What God and Cats Know

by Sheryl Nantus

  My pulse began to sound in my ears, my running shoes hitting the pavement in a perfect rhythm. The scent was strong in my nostrils and I was on a Hunt, slipping back into old routines as if I had just been on the Farm yesterday tracking my first hare. The slap-slap of my leather jacket on my shoulders rang true as I dodged around a car door, carelessly flung open by a woman who hadn’t checked her rear-view mirror.

  The young man ducked down an alleyway, picking up speed then losing it again as he leapt over scattered boxes and debris. His steps were becoming slower and laboured with his staggered wheezing flying back to my ears. He hadn’t trained for a chase and certainly not for being the hunted, not the hunter.

  The alley wasn’t too far from where he had killed Janey, a few streets over. It stank of urine and faeces—and not just the animal type. The cardboard boxes were soaked and disintegrating into sodden masses, threatening to catch my toes and send me flying. Still, I was gaining on the kit.

  The dark-haired kid slammed into a wire mesh fence, squashing his face against the metal diamonds so hard I wondered if he had knocked himself out. It sure would help. Instead, he spun around and roared, Changing so fast I nearly impaled myself on his claws.

  He had the light stripe down one side of his face, identical to Frank’s, but he wasn’t an old man on the downside of life. He was young, eager and untrained, and had already tasted blood.

  Facing him, a little breathless but not as much as she thought, was a crippled Felis who couldn’t Change. A woman with twenty, maybe thirty years on him—most of which had been spent without the ability to Change and using only the most rudimentary of her skills.

  I knew who I’d put my money on, and it wasn’t the old broad.

  Ripping off the jacket, he snarled at me, revealing a set of gouges on his forearms from our previous meeting. His face contorted and finished Changing as he yelled again, fangs now fully visible.

  “Look...” Putting out my hand I tried to look and sound as comforting as I could—Ruth trying to console an upset kit. In my mind’s eye I flashed back to her trying to tell me my parents had died and that I was on my own but not really alone. There was always Family.

  “Look, I’m like you. You know that.” I spread my hands out, palms exposed. “I know we got off on the wrong foot before, but we’ve got this in common. Let me take you to someone who can help you learn about what you are, who you are. I can do that.” Drawing a deep breath I forced a smile. “You’re not alone. You don’t have to be.”

  The kid glared with an insolent shake of his head. “I know who I am.” One furred hand pointed at me. “And you’re just in the way.” He glanced down at the exposed claws, twisting them to catch the dim light in the alley. “I love this. Before it was all ‘stop that’ and ‘don’t do that here’—then I figured out how to do it when I wanted to.” A sneer of pride appeared on his face, lips curling back to show a glorious set of teeth. “Now I know why.” One long nail touched his chest, barely contained within a black t-shirt with some rock band logo. A sneer appeared on his face. “You can’t stop me.”

  “Probably not.” I smiled, tilting my head to one side. “But I’m sure as hell going to try.”

  “Good.” His red tongue shot out, wetting his lips. A small stream of drool fell from one exposed fang. “I like it when they fight.”

  I crouched into a fighting stance. “Bring it, kit. That is, if you can.” With one hand, I motioned him on. “I’m seeing a lot of talk and little action. Does that get you the girls?”

  The young boy charged at me, roaring with both arms outstretched, exactly as I planned.

  Stepping aside just as he was about to catch me, I dropped and swung my leg around, catching him in a vicious trip. At the speed he was going it would be a miracle if he didn’t snap his neck.

  Which he didn’t, thankfully. Instead the kid skidded several feet in the muck and mire, landing in a jumbled heap against the wall about twenty feet from where I stood. He was precariously close to the main street and exposure as a Felis.

  It was a stupid, a child’s move and one that any experienced fighter could have dodged or avoided, except this kid was running on nothing more than adrenaline, hormones, action movies and as many video games moves he could memorise, but in the fantasy world you don’t end up lying in a pool of piss face-down. Well, at least not too often.

  Springing to his feet, he spun around to face me again, angrier than ever. His face glistened, the fur highlighting every bit of moisture. The t-shirt was soaked, clinging to his muscled form with his faded jeans. If nothing else, I had managed to make him smell even worse.

  A figure appeared behind him, silhouetted in the daylight.

  “What’s going on?” The policeman stepped forward, one hand on his belt and the other outstretched into the darkness of the alley. “Both of you, hold it!”

  The boy spun around, still partially in the shadows. His hands flexed open and shut once, twice. I advanced a few steps toward the street.

  “I said, hold it right there!” The cop was young, blond and had probably just started shaving last week. His eyes were wide and blue and I could smell his fear. Great. First month on the job and he pulls this out of the deck. His hand fumbled with the small strap covering his holster. “I said, hold it!” His voice rose with the last word, edging into squeaky girl mode.

  The rogue drew in a deep breath then stepped toward the policeman, still in the shadows.

  I dashed toward the front of the narrow alley as the cop pulled his automatic pistol free, the barrel shaking in the daylight. His other hand went to the radio mike secured to his right shirt epaulette. “C234, I need some backup here at McDonald Street, near Sanderson. Two people fighting in an alleyway, attempting to put them under arrest.” His finger tapped the button.

  My hand dipped down into a thick pile of something-I-didn’t-want-to-think-about, coming up with a baseball-sized mess I tossed at the policeman. It soared past the rogue’s head, splattering dead centre in the cop’s chest.

  The astonished man looked down at the soggy stinking garbage soaking his uniform shirt—ignoring the kid for a second. “What the...” His nose wrinkled, the smell of the alley’s debris almost overwhelming him.

  Turning around, the kid glared at me then charged down the narrow lane past me, scooping up his jacket and bouncing off the walls to get enough height to clear the fence at the far end. Dropping back down onto the pavement, he shook his head and sprinted off into a side alley, out of sight.

  The policeman wiped his shirt with his free hand, the pistol still pointed at me. “You...”

  “Hey.” I raised my hands in what I hoped was still the universal sign of surrender. “I’m good to go.”

  An hour later I sat on the wooden bench at the booking area of Station 14, beside a Parkdale hooker who hadn’t been able to tell an off-duty cop from a potential customer and a drunk with a bloody nose who kept falling asleep on the prostitute’s shoulder.

  Hank Attersley appeared at the front counter, his face beet-red while he talked in a low voice to the Sergeant. A lot of hand-waving ensued, with more than a few references to “that woman” being made. I suspected they weren’t discussing the woman next to me with more false parts than the Bionic Woman.

  Finally the Sergeant threw up his hands and pushed a piece of paper over to the detective, which he signed and pushed back. The older man approached me, his hands on his hips.

  “I’m not sure whether to be upset or laugh,” he rumbled from deep in his gut. “That poor fellow is going to spend a fortune getting that uniform dry-cleaned.”

  “He’d be better off tossing the entire thing out.” I offered my handcuffed wrists. “Please?”

  He didn’t move. “We’re going to go back to my desk to talk.”

  “You can talk to me.” The young woman next to me batted her eyes at the police detective. “And I won’t even charge ya for it.”

  Hank rolled his eyes as he reached down and undid the cuffs. “Foll
ow. Now.”

  The old desk was scratched and battered, at least ten times older than the computer it held. Off to one side a snapshot of Hank and his wife riding horses sat in a stainless steel frame, one I had sent him at Christmas.

  Hank dropped into the wooden chair with such force the wheels screamed for mercy. “What the hell are you doing?” Leaning forward, he rubbed his temples. “Actually, don’t tell me too much. I don’t really want to know.”

  “Look, I’m sorry about messing up the kid’s uniform.” I sat down in the interview chair next to the desk. “But geez, Hank—are you getting them out of high school these days? That kid’s barely old enough to shave!”

  He closed his eyes again then opened them. “Right now I wouldn’t push your luck, Reb.” His gaze focused in on the two riders. “Assaulting a police officer is still a crime, even for you.” Spinning around, he glared at me, putting the full intensity of his twenty years of experience behind those steely blue eyes. “What was that all about?”

  I drew a deep breath, feeling an ache in my ribs. Not as young as I thought I was to be rolling around. “The teen’s involved somehow in the Winters murder.”

  “And...” Hank motioned for me to continue. “You thought that it was in the best interest of the murdered woman to let him go?” One hand reached over to open a desk drawer. “I’m trying hard not to hear this.”

  “It’s only a lead.” I watched him open up a plastic bottle of water. “If anything, your officer interfered in our discussion and enabled him to escape.”

  “As I understand it, you two were tussling in the dirt and he wasn’t sure who was attacking who.” His forehead furrowed. “Or is that ‘whom’? I always get that screwed up.” Twisting the small blue cap off, he took a deep swig of the clear liquid. “If this kid is a suspect, I need to know. Let me put that into the file and get it re-opened.” Holding up the bottle, the portly detective let out a deep sigh. “If you had ever told me growing up that I’d be paying a buck a bottle for water, I’d have said you were nuts.” Shaking his head, he turned back to me. “So... what’s going on?”

  “It’s a lead. I don’t want to turn over the info to your boys right now because it may be nothing.”

  “We don’t want to check out ‘nothing?’” His eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t have anything to do with that scummy reporter downstairs waiting for you, does it?”

  I sat back in the uncomfortable metal chair. “He’s here?”

  Hank gazed at the ceiling, beautiful baby blues that probably broke a thousand hearts. “Yes, he’s here and he’s waiting to see if he has to bail you out or not.” Picking up a well-chewed pencil from the desk he gnawed on the pink eraser. “You’re not seriously working with this jerk, are you?”

  “What if I am?” I knew better, but wasn’t in the mood to play sub today.

  Small bits of eraser landed in my lap. “I can’t believe this. Reb, you could do so much better than...” His lips pressed, he could do nothing but gesture at the door. “Working for that rag? Girl, if you had started a few years younger you could have gotten on the force, easy and be here, with me, instead of selling yourself out to some idiot thinking he’s found the Holy Grail and wants to sell tickets to touch it!” His voice rose until everyone in the room was staring at him, quite the accomplishment considering he wasn’t the most interesting attraction. That honour went to the drunk goof in the corner who was alternating between vomiting on himself and expounding on his views of the Canada-US Free Trade Agreement. That and why Roswell was actually a sneak attack by the Canadian Armed Forces to test US military awareness. Not too bad, once you got past the smell of rotting hot dogs, chicken wings and whatever else he had swallowed in the past day.

  “No offence, but that’s really none of your business.” I tried to soften my tone, seeing the pain and annoyance in his eyes. “Look, I’m working the case, and you know that I can’t share some information with you.”

  “This is a murder case, Reb.” Hank lowered his voice to an angry whisper. “I know you’ve never worked a murder case and there’s a reason for that—it’s our area of expertise. We don’t have private investigators running around here like they do in the US or on film getting into everyone’s business and screwing up a good case.” A worried look came over his face. “You know how much trouble I could be in just for listening to this and not putting those cuffs back on you?”

  I leant forward. “Hank, I’m not trying to cause trouble. All I’m doing is following a lead. That’s what the family hired me for, to investigate Janey Winter’s death ’cause you’re overworked and understaffed.” I arched a brow. “Unless I missed something in the last couple of days.”

  He let out a huff of agreement. “If you only knew how bad it was.” A quick glance around the room. “Half the horror stories aren’t that far from the truth.”

  “Which is why I’m doing what I’m doing.” I beamed my best smile at him. “And I really don’t have anything to connect this kid with the case other than a rumour he was in the area. Honest.”

  “Honest.” He looked at me directly. “Reb, I can’t let a killer go free. You know that. This isn’t some movie where we all dance off into the sunset and the killer joins a monastery ’cause of his injured spirit.” One thick finger tapped the wooden desk, hard. “Winters’s killer needs to be dealt with. And not with some freakish vigilante justice from the family.”

  “I swear.” My right hand landed on my heart. “I will hand over Janey Winters’s killer to the authorities. Swear.”

  He stared at me for a long minute without blinking before pulling away. “Don’t make me a liar, Reb.” A sad look crossed his face. “Don’t make me regret our friendship.”

  “Who the hell else would put up with you?” I sighed dramatically, drawing attention from the prostitute who had now been moved to a desk not too far from where I sat. “I mean, Hank... those fuzzy handcuffs only go so far, ya know?”

  The detective let out a chuckle, dismissing the curious stares from both police and criminals nearby. “Right. Well, I don’t think the kid wants to press charges. Be too embarrassing, I figure. So you’re free to go.” Suddenly he leant forward, invading my private space just a little too much. “But don’t get in over your head with this, Rebecca. Your rep isn’t that good that it can take a hit from hanging out with street scum like that photo dog.” Sliding another of his business cards across the desk, Attersley shook his head. “Just be careful, girl. I don’t want to be visiting your grave ’cause some nutcase figured you were standing too close to him and popped you.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Picking up the new card, I placed it in my back pocket. “This isn’t that dangerous, compared to some of the other crap I’ve done.” It was a blatant lie and we both knew it. Private investigators working murder cases are more for the television than in real life and those who do work that area make more money in a day than I do in a month.

  “Now get out of here before I change my mind and lock your ass up for a month!” Standing up, Hank roared, a sly wink in my direction while he regained his macho status. Wasn’t too good to be seen caring for a nice lady who wasn’t your wife.

  I strutted out through the swinging wooden gate, letting it snap against my butt with a resounding crack. I could have missed it, but then who am I to miss making a dramatic exit?

  A short elevator ride down into the main lobby let me into the crowded main floor where people were being sorted, deported and contorted into various groups depending on what they were there for. I spotted Brandon, sitting on a wooden bench far in the back with a relaxed look on his face while he watched one particularly endowed woman juggle her bosom back into the smallest tank top in history.

  “Hey.” I strode to him, making a point to ignore the flamboyant woman next to him. Maybe a hooker, maybe not—who was I to judge? Besides, she probably made more in a night than I did in perhaps...a month.

  “Hey.” He jumped to his feet and swung a knapsack over his shoulder, a bit
too quickly, his face flushed. “No bail?”

  “No bail.” I glanced at the woman next to us. “They decided to let me go until they dig up the body.”

  The floozy’s face dropped like a rock as she turned away from ogling Brandon. Hooking my arm into his, I escorted him through the crowd out into the cool night air.

  “That was interesting.” Bran chuckled, manoeuvring me away from the police station down a side street. “I thought they’d toss the book at you.”

  “Nah.” I waved one hand in the air. “Hank’s a good cop, but he’s not going to toss me to the wolves unless I can give them something. And right now, we’ve got less than nothing.” The brisk air shot into my lungs with a cold burst, flushing out the sweaty stink of the police station. “He got me to promise that I’d turn the kid in if he turns out to be the killer. Hand him over to the authorities.”

  “Which, of course, in your interpretation would be the Board.” Brandon was as smart as he was sexy. Damn.

  I grinned. “You’re catching on to how we work.”

  “He won’t get in trouble?” Opening the door of a Starbuck’s, Brandon motioned me in. “Get a coffee and a snack, we’ll pretend it’s a nutritious lunch and boost our caffeine levels.”

  “Right.” I strutted up to the corner and placed my order, adding a thick slab of carrot cake. Taking a seat at the far end of the café, I glanced out the window at the traffic crawling by. There were times you could get above five miles on a downtown street, but this wasn’t one of them—maybe New Year’s Eve at five in the morning when everyone was unconscious or in jail.

  Bran put the tray down in front of us. “Again, and he won’t get in trouble?”

  “I hope not. He knows justice is going to be served one way or another. It’d be nice if the kid worked his way through the system and did his time but...” The carrot cake was moist and sweet when I took a bite, buying a second of thinking time. “You can’t put a Felis behind bars. Might as well just slit his throat and be done with it.”