by Theresa Weir
Outside a car door slammed, an engine turned over, and Joe pulled away from the curb and roared down the street.
“Remember Chris, my old bandmate?” Ben turned around. “The one whose kid got tangled up with the gang that was busted for illegal firearms? I’m pretty sure your buddy Joe was involved in that somehow. He was hanging around some of those seedy people.”
Melody’s first reaction was one of disbelief. But then she started thinking about the very things that had been bugging her about Joe. If what her dad said was true, it would explain a lot. Why Joe never talked about himself. Why she’d never gone to his place. Maybe he was a drug dealer. Maybe he was dealing out of his house.
From the kitchen, water stopped splashing in the sink. A moment later Lola appeared, drying her hand on a white towel with pink cats. Her gaze shifted from Ben to Melody. “What’s this about Joe?”
“I thought he was just a nice guy who worked at a shelter.” Melody rubbed her forehead, trying to clear the muddle there. Joe. Was his name really Joe?
“Sorry to drop a bombshell like this, then leave,” Ben said. “But I’ve got to get home in time to load equipment.” He gave both of his daughters a quick kiss on the cheek, then took off, the screen door slamming behind him.
In the silence left by his departure, Lola draped the cat towel over her shoulder, put an arm around her sister, and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Just remember that this information is coming from the guy who once sat next to a woman he didn’t even know, thinking it was Mom.”
Lola was right. It wasn’t that their dad couldn’t see well, but he always had his head in the clouds, thinking about a song he was writing or an upcoming gig.
Lola plopped down in the red chair with the ruffle skirt. Max’s chair. “But what if Dad is right? And, what if Joe is involved in something shady? Illegal?”
Deep in thought, Melody frowned and pressed a finger to her lips. She nodded.
Melody picked up Max and gave him a good massage. “I wish you could talk. Has Joe been trying to sell you catnip?” She was kidding. Kind of.
“We could spy on Joe.” Lola wrapped an arm around her knee and pulled her foot close. “Turn the tables on him. That would be fun.”
Spying went completely against Melody’s nature, but in this case… “Maybe Max should decide. What do you think, Max?” Melody lifted Max above her head. “Should we spy on Joe?”
Max meowed in what seemed like agreement. Or maybe he just wanted down.
Lola clasped her hands under her chin, her expression decidedly wicked. “Max has spoken.”
Chapter 9
The spy gig didn’t happen right away. First of all, Melody had to figure out where Joe lived. That required following him home one night. Turned out he lived in Midway, an area not all that far from her house. After that, there was a lot of discussion between the two sisters about a time and date for the spy gig. Max would lie in bed with Melody while she talked on the phone to Lola. Lola’s voice came out of the phone, so Max could hear both sides of the conversation.
“How can this be so hard?” Melody said, absentmindedly rubbing Max’s head. “When you work nights, it’s kind of tough to be a spy.”
“Why do we have to do it at night?” Lola said.
“We’re not going to catch him doing anything during daylight hours.”
Lola ended up having a three-hour window between her day job of waiting tables, and her evening job of deejaying at the Turf Club. They decided they would go straight from the library as soon as Melody got off for the evening. “I’ll have to bring Max,” she said.
“You can’t bring a cat to a stakeout.”
“It’s story night at the library,” Melody explained. “Max has become the star of story night. He won’t cause any trouble, will you Max?” She looked at him.
He wanted to say that she knew damn well he hated riding in the car, and she knew damn well he hated story night, but they would be going to Joe’s house, so that was okay. He’d always wanted to see Joe’s house.
“This is silly,” Melody said. “Nothing is going to happen.”
Lola’s voice came from the cell phone. “You never know. And it will be fun. And to make it more fun, we have to bring stuff.”
“Like what? A video camera?”
“Food. Snacks.”
Max perked up. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.
* * *
Two nights later, Lola, Melody, and Max were parked down the street from Joe’s house. Lola was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, Melody in her Alice in Wonderland outfit, and Max was decked out in a pink-and-black striped hat and striped sweater from his library gig as the Cheshire Cat. The night air was crisp, and Melody had announced that she would leave the costume on him so he wouldn’t get cold.
Hmmph.
Like he was some old fuddy-duddy of a cat who needed to be pampered. But he had to admit the soft garment was cozy as hell. If he came across it in a dark alley he’d feel the immediate need to milk it with both front paws. Nature.
And speaking of nature… Nobody had thought to bring his litter box. They’d been at the library for hours, and now in the car. Sometimes Max wondered who was the adult in this relationship. There they were, sisters, in the front seat, sipping the lattes they’d picked up at Ginkgo Coffeehouse. Eating candy, whispering and giggling like…well, like two girls. Not acting like spies at all. But Max would occasionally sense a wave of Melody’s sadness that probably came when she thought about why they were here. Joe.
Why had Max stuck his whiskers where they didn’t belong?
Matchmaking.
What had he been thinking?
He’d only wanted to make Melody feel better. Instead, he’d made her feel worse. And speaking of feeling bad…
His bladder was screaming. Maybe nobody would notice if he just—
“Max!” It was Melody, her voice coming from the front seat. “What are you doing?” She’d heard him digging in the corner.
“If that cat pees in my car…” Lola said.
“I was going to bring his litter box.” Melody balanced her latte on the dashboard and shifted in her seat. “Come here, Max. Do you need to go out?”
Out? As in pee in the grass? Was she crazy?
“Where’s your leash? What did I do with your leash?”
She found the wayward leash and snapped it to his collar, removed his silly hat, then scooped him up, opened the door, and stepped outside, putting him down in a nearby yard. Oh, the humiliation.
Grass. It would have to do.
Max figured the whole spy thing was just a way for Melody to come to terms with the situation. Because really, what would they see? Joe going into his house. Joe leaving his house.
Max did his business. While he was busy scratching around, Lola slipped out of the car. “Let’s walk past the house,” she whispered to Melody. For Lola, this was a party. Max wished she’d be a bit more sensitive.
To make matters more annoying, Max wasn’t much of a leash man. He hated the leash almost as much as he hated peeing outside.
“Come on, Max.” Melody gave the leash a small tug. Max considered sitting down and refusing to respond to such indignity, but in the end he decided to be a gentleman and try to make the evening easier for his mistress.
He walked.
They crossed the street and clung to the shadows of the houses and trees.
“His house is kind of ordinary,” Lola whispered.
She was right. Max had always pictured Joe living in a mansion. Maybe because Max had wanted Joe to be rich. For Melody. But the house was one story, not much bigger than Melody’s house.
And then he quit thinking at all.
Because cats, even extraordinary cats like Max, stop thinking when they’re scared.
Shots. Like firecrackers or cherry bombs.
Or guns.
Rapid-fire, one after the other. A second later, tires squealed, and suddenly a car flew past them, no headlights, the engine roaring.
&nb
sp; Max took off like a rocket. Airborne, he felt a brief tug at his neck, and then he was free, the leash dragging behind him as he hauled ass. The world was a blur of fences and cement steps. Grass. A road. An alley. Cars. Barking dogs.
Home. He wanted to go home. But where was home?
From somewhere behind him Melody screamed his name, but he kept running. Fright trumped everything. Fright trumped Melody and matchmaking and good behavior. He spotted a dark area and dove for it, his heart pounding.
But when Max lost his cool, he always got it back. Fast. One minute he was scared, the next he was sitting behind a metal trash can, licking his paw and washing his face.
And then he heard a sound.
A moan.
He peeked out. There, under the street lamp, to the side of the alley, was a dark shape. While Max stared, the shape moaned.
Being a curious guy, Max took a step toward the shape, paused, then took another step. He sniffed.
And smelled Joe.
Joe! It was Joe!
Max ran for him, happy as hell. Happy as hell to no longer be alone. Joe would take care of everything.
But Joe didn’t respond in the expected way. Max meowed, hoping to be petted. Hoping to be fed some delicious treat of fish or chicken.
Joe moaned and touched Max’s head with a limp hand that didn’t feel like Joe’s hand. It kind of landed on Max’s head, then dropped to the ground.
And then Max smelled something that wasn’t really Joe. A smell that reminded Max of another time. Of David. Shot. Lying on the floor, the life draining from him.
Max smelled blood.
He meowed nervously. He wanted to leave, he wanted to run, but this was Joe. He shouldn’t leave Joe.
“Max…?” Joe’s voice was a thready whisper.
Like that other time, Max understood that Joe was leaving just the way David had left. Soon he would stop breathing. Soon his heart would stop beating, and he would cease to be Joe. A white van would come and Joe would be put in the back and driven away and Max would never see him again.
And Melody would cry.
Chapter 10
Joe heard Max meow. He blinked, trying to bring the cat into focus as he pulled himself to a sitting position, his back against a brick wall. In the dim light cast by the street lamp, Joe looked down and saw blood pooling around him.
Shot in the leg. The thigh. And from the looks of things, his femoral artery had been hit. He put a hand to the waistband of his jeans, expecting to find a belt. Something to use for a tourniquet. But no. He’d taken a shower earlier and hadn’t put on a belt. His fingers fumbled for his cell phone. Checked his pocket. No phone. He’d stepped outside to throw out the trash. A car had come up the alley with no lights. He played back the past few minutes, trying to piece the details together even as his life drained away. Not a random shooting. No, this was deliberate. Someone looking for him. Someone who knew his habits.
His vision blurred.
The cat.
There was the cat again.
Meowing. Pawing at him.
Joe put out his hand, his sticky, bloodstained hand, and touched the cat’s head. He tried to pet him, but his arm shook like crazy. His hand trailed down, dropping to the ground, his fingers coming in contact with a leash. Max was wearing a leash.
Joe didn’t waste time wondering about what had brought Max to this alley at this moment, a leash dangling behind him. While he still had strength, Joe fumbled, trying to unhook the clasp. His bloody fingers slipped, but he finally freed the leash from the cat’s collar. A skinny leash. Probably pink or some other pastel color. It was too dark to see, or Joe’s vision was too impaired. But skinny was good. He slipped it under his thigh, brought the two ends together and tied it off, tightened the knot.
And then he blacked out.
* * *
Voices.
Joe heard voices. Female voices. Whispering. Arguing.
“We have to get out of here,” one of them said.
“I can’t leave Max.”
Ah, Melody. It was Melody’s voice.
Beside him, Max meowed.
Melody and Max.
What a pair.
What a great pair.
“Max!” The joy in Melody’s voice was something to hear. She sure loved that crazy cat.
Joe was flat on his back now. He could feel the asphalt beneath him, and he could feel the night air against his face. He could smell the pollen and the blooming trees, and he could smell the barbeque joint down the street. Big Daddy’s. They made the best barbeque.
Above him, someone let out a gasp. Maybe the biggest gasp he’d ever heard. Like someone overacting.
“Oh, my God.”
That was Melody.
Suddenly a light was shining in his face. He flinched and squinted and wished she’d shut it off.
“Lola, call 9-1-1. Call 9-1-1!”
He tried to raise a hand to block the light, but his arm wouldn’t move. It just wouldn’t move. He squinted and could see someone bending over him. He could see long hair and a blue dress. A white apron. Melody. Dressed like Alice in Wonderland. And she was wonderful. She really was.
Another head appeared—Lola’s—then spoke. “I called 9-1-1. They’re on their way.”
“Here,” Melody said. “Hold my phone.” The light shifted.
He felt Melody’s hands poking around. “There’s so much blood,” she said. “So much.” Her voice trembled. Joe was sorry about that.
From somewhere in the distance came the sound of a siren.
Saint Paul had the quickest damn 9-1-1 service. They were known for showing up at the scene before the caller even disconnected. Joe liked that.
But Melody.
He wished she didn’t have to witness this.
He couldn’t see her face—it was in shadow—but he could feel what she was feeling. He could sense her horror. The sirens were getting closer. Then suddenly the alley was illuminated with what seemed like a million lights, Melody’s face washed in a ghostly pallor.
Joe reached up. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to tell her it would be okay. “S-sorry,” he managed to whisper. Somehow he was able to lift his hand and touch her face. But only for a second. Then his hand fell away, his fingers leaving a trail of blood down one ashen cheek.
Chapter 11
With Max clutched to her chest, Lola at her side, Melody stood at a distance and watched as the paramedics worked on Joe. Police cars swarmed and lights flashed and radios squelched. Bits of conversation drifted to them.
“Should we leave?” Melody asked. Her voice was shaking, and her mouth felt numb. Then she realized her whole body was shaking. “I want to leave.” She knew it made no sense, but she wanted to run home. She wanted to get out of her bloody clothes, take a shower, and wait for Joe to come over so they could pop popcorn and watch TV. But Joe wouldn’t be coming over. Joe was at that moment being lifted into the back of the emergency vehicle in which he would be driven to Regions Medical Center.
Just like David.
And just like David, he would die. And she didn’t want to see that. She didn’t want to know about that.
Maybe she could go back to weeks ago, before Joe entered her life. Yes, that was it. She would pretend they’d never met.
“One of the officers said something about getting our statements,” Lola said. “I think we have to stick around until then.”
“Oh. Yeah. Right.” How had she forgotten that part of it? The string of cops? The questions, when all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep forever. Never, ever, ever waking up again?
Lola gave her a one-armed hug and briefly leaned her head on Melody’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mel. So sorry.” She didn’t have to explain, didn’t have to go on, because Melody understood all of what she meant. Lola was sorry that Joe was a criminal, but she was especially sorry that Melody had just endured a repeat of the scene enacted with David.
The emergency vehicle turned on its siren and caree
ned away, wailing. Did that mean he was still alive? Melody hoped he was still alive.
Max let out a muffled meow, his head buried against his mistress’s chest, as if he too wanted to pretend none of this was happening.
A female cop approached, pulling out a tablet as she walked. “Melody?” she asked once she was near enough for a good visual. “Is that you?”
Melody looked up to see an officer she remembered from another life, David’s life, their life together. “Sandra?”
“Wow. Hi,” Sandra said. “You’re the last person I’d expect to see here.”
“I know. Was it drug related?”
“We aren’t sure at this point. How do you know the victim?”
“We… Well, I guess we were dating.”
“Dating? You and Joe?”
“I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t know about his secret life. He seemed like such a nice guy.”
“He is a nice guy. Well, I don’t know him very well, but everybody seems to like him.”
“I don’t understand. Is he an informant or something? I just thought he was your run-of-the-mill drug dealer.”
Sandra frowned, looked over her shoulder, then back at Melody. “Melody, Joe isn’t a criminal.”
Melody felt Max relax a little, almost as if he understood.
“He isn’t?” Melody could see her own confusion mirrored in her sister’s face. “I don’t understand.”
“I can probably tell you because his cover is blown. Joe is one of us. He’s a detective.”
Max stiffened, and for a moment Melody struggled to keep him from jumping from her arms. “A cop?” she said numbly. And now she realized he’d most likely been working undercover when her dad had seen him with the “seedy” people.
“That’s why I was so surprised to hear you were dating. After David died, I remember you saying you’d never date another cop.”
A cop.
So much worse than a criminal.
Sandra took down their information, then told them they could leave.
“How will I find out if… If he’s okay? I don’t even know his real name.”
