The Ears of a Cat

by Roderick Hart

  But when she fed him the usual story, instead of praising her public spirit, he immediately steered the current lack of a vaccine in another direction entirely.

  ‘So if I’d been infected, that would have been it. Curtains! Some people would call that exploitation. Third World Rafael, right?’

  ‘I can see why you might feel that way.’

  This weak acknowledgement was probably the most he could expect from Saito, a woman who, as far as he could see in her relations with other human beings, made her decisions by algorithm.

  ‘It’s no thanks to you I’m not in a jumpsuit and leg irons right now. Oh, and by the way…’

  He stood up, dropped his pants and boxers in one fluid move and displayed his penis in the full light of the window. It wasn’t a pretty sight; the bend which concerned him was evident to the eye. Twenty-five degrees or so, he thought. Saito winced and looked away. Well brought up, she was opposed to overt sexual display.

  ‘As you can see, it’s not straight any longer. Even in the flaccid state, that’s obvious. And the surgeon, you know what he says? He says that’s the way it’s going to stay.’ He glared at Ai, a picture of innocence in her box. ‘And it’s all down to her.’

  ‘This was a problem I failed to anticipate.’

  ‘Clearly.’ He pulled his pants up again, carefully, to avoid the risk of further damage through snagging. ‘So where are we at here?’

  Saito wasn’t sure, but to stop Pearson raping her she’d stabbed him.

  ‘You what!’

  ‘I had to.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Gina, he must be twice your size. How could you move a dead weight like that? What did you do with the body?’

  ‘There wasn’t a body. I stabbed him in the groin. He left in a hurry holding his parts together with one of my bathroom towels.’

  For Munoz, all this did was confirm him in his view that Saito would have been better off with him, a man with muscles to protect her from lowlifes like Pearson.

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘In hospital? I don’t know. But I can’t go home for a while.’

  When properly patched up, Pearson might return. And even though the incident had occurred in her own apartment and she’d been defending herself at the time, he might have had the gall to report her to the LAPD. There was no way of telling with a man like him.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  The evidence so far suggested that the opposition consisted of this one man, in which case she could hope to keep a step ahead. But as Munoz was quick to point out, she couldn’t crash with him since Pearson already knew where he lived. She’d have to rent a room for a day or two and see what transpired. That left her with a problem, though, and he saw it coming.

  ‘You’ll have to make it worth my while.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Feeding your fish.’

  51

  Ofelia Adefume slept in the doorway of Del Rio’s Convenience Store. Del Rio didn’t care for this at all because he used it to ferry groceries from delivery vans into the back room on his hand truck. But unlike some who’d adopted the spot, Ofelia wasn’t aggressive, didn’t use his doorway as a toilet and, as far as he could see, wasn’t a user. On the few occasions he had time to notice, her habit of smoking loose tobacco in a clay pipe amused him. Would she be safe overnight? Probably. Her vicious little mongrel scared people off.

  ‘T-Bone ain’t vicious.’ Ofelia was definite on this point.

  ‘That’s why he growls at me in my own store and nips my ankles.’

  ‘He’s going blind, Heitor, that’s all it is.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, with a hint of sarcasm, ‘that’s all right then. He can bite me if he likes.’

  But he’d reconciled himself to her presence and told her why in what was, at best, a backhanded compliment.

  ‘Better you than some I can think of.’

  While she was occupying the space, no one else could. Which was fine until the other woman turned up a few weeks later. What was going on here, who the hell was this now? Were his premises a shelter for the homeless? Not the last he’d heard.

  The latest arrival had noticed the doorway too and headed for it in hope. The cardboard told its own story, but she’d already been chased from several possible berths. Anyone else would have been desperate, but she regarded it as ticking off the options one by one. Even with her back to the wall she retained her innate sense of logic.

  She first realised that the blankets concealed a dog when it snarled and went for her outstretched hand. Ofelia emerged from the store with a bottle of water topped up from the tap and tried to reassure her. T-Bone wasn’t vicious, not when he got to know you.

  ‘Didn’t work for me,’ Heitor shouted from the back shop.

  ‘Ignore him,’ Ofelia whispered. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’

  ‘I heard that!’ Del Rio had some pair of ears on him. ‘Behave yourself or I’ll start charging rent!’

  The following morning, after a restless night, Ofelia noticed her new companion rummage through her canvas holdall and pull out a stylishly shaped fragrance bottle. When Saito showed it to her, Ofelia could just make out in very small letters the name Vera Wang. Taken together with Saito’s oriental appearance, Ofelia became suspicious.

  ‘Wang? You said your name was Mitsuko.’

  ‘It is.’ When it came to survival, lying came easily.

  A fastidious person at the best of times, Saito was becoming too conscious of her own body odour and hoped to mask it with perfume. But according to Ofelia, with her better handle on life on the streets, that wasn’t the way to go. No, she should leave her bedding in the doorway – Del Rio was okay with that – stuff her belongings into her holdall and tag along with her.

  And so Ofelia, in a blaze of colourful textile and tribal earrings, led her along the shady side of the road and three blocks later turned a corner. Then, with the grand gesture of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, she pointed it out.

  ‘What do we want with a truck?’

  ‘That,’ Ofelia said as if she owned it, ‘is our Community ReFresh Spot.’

  Saito looked doubtful so Ofelia reassured her. ‘No need to worry, honey, there are always attendants. And security, did I happen to mention that?’

  No, and she hadn’t mentioned her problem with T-Bone either, not welcome inside on hygiene grounds. She offered Saito the lead and against her better judgement she accepted it. T-Bone was getting on, grey hairs visible round the muzzle and a body which called to mind the contents of a burst sofa spilling out of their cover. Since Saito liked everything clearly defined, she didn’t care for this at all. Not a dog person, she didn’t take to T-Bone anyway.

  ‘Hold him for me till I get back out, then you go in, okay?’

  Saito waited a good ten minutes till Ofelia re-emerged looking considerably fresher. Her sweatshirt, still damp, would dry in the sun. ‘Your turn,’ she said, taking back T-Bone’s lead. ‘I’ll look after your kit. Cubicles ain’t so big.’

  But Saito didn’t want her to do that and Ofelia wondered why.

  ‘All I can say,’ Saito said, ‘I’m thinking of you. Really.’

  ‘You say? So what you got in there, baby. Dynamite?’

  Saito smiled bleakly. ‘Think something silent.’

  Ofelia had no idea what to make of this, or of her new friend’s caution, though she wasn’t entirely surprised: ladies of the street were always careful of their few belongings which, when you came right down to it, added up to their lives in a bag.

  ‘Right.’

  But Ofelia sounded more distant. She’d taken this woman under her wing, shown her the ropes, looked after her as best she could, yet as far as she could see, this counted for nothing.

  She watched as Saito climbed the metal steps and entered the ReFres
h Shop, where she was pleasantly surprised: everything clean and tidy, no bad smells. And she was able to wash herself and tidy up while keeping her holdall firmly between her legs. As far as she could tell, most of the patrons were black or Latino. Orientals like her were thin on the ground, which didn’t help: she stood out from the crowd more than she’d have liked. Too bad, there was little she could do to change her appearance. The way she saw it, she couldn’t stay on at Del Rio’s anyway. Time wasn’t on her side. She would have to act before Pearson tracked her down.

  52

  In the days after her meeting with those she called the boys, Molly Breitenbach decided that public health could not be left to them. Ventris was playing Saito along in the expectation that she would soon reveal her hand. Which she might, but as strategies went, it was limited.

  For a start, they had no idea where Saito had hidden her batch of variant H7N9. Moreover, the viruses Saito knew about were of the software variety; she was neither trained nor equipped to deal with the real thing, which meant there was always the danger of accidental release. The more she thought about it, the more Breitenbach was worried by a lazy assumption they were making, namely, that Ventris was the only person Saito had approached. If that was not the case, the virus might even now be undergoing manufacture in bulk – not a difficult thing to do – soon to be released in one or more centres of population. The result would be devastating. And the worst of it was, Saito had vanished from the grid: no one knew where she was.

  Sitting at her desk in Atlanta, she turned up her fan a notch. Breitenbach liked the sensation of wind on her face. She liked the sensation of a wind everywhere else as well, but though her body was well toned, nudity was a condition she couldn’t safely aspire to in the Centres for Disease Control and Prevention, whatever she might do in the privacy of her own home.

  She phoned Ventris, who confirmed her suspicion: he’d accepted the proposal Saito had put to him in the bar of the Omni Hotel. To give an impression that the deal was straight up, he’d included two conditions. The first was legal, David Rubin’s idea. If this was to be a joint venture, Saito’s name must appear on the paperwork. Then, when the whole thing went belly up, her signature would constitute a key part of the evidence against her.

  ‘And the second condition, Mr Ventris?’

  ‘A financial contribution, and we aren’t talking ten dollars here, Miss Breitenbach, be assured of that.’ There was a brief pause, Ventris audibly swallowing water or something stronger. ‘You might think this would sink the whole thing, but it won’t, not now she has access to the funds Pearson found out about.’

  ‘That reminds me, I’ve been trying to contact your associate, so far without success.’

  ‘Ah, yes, and thereby hangs a tale. He’s had an accident.’

  Ventris admitted that he didn’t know all the details, but even so, what she heard amazed her. It also left her with a decision – whether to refer the whole thing on or to continue her own involvement. She was reluctant to return to Los Angeles, but that was where the main actors were, Pearson and Saito, so that was where she needed to be, though this time with backup. She could raise her concern with the Office of Health Affairs, who would refer it to the Health Threats Resilience Division, who would then pass it on to the BioWatch Program. Or she could call her contact in Homeland Security direct.

  ‘Mathieson.’

  ‘Molly Breitenbach. We need to hook up.’

  ‘I’m a married man.’

  Breitenbach laughed. ‘Anyone can make a mistake.’

  He had commitments that day but met her off the plane the day after. As expected, he’d done his homework. Pearson was recovering in the Riverside Clinic, all costs met by Ventris Labs.

  ‘And so we head for sunny downtown Burbank.’

  Mathieson had been watching reruns of old comedy shows and continued in whimsical vein. Turning to Breitenbach as he drove, he couldn’t resist posing a question.

  ‘So, Molly, tell me, is the frog the farmer’s friend?’

  ‘Really, Leonard, I haven’t the faintest idea.’

  Arriving at the clinic, they walked up the steps of the impressive pillared entrance – there was money in healthcare for some – and approached the reception desk.

  ‘My colleague and I are here to visit with Adalbert Pearson.’

  ‘Is Mr Pearson expecting you?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  In that case, she would have to ring through to his room to seek the patient’s permission.

  ‘We here at Riverside take the privacy of our guests very seriously.’

  Mathieson produced his ID and held it under her nose.

  ‘And we at Homeland Security take public safety every bit as seriously. My colleague here,’ he added, ‘is Dr Molly Breitenbach, from the Epidemic Intelligence Centres out of Atlanta. We will meet with Mr Pearson now. This is not up for discussion.’

  Ms Cruz was shocked, not by Mathieson’s full-on manner but by his reference to an epidemic, bad news for a clinic which took its guests for every dollar they had, particularly those on their rehab programs. The clinic didn’t make as much as the dealers, its overheads were higher, but they did their best to come close.

  ‘I can’t leave my post, Mr Mathieson, but I’ll page the director to show you the way.’

  ‘No need for that; we know where he is.’

  When they entered his room, he was sitting in an armchair watching Dr Phil set the world to rights.

  ‘Why, Miss Breitenbach, so thoughtful of you to visit. Leave the grapes on the bedside table.’

  ‘No grapes, I’m afraid, not this time.’

  Mathieson didn’t like his sarcastic tone. ‘No chocolates either.’

  His visitors drew up chairs and sat down, uninvited, one on either side of the patient.

  ‘How did it happen?’

  Pearson turned from Mathieson to Breitenbach.

  ‘And who the hell is this guy?’

  Breitenbach told him but still he wasn’t satisfied.

  ‘Right, and why would Homeland Security want to know why some girl or other stabbed me in the balls? Doesn’t make sense.’

  Mathieson was reminded of the man in the song, who found he’d get no bread if all he could afford was one meat ball. Though doubtless he would at the Riverside Clinic: artisan bread, lovingly handcrafted from organic flour.

  ‘Leaving your balls to one side for the moment, Mr Pearson…’

  Surely the best place to leave them, Breitenbach thought.

  ‘…hear me out. You’ll feel the better for it.’

  Without asking, Mathieson muted the television. Pearson, control slipping from him in his own room, directed his gaze through the French windows to the manicured lawns of the clinic. That was where he wanted to be, lost among the magnolias and rhododendrons, invisible to people asking questions he didn’t want to answer.

  ‘As I understand it,’ Mathieson continued, ‘you were stabbed by a person of interest, a Japanese national, Gina Saito.’

  ‘You got this from Ventris, right? That’s too bad. I was hoping for a bit more discretion from that quarter.’

  Mathieson considered that Pearson, his considerable overheads silently picked by Ventris, was already getting more than he deserved “from that quarter”.

  ‘You entered her apartment under false pretences.’

  ‘He told you that too, I suppose.’

  ‘He didn’t have to. We have CCTV footage from the entrance hall and corridors.’

  This was bad news, suggesting a level of focus on his activities Pearson found alarming. He didn’t like Mathieson either. He was clearly older than he was but thin to the point of being scrawny. To make matters worse, he also had a fine head of hair, still brown, though with the appearance of its colour having faded in the wash.

  ‘My, you have been busy.’

&n
bsp; ‘You don’t know the half of it, Pearson. Dr Breitenbach has a question.’

  ‘She would.’

  ‘Molly?’

  ‘Mr Pearson, I assume you entered Saito’s apartment in the hope of locating the stolen virus and handing it over to public health.’

  In thrall to his sex drive at the time, this obvious move hadn’t occurred to him, a fact betrayed by his blank expression.

  ‘You didn’t look for it, did you?’

  Thinking fast, Pearson claimed that had been his intention, but Saito had attacked him before he had the chance.

  ‘So a quantity of a dangerous virus for which there is, as yet, no antidote, might have been there at the time.’ Pearson nodded. ‘Which Saito took with her when she left.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘Yet it didn’t occur to you to alert the relevant authorities to that fact?’

  Pearson turned to Mathieson. ‘That would be you, I suppose. Well, the thing of it is, we had the situation under control.’

  Mathieson took a long look at Pearson’s groin, covered by a monogrammed bathrobe though it was.

  ‘Which is why we find you here, attempting to recover your paternal prospects in the Riverside Clinic.’

  Pearson couldn’t think of a smart reply so kept his mouth shut.

  ‘We understand that you and Ventris have been monitoring Miss Saito for some time.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘And it could be that Saito has left the culture for safekeeping with a colleague or friend.’

  As far as Pearson knew, Saito had no friends, but she did have colleagues, one in particular.

  ‘Well, there’s always Rafael Munoz. He’s the only person I know to have accessed her apartment.’

  ‘He of the fractured penis.’

  ‘The same. He’s a total loser. She cons him into feeding her fish whenever she’s out of town. If anyone has what you’re looking for, it would be him.’

  It suddenly occurred to him that if this was a motion picture, the sample would be hidden in a small transparent flask among the gravel and swaying fronds of Saito’s aquarium. Hidden, as they say, in plain sight. The plug was pulled on this fantasy by another question.