Bitten

by K. L. Nappier

  As they approached the station, the officer working on the crossword puzzle laid the newspaper down and stood. While Gershom introduced himself and Doris, and stated their business, the man consulted a clipboard.

  "Yes, sir. Yes, ma'am. You're scheduled to meet with ... Takei, Murato and Sata. One moment." He turned and walked out of the square U's center. "I'm Officer Cutler. This way, please."

  His was the well-honed courtesy of a professional lawman as he led them off toward Doris's left, saying, "We aren't really set up for juveniles accused of felonies. Most of our kids are runaways and five-and-dime thieves. So we've cleared the south wing of all inmates except your nine."

  He opened the door to the wing, did a cursory look, then stood back so Doris and Gershom could enter first. The south hall was as institutional as the reception area, plain whitewash and practical floor tile. Fifty doorways, twenty-five to each side, lined the aisle that ended in a window, its glass protected by gray metal grating. The same grating made up the doors to what once had been dormitory rooms but were now juvenile jail cells. Just because a young offender was in a minimum security facility didn't mean he had privacy. The only wooden door left in this hall was the entry's.

  Gershom and Doris waited for Cutler to close it and lead them onward. "The boys are separated by two or three cells from each other," he said. "We found it keeps them more orderly and quiet."

  Midway down the hall, on the right, Andrew Takei sat on a twin-sized bed, already looking up, having heard them as they had made their way down the hall. A worn book lay open, face down beside him. Without the blue jeans and turned up shirt collar of a street tough, he looked younger than his sixteen years, especially with his hair cut. He was shorn like an Army boot camper, very nearly bald. Scandalous duck tails Brill Creamed into place weren't tolerated here. Without the hoodlum hair, he looked as innocent as any kid ... except for the drab jumpsuit of a juvenile offender.

  Before he unlocked Andrew's cell door, Cutler said, "When you're done and ready to see the next boy, just call out. I'll only be a few paces away." Then he turned to Andrew. "You know how this works, son. I want you to stand up, go to the far corner and stay there."

  Andrew's expression hardened the way it had the last time Doris saw him behind bars: at the Tulenar jail, where he had landed after being caught scrawling graffiti. He had been I.D.'d as one of the kids lobbing rocks at an internee warehouse worker earlier.

  He stood and did as he was told, grumbling, "I'm not your son."

  At least his injured arm looked better. She remembered how much worse it had seemed as he had sat in the back of the Army truck, his good arm cuffed by the wrist to the bench. The bandage had been enormous and she had seen blood seeping through the gauze

  But the scene around the truck had been all turmoil. Soldiers chucking Nisei youths into the rear, parents running fast as they could, trying to catch up, pleading, screaming, a band of soldiers forming a cordon to keep them back, even trying to keep Doris back. But she had still been Center Administrator then and cowed them with her title and sheer will. With all that had been happening, maybe she'd made out the bandage and the wound to be worse than they were.

  As she and Gershom entered the cell, she said, "Hello, Andrew. It's good to see you again." She nodded toward his injury. "Is your arm better?"

  Andrew dropped his gaze to the bandages above and below his elbow. The inches-thick wad he had worn a couple of weeks ago was now reduced to two single strips of gauze keeping a couple of pads in place. His answer to her question was a sullen shrug and Doris thought, I've got to have Gershom find out which one of those G.I.s got overzealous in his duty.

  Cutler locked the metal grate door behind them and Gershom, looking at Andrew, nodded toward the bed. "Go ahead and sit over there, again, son. Mrs. Tebbe and I need your table and chair."

  "I'm not your son, either," Andrew replied, but shuffled back and sat.

  Gershom ignored that, gave Doris the chair and dropped his briefcase onto the little table. He said, "I'm Mr. Gershom, Andrew. And, of course, you already know Mrs. Tebbe."

  "Where's my ma? You can't talk to me without my ma."

  Doris was ready for the question. At their very first meeting, in the attorney's wainscoted sanctuary, she and Gershom had discussed what to do when it came up. From his brief case, Gershom fished a note handwritten by Andrew's mother and passed it to the boy.

  Doris told him, "The court's ruled that Executive Order 9066 trumps standard juvenile justice law. I'm sorry, Andrew, but your mother won't be permitted to leave Tulenar. That's one of the reasons I'm here. She and the other parents have requested that I act as their proxy. They trust me, Andrew. I hope you will, too."

  The fact was left unsaid that selecting Doris had more to do with slim options than any real trust. Just as the state of Hana Takei's health was left unsaid. Andrew had plenty to worry about without hearing that his mother was flat on her back in the Tulenar infirmary.

  As Doris spoke, Andrew fixed on his mother's note telling him that she loved him and that she wanted him to behave and listen to Doris and the lawyers. His face began twitching. His voice quavered when he asked, still looking at the note, "So she's not coming? She's not coming to see me?"

  Doris swallowed hard. "She can't , Andrew. As much as she wants to, she can't. But she told me that she's going to write every day. And I promise I'll bring every single letter."

  The boy's face flushed, and then crumpled with a sob before Andrew could stop himself. Gershom pulled a handkerchief from his inner coat pocket and stepped toward him, but Andrew blocked the gesture and pressed the heel of his free hand into each eye. All Doris could do was hold vigil, awkward and wrenching, until the boy gained control.

  After a moment, Gershom cleared his throat and asked, "Do you remember Mr. Yamato, who was representing you in Tulenar on the vandalism charges?"

  Andrew, head down, nodded.

  "On his advice, your mother has asked my firm to represent you. In fact, all nine of you will be represented by the attorneys of our offices."

  Andrew shrugged, listless, still looking at his mother's note.

  Doris's stomach twisted with guilt and self-loathing. Here, here was the handiwork of her best intentions. Here were the consequences of the decisions she'd made; of how her actions during four nightmarish months had come to jeopardize the lives of nine teenaged boys.She stood, walked over to Andrew and sat with him. He still didn't look up, but didn't object or move away.

  "Andrew," she said, her voice a near whisper, " I know you didn't do this. I know it. Whatever it takes, I swear to God, I'm getting you out of this. I swear it on my life and on yours. And your mother's."

  She laid her arm over his shoulders and, ever so slightly, Andrew leaned into her touch.

  * * *

  She tossed her purse on the telephone table to the right of the apartment door, thought about a beer, then thought about something stronger and went for the fifth of gin over the kitchen sink. A squeeze of lime, a jigger of tonic to balance the gin ... screw it ... another shot of gin. She walked back into the living room, grabbed the mail and the letter opener, then slumped onto the couch.

  It went well, Gershom had said on the way back. He said Doris was invaluable, that she was made for this type of work. She should consider becoming a professional consultant now that her position with the WRA was "completed."

  She smiled to herself, thinking of his euphemism, and took a good, long drink. She took another to dampen the sting of his referring to her as invaluable. Her . The one who'd set all this in motion, thanks to indecision and bad decisions. Trying to have it both ways: to save Maxwell Pierce's hide -not just from the Beast, but from being charged with the monster's slaughters- while trying to deflect the WRA's growing suspicion toward the Inu Hunters. Now that the ruin of her best manipulations, delays and fast talk was before her, the folly of favoring one man over nine boys was tortuously clear. She should have taken Max up on his offer to turn himself in.
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  And where the hell was he, anyway, he and Alma Curar? She picked up the first of the envelopes and slit it with the glossy, plated blade of the opener; a quick, irritable motion.

  The last she had seen of them, David was loading the semi-conscious Max into his truck and getting ready to flee the state. Just before the Beast's final emergence through Max, they had all agreed that would be the right move; that he should remain "missing, presumed dead." There was no point in him taking the fall. No more Beast, no more killing. Doris had been so damn sure she could stall the WRA long enough for another First Night to pass, long enough for everyone to notice that the killing had stopped. Clearer heads would prevail and suspicion would bypass the Inu Hunters.

  But the Beast's last victim had been a five-year-old girl. The daughter of the very man spear-heading the drive to keep the Inu Hunters' petty crimes within the jurisdiction of Tulenar's internee police. All the sympathy and support among the internees evaporated, and the WRA suddenly had hundreds of unlikely allies, happy to see the boys go.

  Doris drained her glass. Max and David should have called by now. They needed to know the boys had been arrested, that their best intentions had paved the Inu Hunters' personal road to Hell.

  She thought for a moment, maybe they do know. Maybe that's why I haven't heard from them . No. She knew better than that. After everything they had been through together, she knew them better than that. Something was wrong. Otherwise, she would have heard from them by now. It had been two weeks.

  Or maybe they had been trying to contact her. Not only didn't they know about the arrests, they didn't know about her ouster as Tulenar's Center Administrator. They didn't know she had been loaded up the morning after the arrests and carted off to the Red Shore Inn, or that she had moved from there into this quadriplex of apartments in Roseville.

  Doris wondered if there was a stack of messages from David or Max piling up at her old office. Would Harriet Haku notify her of those calls? She was Leonard Shackley's secretary now, after all, not Doris's.

  For that matter, why would the woman extend any courtesy to Doris? By now Harriet and her husband, Jesse, must know that Doris had been retained by Gershom's firm. How could they not hate her for siding with those accused of brutally killing their only child, their bright, darling little girl? What could Doris say in her own defense? But, Harriet, it wasn't those boys. It was a werewolf.

  She tossed the mail and the letter opener on the couch and fiddled with her empty glass as she looked over at the phone. She had to make the call, no matter how she dreaded talking to Harriet. She had to know if Max and David were all right. She set the glass on the coffee table, took a deep breath, then walked over and lifted the receiver.

  "Leonard Shackley's Office. Whom may I say is calling?"

  "Hello, Harriet. It's Doris Tebbe."

  A slight hesitation before Harriet replied with icy formality, "Yes, Mrs. Tebbe, how may I help you?"

  Doris swallowed. "My phone was hooked up late yesterday and I wanted to leave my number ... Harriet, how are you? And your husband?"

  Another hesitation. Doris could feel the frost thicken through the telephone. "I'll take that number now."

  So she was right, Harriet had heard. But she knew Harriet wouldn't give one inch to her anger and grief while sitting at her desk, exposed to the hustle and bustle of the stark, open space of Tulenar's Administration Building. She'd sooner grind glass between her teeth.

  Doris felt shamed, in spite of herself. In spite of the fact that those foolish, hot-headed boys had not killed Harriet and Jesse's little girl. But Harriet didn't know that. Jesse didn't know that. And neither of them would believe in werewolves any more than Doris had, four months ago.

  "Harriet ... you and I never got to talk, after ... I never got the chance to express my condolences, and I'm sorry for that. Everything happened so fast--"

  " Don't. "

  "Don't," Doris repeated, wondering if she sounded as miserable as she felt. "Of course. I understand." She took a deep breath.

  Again, Harriet said, barely in control, "I'm ready to take that number."

  "It's, uh ... Woodruff 7-5559."

  For a moment, all Doris could hear was the background clacking and rustle of the administration building. Then, Harriet said, "All right, I have it."

  "But, don't give it out," Doris said quickly, thinking of the press, already descending on Gershom's offices. The last thing she wanted was them tracking her down. "Maybe you could call, if any messages come in ...?"

  Harriet didn't reply.

  "Or I can check in, from time to time," Doris said fast, backpedaling. "Just for the next couple of weeks. Um ... have any calls come in for me since I left?"

  "No."

  "Oh. Good. Then ... I'll just ... Harriet ... please, listen. Those boys didn't do it. It wasn't so long ago that your husband fought hard for them, remember? I'm telling you, they didn't do it--"

  It was a moment before Doris realized she was talking to a dead connection.

  * * *

  The center of Doris's quadriplex formed a courtyard the landlord had landscaped nicely and set up with a couple of wrought iron tables and chairs. In the evenings the tenants often left their front doors open and used their screened ones, so the light from inside the apartments added a glow to the twilight's own. Doris's pre-dinner routine was to sit at one of those tables with either a glass of wine or a gin and tonic. It all depended on the kind of day she'd had at the juvenile center.

  It wasn't until the moon had moved into its third quarter that she realized she had fallen into the habit of looking for it as she walked to the lawn tables. Tonight, when it rose, it would be a full moon. First Night. This was the night that should have heralded the exoneration of the Inu Hunters. This would be a gin night.

  Around 7:00 or so, just as Doris was pulling the fifth from the kitchen shelf, the phone rang in the living room.

  "Hello ..."

  At first, no one replied. Then came Harriet's voice, terse and all business. "Mrs. Tebbe?"

  "Harriet? Hello! You're working late tonight -"

  "A call came in for you."

  "Oh ... give me just a moment ..." Doris sat on the telephone desk's little chair and pulled a pad and pencil from the drawer. "All right, I'm ready."

  "He only gave a first name. David."

  Doris's heart leapt. "David? Harriet, please tell me he left a number."

  "Largo 6-2636. He said to ask for Room 5."

  Doris wrote quickly. "Thank God. Thank God. When did this come in?"

  "One or two days ago."

  "What? Why didn't --" Never mind , she told herself and choked back the rest, but Harriet had already begun to bristle.

  "Because I work for Leonard Shackley now, not you. My days are already filled, it came the day after your last check-in, and you didn't express any urgency in regard to receiving messages. I'm doing you a favor as it is."

  "Yes. You're right. I'm sorry. Thank you, Harriet."

  The line went quiet a moment, then: "He did seem ... anxious to talk with you. If this was an important call, my apologies."

  "That's all right, Harriet. I understand."

  Another quiet moment, but Harriet remained on the line. "Mrs. Tebbe ... if the call is related to the boys' defense .. again, I apologize." Her voice began to tremble. "I only want the right person punished ..."

  "I know you do, Harriet ... Harriet? Hello ...?"

  Doris sighed and set the receiver on the cradle. Then she looked at the number she had jotted down, picked the phone back up and dialed. The operator came on the line and told her the call wasn't local. It was an Arizona exchange. Did she still want to make the call? She said yes and the number rang through.

  A bored voice answered, "Painted Sands Inn."

  "Room 5, please."

  "Closing up."

  "Excuse me?"

  Impatiently, the voice replied, "Office hours are seven to seven. Closing up."

  "How the hell long c
an it take to ring me through to Room 5?"

  "This ain't the Ritz, lady. Rooms don't have phones."

  "Okay, look, sorry, but this is an emergency."

  The man's demeanor changed, if only a little. "You that Indian woman that was taking care of his friend?"

  Doris knew the answer to that one. "Yes. I really need to speak to David. Please, it won't take long."

  "Well ... sure. Hang on ..."

  In a few minutes, David's voice came over the line. "Mina? What is it?"

  "David, it's Doris."

  "Doris! I can't believe you've called."

  "David, damn it, where have you been! Where are you? What's going on? Is something wrong with Max?"

  "Later, right now, listen to me. You've got to alert Tulenar. There's a boy there, Andrew Takei. Max says you know him. Doris, this boy's been bitten. He became the Beast's Chosen when it failed with you."

  Waves of hot and cold rushed through her. Her legs nearly buckled. She leaned against the wall. "What? What did you say ..?"

  "We're on our way, we're getting there as fast as we can, but ... Doris, I've been trying to get a hold of you for days and now moonrise isn't more than an hour away. Call the camp. If Tulenar's alerted, if the alarm's sounded, maybe the Beast won't get its chance, maybe with enough commotion, we can force it to starve for this First Night. Call the man that took over your job, do what you can."

  "He's in jail."

  "What? Shackley?"

  "No, Andrew Takei. The Inu Hunters were arrested two weeks ago and sent to Butte County Detention."

  "Prison? He's locked in a prison ?" David said something, then, that Doris couldn't understand, probably Navajo. Probably the equivalent of God help us. Then he said, "Can you call there?"

  Doris gave herself a mental shake. "Yes. Yes! They'll have guards on night shift. I'll call and then get over there."

  "No! There's no point, it's too late. You can't stop it. The best you can do is to call, tell them to evacuate, give them any excuse, but get them to clear the place."