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I was reminded of something my father taught me when I was young: `If you go out looking for trouble, you'll always find it.' I did. He was right. From time to time, I made a difference. Somehow it was worth the injuries, the pain, being shot at. I can't explain it. I've stopped trying.
Adrenaline pumped into my veins as the thigh-high boots slid on. first the left, then the right. A final check in the full-length mirror toward the back of the battered Volkswagon van. Carefully, the last detail, my hair was already tucked into a ponytail, and then into a hair net, on top of which I gently placed a golden wig. Perfect. I smiled, the enhanced canine teeth gleamed underneath the sodium street light, while the vertical contact lenses completed my inhuman transformation. The interesting part, was, did the Cat need Jessica, or did Jessica need the Cat?
An interesting internal war, for I could not exist without either, and yet, there were many different wars within. The pointed ears were a recent addition, and the rumors around Laketon were that there was something unholy prowling about the city. Laketon was not where I was now, however. I was in Chicago, and I had work to do. The London Fog trenchcoat drifted lazily around my ankles, and the brown aussie hat completed the ensemble.
I reached upward, and gently closed the monitor panel of the laptop that I'd been keeping an eye on for quite some time. Its' clock indicator read oh-one fifteen, and the moon was full. As I secured the laptop, I hit a secondary switch that allowed me to open the doors without the interior lights lighting-up. Quietly, I slid the door open and exited it, and from a distance, touched a signal on my belt that operated the alarm system. Unlike most, it didn't beep, but merely activated. No reason to announce my presence. Yet.
I had been watching my quarry for three days now, enough for him to make the same mistake all three days. The only difficult part of the equation would be the dog. A big pit bull that I presumed literally slept with the guy. Reminds me of a really bad joke: What's meaner than a pit bull with AIDS? The guy that gave it to him.
Quickly I slipped into the alleyway and up the fire escape. I made my way to the roof with little difficulty and found the padlock on the exterior door nothing short of laughable. A ten-second lock, as I termed it. I believe it was just under fifteen. Have to work on that. The fire exit stairs took me down to the third floor, and there in the darkness were a couple of Nick's thugs, playing a game of cards in the hallway. One more floor down, and I stepped into the elevator, and tapped the `3' button. Sometimes the easiest ways were the most direct.
When the bell rung again and the doors slid open, the lapels of the trenchcoat were high, and all that kept it together was the belt. I hummed in a sloppy way to myself, and tilted ever so slightly, fumbling with some keys. Both men stood, and one smiled. I ambled down the hallway.
"Hey there cutie, where you going' to?" The one on the right said.
"Oh just heading on, err," I faked drunkenness, "home." I said turning toward him. The one on the left got a donkey kick to the crotch followed by a hammer fist which knocked him into unconsciousness. I grabbed the second thug and brought his face to mine.
"Sweet Jesus Christ." He said, and fainted. Good help was so hard to find.
I could hear the snuffling at the door, as Fido's nose did its work. He made some kind of mewing sound. Bastards had probably had his vocal chords removed.
The door on the lock was a twenty-second version of the one on the roof, and Fido, well, I didn't believe in hurting things unnecessarily, so Fido got himself a face full of pepper mace. So did the guys on the floor, who would have a fun time when they woke up.
Nick was asleep. I do love a dramatic entrance, so I killed the apartment's breakers, and tickled his feet. He came upright in bed.
"Louise? `zat you?" He fumbled with the light.
"Strike one. Nick." I said in a soft, succulent tone.
"Zelda? Sweets, is that you?"
I really dislike pet names. I leaped to one side, and grabbed an arm, wrenching a pinky back as far as it would go. This woke him up, and then I struck a blow to his neck, flipped him bodily over, and began to grossly manipulate his spinal column.
"Now then Nick, you'll find that you're paralyzed. Most unpleasant feeling, isn't it? You have a few options available in a minute, after I've finished my spiel. You see, you have a marker I want. No, scratch that, I want all of them. Every marker you own. You see, while I don't particularly care for gambling, I certainly don't care for the degree of larceny, extortion and corruption that you represent. So here's the deal, you give me the markers, and I let you live, and you can walk and talk again. I'll let you stew it out for a moment."
Quietly, I brought in his thugs and handcuffed them together, in such a manner that would leave them quite unpleasantly stretched out. I could see Nick's eyes glittering at me in hatred. I turned the master bedroom breaker on, and then gently lowered myself into a `splits' position. I reached upward, toward the bed and brought Nick's head gingerly around, didn't want to break it, not quite yet. My face was a scant foot away, and I turned on the lamp. I could feel his pulse rise as he surveyed my face, the tiger-striped makeup, vertical eyes, fangs.
"Now Nicky, let's see if you're ready to bargain." I said aloud, and released part of the vertebrae with an unpleasant sound.
"Goddamn bitch." Were his first words. My first strike was to his face, I shattered his nose. Blood spewed.
"Again." I replied.
"What the hell did you do to me.
" "Nothing that a good chiropractor and a year of physical rehabilitation won't cure. I don't think you'll be able to be making book for awhile."
"Look, I can pay you anything."
"Yes, you will. Your markers, where are they."
He made a mistake. He looked away, and at a wall, just for a second.
"Wall safe? How quaint." I slid a Hustler pinup away, and of course, it was there. "The combination."
"Release me."
"You're really not in much condition to bargain. Let me demonstrate." I walked over to him, and grabbed a leg. "Can you feel me lift this?" He shook his head no. "Now I can control precisely where your paralysis begins and ends. I can turn you into a head that sucks baby food through a straw for the rest of your damn life. Do you understand? There are things worse than death, and having someone wipe your ass for the rest of your days just might be one of them." The dog's tears had finally washed enough of the pepper spray away. Warily, it came toward me. I leaned low, and extended an upright hand. It came closer and I gently petted his head. It cooed in a heartbreaking manner. "Had his vocal chords pulled, did we?" Nick simply nodded.
I led the dog into the bathroom, and closed the door. On my way in I plucked a very sharp-looking butcher knife and carried it concealed into the room. One of his lackeys was stirring and the pepper spray caused him to be noisy. I smacked him back into unconsciousness, and brandished the knife at the same time.
"Now just imagine still being that talking head, and having no way to talk?" I smiled gleefully.
" "Mary Mother of God, help me."
"You just don't get it, do you? If I'd wanted to kill you, I would have. Heck, I could have sniped you from a rooftop at any time during the last three weeks. I just want your markers."
"Fifteen, seventeen, fifty-three." He said.
"Such a reasonable fellow." The safe opened under my dexterous manipulations, and I pulled out sheaf after sheaf of paperwork: pictures, dossiers, addresses, notebooks, phone numbers, about sixty-five thousand in cash, jewelry and a small pouch of loose gemstones. All of these went into the trenchcoat, save for the dossiers. I reserved one of them, and took the rest into the bathroom, and Fido and I burned them. He was really quite the nice hound, for a pit bull, that is. He stood quietly, as I re-introduced his master to paralysis and began to systematically break both his legs, kneecaps, and thighs. I looked at him, and he wondered precisely what was occurring, as he could feel none of the exquisite pain which I was forcing upon him. As I began to break each finger, he slipped into shock. I released control of his motor functions as the second hood, the one that I had kicked in the crotch came to.
"Tell you what I'm going to do. You answer one little question, and I'll wash the pepper spray out of you eyes."
"Anything!" He practically screamed.
"What's the dog's name?"
"Max. He-his name is Max."
"Thank you. You're a very reasonable man." I unhandcuffed him, and led him into the bathroom whereupon I washed his eyes. When he blinked and he began to look around, I knocked the wind out of him, and inadvertently cracked his skull against the bathtub. It looked serious.
Max and I went downstairs and I set him inside the van, wrote the apartment's number on a piece of paper, and taped it to a phone booth. "911, fire, police or medical." The EMT operator asked. Speaking through a cloth, I gasped, "medical" and shattered the handpiece against the phone booth.
Three days later, Max and I took a trip to see a friend in the hospital.
"Your marker." I tossed it to him. "I've already called your old sponsor. I swear to you, if you don't, I'll know, and if I find out, I'll make what he did you you look comfortable."
Miles looked at me, and at the pit bull in my hand. "Wasn't that?" He looked at me, gesturing toward the dog.
"Wasn't what?" I replied. "Max here? I just got him out of the pound. It seems some mean man had his vocal chords cut out, and so a kind woman took him away from the mean man. I don't really care for pit bulls, but he's such a reasonable dog." Max's tongue panted heavily even in the air-conditioned room. I dropped him on the bed and he began to snuffle toward Miles.
"My friend, you have a problem. You asked me for help, and I've given it to you, in the best way that I see fit. The rest, is up to you." Miles looked at me with tears in his eyes.
"I don't know how to."
"Get some help. You were in the program before. It works, you know it, and I know it. Your old sponsor is willing, you just need to be able. I can understand a backslide, just try not to let it happen again, okay?"
He smiled weakly.
"Good-bye, Miles. I've got to get home."
"Good-bye, Jessie. I'll go. I promise."
"Yes." I smiled, "you will." I turned on my heel and left.
The pain was not exquisite. It was a fiery burning sensation which was too quick for any kind of enjoyment. It would take at least twenty seconds to of reasonably solitude to use a form of accupressure to make me functional again. That was twenty seconds I just didn't have.
A garbage can lid provided a sparking surface as another bullet came whizzing my direction. I was trapped, in an alleyway, and the only way out is up or through. Why not both? The can lid soared toward my assailant, and he ducked. Spry little twit. I went up, although only a half-meter, my leg was throbbing with great pain. So much for up. How about back? A dumpster would provide some cover, back me into a wooden fence beyond that. I extracted a knife from my boot and threw a brick to my right. After the gunfire went to clicks I threw the knife. I watched it sliced through my assailants throat, shearing off his Adam's apple. Blood spattered. He would die.
When I had taken my martial arts classes, our instructor often had us break boards to demonstrate focus. I have heard many different opinion on that school of thought, but right now, as I broke pieces of slatting, I thought it came in handy right about then.
Police cruisers swarmed the area, encompassing the entire block, and I shattered the fence as silently as possible. Not very. There, waiting for me was an unmarked police car. There was a man in a rough jacket, tank top and torn jeans smoking a cheroot standing there, the back door of the cruiser open. There was a cup of coffee in his hand.
"You make more noise thanna bull elephant in heat. Get inna cruiser `fore onnna my rookies blows your tits off."
Eloquence, I decided was not one of this man's strong points. I noticed his firearm was not drawn. The radio crackled something unintelligible. He picked up the microphone.
"Nope, I ain't seen nuthin, and you know the stupid broad's not gonna get past me. Yeah, Harry, tell the Captain, I figure she's gone through the sewers again. Maybe onna these days we'll get luck and a giant turtle will drag her carcass out by her tail. Maybe not. Lookie, I'hm going home. I'll do the paperwork tomorrow, if I feel like it."
The pain throbbed. It appeared I would have no choice.
"Looks painful. There's a dime bag some scumball dropped in the back, and I'm sure I can find a rig somewhere." He said, motioning toward a glassine baggie jammed in the seat.
"Thank you, no. A few moments will be all that I require." I said, to little avail. He started the engine and we began to drive slowly.
"So you can talk. We figured you either for the devil herself or a freak of somekind. That's just make-up, ain't it?"
"Greasepaint, as the clowns of Ringling Brothers would put it."
"Nice. Works real good. Contacts and false teeth an Spock ears. Now, sister, the real sixty-four dollar question. Why?"
I had slipped deep into concentration, and rapidly used a technique to accelerate my healing. The slug would have to come out, eventually. I could feel the coarseness of its inorganic composition nestled within my flesh. It was going be more irritation psychologically than physically.
"An interesting question." I said to him. "I could ask the same thing of you. Shouldn't you be arresting me? For that matter, why didn't you shoot me, become a hero?"
"`Cause nobody would believe me. I'm a dirty cop. I don't play by the rules. That dime bag shoulda told you enough. The trick is I didn't get caught. The trouble is I can't get clean. I kicked my habit. I lost my wife. My kids."
"What would you have of me?"
"You do the things I can't do. I can do some things you can't."
"A truce." I stated.
"No. An alliance. Consider my pulling your keaster outta the fire an offerin'. I know a friend of mine, he can pull the slug, no questions asked."
This I considered.
"What do you want in return?"
"For the slug? I need some info."
"Whom?"
"Brandon DeBious. He goes by `Crimson'."
"Blood gang leader, southeast side."
"Tell me somethin' I don't know."
"As of tonight he's a paraplegic."
"Christ. Y'know, I've visited the hospital wards that you've left `em in."
"Heath care is not a dishonorable profession."
"Nope, and some of them cons might actually use the nurses aide ticket they get."
"Do you realize that all of the individuals I afflict will eventually recover?"
"Nah, I waz kinda hopin' Crimson's was fer good. The docs say you have some kind medical training."
"Something like."
He pulled the vehicle over, and turned toward me.
"This here fellow was a medic inna Gulf. I usedta sell him dope till he kicked, an brought me with him." I glanced upward toward the house.
"And his children? The lady of the house? What will you say when you drag a bullet-ridden, she-devil into the home?" The three bicycles and two cars told me a great deal. The officer raised his eyes.
"Slick. Yer right o' course. Lemmie make a phone call first. Under the seat is one of them foil emergency blankets. You can use it to cover yourself up. Keep yer face hidden, he'll do it no"
Gunshots
Instinctively I reached toward the door, it was locked.
"Let me loose, or I'll open it myself." Apparently the tone in my voice was enough. I eased the door open, clicked it shut. This police officer's instincts were good, he did the same, firearm drawn. I slipped into the shadows as he crouched taking point from vehicle to vehicle. I looked at things a touch differently.
I scampered up the ladder of the motorhome adjoining the house, and from there onto a landing, and finally onto an attic sill. The light was on. I scratched at the window. I herd a rustling, and the curtains parted. I reached my hand around and stuck my thumb up. The window sill opened and a youngster opened the window.
"H-Hellow?"
"Back away from the window, I'm here to help." I said, softly, and in a non-threatening tone.
I slipped into the room. It was a child's playspace. The child gasped when I entered.
"Do you know what's going on?"
"My brother, he's high, he wants dad to give him money, but dad won't do it."
"Go into your closet, and stay there. If you can, pile some clothes on top of you. Look at it as a game of hide and go seek."
"Okay." His face brightened a little. I made for the door, and eased it open. There was a grand staircase off to the right, and I could see the entire well of the house. There was a boy standing there, shaking, with a large firearm in his hand, pointed directly at his father. His mother was backed behind her, and there was another child on the couch. Had to hand it to the old man, he was pretty calm. I guess being a dopehead at one point does that to you.
"Now son, I know what you need, but you've gotta try."
"Dammit, gimme some fuckin' money." He held one hand out. "Can' you see? I'm shakin' real hard." The phone rang. Good cop. That's using your head. The kid damn near dropped his gun. "Answer it, dammit." He said.
I heard a soft voice speaking.
"Harold" She called, "it's for you." The boy nodded. The father took the cordless phone."
"Who is it?" The boy demanded.
"Just Roger."
"No tricks, dammit. That's one of your sneaky cop-friends."
"Hey Roge, how's it going?"
They chatted for a moment. I climbed upon the bannister and extracted a pair of throwing knives. I decided against the claws.
The first knife went behind him, and clattered noisily behind. He turned toward it, instinctively, the gun spun with him, away from the family. The second knife flew, straight and true, hitting him in the upper gun arm. I flew, as well.
The drop was nearly three stories. I was sure to break a bone unless I connected with something soft. Humans are nearly seventy percent water. I'm sure the hard leather heels were quite uncomfortable. I could feel his bones break underneath me.
The gun discharged, and richoshaied, grazing me. This time the pain was bearable, yet burning. Curiously, he was still awake, and wanted, for some ungodly reason, to remonstrate.
The front door slammed in, and my new police friend had a bead on him. He still held onto the firearm. An inside roundhouse sent it sailing, and his hand broken. In the same motion, I crouched, and slipped on my claws from twin holsters on my boots.
"Him, or me." I stood, getting his attention once again. He turned, and fainted dead away.
I heard sirens in the distance.
"Vanish." Roger said.
Back up the stairs, out onto the roof, and onto the aft peak. I waited, until the sirens came and died, the pain became intense, no matter what form of meditation I used. The sirens drifted away. I heard a voice.
"Cat?" Where are you? Go inna motorhome, he's ready for you."
I landed not-so-deftly upon it, and slid gently down the ladder.
Roger had the door open. The sun's rays were gently beginning to rise. He held a blanket open for me. Warily, I accepted it, and covered my head, proffering the limb. The medic sat, a field surgical pack open, he had scrubbed and was ready. He nodded to me as I entered.
"This will hurt." He said.
"Not nearly as much as your son will." I said, wanting to breech the subject early.
"I'm not worried. I'm just thankful he's alive and not shot down on the street by another druggie." Nothing else was said for a long time. I winced as forceps pulled the bullet from my flesh. My other hand snaked out.
"For my collection. Thus far, I've been lucky." I said wryly.
He frowned, and shook his head, dropping it into my palm. "You'll need to avoid using it for at least a couple of weeks." The medic said.
"Thank you for the advice." I replied.
"I'd like to look at the other."
"No, that won't be necessary. It's not that long, and stings only mildly now. It was the bullet that was really bothering me." I looked upward at the window. It was getting close to six.
"I need to go. I have other work." I said flatly, and nodded toward the medic, "I thank you for your skills, and I'm sorry we had to meet under such circumstance. I wish you all the best with your son."
"No problem. It's kind of nice to actually meet a legend."
My eyebrow cocked upward, but I said nothing.
The two men spoke to each other in general tones, the conversation of old friends, as if they were meeting over a fence for a couple of beers. I shrouded myself in the blanket, flexing the muscle. Roger led the way out, and put me in the back of the police car.
"Harrry won't say anythin'."
"Why did he address me as a `legend'?"
"`Cause like it or not, sister, you are. The cat is in every alleyway. I've talked with cops outta state that would like to have yer clone in their pocket."
"Interesting. As for our working arrangement, I'll consider it further."
"Sure, I figure it could work real well. Lemmie know."
He drove onto the freeway and began to head back toward the alleyway in which he found me.
"You may deposit me at the next rest area. I can manage from that point."
"y'sure? Look, I'll take ya anywhere ya need."
"That will not be necessary. I believe our arrangement will be satisfactory. I will meet you here in precisely thirty-six hours." I said, as he eased into the rest stop.
"`Kay. Take care."
"And you as well." Without waiting for him to unlock the door, I had it jimmied and had vanished into the underbrush. Time for this cat to have a nap.
"An impression. That's all I want you to make. Just an impression. I figgure the bad cop routine can do the rest."
"Roger, I'll simply be who I am."
"Dats what I'hm afraid of."
"You just take your care and make sure that I can get out." My English was degrading terribly with my relationship with this police officer.
"Got it. Wid yer trench coat an' hat, and some bandages on your face `n hands."
I looked at my bandaged hands. It was an excellent idea. My only concern was the duration of the stay. It was barely twenty-two hundred, and at least four hours before my normal prowl time. I was groggy from sleeping most of the day, and still nursing a bullet track from a week ago, when I was approached with this most unusual alliance. He had even gone so far to suggest he purchase a cellular telephone for me. I draw the line at some point, and that, most certainly was it.
Not that, mind you, he was taking advantage of me, in fact, far from it. He had run a whopping four license plates for me, and each and every one of them could not be traced. I even did some background checking on my comrade-in-arms.
He was born Roger Denglo Adams, he owned a condominium on the north side, and had been a cop for fifteen years, making detective within six years, and then lieutenant not far later. Internal affairs had dogged him for years with this and that charge, only one, excessive brutality had stuck. Curiously, Internal affairs hadn't gone far enough. The man whose kneecaps he had shattered had raped a four-year-old second cousin of his. Seemed reasonable to me. Affairs did not know some of the things I did, some of the things he confided in me: An affair with a rookie which helped generate the gap between he and his now ex-wife, a nasty heroin habit, a remote piece of property which he was creating a fallout shelter. A most interesting fellow.
Interesting more were my feelings.
I had never expect the cat facade to last this long. It was about eight months. Eight months of breaking bones, terrorizing people, and two deaths. I surmised that I would somehow get killed, or become critically injured. I had no idea that many of the city would embrace this vigilante persona. I had no idea I would begin to gently make a friend in a tired old police officer who was tired of hoodlums getting away with murder and who knows what else.
This brings me to the subject of our drive. His name was one Mark Downey. At our first encounter Mark had finished raping a little girl after sodomizing her mother while the child observed. Mark had been holding them both hostage, and I was quietly listening in on the police scanner. I'd entered the house from the back window, quickly neutralized him with a series of pressure points, and tucked him up into a vehicle hidden away while the police broke in.
I took my time and had named each bone of his as I broke it, and unlike my opponent in Chicago, he was not politely paralyzed, no, he was bound spread-eagle with a racquetball in his mouth. When he fainted from shock, I would awaken him, and proceed again, carefully allowing him time to rest so as not to stress his heart. I didn't wish to kill him. Finally I told him firmly that when he woke up he would politely confess, and of course, he did. I also told him I would be in to check up on him if he didn't behave himself.
I'm told that he thanked the police officer for his time when he took the confession down. I'm also told he found Jesus. It turns out that he was a member of a street gang, and had reported this to the police, and now one of his fellow gang-mates had made an attempt on his life. I hardly think that his raping would have anything to do with such a matter. I was right when I caught up with one of them and convinced him that it was in his best interest that he tell me why Mark was such a target.
It seems Mark had himself a photographic memory.
He remembered just about everything he saw and everyone he ever met, every dope deal every heist, every murder he'd ever been told about, and there had been more than a few. I thought I'd touch base with him, and well, see if I could possibly convince him to confess all that he knew. He knew that Roger was going to bring someone to our interview and well he had no idea whom.
Roger led me up the stairwell. I disliked elevators, claiming claustrophobia. He smiled. I think he took comfort in finding something that frightened me. We walked into a prisoner's secure room, he first and me lurching behind. He was in bed, and sitting up. He gasped as I walked in, and turned to speak to me.
"Sweet Jesus. Malcolm, is that you? Christ forgive me, Lieutenant, how could you have possibly known my worst sin." Roger shrugged.
"I'd like you hear your side of it, just for the record." he spoke.
"Then perhaps you'd better merandize me and get yourself a cup of coffie. Malcolm, can you speak? Oh god, please forgive me." He grabbed the telephone and dialed the rectory between sobs he spoke, "Father, please, can you come?" He began to sob harder. Roger turned to me, his right eyebrow lifted, and removed a tape recorder and set it upon the table. Surprise of surprises to me who walked through the door.
His name was Peter Jacobs, and he bore the title of `Father' in the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic church. I always thought of him as a crusading pain in the butt, even though about thirty or so years ago he baptized and christened me personally. I stood at the foot of the bed towering over Mark. He embraced the Lieutenant and then turned to me.
"And who is this?" He asked.
"This is my half-brother, Malcolm. The one I told you about."
"I see. Welcome, Malcolm." He offered his hand. I shook my head no, and lurched backward, away from him.
"Malcolm, without him, I don't know where I'd be." Mark said.
I said nothing, allowing silence to permeate into the room.
"It's all right, Mark. The lord will forgive your sins." Father Jacobs said turning toward him.
"I've also made up my mind, Lieutenant, I'll tell you everything I know, every last detail I can recall. Perhaps you'd better make that a pot of coffie."
"Why don'tca start here." Roger pointed toward me. I shuffled back into a corner and sat in a chair. Father Jacobs eyed the tape recorder as Roger went through his rights.
"I know I'm refusing council, and I know the lord has forgiven me, but now, society needs to do the same." Mark began to speak slowly with a trembling tongue.
"My real dad, I hardly knew him, he left when I was four. Mamma said he was a cokehead, and he drunk a lot, and beat on her and, I guess me. She had the strength to leave him, and brought me up a Baptist. I never really liked church, I liked the streets. I smoked my first cigarette at age eight, my first joint a year later. Before long, I had a smack habit. I got out of Juvenile hall with a hatred for my mom `cause she didn't bail me out, and a new dad and brother. Malcolm." He looked at me.
"The old man, he tried, and tried. Always decent, but me, I was a hardass. Malcolm was seventeen, and had just gotten a black belt in something he called Aikido, which meant he was a badass. He didn't see himself a badass, it was just something he learned. I saw him, what the counselors say, as a target for rage.
The Bloods were the new gang in town, and they wanted street people, good ones, and I was one of the best. They learned that I never capped anybody and so, that was my entry fee. They said a family member was what was needed. It showed movement from one family the next. While he slept, I smacked Malcolm so hard, I broke a piece of his face, and knocked him out. I shot a bag of speed and a bag of smack, drug him downtown, propped him up with the rest of a bunch of bums and poured gasoline on him. He lit up like a roman candle.
My new family, pulled out a bag of marshmallows, and we ate them, laughing, as we walked away. Please Malcolm, please," the tears ran from his face, "please forgive me." his speech sobbed to incomprehesible gasps. The Father held him. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, in an attempt to quell my rage. The Farther turned toward me.
"Do you forgive him, Malcolm?" I gestured toward my throat, and gurgled something which could not be interpreted.
"You have no tongue, yet you can speak. Do you forgive him?" While I was sure that Malcolm probably would, I would most defiantly not. I would not give an answer so I sat. "You will, in your own time, Malcolm, as god has." He began to go through absolution. How easy, I thought, it would be to simply immobilize them, and then. No, they must find their own ways, and if hiding in their beliefs they sat, then so be it. This is one instance in which I elected not to intervene. For whatever reason. My faith in the Catholic beliefs had been shattered long, long ago.
Mark rambled for the next four hours, six audio cassettes worth. I did nothing but listen. I learned a great deal, and did not reply to any commentary put to me.
"Lieutenant, I have a favor to ask." Mark said. "We'll see." Roger replied. "Come now, Lieutenant, certainly nothing is to great for the information you've just obtained." Father Jacobs said. I stifled a yawn.
"There was some kind of demon-woman, the one who captured me and tormented me. I think the papers have called her, `The Cat'. Do you know who I'm talking about."
"I've heard rumors, but to be honest, the police department cannot condone such vigilantes." Roger gave the official litany. My ears were perked.
"Do you have any way of contacting this person?" Mark asked.
"I'm afraid not. The best you might possibly do is an ad in the classifieds." Roger suggested.
"Father, how about you? I'm sure you've seen all sorts of parishioners, anything?"
"No. Like the Lieutenant, I do not condone violence. While the bible sayeth an eye for an eye, the lord shall forgive for all our sins, I believe this. Why do you seek this, this creature." Father Jacobs replied.
"Because Father, this creature allowed me to find you. You were the one who helped me to see Christ, and I was let to you from her. I would like to thank her." Mark said.
The priest shook his head.
"Lieutenant, thank you for coming. If you'll excuse me, I'd like some time with my brother and the priest."
I stood, and went into the bathroom. Without difficulty I circumvented the alarm, jimmied the window, slipped outside and scampered onto the roof. Roger returned about an hour later.
"That was easy, although you threw them for a loop."
"I'm sure." I replied.
"We sure learned a lot. It seems ya done somthin to make this kid change."
"I suppose so."
"Okay, whereya wanna go."
"The rest area will do. No. Wait. Run me to that convenience store we passed on the way in." He did as he was instructed, I purchased a roll of paper towels and a large bottle of baby oil. I asked to use the restroom, removed the bandages, used the baby oil to remove my makeup and put the bandages back on.
"Now take me to the lower south side."
"At least I don't hafta worry `bout you takin' care of yerself." He said. We drove in silence for a time, and then I had him stop at a soup kitchen.
"I'll call you when we may next meet. It may be several days."
"Sure. Take care..." he began to say something else, and then nothing. He stared at me for a moment. His eyes were looking into mine. I broke the lock, momentarily. He spoke softly, "Don't lose faith. Ya do good work."
"My faith was lost many years ago." I turned, and walked into the soup kitchen.
"`ello miss. How can I help you." A man walked up to me.
"I'm looking for Lurch." I replied. "Down for the night." He said.
"How's the reconstructive surgery coming?"
"Pretty good. He doesn't scream nearly as much at night. I guess he even told a counselor how he got lit."
"Not bad for eight years of therapy." I replied.
"Where'd you meet him? Support group?" He looked at me, gesturing toward the bandages.
"Actually, no, I worked here in high school one summer when he was first found." I replied. "This," I pointed to my face, "is recent. Anyhow, tell him Jessie stopped to say hello."
"Sure thing, Jessie." He smiled and led me out, flipping the `closed' sign on.
I walked home, all twelve miles, and began to think about my life, and how the cat had affected me.
As my street came into view, I sighed slightly. It was good to be home. The warehouse loomed into view, my trusty VW Van parked next to it. It was a pretty consistant lifestyle, my employees came in to take care of the bookstore on the first floor, and I lived on the second. From what I'd been able to listen on, I was considered a pretty good boss, although from time to time, they wondered exactly how much money I had. Not too much, I'm hear to tell you. Fortunatly my investments in Chicago had served me fairly well - especially during my graduate work. My bones were tired, and I was still nursing a few brusies, not to mention the gunshot wound of a week or so ago.
I slipped toward the side door, and instead of taking the stairwell, I climbed up the trellis. It was a lot stronger than it looked. That stairwell always creaked and groaned. I thought that one day it would collapse. I slipped open the always-cracked window and Max came scampering up. He mewed happily, and wagged his stubby little pit-bull tail. I was still furious at the bastard in Chicago for cutting his vocal chords out. I went into the bathroom.
There was a suitcase which held the apparatus of the Cat. Gauntlets, and then surgical gloves off first, then the contacts, then the ears and fangs. They each had their own special case and slipped into personal compartments that looked a lot like contact lens care items. The entire unit could go through an x-ray machine in an airport without any difficulty. As I'd already wiped off the makeup, I simply tossed the bandages in the garbage, and peeled off the leather boots. Catsuit, custom-sewn was next, and I turned on the shower as I finished stripping.
The steam curled up, and began to open my pores as I tossed the blonde wig into its case and then into the suitcase. The whole thing slipped into a cubby hole underneath the sink. I quickly washed my hair, turned off the shower, and allowed the hot water to fill. I welcomed it like an old and dear friend, who gently massaged my shoulders and neck. I close my eyes. Sleep came.
An annoying beep-beep first burdened my dreams and then brought me mercilessly to consciousness. The cooled water told me I'd been resting for quite some time. I sat up with a start. The noise came from the lower door, where the bookstore was. I couldn't believe I had been in the tub from four in the morning to ten-thirty. I stood, quickly dried myself off, and tossed on a bathrobe. I walked out, stretched my arms, and looked toward my bed in happy anticibation of another three or four hours of sleep. The clock read six-thirty. Still darkness. An intruder. I heard a crash, probably a cash register being broken into.
Immediatly I was torn.
A part of me simply said to call the police. They would be here in a matter of minutes. Another part of me wanted to drop through the passthrough and abuse them in ways they never thought conceiveable. My mind fogged, I pulled on a pair of sweats, gloves, and a ski mask and went to work.
The window that viewed in the back of the building slid open - it was the one that was next to the trellis and had accomodated my entry. I lept fearlessly through it, and landed on my feet, like my namesake. Barefoot still, I snaked around the side, toward the service entrance, and slipped toward the opening they had left. Quickly, I hand sprung past the jagged glass, and into the store, easily following the path of carnage from these most unpleasant intruders. There were two, one with a crowbar, he was busily destroying a display case.
As the crowbar swung upward, a knife-handed strike shattered his wrist, and sent the crowbar flying. When he yelled his ally turned. He I simply backfisted to his nose, blood pouring. My attention occupied, my initial opponent swung and connected, a powerful left arm striking solidly to my midsection. I was unceremouniously dumped upon my butt, wounding my pride as well as my midsection.
He moved in, his right foot swinging back, broadcasting a kick that a neonate could see coming a mile away. Since he was so courteous, I simply took the opprotunity to shatter his other kneecap with my left leg. He went down like a ton of bricks, while I bounced back up, and thrust a kick to the midsection of the other thug.
It was at this point, I lost control.
I grabbed the crowbar and began to hit.
I struck bone after bone. Kneecap, elbow, rib, wrist, foot.
No one, no one ever violates me again. Once was too much. Only when one of then began to sob for mercy did I cease. I took a paper towel, dialed nine-one-one, put it to the man's face, and let him sob into it. I calmly walked out the back door, and went back upstairs, and waited.
"Detective Adams Please, call me Roger." He introduced himself.
"Jessica Melmack." I said.
"So what can you tell me, Miss Melmack?"
"Well I couldn't sleep, so I was taking a warm bath. I must have dozed off, and I heard the alarm. By the time I got up, I heard this horrible crashing noise, and a lot of other noise. I got scared that it was that `cat' creature was downstairs, and would attack me if I did anything, so I waited until all the noise was gone. I was going to call nine-eleven, but I already heard sirens in the distance."
"I see. Did you actually this, `Cat' creature that you feel that you heard?"
"No. I saw no such thing. I just, well, the papers saw that it's violent. Dangerous."
"Do you have a gun, Miss Melmack."
"Please, it's Jessie, and no, I don't believe in the use of guns."
"Okay, Jessie. Do you know the people that were breaking into your store?"
"I haven't been downstairs. I thought it would be best to wait until someone came up here for me." I replied timidly.
"Do you recognize these individuals." He produced two polaroids of the men that I encountered downstairs. My mind no longer faded by hatred and rage, focused upon their faces. The second one, whose nose I had crushed initially was quite familiar.
"Yes, that fellow on the left, I think his name is Leon, Leon Baxter. He was the first assistant manager I had here, but I caught him stealing. I couldn't actually say that, of course, without bringing charges, but I had a professional auditing team brought in. As memory serves he paid back every dime."
"And obtained a grudge in the process..." The Detective continued.
"Apparently so." The questioning seemed ceaseless. We had migrated upstairs, and into my living quarters.
"May I use your bathroom, Jessica."
"Certainly." I said, without thinking. It was ten-thirty by this time, and my normal employees had come it - I gave them the day off, paid of course, and had my manager see about reporting the damage to the insurance company. Roger came back into the room. He looked, well, odd. He hadn't had any sleep since I'd spoken with him as the Cat in the prior day.
"Is there something wrong?" I asked.
"No, not a thing. In fact, I oughta be letting you go."
"As you wish." I replied. "Will there be anything else."
"Well expect a phone call in the next few days. I'll have to tighten some details up. Oh, yeah, this sounds pretty corny, but don't leave town, `kay?"
"As you wish. Good day."
"`Bye." I sat back upon the futon and wept for a good hour. Sleep came, and night fell. I awoke at eight, and decided that the cat needed a night of rest. The ribs where the guy had slammed into me hurt really bad. I wondered if he broke one. I decided to strap it up, and then prephaps something to eat.
The compulsion struck. I had anger in my soul.
A fury, a boiling rage.
Fishnet stockings, spiked heels, leather mini, push-up black leather bra. First the Cat makeup, and then a heavy pancake, and after that, I looked like Tammy Fae worked me over with a spackleing knife. The blonde wig, ears and eyes. The trench. As a precaution, long, french black silk gloves from the roaring twenties. A slut waiting to be had. I walked to a pay phone, and called the cheapest cab company in town. I gave the man directions to a corner in a very bad neighbourhood. He didn't bat an eye. I tipped him, and began to walk around as if I were high, and looking either to trick, or to fix.
A young male in a bright new truck drove by and stopped.
"Hay, hon, you looking to take a load off?" He jeered. I flipped him off. Not what I was looking for, not tonight. His truck screeched as the light turned. I supposed he might take comfort in the fact that he knew where the gas pedal was - I most certainly was not impressed.
Deeper into the bowels of the neighborhood I wandered, I was accosted a few more times, and with each time I made it quite clear that I wasn't interested. I had ducked into an alleyway as I noticed I was being followed, and, lo and behold, three men followed me in.
"Hey sister, I don't care if you sellin' or not." The first said
"Nope, in fact" the second continued.
"We just gonna take it." The third finalized.
Adreneline pumped into my veins, my eyes dialated, and the frenzy came. Bones broke. Blood poured, and as I spun toward the alleyway I heard the click of a hammer being pulled back.
"`fraid we gotta problem, darlin'. Ah think you've gone a bit outta control.
" Lieutenant Roger Adams was pointing a three fifty-seven police python four meters away. Too far away from me to get it out of his hands, close enough that he was able to draw an accurate bead.
Deadlock.
We looked into each other's eyes. He knew he could kill me, and he also knew that if he didn't do it in one shot, then I would kill him. The seconds passed like a century, and a minute was reached in a millenium.
"Melmack's place, the bookstore. Your work?" He asked.
"Of course." I replied.
"Different, though, something about it. Like this." He nodded toward my current hunting garb.
"Revenge?" He prompted. My breathing slowed. Of course, it was, you idiot.
"Yes." I replied. One of the men on the ground moaned slightly. I stepped back, slowly. Without taking his eyes off me, he fished into a pocket, brought out a cellular telephone, and dialed. He barked commands at someone unseen, and droped the phone back into his pocket.
"We got three minutes before they get here."
"You have three minutes before you need to make a decision." I replied.
"And what might that be? You gonna kill me?" He said. I thought. No. I had no reason, none whatsoever. I wouldn't kill him. That was the sad part, he'd done nothing to me, and had gone well out of his way to make my life better.
"Fact o' the matter is, darlin' they way I got it figgured, you now owe me."
Damn him.
Damn this pathetic creature.
Damn him, for being right.
For having cornered The Cat.
"What would you have of me." I stated.
"Bury your grudge, whatever it is. I can see cleaning up scum, don't get me wrong, an' you're doin' plenty o' good, but instead of feedin' yer soul, it's begging ta feed on yer soul."
"Funny thing, this coming from you."
"`t'least ya know it's real. Take it some somebody who just might give a damn."
The long pause revisited.
"Now fer the fun part." He said.
"Which is."
"You gotta take me outta comission. I been here too long, on one spot." He fired the magnum toward the wall in a skittering procession of bullets, until the gun emptied. Once it did, I approached him. He looked almost timid.
"Swing toward me, hard as you can." I said. He swung. My left arm shot up in an upper block, it would leave a horrific bruise. He was thrown off balance, my right arm shot toward his face, and struck precisely toward the outer orbit of his eye, leave a nasty bruise, but his vision would be completely unimpared. His teeth gritted. I backfisted his nose gently to get it bleeding, but not enough to push cartilage into the brain.
Unfortantly, now it was time for the trademark.
My palm quivered up and down his forehead, and struck him along a primary Qi meridian. His body stiffened, and he fell down. I used a quick bit of accupressure to release the meridian and allow him normal movement, but it would be a severe shock to his nervous system.
"Christ whadday do?"
"Do not concern yourself. I will make all right by you within the next few days, once I have considered your words more carefully. Sleep now." I struck him bluntly in the solar plexus, forcing air from his stomach, and then, probably a touch more forcefully than I had a right, an uppercut.
From there I slid away, the great rains of the Pacific Northwest alive and well, began to fall. I put fifty cents for a copy of the Laketon Examiner, and bent it over my head so my makeup would not mar. It was midnight, I still needed to clear my mind. I looked about - no thugs to brawl with, nothing. I travelled home the same way I came, toyed with dismembering the cabbie for entertainment value, and walked the last two miles after leaving him with one of the new `ghost of Franklin' one-hundred dollar bills. I think he must have figured I had had a good night.
At home I stripped the makeup, took another hot shower and walked into my living room.
The furniture in my entire home was designed around an enourmous empty space in the center of the floor. It measured aproximatly fifteen foot square. I walked a few steps into the imaginary square and bowed longly. My hands came in, fingertip to fingertip, crossed and then formed into fists, each hand terminated about four inches above the thigh.
I whispered to myself, `kain kata yaun'. My head snapped to my left, left leg leading, weight placed upon the rear foot. My hands, thrusting in motion with my hips went first into a down block and then an inside block. This entire action took a fraction of a second. I thrust forward, my right arm and right leg leading. I turned one-hundred eighty degrees and repeated the action. Rotating left ninety degrees, I went to the left, three straight punches followed by a hideous yell or ki-yah.
My head snapped toward the right, blocking, then punching. I spun another one-hundred eighty degress, repeated my actions, turned toward the left, then the three punches and ki-yah again. I veered to the right, and one-hundred eighty degrees for the last time. When I came to rest, my right arm was led outward in a punch. I stood straight upward, crossed my fists, repeated the name of the kata again and went into a resting stance.
My forehead was covered in sweat, and I was shaking slightly. Deep breaths, in through my nose, out through my mouth. I went through an additional thirty-five katas in a similar fashon, rangeing from white belt to black. From the karate katas, to the tae kwon do katas and then to the aikido katas. It was six-thirty in the morning, my body was wracked with pain. I showered yet again and toweled off, swallowing two extra-strength vicodins, and collapsed into bed.
I slept an entire day.
My answering machine accrued seven messages, most of them dealing with my business, one from the lieutenant's office notifying me that another police officer had been assigned to the case, and one from a friend in Chicago. It was eight o' clock in the morning by the time I was dressed and feeling much better, but still very agatated. I left a message at the police desk for the lieutenant. I left three signed blank cheques for my manager at the bookstore, packed an overnight bag, and with Max leading the way, the van took of into the west, toward the state of Washington.
Walla Walla University was some eight hours away, and six years ago. I reached a warehouse district not unlike the one that housed my bookstore. A plain sign simply pronounced, `Shito-Ryo Karate, Matsi Hawagashi, Sensei'. I walked in.
A young man called forth from the office toward my left .
"Oss." He said. I turned and nodded toward him.
"Oss." I replied. "I seek Matsi." I replied firmly.
"I'm afraid Sensei Hawagashi is not in, he will return in the afternoon."
"I see." My lip twitched. "What time?"
"I'm not sure." He replied. "Is there anything I can help you with."
He looked lean and strong. Around the white `gi' he wore a green belt.
"I need to sharpen up a bit, it's been awhile since I've gotten to practice." I replied.
"You're a member? I've been here for five years and have never seen you."
"Jessica Melmack. Lifetime membership."
"Okay, let me." I heard typing after a moment.
"It's been a long time, Miss Melmack. It says here you have a black belt."
"Yes, some years ago. I just need to sharpen up a bit. Might I use the floor?"
He smiled.
"Of course." and bowed toward the open doorwell.
I changed and began to work through some more katas. I could see him watch me from the lobby. As I finished I turned toward him.
"Would you care to spar?" I asked, silkily.
"Sure." He said, "I'm trying to work up to brown belt.
"We bowed toward each other at worn marks in the wooden floor.
He shuffeled foward a backfist in the making. I sidesliped to the left, sidekicked him and sent him flying to the wall. He dropped his hands down in flight and rolled into a drop. He got up doggedly with a white face.
"W-what did you say you were training for?"
"Personal entertainment." I replied and gestured him back toward the line. We bowed once more. He began to circle me, occasionally feinting to this or that way. It was nice to spar with someone who actually learned not to do stupid things.
I brought my gaurd down for a second, and he took advantage of it. As he moved, I did as well, outside blocking a punch and hitting him squarely in the solar plexus. Over and over, I baited him, and most times he took it. After a point he did nothing, but attempted to bait me. To be persued! Now this was a nice bit of entertainment. For a while I let at him come at me, and once, as he scored, I dropped him to the floor. A voice came from the lobby.
"Tut-tut Jessica. That isin't very nice." I turned. Matsi stood there. I ran toward him and gave him a big hug. He returned it. The green belt look slack-jawed. Matsi turned toward him. "Thank you for entertaining my guest, Micheal." He bowed quickly. Matsi stepped into the gentleman's room, and came out wearing a gi. "Shall we dance?" he inquired.
"Of course." I replied.
I bowed to him. I really needed to have my ass kicked, so I shuffeled forward, and brought my block up to bear. While I was busy trying to keep my gaurd up, he simply snuck a kick under. Teach me to think hard. I guess that was the problem. I started thinking and stopped being. My kicks started to fly, and one, out of five hit. Matsi smilled.
"Much better. I see the Tae Kwan Do has helped your kicking considerably." I smiled, spun in a circle and threw him against a wall.
"Not nearly as much as the JuJitsu has helped my throwing. I helped him up and bowed deeply. We began to spar again, lightheartedly, and with much fun. I felt more balanced than I had, in at least a year. It felt good. We went out to dinner later, and talked well into the night.
I drove home energized, and when I arrived at ten, the workmen were putting in fresh panes of lexan into the bookstore. My manager smiled, and waved, said we'd be up and running in a day or two. Perfect!
I awoke with a sweet gentleness which had been evading me since the break in. Dusk was falling, and I went into the bathroom, showered, wrapped my hair up in a tight bun, and proceeded to put layer upon layer of makeup on my face. Orange bases, blending shades, black stripes, white for fur. Contacts, fangs, ear-tips. The original cat costume slid on, buckles fastened against the smell of leather. A side pouch, containing some herbs and a few small jars of salve, slipped on.
I fluffed the wig, tossing it back and forth, snapped out the lights, and, in complete darkness, bounced out the back window. From the second window, it was a minor drop. It felt good to be alive. From the brush, I pulled out a cloak, used the cellular telephone to call a taxi, and ran the mile at the point of meeting. I asked him to drop me about a mile from the hospital. I called up the main desk, and asked for the Lieutenant's room number. She politely informed me that he was in a seventh-floor room and visiting hours would be over in an hour or so.
I thanked her for the information, hung up, and climbed a tree adjacent to the hospitol. From the tree to a fire escape, and, up to floor seven. A utility closet, of all things was in front of me. I slipped the window open, and slipped in. I cracked the door open, and looked across the room, to get an idea as to where I was in terms of room numbers. Quite a few off. I ducked back outside, and continued up the fire escape, to the roof.
Coming down the other side of the building and repeating the process led me to just a single room off. Such luck. I slipped open the window and jumped in. He was asleep, the television blaring. I looked at the chart briefly, it was terribly difficult for Western medicine to classify something as simple as Qi disruption.
"`Evening pretty lady." He spoke.
"Good Evening." I replied.
"It's the back that hurts worse. They sent in a fleet of Chiropractors. After the first one, I told the rest ta go ta hell."
"I personally have never had great sucess with their brand of medicine, however I know of many that enjoy their abilities." I replied. I walked over to him, and picked up his left foot, massaging it gently. One-hundred times I rubbed a certain Qi point in the base of his foot.
"Dat feels good." He said simply.
"I'll have you walking in no time."
"Dat'll feel even better. `Course I'll havfta fake it for awhile."
"Your logic?" I inquired.
"Well how am I gonna explain this miracle recovery?"
"Good point. When can you check out."
"`bouta week. They're goina send me a nurse, in home, for rehab. Been toyin' with taking a desk job or partial pension. Start up a security firm. Be a consultant. Nobody but the Lootenant would be sad ta se me go." I thought about this for a moment.
"Turn." I said.
He flopped to his left. I grabbed a foot, and bent it back, at the shoulder pressing a series of pressure points. He winced involentarily.
"Does that hurt?"
"Nope, if feels kinda good, actually."
"Kick for me."
"I can't. I haven't been able to sit up."
"You can now. Kick."
His leg spasamed and moved in a pseduo-kicking motion.
"Wow."
"Turn." He rotated, and I repeated the motion. I had him kick, and then he began to move the knee back and forth voluntarily.
"Not quite done yet. Turn around on your stomach." He turned. I began to gently massage his back and shoulders."
"Ummm." He said. I held his head in my hands.
"I'm afraid this will hurt a bit." I whispered softly into his ear, gently touching it with his lips. I could feel him shudder under my words, and I wondered just for a moment.
His muscluature rippled beneath me as I triggered points of pressure. I never realized under his cheap suits there was a body of rippling muscle. In order to manipulate those muscles, I had climbed upon the bed, and, at the moment, was straddling him.
I heard discussion outside of the hallway, and saw a shadow. I lept from the bed, and stood flat against the point where the door would close.
"Detective?" She called in tenativly as she entered.
"Mmm?" He said in a half-snore.
"Oh. Sorry. Good night." She turned and left.
"You ain't gone yet, are ya?" He asked softly.
"No. I would like for you to preform a cobra." I said.
"A whut?"
"Place your hands underneath your beastbone and press up, as far as your back can arch up."
"You've gotta be kidding." He said.
"Lie on your stomach." My tone was not kidding. I walked aside of the bed. "Put your hands under your breastbone, folded." He did. "Now use your hands and press up as if you were doing a push-up."
He mumbled something uninelligeble, and did as he was told. Surprisingly, he lifted up without pain.
"Wow." He said softly. He turned toward the right.
"Now turn right until you can see your feet." He looked toward the rear of the bed. "Now the left." There was a crunching sound. He winced, and set himself down.
"Do that thrice a day; preferably before you eat."
"Kinda like grace." He said smugly.
"Yup. Kinda like grace." My grammer was definatly deteriorating. We were sitting next to each other on the bed. I felt his body next to mine. My pulse was racing. Damn. So long ago, I had surpressed these feelings. No-one to trust.
"Didja get it worked out?"
"Worked...?"
"You were stressin out. That's how all this hell started. 'Member?"
"Yes. I communicated with someone whom I call friend."
There was a distinct silence.
"Good to have 'em." He said softly.
"Indeed. I have few." I replied. The tension was mounting in the room.
"Oh yeah, I heard from Harry, my paramedic friend. His kid, he's gonna be just fine. Apparently you scaret the bejesus outta him, too. He's being a good little boy, and in fact, his ma says that he wants to start ta go ta church."
I frowned slightly.
"Yeah, well I never been a church goer anyhow, but it's good that he's a trying to at least get out of the drug scene." He continued.
My eyes closed. I was weary. I stood, blocking what little light that came in. My hands were trembling, I wanted, oh, god did I want. I heard him inhale. His breath grew shallow, I could feel his pulse quicken.
"Cat." He said.
"Yes." I replied.
"Thank you." He said. He looked not unlike a puppy dog.
I walked round the outside of the bed, toward the window. I looked at his back, in the siloette. What the hell. You only live once.
My hand shot out, grabbed his shoulder, and snapped him prone on the bed. I bowed deeply, and kissed him, squarley on the lips.
"You're welcome." I said. I slipped through the window before he had a chance to respond.
Wow. And I do mean wow. I looked toward the ceiling, and caught the barest piece of siloette of her as she left my room. Now that's one helluva gal. Great, just great. I got this psychopath vigialantie who's got the hots for me, and I really have got no idea what in the heck ta do.
It was ten-thirty, according to my watch. I wasn't gong to see a wink of sleep, that's for sure, so I turned the idiot box on.
The news was on the local UPN station, and then a local editorial. It was the mayor and the police chief being raked across the coals for the actions of The Cat. When will this vigialante be caught, is she human, what photographs do you have, etc, etc.
Boring. As of this evening, I was officially pulled off of the task force that dealt with the manner of the cat. I talked with the Captain, we discussed a lot. I said that I was beginning to be freaked by her. Now I really was. A knock on the door.
"Yea?" I asked.
Harry walked in, in uniform.
"Just had a call in and thought I'd give you a check out." He smiled at me. I grinned back. I knew what kind of check out he ment.
"She came ta see me. Got me fixed up damn good." I swung over and stood up. His jaw dropped.
"Damn." He said.
"I can sorta kinda walk."
"I wonder what the rehab people are going to say." Harry stated.
"I'm gonna keep it onna QT. Maybe I'll even have her abduct me. Harry, I gotta tell you something."
"Yea?" Harry looked into the ex-detective's cool steel-blue eyes.
"She kissed me." I said. He looked dumbfounded.
Harry said nothing, and sat down beside me. He could feel my tension. I could see the shadow of his hand as he began to reach for me, and then, stopped short. I nodded up and down. His hands kneaded my shoulders, with the power and strength only another man could muster. My head lopped down.
"You're still stiff." He observed.
"She said I should do a cobra before every meal."
"Cobra? You mean the yoga excercise?"
"I guess. I dunno." He whispered into my ear.
"It's gonna be okay, big guy."
For some reason I felt like crying. The overwhelming surge of emotions, a rush, a passion, feelings. This was the part of self I hated. I despised it. It angered me, infuriated me, I feared it, and it ruled over me like an overlord.
I began to cry. Softly. I tried to be quiet, I was reminded of all of the times as a child I cried, I needed the attention at night, but they never came, my parents, they never came. But now, someone was here.
"Let it out." Harry said. I knew what would happen. Harry knew, whether he wanted for that to happen in the long-term or not, that's what would happen.
The tears flowed, and after a time lessened. Harry felt taller than me, like a foot or more, for some reason. He reached to my face and lifted a tear off of my face.
"I can remember the last time I saw your tears." Harry said, with compassion.
"So do I." I replied. A sly smile had come upon my face.
"The trip." I said simply.
That trip, that damnably wonderful trip which had screwed me up so fucking badly.
Harry's hand moved from the base of my chin, to the bottom of my eye where the last tear had formed.
Gently, he caressed it from my face, and stuck the entire finger into his mouth - gently, and then slid it free. I inhaled deeply. My lips pulled back from my teeth. I watched him swallow. Suddenly I realized I was tired, oh, so very tired. He seemed to immeadietly realize it. I began to crumple toward the back. He eased me back like a child being gently comforted. He then stood, and gently eased my legs upon the bed. Grabbing a chair, he sat it up against the bed, and folded his arms upon the back. He looked at my eyes, red, and puffy.
My left hand turned upward. The signal was distinct, and could not be misunderstood. His hand dipped down, and held mine. I saw him in the light of the sodium streetlamp purse his lips. Gently I lifed our clenched hands. He brought the bundle of sinewy flesh to his face, and kissed my hand, oh, so tenderly.
I felt, a thousand feelings. The fire, almost as great as the first time, yet, kindled with the wood of feeling, and, possibly something more.
When my hand touched his face, I could feel the pulse in his body. He, too, felt the fire. I sat up, in bed, turned my head, and kissed his hand, looking into his eyes as he looked into mine.
For an eternity we were locked into embrace.
It broke by a harsh chirping noise. Harry's eyes closed. His lips went grim. I heard a horrific shattering noise.
"Gee. My walkie-talkie dropped and hit the pavement a little too hard."
My eyebrows went up.
"And the noise will attract every nurse on the floor."
"I don't care, if you don't." He said.
"You're the married one. Mine didn't last this long."
"A marrage of pure convenience. I sleep in the motorhome."
"Why does this not surprise me." I replied.
The door opened.
"Detective?" The nurse called. In a swift motion, Harry pulled out his fire badge, and flashed it impressively. He turned to profile and addressed her.
"Official investigation. Please leave us alone." He said.
"Well it's past visiting hours. What was that noise?"
Harry pointed to the shattered communicator on the floor.
"An accident. These things happen." Harry stated.
"Are you with the unit downstairs? They were looking for someone."
I looked toward him.
"Can't win for losing." I said. He shook his head and stood up, his back to me. Sometimes you just gotta say what the hell. I goosed him, but good. Gotta say, he didn't react. The nurse closed the door. He turned toward me, his eyes flaring.
"I'll have to get you for that." He said.
I looked at him.
"What you gonna do?" I asked saucily.
He lept upon the bed, pinned my hands, and kissed me fiercly.
"That." He rolled off, picked up his hat, and walked out the door. I sighed. What, did I do to gain such affections? Hells bells, I am not an attractive man. A confused man, prehaps, but not an attractive one.
Two kisses, both genders. Oy vey, I was a very confused man. I reached into a backpack I had a friend bring me from the precint. I got out my daylog, and wrote three or four pages - thoughts, feelings. I was feeling good in many ways, not so good in others. I daydreamed, wrote, sketched. No one every saw this part of me, just like, until a few months ago, no-one ever thought of me as anything other than heterosexual.
I flipped back pages until I found the references to the camping
trip. I found teardrops on the pages, they had smeared the ink of
the felt-tipped pen.
...to be continued...