Animal Attraction (16 page)

The man who’d given Jesse a strong chin
regarded his son for a few seconds with sad brown eyes. “I’m sorry
about that, Jess. I hope you make lots of new friends. You don’t
have to tell them your dad is a shifter.”

Ryan Warner looked thinner than pictures I’d
seen of him. No doubt he still recovered from the ravages of the
Zoo Flu. Now that he’d survived, his altered genetics would soon
take on more of the burly bear aspects. He’d fill out to his old
size and beyond. His face already had a snouted look. Round furry
ears had sprung up on either side of his skull, and his human ears
were mere vestiges of their former selves. Black and brown patches,
more fur than hair, had sprung up on his face and arms which
extended past the short sleeves of his tee-shirt. Plaid pajama
bottoms completed his just-woken outfit. His feet were actual paws,
the toes tipped with shining black claws.

Jesse frowned, the expression much too adult
for his cherubic face. It looked so out of place on a kid wearing
overalls and high-top sneakers. “I don’t know why Tim and the
others started being mean. A dad that turns into a bear is neat.”
His eyes lit with excitement. “Can we go to the woods again soon?
Can I ride on your back like before?”

Ryan rubbed his stubbled square jaw as he put
on a fake smile. “We’ll see, pal. I’ve had a lot going on lately,
but I’ll try to make time.”

Ashley’s voice called from somewhere else in
the house. “Jesse? We need to get going. You don’t want to be late
for your first day at the new school.”

Jesse gulped down a small plastic cup of
milk. His lips still wet, he planted a kiss on his father’s cheek.
“Bye, Dad! See you later!” he yelled with the exuberance that is
the province of the young and innocent. He grabbed his backpack off
the back of his chair.

Ryan gave him a weak smile. “Bye, pal. Have a
good day. I love you.”

With an answering grin, Jesse raced out of
the room, his feet thudding against the tiled floor. I heard Ashley
say, “Here’s your coat. Okay, let’s go.” A few seconds later came
the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Ryan put his face in his hands. The sound of
his harsh weeping sent me out of the room as fast as Jesse had
left. The grief was too much to be stood.

I sat at the bottom of the stairs. After a
few minutes I heard Ryan moving about the kitchen. Soon he came
down the hall. Even though he could pass right through me without
any trouble, I scooted aside as he headed upstairs. Moving through
or being moved through by the physical world was not the most
comfortable feeling in the world.

Twenty minutes later, Ryan came downstairs
again. He had dressed for work in nice slacks and a dress shirt and
tie. He wore what must have been custom-fitted sandals on his feet.
No way he was going to get shoes on those paws.

I followed him to the garage off the kitchen.
A great big Ford F-250 was parked inside the tidy space. I had to
smile a little when I saw it. In the south, even men of means can’t
seem to resist the allure of a pickup truck. The wealthy just have
more chrome and the nicest interiors on theirs.

I slid into the passenger side, noting the
dark tinted windows. I wondered if the truck had possessed the
tinting before Ryan’s infection or if he’d added it afterwards.
Being new to the shifter universe, he was no doubt sensitive to how
people looked at him.

He didn’t put on the radio or plug in any
tunes as we rode over the causeway from Hamilton Island to Fulton
Falls and its hospital. Except for the rumble of the engine, our
trip was silent.

Fulton Falls Hospital was the only building
in town that had a parking garage. Ryan pulled into the entrance
that bore the sign ‘Parking for Para Staff Only’. It had a gargoyle
guard standing sentry to wave us in. I recalled how at one time
there hadn’t been such security in place and para doctors and
nurses’ vehicles were often vandalized. Some people can’t act like
they have a scrap of humanity when it comes to things they’re
afraid of.

The Tristan Keith Wing of the hospital – yep,
his generous contributions got the para section named after him –
had a security guard too. This one was a weregator, our second-most
typical shifter in the area after the werehogs. He greeted Ryan
with a little wave. “Hi Dr. Warner. How are you this morning?”

Ryan returned the wave. He smiled as if he
hadn’t sobbed his heart out an hour ago. “Good, good. Are you doing
all right?”

“Right as rain. Have a good day.”

“You too, George.”

The para wing of the hospital looked like the
regular wing. Linoleum floors for easy cleanup, bright painted
walls with cheerful photos and prints that did nothing to disguise
that this was a building for the sick. There was the usual scent of
bleach. People in white coats and scrubs. The only difference was
the nature of the people. Gargoyles, gnomes, witches, shifters of
all flavors ... you name it, they were there. At night, the
vampires who worked in medicine would be there too.

Ryan greeted staff as he headed down the
halls. I followed. We rode up to the pediatric floor of the para
wing. He checked in with the nurses’ station and chatted briefly
about how his patients had fared overnight. He stopped in his
office, one of three at the end of the section, and grabbed a white
coat with a badge that had his name and a stethoscope shoved in its
wide pocket. Then he went on his rounds.

The entire morning passed without incident.
It didn’t bother me. I’d figured I might have to trail Ryan for
several days before anything of note took place. In fact, I had the
ugly suspicion that the only time anything would happen would be
after dark, when I was unavailable for spying. It would be up to
Dan to watch Ashley’s husband for suspicious activity then.

My interest piqued when Ryan had a visitor
show up in his office around lunchtime. A man in his early forties
tapped on the doctor’s door with a familiar smile. “If it isn’t the
one and only Dr. Ryan Warner! How’s tricks, old man?”

Ryan got up from behind his desk with a look
of genuine, if embarrassed, pleasure. “Mark, you penny-pinching
nickel-and-dimer. I told you we could do this over the phone.”

The handsome and well-dressed Mark came in to
slap Ryan’s shoulder in the manner of old friends. “I had to see
you. You’ve made yourself too scarce to your old college buddies.”
He turned slowly, taking in the office. It was tidy if
unremarkable. Shelves with medical books sat along one wall. There
were certificates outlining Dr. Warner’s many credentials. Awards
too. Framed pictures of Ashley and Jesse adorned his desk. “This
isn’t so bad. A lot of people who contract Zoo Flu end up in far
worse situations. I’m glad to see you landed on your feet.”

Ryan’s joy showed signs of going from real to
forced. “Sit down, Bean Counter. I appreciate you coming to see me.
I know it does your reputation no favors.”

Mark took one of the two chairs in front of
the desk. His expression still held that ‘old friend who will bust
your chops’ look, but dutiful concern overlaid it now. “We’re
friends, Ryan. I would have remained your accountant if you’d
wanted me to.”

The doctor shook his head. “I’m a shifter
now. A pariah. Your company would have fired you if you continued
to handle my accounts, even as a private entity.”

Mark shrugged. “Maybe not. Not if they didn’t
know.” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t wrap his thoughts
around the situation. “Most people know or have a family member who
got infected. Why the prejudice continues to be acceptable is
beyond me.”

“It is, though. People are hateful because
they’re scared. I used to be like them until I had to live with
it.”

“The guys are asking after you. You’ll always
be a brother to the fraternity.”

Ryan smiled to hear that. “That’s nice of
them. Look, I don’t want to take up much of your time. I’ve got
kind of a delicate question for you. How much trouble are we
talking if that little issue of my accounts from a few years ago
ever surfaced?”

Mark’s eyes widened. “The funds you diverted
from the practice to cover the gambling debts?” He took a deep
breath. “Five years in prison at the least, Ryan. I don’t have to
tell you what kind of bastards your former partners are.”

He closed his eyes at the news. “Yeah. I
know.”

The accountant cocked an eyebrow at him. His
voice cold, Mark said, “Stu and Harv are still talking about taking
baseball bats to those pricks. The way they treated you after you
got sick—”

Ryan waved his hand. “That’s neither here nor
there. Someone has been talking to some bad people, Mark. Someone
found out I played fast and loose with the numbers so I could pay
those gambling debts off.”

Mark shot bolt upright in his chair, his
mouth dropping open with comic surprise. “How? Who?”

“I don’t know. I’m being blackmailed
though.”

Pow. There it was, the smoking gun I’d been
looking for. I crowded close to Ryan to keep from missing a single
word.

Mark stared at his friend. “How much do they
want? If you can’t cover it, me and the boys will pool together.
Better yet, tell me who the bastard is and we’ll break his knees
for you. Son of a bitch doesn’t mess with any of ours.”

Ryan gave him a slight smile but shook his
head. “It’s more than one person. If the one I know by name is
outed, the rest will expose me.” He leaned back in his chair and
rubbed his eyes. “Damn it, I wouldn’t even care at this point if
not for Ashley and Jesse. They’ve been through enough because of
me.”

Mark leaned forward, his tone forceful. “Give
me a number, Ryan. We’ll pay the prick off.”

“I wish it was that simple. Five years of
prison, huh?” His look was bleak.

Mark’s expression mirrored his. “Best case
scenario, for a non-shifter. For a para though—”

“Probably more like fifteen for a werebear,
huh?”

The accountant’s expression was that of a man
on the brink of being sick. “Those shifter prisons – they’re bad,
Ry. Really bad. You don’t want to get caught. Tell me what I can
do, man.”

Ryan’s voice was weak. “Pray.”

* * * *

Nothing else of real importance was said.
Mark the accountant soon left, and Ryan went to the hospital
cafeteria to eat lunch. A weresnake doctor and a gargoyle nurse and
werehog orderly joined him. No human staff sat with them.

Ryan had said he only knew one of his
blackmailers, but he didn’t say who that was. However Ashley had
already supplied my chief suspect’s name. I headed to Redemption
Christian Bookstore, owned by one Cliff Tattingail.

I’d never been in the bookstore. Because I’d
been an escort who performed extra favors in life, I’d not visited
any Christian bookstore as an adult. It wasn’t that I didn’t
believe. I hoped God was out there and had some plan that made
sense out of the chaos of life. I just always felt it kind of
hypocritical of someone of my background to frequent places that
celebrate all I’ve failed to be.

Plus if I was to go to a Christian bookstore,
it wouldn’t be – ahem –
Reverend
Tattingail’s. The kind of
faith he preached went squarely against the little bit of
conscience I possessed.

The bookstore was located in a corner small
strip mall that boasted a nail salon and tax preparer as other
tenants. Across one street was the local branch of the state’s
university. Across the side street sat Wanda’s Wiener Wagon, a
popular burger and hotdog joint. Wanda herself threw down the best
fried pork chop sandwiches you could ever hope for. Her graying
hair was always styled Sunday best under her hairnet and her
talon-long fingernails were manicured and painted within an inch of
their lives. The name of her establishment caused many a juvenile
giggle, but that place never wanted for customers.

Inhaling deeply of the lunchtime aroma coming
from Wanda’s, I sighed with pleasure. I could hear one of Wanda’s
daughters or daughters-in-law hollering from the window at a
customer, “You want sweet tea wi’ that? How ‘bout fries?” It was a
family business, and everyone who worked there was a relation of
some sort.

Thinking happy memories of Wanda’s cooking, I
went into the bookstore.

It was like most independently owned
bookstores. A counter with computer cash register and credit card
reader. Shelves of books and bibles. A table of bookmarks and small
gift items like pens, bracelets, candles, and notepads, all with
inspirational slogans. A stand with Christian-based cards and
calendars. Gospel music played on the speakers. Some woman warbled
about how Jesus saved her soul. I heard a telephone somewhere in
the back behind a closed door marked ‘Staff Only’ ring a couple of
times before it quieted. I saw no sign of Tattingail, and I
wondered if he was in the back room talking on the phone right
now.

The cashier and half a dozen people, mostly
middle-aged women, had the same slight smile on their faces.
Feeling the love of the Almighty, I supposed. It was a nice
vibe.

One elderly lady made her way to the cashier,
her bony-knuckled veined hand clutching a children’s book.
Bible
Tales for Young Readers
the title proclaimed in bright blue
letters. I smiled. It was such a grandma gift.

“Will that be all?” the cashier asked. She
looked ready to sail right off to church with her short hair styled
and nice blouse and skirt ensemble.

“Yes. It’s my great-granddaughter’s birthday
tomorrow. She’ll be four,” the customer said, her sweet wrinkled
face beaming in familial pride.

“How wonderful! She’ll enjoy this book. It’s
so nice for them to have something besides all those video
games.”

“I know! I don’t understand how children want
to be inside all day playing those things instead of outside
getting fresh air and having real fun.”