damp and chilly, but the rain had stopped at some point in the night, leaving only a flat, grey sky behind. C.C. took a final drag from the Camel and exhaled in a cloud of smoke. She watched as it drifted up and disappeared, then lit another, less from need than from desire to prolong her stay outside of the room.

Behind her, she heard the door, and turned, expecting Reggie only to find Garret instead.

He nodded in greeting. "Mind if I join you? It's, ah, just a little crowded in there."

C.C. snorted. "No shit."

She offered him her pack and he shook his head, producing his own. "Worst part is we're not even getting anywhere," he muttered. "If it was me, I'd have at least gone through his room."

"Wait, what?"

Garret chuckled. "You really are new to this, huh?" He jutted his chin towards the far end of the building. "Asshole was staying here. Must've missed it on the way in because of the rain, but his stink was all over the place this morning. Manager said he checked out last night, sometime after we got back."

"Jesus," C.C. swore.

"Yep," Garret agreed. "So, you up for it?"

"Up for what?" she asked, only half paying attention. Her eyes remained fixed on the door of the end unit.

"Giving it a look."

"Huh? When?" Suddenly, she was all ears.

"Well, I was thinking somewhere around now," Garret answered. C.C.'s eyes flitted to the closed door of Quinn's room. "Unless," he continued, "You've got to, you know, ask permission or something first."

That was all it took. "Let's go."

* * * * *

Number 19. Just six rooms over. Son of a bitch.

"Got a bobby pin?" Garret asked, kneeling in front of the door.

"Do I look like someone who's got a bobby pin?"

Garret shrugged. "You're more likely to than I am."

"That's debatable."

"Really? You're gonna give me grief when I'm trying to perform a felony in your honor?"

C.C. shrugged. "If the accessory fits…"

Garret opened his mouth to retort, then snapped it shut, flinching. "Actually…"

C.C. stared. "You're shitting me."

"Well…" He straightened and grabbed his wallet from his back pocket while C.C. watched, dubious. "Okay, see, the thing of it is," he explained, producing an honest-to-god bobby pin from the fold. "The lining was coming out, and it was bothering me, and the girl I was with at the time suggested…" He caught C.C.'s expression and stopped. "You know what, I'm just going to stop talking and pick this lock."

"I think that's best," C.C. agreed.

She stood back, keeping an eye out for the management, though from the general climate of the place, she doubted the manager (Ricky! according to nametag pinned to his mustard-stained shirt) was much for making the rounds. "Has this ever actually worked outside of the movies?"

"In the last few decades? Probably not. But," he paused, grimacing as he leaned into the door, working at the lock. "I don't think the security on this place has been updated in at least that long."

At that, there was a quiet snick, and the door opened.

"Well, Garret Redding, colour me impressed."

"I aim to please." He stood, and gave a little bow, ushering her inside. "Ladies first."

She wasn't sure what she was expecting. She'd run enough warrants in to know that there really was no one thing to expect. But while she may not have known what to expect, she certainly wasn't expecting this.

The room was normal. A murderer slept there, ate there, watched TV and flossed his teeth there. For a second, she thought they were too late… that housekeeping had come and made the room, clearing any evidence that the man had been there at all. But there was an empty bottle of water on the nightstand, and the bed had clearly been slept in, though it, too, had been tidied before the mutt left. It was just normal. Neat and undisturbed.

"Well this was a bust," Garret grumbled, emerging from the bathroom. "Looks like he might have stolen some towels, but that's about it."

"Alright." She sighed. "Alright. Let's get out of here."

But at the threshold, she stopped, turning back to the room, listening.

As Garret passed, his hand fell to her waist to guide her from the room. "They're probably wondering where we are by now anyway. I'm sure we're gonna catch--"

"Shhh," she cut him off.

She could hear the traffic from the interstate a few blocks over. A used car commercial playing too loudly in the room above. Leaves stirred up by the light breeze, tripping over the pavement. A woman yapping into her cellphone in the parking lot. And something else. Almost too quiet to be considered a sound. More of a tickle in her ear than anything.

Going back into the room, C.C. dropped to her knees next to the bed and peered underneath.

And there it was, stuck in a seam of the carpeting, fluttering softly in the draft.

"Gotcha," she murmured.

"What is it?" Garret asked, helping her to her feet.

C.C. handed him the piece of paper, the piece of carbon paper, to be exact. "Think a credit card number will help us out any?"

Garret looked over his shoulder, through the open door. "That depends."

"On what?" C.C. couldn't take her eyes off of the receipt. Hello, Victor Steele.

"On whether or not your packmates are able to hear through the steam coming out of their ears."

That got her attention, and she looked up to catch sight of the three men making their way to old #19, each bearing a unique look of displeasure.

Crap.