'It's the best I can do. You can try the Humane Society.'
I tried the Humane Society.
'Sorry, Officer. We couldn't come for at least a week. When the temperature gets this high, animals are hit hardest. We don't even have any room for another.'
Herb nudged me.
'Tell them this cat is evil. If you shaved its head, you'd see a 666.'
I relayed the info, but they weren't swayed. Herb suggested calling the Crocodile Hunter, but neither of us knew his number.
'We can't let him stay here, Jack.'
I agreed. A cat could mess up a scene in a dozen ways. Not just by destroying evidence -- it could get in the team's way, hurt someone, or even get hurt itself if it inhaled the wrong chemical.
'You want him?' I asked.
Herb frowned and tore off another paper towel to blot his scalp.
I reached a tentative hand out to stroke the cat, and he bared claws and took a swipe at me.
'Try offering him your head,' Herb suggested. 'He'll jump on and we can walk him out.'
I left the kitchen and went into Davi's bedroom, returning a moment later with the cat carrier and some ski gloves.
Herb raised an eyebrow. 'Should I start dialing 911 now?'
'No need to worry. Animals love me, because they can sense my pure heart.'
Without hesitating, I grabbed Mr. Friskers around the body. He countered by screaming louder than humanly possible and locking his fangs onto my right index finger. The gloves protected me, and I managed to get him in the carrier without losing a digit.
'So now we throw him in Lake Michigan, right?'
'I'm sure one of Davi's friends will take him.'
'And in the meantime?'
I let out a big, dramatic sigh.
'I guess I'll have to keep him for a few days.'
'I don't think that's a good idea, Jack. I don't want the next murder I investigate to be yours.'
'He's just scared and grumpy. You'd be grumpy too if you had the same diaper on for four days. Right, little guy?'
I poked my gloved finger into the cat carrier, and Mr. Friskers pounced on it, biting and scratching.
'Try showing him your pure heart,' Herb suggested.
The cat screamed for the entire ride back to the office.
Chapter 8
'My place is just up the next block.'
'This isn't a very nice neighborhood.'
'On purpose. My wife would never think to look for me here.'
He smiles at the girl. Eileen Hutton. Young, pretty, perfect body. She knew it, too, which is why this date cost a cool thousand bucks.
She won't get the chance to spend it.
They're driving south on Kedzie, property values dropping block by block. The flophouse where he takes his women is dilapidated, filthy, and came complete with a handful of winos lounging in front. When he parks in the adjacent alley, she doesn't want to get out of the car.
'What's wrong?' He grins. His head feels ready to burst, an incessant pounding that's making his vision blur. Sweat streaks down his face in rivers. Hopefully, she'll think it's just the heat.
'I don't feel comfortable here.'
'Don't you trust me? I'm one of the good guys.'
He unlocks the glove compartment, takes out a silver cigarette case. Lined up inside are six rolled joints. He lights one up, hands it to her.
'I married my wife for money, and believe me, she's got a lot. She won't put out, though. So I have to get it on the side, and I have to be discreet about it. You understand.'
She puffs and nods.
Enjoy it, baby. It's your last.
No one gives them a glance as they walk into the building. The hallway smells like piss and worse. Lighting is at a minimum. She holds his arm until they get to his room.
His hand is trembling as he unlocks the door.
Almost there. Just a few more minutes.
