He took his hands and placed them on her shoulders.
"There are things about me that no one can know about," he said.
"I do understand the concept of secrets, Sam," she said sharply. "I don't care if you're an escaped convict, or practice vivisection on hitchhikers, or you're a Mets fan. I just want to know the truth."
"I'm not a Mets fan," he said. "I'm not a convict, and I almost never practice vivisection on hitchhikers."
"Tuesday night, Sam. I want to know where you were."
"I was at the warehouse, Mona, and that's God's own truth for you."
"Alone?"
"Just me and the dogs. Not another human being around."
"And what were you doing there?"
"Nothing that concerns you," he said.
"You concern me," she said.
"I love you and I trust you," he said. "Now, I am asking you to trust me when I tell you that there is something about me that I cannot possibly talk about with you, or with anyone else. But it doesn't affect how I feel toward you, or - "
"Get out," she said wearily.
"What?"
"Get out, go away, don't come back," she said. "Get out of my house, get out of my life. I don't have many good years left, Sam, and I am sure as hell not going to waste them on you. Get out."
"It's Christmas Eve, Mona," he protested.
"There is no more room at this inn, Sam," she said. "And there ain't no manger waiting for you in back. Get out. And if you run into the Three Wise Men, ask them why they think they're so smart when they ain't got any women in their lives."
He stood up, walked to the door, then looked back at the woman and the dog on the couch. The dog was looking at him. The woman wasn't.
"You take good care of her, Nicky," he said.
The dog nodded. He left.
It was just as well, he thought. Stupid of him to even try. But it had lasted longer than he could have hoped, and he was beginning to dream of having . . .
Having what? A normal life?
Sure. That could happen.
The watcher met his men in front of the warehouse. Edwards waddled forward, his hands now encased in a pair of thick leather gloves. Hidalgo punched in the security code on the keypad while Kenner stood with his gun at the ready. The light on the keypad turned from red to green. Edwards took a deep breath, turned the knob, and went through the door.
Carson was on him before he had gone two steps, ripping through the padding on his right leg like it was made of crepe paper. Kenner leaned through the door, sighted carefully, and pulled the trigger once. Carson whined for a second, then went limp.
Edwards looked down at his leg. Blood was seeping through it.
"Damn," he said admiringly. "That's one sumbitch of a dog."
The watcher came in as the others fanned out around him, weapons at the ready. He nodded in satisfaction.
"Let's go," he said.
Arnie, the dachshund at the end, sensed them first, and let out a furious bark that set off those dogs that were awake and woke the ones that weren't. The combined bays, howls, yips, and snarls echoed off the metal roof of the warehouse at a deafening level.
Lehrmann was on his feet, his paws clapped over his ears.
"Everyone be quiet!" he roared.
The dogs ceased immediately, except for the dachshund.
"Arnie, will you please shut up?" said Lehrmann.
Arnie trailed off after one last token woof of protest.
"Thank you, Mister Lehrmann," said the watcher, strolling into view. His men spread out behind him, their guns pointed at Lehrmann's cage.
"What did you do to Carson?" asked Lehrmann.
"He's asleep," said the watcher. "Unharmed, but asleep. Unlike my man, who is somewhat harmed but very much awake. I trust that Carson had all of his shots?"
"Yeah," said Lehrmann. "I'm gonna have to get him more if he bit one of you guys."
"Cute," said the watcher. "Why do you call him Carson?"
"I named him for Johnny," said Lehrmann, standing toward the rear of his cage with his arms folded. "He's my late-night dog."
"How do you do it?" asked the man. "How do you get through the change so calmly?"
"What's it to you?" asked Lehrmann.
"Curiosity," said the man. "Werewolves are a hobby of mine."
"Meditation, relaxation techniques," said Lehrmann. "Nothing fancy. You just set your mind to it."
"Yet you keep yourself caged. Why?"
"First hour is always rough," said Lehrmann. "Just a precaution."
"Yes, I've watched you go through it for a couple of months, now," said the man, pulling out a small notebook. "The timer is set to release you at precisely one hour after sunset. Then you usually watch television until midnight, then go to sleep. Fascinating life you lead."
"Keeps me out of trouble," said Lehrmann, glancing through the bars at the watch on the table.
"Don't bother," said the man. "You still have half an hour until the lock opens. I'm surprised you don't have a backup switch for emergencies."
"That's Carson's job," said Lehrmann.
"Unfortunate," said the man.
"Yeah, I've got to figure out something better," said Lehrmann. "Never figured on the backup needing a backup. So, you gonna tell me who you are?"
The watcher smiled.
"I'm the Bogeyman," he said.
A German shepherd named Max was making the rounds at the factory where he lived. He looked up suddenly, then loped to a small hole in the chain-link fence that only he knew about. He wriggled through quickly, then galloped off into the night.
Sally and Waldo were three blocks from her house when he became agitated and strained against the leash, nearly pulling her off her feet.
"Waldo, come!" she said.
He looked at her resentfully.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
He whined. She squatted to look into his eyes. She studied them for a long time, then reached down to unclip his leash.
"All right, but you have to come back soon," she said. "I don't want either of us to get into trouble."
Mona stood at the doorway of her town house, a tumbler in her hand and Nicky by her side. She looked up at the full moon and shivered.
"Go to him," she whispered to Nicky, and the dog took off down the street.
"You got a name, Bogeyman?" asked Lehrmann.
"That's Mister Bogeyman to you," said the watcher. "Or you can call me Taylor."