Five minutes later I was walking away from my transaction with the bag lady wearing a slightly torn dress shirt that was a size too large for me and missing two buttons as well as a pair of mismatched shoes, one of which was a perfectly fitting sneaker, the other was a sandal that was a size too large.

     Getting there, I told myself, and thought about Mack waiting for me at the Metro Market.  I briefly considered my next step. Perhaps it should be to get a quarter so I could make a phone call to his cell phone and let him know that I was running late.  But that thought was quickly dismissed given how I knew he detested such dalliances.   Mack had the patience of a toddler and, despite the fact that I was now making him some pretty decent money, he wouldn’t put up with a client that made him wait a single minute for an appointment.  In his point of view, if a client couldn’t be bothered to be on time for a meeting, he wouldn’t waste another second working on their behalf.

     I realized that I was very fortunate to have found an agent like Mack, and while I’d be able to get another agent without issue, I found myself needing him -- not just for business reasons, but for personal ones as well.  Like Buddy, he was quirky but interesting, and he constantly challenged me.  I found myself needing to be challenged in my personal relationships -- if you didn’t have to work hard at something, it almost didn’t seem worth it.

     And I definitely had to work hard to be in Mack’s good books.

     And that’s where I wanted to stay.

     I moved to Murray Street towards the subway entrance.  I figured I’d be able to sneak onto the subway, but only with the additional thought that the next time I took the subway, I’d pay double to make up for my free ride.

     Sure, a lot of people would make fun of me for trying to live my life so straight.  But the person who I had to please most was myself, and, in the same way that Mack was true to himself, I set my own personal standards high for a good reason.  After all, I was the one who had to live with the consequences of my actions.

     And having blackouts of my time as a wolf was the hardest thing to deal with, particularly after waking up the way I had this morning.  I mean, if I’d hurt an innocent person, or even worse, killed someone, I’m not sure how I’d be able to live with that.

     A foggy string of memory from last night filtered up to my conscious mind.  This time, the memory was completely non-visual, but I could tell that I was moving through an alley, moving fast, from the sound of my paws on the pavement.  I was chasing the wolf ahead of me.  And, mingled with his hot breath was the distinct scent of human blood -- the same human blood that I woke up tasting.

     A blaring horn to my immediate left broke the wispy memory.  I glared at the driver as I continued walking towards the subway entrance.

     So, there was another wolf.  What was I doing chasing him?  Yes, him, I knew it was a him from the memory of his scent.  That and the stink of human mingling with the canine scent meant that, like me, he was a werewolf.  What else did I know? -- he had the blood on him that I’d tasted when I woke up.

     This was getting curiouser and curiouser.

     I moved down the stairs, starting to mesh in with the morning rush hour hustle, and, in the midst of the crowd, I was easily able to check for observant eyes and hop over the turnstile and make my way, virtually un-noticed except by a few people who’d been immediately behind me, down to the lower platform level.  I shuffled through the crowd over to the far left of the platform, to ensure I “lost” the people who’d spotted me, just in case.

     The rumbling of an approaching northbound train could be heard down the tunnel -- this was good -- I’d be able to make good time and get back to the hotel with enough time to get inside, have a quick shower, change, then be downstairs and around the block to meet Mack.

     That’s when I heard the faint gasp and brief cry for help amidst a scuffling.

     I glanced at the approaching light of the train, then swiveled my head around, looking down the platform where I’d heard the cry come from.  There was a balding middle aged man in a grey suit surrounded by three goons all dressed in the same blue jeans, black t-shirts and red bandanas.  They were either part of some gang, all had the same fashion consultant, or spent so much of their time stealing and vandalizing that they didn’t give much time or thought to their own personal style.  I was betting on the latter.  A glint of light from the blade of one of the men caught my eye as he waved his weapon, saying “I said, hand it over now,”

     The other two men flanked the bald man, each holding him by the upper arm.

     “Aw crap,” I mumbled, moving down the platform towards them -- I was going to miss my train for sure.

     “Hey!” I called out as I started rushing towards the melee.  Behind me, the train arrived at the station.

     The leader immediately turned to face me, bringing his knife in my direction as well.  His lackeys also turned their attention towards me, which achieved the first of my goals.  The second, of course, was putting them out of commission.

     I continued rushing the leader, and, just as I got within striking distance, he thrust the blade at me.  I was too agile for his obvious attack, and easily dodged the blade, hitting him with a full body tackle, my left elbow raised to his face for good measure.

     His nose crunched noisily as I struck him, and he actually caught a bit of air on his way to the wall, trailing behind a thin stream of blood from his nose.  His head connected with the wall first, his head making a satisfying cracking noise against the tile before he crumpled to the floor.  I kicked the knife he’d dropped down to the track level just as the train started to pull out.  Blocking the noise of the train, I focused on the sound of his heartbeat.  It was still strong and steady; he was unconscious and relatively healthy, despite the smashed nose and cracked skull.

     The lackey on the man’s left let go of his prey and rushed me while I was partially turned away, disposing of the knife.  Given the setup, I could have easily used his momentum to flip him over my back and send him sprawling to the track level.  But my goal wasn’t to kill, merely to subdue.

     Yes, I behaved more like a wolf and less like human every day.

     I ducked under his rush, sending a right jab into his gut.  My punch easily lifted him off of the ground, breaking a few ribs and knocking the breath right out of him.  As his feet came back onto the ground, I shoved him in the direction of his buddy and he stumbled, as if drunk, in a forward run, trying, vainly, to get his balance.

     The buddy pushed his captive forward and ducked to the side.  The man in the grey suit let out a moan as he collided with the incoming body, and he and the second goon piled to the floor in a mass of limbs.

     I easily vaulted over the two, who lay there like lovers having just finished their business, grabbed the third attacker -— who tried vainly to avoid my grasp -- by the scruff of his collar and slammed him, headfirst into the wall.  He was down like last call at a frat bar.

     At that point I offered a hand to the man in the grey suit who was now starting to catch his breath from the hit he had taken.  He took my hand and I helped him to his feet

     “T-thanks,” he said, his eyes darting back and forth between the man he had just been laying in a pile on the floor with and the two who lay sprawled on the floor against the wall, as if nervous that they’d be getting up.

     “Don’t worry,” I said.  “They won’t be going anywhere any time soon.”

     He looked over at me, as if seeing me for the first time, and did a double take.  I wondered if he might be a fan of mine, recognizing who I really was, as he stood there, staring at me, his mouth agape.

     Then he stepped forward, his voice low and gentle.  “Listen.  I’d like to thank you for helping me out.”

     “My pleasure,” I said.  I glanced around.  Most of the morning commuters that had been on the platform with us had boarded the last train.  However, a few people who’d gotten off this train and more people coming in from the street were milling around, just a few steps away, curiously looking at us and the unconscious men.  I was eager for the next train to arrive and whisk me away from here.

     “No, I mean it,” he said, reaching in his back pocket and producing his wallet.  He quickly thumbed it open and produced a twenty dollar bill.  “Here.  Maybe you can get yourself a warm meal.”

     I couldn’t believe it.  He thought I was a homeless person.  But I couldn’t blame him; after all, look at how I was dressed.

     Dumbfounded, I tried to protest.  “No, you don’t need to . . .”

     “Please, it’s the least I can do,” he said, pulling out another twenty.

     Just then, a commotion started near the stairs.  Oh shit.  Security.  I couldn’t afford to be held back answering questions about the scuffle.  It looked like I wouldn’t be taking the next train after all.  Damn.

     “Thanks,” I mumbled, sheepishly taking the forty dollars.  I started to walk away quickly.  “The guards are coming now.  You’ll be safe.”