Hellcats: Anthology

by Kate Pickford

  And that was how Frisky Blue figured out that she could shift into a majestic, incredible…calico house cat.

  Eight Years Later

  Villains never suspected a house cat, and everybody knew fur babies never tattled to detectives on the force.

  But twenty-three year old Frisky Blue wasn’t your average fur baby. She was a shifter.

  Though, since she could shift, Frisky Blue intended to make helping the cops her career, to follow in the footsteps of her medium mother before her untimely and unsolved death.

  The problem had been getting any of the local police force to take her seriously.

  During her nightly prowl, just before dawn, Frisky had stumbled across two thugs in the alley behind an abandoned house. One of the men had a long, deep scar on his face. They were discussing what to do with “the woman...”

  Frisky couldn’t see any woman around.

  She’d loped by, but the conversation piqued her curiosity and she slowed to a crawl. She needed to know more. Mrs. Martinez, her neighbor’s aunt, had been missing for two weeks, her picture papered the whole neighborhood, and the police had no good leads.

  These thugs had their woman in a warehouse.

  They had ideas about what they wanted to do with her.

  Vile ideas.

  Repulsive ideas.

  Ideas that would make a cat’s hair stand on end.

  In minutes, the two of them worked themselves into a frenzy of violent imaginings and finally decided to head back to the warehouse to check on their captive.

  Frisky snuck into the back of their truck and hid beneath the metal toolbox. By the time they reached their destination, the sun had cracked the edge of the horizon and the birds were twittering like feathered maniacs.

  She waited until the clomp of their boots was a fair distance away then followed them toward a seemingly empty warehouse. The scent of pipe smoke lingered in the morning breeze which meant they were to the west of New Haven City. The birds, wheeling overhead in the idyllic blue sky, contrasted the ugly that Frisky suspected lurked inside the building.

  She leapt on top of a rotting storage crate and peered through a small window. She couldn’t see anything through the dirty glass, so she jumped down and padded toward the heavy metal door, a hundred yards toward the corner. Carefully, she avoided the tufts of grass and the weedy stickers growing up through the cracks in the asphalt. When she reached the door, she pressed her tufted ear to the corrugated metal beside the doorframe.

  A woman whimpered, close on the other side. “Please, sir, don’t hurt me. You can let me go. I won’t tell what I saw.”

  The hair on Frisky’s back stood on end for the second time that hour, and she stifled a growl. It was worse than she feared. Could the woman inside be Mrs. Martinez? What had she seen? Had that been why they’d kidnapped her?

  “Shut up,” a man bellowed. “If you know what’s good for you.”

  The woman sniffed. “I won’t tell anyone what I saw. Just let me go. Please.”

  Heavy footsteps crossed to the other side of the wall and a guttural curse followed. Frisky snarled at the unmistakable sound of knuckles against flesh. The begging stopped almost immediately. Whoever was inside had to be set free.

  More footsteps echoed in the cavernous building. Frisky cocked her head to the side. The kidnapper had a limp in his gait. A bad knee, perhaps? She hadn’t noticed it in the alley.

  The metal door swung open, and the hinges creaked as the giant of a man stepped out. He carried a tattered straw hat, the brim crunched in his hand. With a grunt, he tucked it under his arm. He placed a latch over the door and hooked a lock in place. He tucked the key in his jeans pocket and then mashed the hat down on his head, so low it nearly hid his eyes.

  Play it cool.

  Frisky licked her paw and then rubbed her ear, careful to keep from dislodging the vial on her collar. She waited for the other goon to show his face, but he didn’t. The jangle of the collar brought the one sour-faced man up short, and he glanced over his shoulder.

  He turned toward her. A deep scar marred the right side of his face. She could have picked him out of a lineup anywhere.

  His expression softened. “You are far from home, cat. It is not safe here for you,” he said in heavily-accented English. He crouched down and extended his hand.

  Frisky meowed and darted toward him. She peered around him. The woman inside the building hadn’t made any more noise, and it troubled Frisky.

  Moreover, where had the other one gotten off to? There was still no sign of him. She had to be extra careful.

  She couldn’t feasibly free the key from the pocket it rested in, but perhaps she could come up with another way to help the captive. Maybe the man would let her in when he went back in. Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to purr for the creep of a man. She leaned into his ear scratches, trying to hold on to her simulated cool, no matter how she seethed inside.

  What kind of man—what kind of human—did this to another human?

  She wanted to tear his eyes out with her claws, but she refrained. Her stomach heaved. She wanted to get out of there as fast as she could. Yet she had to get the woman out first. Whoever the stranger was.

  The thug straightened. “You’re something else. I’ve never seen a cat with tufted ears like those. I’m off to take a lunch break. If you’re here when I come back later, I’ll bring something for you.”

  Frisky meowed and batted at the stranger’s pant leg, and he bent down to scratch her ears once more. For the thousandth time in her life, she wished she could take the law into her own hands.

  Objectivity wasn’t her strong suit. Though, following the rules wasn’t either. She had to do something.

  If she’d been able to shift into a larger beastie, a tiger or a lion, she’d rip out the guy’s throat, rescue the woman inside, and be on her merry way. By necessity, a house cat didn’t pull off such things.

  The kidnapper stood once more and studied the locked door. The longer he looked, the more his expression hardened. Then he moved toward the parking lot, climbed into the rusted-out junker truck waiting nearby, and drove away.

  Frisky glared after the vehicle for long moments before she jumped to her feet and started around the warehouse, hunting for a way inside. She didn’t shift back to her human self. How could she? She didn’t know where the other fool man was, and she wasn’t about to wander into him unawares.

  She’d have to tell the cops where to come, so she took note of the number on the side of the warehouse.

  257.

  Then she sniffed at each break in the metal wall, but none were wide enough for anything bigger than a mouse. Still, she kept on. While the first window she’d come to had been completely intact, the matching window on the other side of the structure had two panes broken out.

  It was the sort of opening she had been searching for. However, no rotting shipping crate rested beside it. Frisky peered up at the window. Getting back out as a cat wouldn’t be easy. If she was going to make it inside, she had to leap to the opening. For most felines, it wouldn’t be any trouble at all. But Frisky wasn’t a proper feline. Past jumping practice had ended with with mixed results.

  She settled back on her haunches, shifting her weight back and forth. Three breaths, and she leapt into the air, sailing toward the broken pane of glass. She caught the edge of the window frame with her claws, scrambling and scratching, but she didn’t have enough momentum, and she slid down.

  It had been close, so she settled back onto her haunches and tried again. This time, she caught the window frame with her rear claws, and she tipped forward and slipped inside through the narrow opening. A putrid smell hit her nose, and she stopped short, trying to sort out what all she scented. Urine, feces, and…death. She shuddered.

  Surely, the man hadn’t killed the woman already.

  Frisky circled the interior of the building once, pausing at each entrance and exit. She noted a pile of lady’s clothes in a far corner of the bui
lding. She’d need those if she felt safe enough to shift back into her human self, but where had they come from?

  Though she couldn’t locate the other bad guy, Frisky jogged toward the center of the warehouse, stopping short when she came within sight of the woman. She’d been left bound and completely naked. A toolbox rested on the ground beside her.

  Frisky’s heart twisted, and she wanted to cough up a hairball. The woman had been tied to a folding chair near the exit. Her head lolled to the side, and moisture glistened on her cheeks. Frisky couldn’t tell if the wet was from sweat or tears, but the stranger sagged with defeat.

  How long had the woman been there? It turned her stomach. Surely, this was Mrs. Martinez. Was she still alive?

  Frisky stopped in front of the woman, peering up into the captive’s face. Bruises marred the smooth skin. Her bottom lip split in the middle, and abrasions covered her body. She hadn’t just been tied up. They had beaten her up. Repeatedly.

  Carefully, gingerly, Frisky balanced on her rear legs and placed one paw on the woman’s knee. “Meow.”

  The woman lifted her face, her eyes flashing. “What do you w—?” Her voice died away the moment she saw the feline in front of her. Her eyes flooded with tears.

  Carefully, Frisky continued pawing the woman’s knee, trying to offer whatever comfort she could. “Meow.”

  The woman sniffed but did not lift her head again.

  Frisky couldn’t wait any longer. She’d have to carry the weakened woman out of there. She couldn’t do that as a calico house cat.

  Frisky removed her paw, a gentle pass of her body against the woman’s calf prompted a nearly silent sob. Frisky moved back and took a seat on the ground. Then she intentionally situated her rear paw to knock the vial from her collar.

  After one good scratch, the vial shot away from her collar. The scent of catnip filled the air and tickled her nostrils. Frisky wiggled her nose.

  A quick breath in, and…

  Achoo!

  The tingly magic crept over her, rolling up through the soles of her feet, along her spine, and then over her head. Her multi-colored fur disappeared, quickly replaced by human skin.

  Frisky formed in front of the captured woman, completely naked.

  The captive woman stared at her through swollen eyes. “Am I dreaming?”

  Frisky crouched down. “No. Not a dream. I’m going to get you out of here. Are you Mrs. Martinez?”

  Before the woman could answer, her eyes flicked to the side, and her sharp intake of breath brought Frisky to her feet.

  “Look out!” she yelled, blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth.

  Frisky spun around. The other kidnapper gasped.

  Short and squat, his face pinched with fury. He breathed through the gap in his teeth. “What are you?” he bellowed, already sounding winded.

  “Your worst nightmare,” Frisky spat. She kicked the toolbox across the ground and darted after it.

  The kidnapper roared and charged toward her.

  Frisky knocked the lid off the toolbox and grabbed the hammer. She rounded on the out-of-shape man, swinging the hammer, teeth-first, from side to side.

  He raised his arm, but the hammer claw lodged in his forearm. He cried out. Curses poured from his mouth.

  Using her feline reflexes and the tool handle, Frisky yanked him toward her. Then she brought her knee up between his legs.

  The rotund man stopped breathing, froze in place, and fell to the side, clutching his privates. With a twist of her wrist, she yanked the hammer claw from his fat forearm. She leaned over him and lowered the hammer until it grazed his nose.

  His eyes widened, and he whimpered.

  Frisky rolled her shoulders, biting back a hiss. “Don’t move, or I’ll bash your head in. Are we clear?”

  He nodded then he went limp, apparently fainting from the shock of the last few moments.

  Frisky raised an eyebrow. Cat’s luck might be in her corner after all. She turned to the woman. “Are you Mrs. Martinez?”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Frisky plucked the catnip vial from the ground beside her. “Are you Mrs. Martinez?”

  The woman blinked and then nodded emphatically, as much as she could while restrained. “What are you? Who sent you?”

  “I’m a shifter—person to housecat—I can go back the other way, too.”

  Mrs. Martinez bit her bottom lip. “You said you’re here to save me?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “What if the other one comes back?” she whispered.

  Frisky winked. “Then I’ll bash his head in, too.”

  Mrs. Martinez’s shoulders shook and tears poured from her eyes. “I prayed. How I prayed.”

  Frisky nodded, unsure how to answer. But the sound of tires on gravel and the hum of an engine sent Frisky darting toward the unbroken window. The scar-happy thug had come back.

  Scar-face climbed from the car and immediately started calling, “Here, kitty, kitty,” in his heavily-accented English. His head swiveled on his neck, first one way and then the other. The voice moved one way and then the other. “Here, puss, puss, puss.”

  Frisky smirked. His search was buying them some time.

  “Is he here? Is the other one here?” Mrs. Martinez whisper-wailed, her eyes pinched shut as though to hide from the horror. “You can’t stay here. He’ll kill you. Or, worse, he’ll capture you. He’ll…he’ll…”

  Frisky spun around and raised the hammer. “Sssshhh. Don’t let him know I’m here. I’ll go get help.”

  Mrs. Martinez nodded. “Yes, yes, get help.”

  Frisky put her finger to her puckered lips. “Don’t tell him I’m here.” She didn’t know what they’d do about the fat man on the floor, but first things first.

  Frisky searched his pockets for his cellphone. Then she grabbed the pudgy ankle and dragged him behind a large crate and out of view.

  He groaned, but didn’t wake.

  “No, no, mustn’t,” Mrs. Martinez muttered, but Frisky wasn’t sure how lucid Mrs. Martinez remained after being trapped for weeks.

  The latch on the door squeaked and the handle came down. Frisky darted toward the pile of discarded clothes she found in the back. She scooped them up and dove behind a row of blue, food-grade barrels as the door opened and the thug stepped inside.

  “I have lunch,” he called. “Are you hungry?”

  Frisky settled an oversized t-shirt around her and then a button-down shirt. The t-shirt had a small circular hole in the chest, and Frisky ignored the implications of the bloodstains around it. Several other stains announced a less-than-perfect life. She stepped into the shorts that went with it and then peeked around the barrels.

  The thug wandered in. He grabbed Mrs. Martinez’ hair and yanked her head back. He made her meet his gaze. “No one is coming for you. Do you understand that?”

  She sobbed, but she said nothing.

  He let her go and glanced around. “Fred? Where ya at?”

  Frisky danced in place to keep from running out. She couldn’t get out of the warehouse the same way she came in, unless she shifted. She took a step backward and bumped into a shelf, knocking empty bottles to the ground.

  “Fred, what was that?” Scarface belted out. “Did you hear something?”

  Frisky grimaced. She had to get to the door.

  She had to call the cops.

  But, as a cat, she couldn’t push the door open.

  As a human, she couldn’t get through the window.

  As a cat, she couldn’t make a phone call.

  As a human, she could.

  Frisky grimaced. She had to make a choice. If she were a cat, maybe the thug wouldn’t try to kill her, but if he found the other guy, he’d kill Mrs. Martinez for sure.

  She rubbed her hands together and shook her head. Hammer time. Still clutching her catnip vial, she jumped out. She ran past Mrs. Martinez and scooped the hammer from the ground.

  Mrs. Martinez scream
ed. “He’s behind you!”

  In one move, Frisky lifted the tool, spun around, and slammed the side of it against Scarface’s temple.

  A sickening crack followed.

  He went down. Out. Cold. Blood trickled from a line of broken skin on the opposite side of his face. He snorted and wheezed a shallow breath.

  Mrs. Martinez whimpered. “Is he dead?”

  Frisky shook her head. Her chest heaved, and her body pulsed with adrenaline.

  “Are you sure?”

  “He’s breathing,” Frisky panted. How much of that had been her feline reflexes? How much of that had been her?

  Maybe being a house cat wasn’t so bad.

  She turned to Mrs. Martinez and peeled her overshirt off, placing it over the shivering Mrs. Martinez. “I’m going to call for help.”

  Mrs. Martinez bit her bottom lip, but she nodded. Tears coursed down her cheeks.

  Frisky tossed the hammer aside once more. She dialed 9-1-1 and then lifted the cellphone to her ear.

  The dispatcher answered almost immediately. “9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

  Frisky met Mrs. Martinez’s gaze. “I’d like to report a kidnapping…”

  Frisky hadn’t waited for the police in the warehouse, but now she waited in the seating area near the entrance of the police station. Her grandmother dozed beside her, holding the newspaper’s puzzle page. Grandmother had come along for moral support as Frisky tried once more to convince the police department she had another tip worth researching.

  A dark-haired, middle-aged man approached, and Frisky sighed. At least it wasn’t the same one as two weeks ago, the one who patted her on the head and sent her on her way.

  The new guy considered them both.

  Frisky offered a hesitant grin. She had been able to take the time to get cleaned up before coming to the station which helped her not look like the nutjob he probably suspected she was.

  She winced when the detective didn’t smile back. She couldn’t tell what the older man was thinking or how he felt about what he saw today. She couldn’t make out what his expression might mean. “Hello, detective,” she murmured.