The Los Lobos Bull

“I've never been good at nursing homes.”

“Why not?”

“I don't know. The smell. The weird atmosphere. It just gets to me after a while.”

“Well we don't have to stay that long. Just long enough for my father to meet you and get to know you a little bit.”

The man paused for a minute before replying to her. “I know this is going to sound insensitive, but why? You yourself told me he is a vegetable and has been for the last two decades.”

Her face turned a slight shade of red as she tried to not react. “I did *not* call my father a vegetable. I said he has been completely paralyzed in body since his injury, but his mind remains active and alert. He is *not* a vegetable.”

“I'm sorry. I won't use that expression again.”

“I trust you will not. And even though he is like this, it is still important you meet him. He'll be able to see you and understand who you are and why you're meeting him.”

They entered the front door and she led him through, making a beeline to room 138. She rapped lightly on the door before pulling him in, releasing his hand only so she could run over to her father, lying on the bed and looking over to her.

The man let his eyes scan around the room. Framed photographs of her father as a police lieutenant lined the walls, clearly from his younger years. In some of the pictures he was receiving a medal from important looking figures, and some were newspaper clippings with his name prominently displayed in the headline.

“Dad, meet Edward,” she said, holding her father's hand out to his. “Edward, meet dad.”

“It's nice to meet you sir. From your pictures it's clear you were an exceptional man.”

“He was indeed,” she said proudly. “Did you know he was even the one who caught the Los Lobos Bull?”

“That crazy serial killer from twenty years ago? The one with that cow mask?”

“That's the one. My father was in charge of the case. In fact, bringing him down is how my father ended up like this.” She turned and gazed into her father's eyes. “Is it okay if I tell him the story?”

His eyes slowly blinked and reopened.

“That means yes. You want to hear about it?”

“Sure. Sounds interesting.”

###

Lieutenant Justin Miller of the Shanducha Police Department walked gingerly through the building. His pulse was pounding. “Stop that,” he thought, trying to steady his nerves. His eyes stayed focused ahead. His fingertips were sweating. As soon as he realized he was taking note of that, he briefly panicked and reminded himself to stay focused on what was in front of him. Every sound, every smell, anything at all. He couldn't drop his guard.

His pulse pounded harder than before. He couldn't help it. He was excited that after so many years of pursuit, they had finally tracked the Los Lobos Bull down and cornered him inside this apartment complex. He was afraid, because he was about to come face to face with the most terrifying person he had ever known of. The Los Lobos Bull had already killed twelve people, and some of them were stronger and faster than Miller himself. He couldn't allow himself to get overconfident simply because he had a gun. The Los Lobos Bull seemed to know innumerable ways to kill. Miller only knew so many ways to defend himself.

But more than anything, Miller couldn't stop thinking about his wife and children. He recognized that it was his duty as a policeman to try to apprehend this maniac and make the region safe for his family. But he also knew there was a very good chance that he would never be going home again after the raid today. He didn't mind the idea of sacrificing himself for the greater good, but he didn't want his wife to be a widow, and he didn't want his children to be fatherless.

There was a creak around the corner. He snapped his attention back to what was ahead of him. Already this raid wasn't going well. They had all the exits covered, yes, and they knew the Bull was inside, yes. But the Bull's ingenuity had already been clearly displayed. A strike team of twelve had flooded this building, split into two groups of six. But after some clever diversions, the Bull had managed to separate them. Not only that, he seemed to be broadcasting some signal that blocked their radios, so they had no way of reconnecting.

He heard another creak. “Focus!” he ordered himself. He had to let his mind stop drifting if he wanted this mission to be a success. Fourteen floors to get through, all plunged into darkness. Somewhere in these fourteen floors there had to be another police officer he could find and go along with.

He turned the corner in one swift motion, keeping his gun and flashlight aimed ahead of him. As his eyes focused on what was ahead, his heart jumped into his throat, and then quickly sank deep into his chest. Laying at his feet was Captain John Hamilton, his partner and best friend of ten years. No pulse. The Bull had beaten him here.

Hesitating, Miller chose to keep moving. He had to find his man. The mission was more important. He could deal with his feelings later.

Miller began wondering if he should simply leave the building. Maybe that's where the rest had gone. Maybe once they lost contact they left. But this building was impossible to navigate, especially in the darkness. He began to suspect the Bull had drawn them here on purpose and prepared for this invasion.

“Miller.”

He stopped in his tracks. The voice echoed throughout the building.

“Miller,” came the voice again.

“Who's there?” he asked, not recognizing the voice.

“Take a guess.”

His blood froze. “Where are you?” he asked.

A laugh came as the reply. “Where are *you*?”

“This was a trap, wasn't it?”

“Obviously. It just got dull watching you try to find me. I needed some excitement. So I planned this lovely playhouse for us all. So far I have been adoring it.”

“What's happened to everyone else?” Miller asked, speaking to the wind.

“Everyone else?” replied the echo. “I believe you've found Hamilton already. Use your imagination about the rest.”

Miller froze in place. Could it really be possible that the Bull would take out all eleven? He concluded the Bull was simply trying to frighten him. “Why save me for last?”

“Because you were one of the leaders. You did more for this investigation than anyone else. I couldn't resist the urge to string you along til the end.”

Miller was confused. “I didn't lead the investigation. Lieutenant McMillan did. I was only sent to help speed along the …”

Before he could finish he felt an overwhelming pain in his back that dropped him to the floor. He spun his head around, catching a glimpse of a knife protruding from his back and a towering figure standing over him wearing an ordinary plastic cow mask and gray jumpsuit.

“You always did let your mind wander unnecessarily,” said the Los Lobos Bull. “Honestly I was hoping you could keep your mind focused long enough for this to be challenge.” He then opened his duffel bag and rifled through until he found the equipment he needed. “But alas. The game is done for now. As much fun as I had with this building, and all of you, it's time to move on.” He lit a sequence of Molotov cocktails and began throwing them around the hallways, igniting the entire corridor.

Miller could already feel himself losing consciousness. “What about the rest?” he asked.

“Of the team? Some are dead. Some ran like cowards back outside. All but one anyway.” He pulled the cheap plastic cow mask off his face and dropped in next to Miller.

Miller's eyes needed a moment to focus. “McMillan?”

“Of course,” he said, sighing heavily. “How could you not guess it was one of your own? The Bull knew everything that you were about to do, he counteracted all of your plans as though he knew everything you did. Because of course he did! Your team was very disappointing.” He unzipped his jumpsuit and let it drop to the floor revealing his uniform. “Now to get back outside and report your tragic, untimely death. See you, Miller. It's been fun.”

As McMillan turned to leave, Miller's eyes roved about as he felt his strength slowly leaving him. Flames and smoke filled the hallway, partially blinding him and making his eyes water uncontrollably. He felt his gun, lifted it, and fired three shots in the general direction he believed McMillan was.

###

As the fire department finished extinguishing the flames, the chief of police took careful note of who was missing. Twelve went in. Seven came out. So far they had already found three bodies. That left Miller and McMillan. He cursed silently to himself. His two best men.

“Found another one!” came a shout from inside the charred and ruined remnants of the building. “This one's alive!”

The chief ran to see who it was. The paramedics were already examining him. “A bullet wound to the upper back and shoulder,” reported one of them. “Probably also a fall from a staircase. Third degree burns all over the body. But alive.”

The chief looked the man over. “McMillan. Thank heavens.”

###

“Wow, what a story,” said Edward after his fiance had finished relating the experience to him. “But did they never find the Los Lobos Bull's body in the building?”

“They did not. But after that day's events, there was never another sign of him. Whether he died in the fire or was simply so spooked that he never risked appearing again, it doesn't matter. Daddy and his team stopped him for good.”

“Well, I applaud you Mr. McMillan,” replied Edward. “I'm sure that, despite the sacrifice, you're very proud of what you've accomplished.”

Mr. McMillan smiled inwardly. He was. He was *very* proud of himself.