Any hopes of escape were quickly dashed as I rounded the next turn. I learned the hard way that some L.A. alleys are dead-ends. Not only was Sean mere feet behind me and closing, but I was running straight toward a tall wooden-plank fence that was way too high to jump or climb. Sean’s claws scraped my shoulder, and I felt his breath at the back of my neck.

This was it, I thought. This is how I’d die.

I had one chance, and I took it. I jumped, throwing myself into the fence as high and close to the center of the timbers as I could. I hit the fence sideways in a ball and felt the wood splinter on impact. The broken boards flipped backward, pointing behind me as I’d hoped, and exploded into a mass of pointed shards.

Rolling, I heard the sounds I’d prayed for: a hard impact followed by the gurgling of the Sean-wolf impaled on the broken fence.

I hit the ground and leapt to my feet, but immediately fell again. I couldn’t get up. I was a mess, but at least I was alive. Sometimes the best plans come out of sheer panic.

Not five feet from me was Sean, human again, impaled on a dozen broken planks of wood. He was still alive, just barely. He craned his head up toward me as I used a trash can to help me to my feet. Blood was pouring from his mouth and one eye was gone. The socket bled freely.

His one eye looked pathetic and sad, as though he wanted to say something to me. Whether it was “fuck you” or “thank you,” I couldn’t tell. Frankly, I didn’t care.

“Tough luck, dog-boy,” I said, hobbling away as the cops showed up on the scene.

The hospital was nice about the whole thing. Hospitals generally like me. I give them lots of business and tell them stories they don’t believe. They patched me up, pumped me full of dope, and handed me to the cops. The LAPD were a different matter, but for the same reasons; they don’t like my stories or my business. They grilled me for hours and hours even though I was in a deep morphine haze. I told them the story—the truth—over and over. Of course, they didn’t believe a word, but finally one of the little geniuses sent a car over to the loft.

They found what I’d described—as well as the body of Jerry Gallagher in the freezer—with pieces of several others. They found John’s body outside the kitchen door and enough evidence to link John and Sean to a long series of murders dating back a couple of months. Evidently, there had been a sudden spike of missing persons in the downtown area and from nearby hospitals. The thefts were Sean and John’s attempt to lay low. Eventually, though, their bloodlust got the better of them and they started attacking people on the street.