Cat's Cradle (15 page)

Keats

“I don’t like to be threatened,” Pat said, not backing up an inch from Lou.

“Why, I’m not threatening you,” Lou replied, a look of innocence on his tanned face. “I haven’t said a threatening word, have I?”

Pat’s laugh was not pleasant-sounding. “Implying. Inferring.”

“No, no, Mr. Leonard. Not at all. I’m just appealing to your sense of patriotism, that’s all.”

“Sure, sure. Come on! That’s pure crap and you know it.”

Lou smiled and pushed the desk phone closer to Pat. “Call your wife, Mr. Leonard. Every husband should be concerned about his spouse, don’t you think?”

Pat’s eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to say, you bastard?”

Personal insults rolled off Lou with the man taking no offense. He’s been doing this type of work for years. Very little bothered him. Besides, Lou was crazy. Functionally insane. “Nothing, Pat. Nothing at all. Just call your darling little Sissy.”

“How do you know my wife’s name?”

“I know lots of things, Pat. I even know what size bra she wears.” He laughed and stared at the newspaper editor.

“I guess,” Pat said, “that somehow, you’ve gotten to Dan and his people. Maybe the state police, too. But you won’t intimidate me. I’m calling the FBI and then I’m calling AP and alert them to this story.”

Lou shrugged his shoulders. “Well, Mr. Leonard, I certainly won’t try to physically stop you.”

Pat caught the “physical” part of it. He picked up the phone.

Lou said, “Your wife still takes her shots every day, doesn’t she, Pat?”

Pat paused, his finger poised over the dial. He lifted his eyes. “My wife is diabetic, yes.”

“I’m curious, Pat. What would happen to her if she were to go, oh, say, four or five days without her shots? Would that cause her any difficulty?”

“You lousy—! You wouldn’t do that?”

“Mr. Leonard,” Lou’s voice was low and soothing. “I have not said I was going to do
anything.
My, my, but you do have quite an active imagination, don’t you? I merely asked a question, that’s all.”

Pat placed the phone back in the cradle. He sighed and nodded his head. “Very well. Okay, Mr? . . . ”

“Lamotta. Lou Lamotta. Okay—what?”

Pat glared at the man. “What is it that you want from me, Mr. Lamotta?”

Lou’s face brightened. He grinned hugely. “I just knew you were a true blue American, Pat. I knew that when I read that you’re a veteran. I’m a veteran, too. We’ll have to get together sometime and talk about the service. All right, Pat. Let’s lay out the ground rules.”

* * *

“Where in the goddamn hell have you been?” Mille barked.

“Doin’ what you sent me to New York to do!” Kenny said. “Jesus, Mille! I’m not Superman, you know?”

“What’d you find, Kenny?”

“Let me sit down and take a load off, Mille. Damn. I been on a flat out dead run ever since I pulled out of here.”

Beer in hand, his ragged tennis shoes off, one big toe sticking through a hole in a very dirty sock, Kenny grinned. Like that famous cat.

Mille smiled back at him. “You got it, didn’t you?”

Kenny pointed a finger at her and said, “Bingo, Mille-baby We got the big one.”

* * *

Dan thought the day would never end. Paul Moore had burst into his office, demanding and threatening and finally breaking down, sitting in a chair and crying like a baby, his face in his hands.

Dan never thought he’d ever feel sorry for Paul Moore—rich, arrogant, pompous, and almost always totally obnoxious. But for a moment, he did feel sorry for the man.

Then Moore had shattered the momentary emotion by lifting his head and roaring, “I’ll have your job! I pay your salary, you know? You and all the rest of these losers you have wearing badges. Now where is my daughter?”

Dan had shown him the way out of his office.

Mathews’ dogs had been less than useful. They could turn up nothing. They had acted confused and frightened. Unable to track. And for some reason, they were very leery of cats. And one deputy had commented that he could not remember ever seeing so many cats.

The long day finally ended, much to the relief of the day shift of deputies. Taylor said he was going back to the motel, take a long, hot shower, have a quiet supper, and go to bed. “Boss must be gettin’ old,” Trooper Collins said to Trooper Lewis.

Luckily, Taylor had not heard the comment.

Driving home, Dan noticed but did not pay any particular attention to the large numbers of cats wandering the countryside. No one really paid much attention to the growing number of felines. Yet.

Vonne met Dan on the front porch of their home. She was angry, and made that very clear at once. “I’ve been trying to reach you by phone all afternoon, Dan. I want some answers and by
God,
I want them now. What the hell’s the idea of sending those boys home with orders to arm themselves and guard me?”

Dan raised his hands in surrender. “Can I please get inside and have a beer? Please? I’m going to level with you all. But, Jesus, Vonne, give me a break, will you?”

The boys had taken Dan very seriously. Both his military carbines were loaded up and leaning against a wall in the den. Both Carl and Mike had pistols close by them.

Dan removed his hat and tossed it on the rack. “Carl, get me a beer, will you? And get one for yourself and Mike, too. I know you boys drink, so you might as well drink in front of me.”

“And fix me a bourbon and water,” Vonne said.

Dan looked at his wife, surprise in his eyes. “Is it New Years’ Eve?”

“What do I get to drink?” Carrie asked.

“Iced tea,” her mother settled that quickly.

“I’m not a child,” Carrie said.

And that prompted Dan to change his mind about excluding Carrie from the conversation. He had thought about doing that; but Lou had mentioned his daughter, so she certainly had a right to know.

He sat them all down in the den, fully aware that his house might well be bugged, and took it from the top, leaving nothing out. When he had finished, he popped open another beer and leaned back in his chair. He looked at his family-they all thought of Mike as family. “That’s it, gang. All of it.”

Dan looked first at Carrie. The girl was uncertain whether to smile or look serious. She wasn’t at all sure if her dad was putting her on, or not.

“It’s all true, Carrie,” Dan said. “Don’t doubt it for an instant. From now on, you don’t leave this house without my permission, or unless you’re accompanied by your mother, your brother, or Mike. Is that clear? ”

“Yes, sir. What about Linda? She’s going to come over tomorrow and spend a few days with me. Her parents are going out of town.”

“I’ll talk to her.” He looked at his wife. “From now on, lady, you go armed. At all times. You’re as good a shot as any woman in this county. With the exception of Susan Dodd, perhaps. You put that .380 in your purse loaded full. And you bear in mind the lawman’s motto: I’d rather be judged by twelve than carried by six. All right?”

She laughed at him. “You’re
serious
! Come on, Dan. It’s stopped being funny.”

“Funny!” Dan roared, losing his temper. “God
damnit,
Vonne. Do you think this is some sort of a stupid
joke
?”

Carrie’s eyes widened. Daddy just didn’t talk to Mother like that.

“Don’t you yell at me like that!” Vonne flared.

“My word!” Mike said.

Carl wisely kept his mouth shut.

Dan gripped the arms of his easy chair. He took several deep breaths, calming himself. “Listen to me—all of you. You are all in danger. From all directions. Lou Lamotta is a psycho. A fanatic. I can’t stress that enough. He would do anything—
anything
—to keep the lid on this . . . this matter. I don’t want to turn you all into a bunch of paranoids, but you’ve got to exercise caution from now on. Mickey Reynolds is loose and running; he’s changed into some sort of ... of monster. That’s the only word I can use to describe him. And only two ... beings know what else is out there,” he waved his hand, “prowling the countryside.”

“Two beings, Dan?” Vonne questioned, her voice small as the full impact of what her husband was saying struck home.

“Two beings, Daddy?” Carrie echoed. “Who are they? ”

Dan’s eyes briefly touched each person in the room. “God and Satan.”

 

 

 

Dan awakened early, before dawn, and as quietly as possible, showered and shaved and dressed. He unlocked the door to his steel gun cabinet and took out a half dozen ingram M-10’s and a box of extra clips for each mini-submachine gun. The clips held thirty .45 caliber rounds. He turned around at a slight noise behind him.

“Getting that serious, Dad?” Carl asked, eyeballing the armament.

“Yes, I think so, son. Help me carry this stuff out to the car, will you?”

Outside, the sun just breaking over the rolling Virginia hills, father and son stood by Dan’s prowl car and chatted.

“This OSS bunch kind of has you in a bind, don’t they?”

“Yes,” Dan said. “But I’ve got an idea how to loosen the knots.”

Carl didn’t push. His dad would tell him in time.

Dan looked around him. “I always wanted a place in the country. But now I wish I’d bought closer to town. We’re damn near isolated out here.”

“We’ll take care of things out here, Dad,” the son assured him. “There is no backup at all like Mike. You remember what happened when he was fifteen, don’t you?”

Dan nodded. A gang of thugs and street slime had broken into the Pearson mansion outside the city. They had terrorized Mike’s mother and grandmother. The fifteen year old Mike had slipped into the mansion through a back door, got a shotgun, and loaded it up with three inch magnums. He killed two of the punks, spreading them all over the den, badly wounding two more.

He then had taken the empty shotgun and beat in the head of the fifth punk. The punk with the fractured skull had found a bleeding heart lawyer and sued the Pearson family for damages. And won.

“He made believers of that bunch, didn’t he, boy?” The fact that the street crud had collected damages still left a sour taste in Dan’s mouth.

“He sure did, Dad. We’ll handle things here at home. Put that worry out of your mind.”

“If it gets down to it, son, don’t hesitate. Don’t play like it’s the movies. Just pull the trigger and blow the jerk away. Aim between the neck and the waist and pull the trigger. You’re a cop’s kid, boy, and you’re going to be a good cop. But you’re not a cop yet, so you don’t have any of the cop’s restrictions.” He squeezed his son’s shoulder. “I’m depending on you, Carl. And I know you’ll do what you have to do. Head’s up, now, boy.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

Forbes was at the office when Dan arrived. He had been working for several hours. He had checked all outside terminals. He had taken apart all the office phones and declared them secure. He had then electronically swept the offices. They were clean.

“Of course,” he reminded Dan, “someone might have a long range mike pointed at this office. If that’s the case, there is very little you can do about it.”

“You’re such a comfort to me, Forbes,” Dan had said with a grin.

“I know, sir,” the young trooper said, returning Dan’s grin. “Ain’t life hell?”

Captain Taylor and Chuck arrived at the office together. Dan passed out the M-10’s, keeping one for himself. Taylor declined the little spitter, saying he’d stay with his model 1100 Remington. It was his personal shotgun, and with the extender tube, carried nine three inch magnums. Dan checked with the night watch; nothing new to report. Taylor, Chuck, and Dan sat in Dan’s office, drinking coffee and chatting until nine o’clock. Dan placed the call to his friend at CIA.

After going through several people, Dan finally got his friend on the line. “Gordon? Dan Garrett here.”

“Dan? Good Lord! A voice from the past. You still wearing your cowboy boots and tin star?”

“Nope.”

“No?”

“Gold star.”

“Oh, excuse me! Hey, old buddy! What’s going on with you?”

“Is your phone clear, Gordon?”

A short pause. “It is now. I gather this is not a purely social call, right?”

“I wish it were. I won’t stall around, Gordon. What do you know about the Office of Special Studies?”

The pause was a bit longer. “Tell me you don’t have that bunch in your area?”

“ ’Fraid I can’t do that, Gordon. I’m up to my neck with them.”

“I hate to hear that, Buddy. I really do. Okay. The OSS. Well, they’re legit. More civilian but with a lot of government mixed in. Powerful, powerful, old friend. A lot of senators and representatives back what they do—in a quiet sort of way. If you know what I mean, and you do. Let me make this as uncomplicated as possible. You remember The Team? Well, after that Utah mess up, the name was changed to Code Blue. Then to the OSS. You with me?”

“I’m with you.”

“That’s about it, buddy. They keep a very, very low profile. They’re into a lot of legit businesses, and they make profits out of them to keep going. That plus a lot of, ah, well-meaning but badly misinformed Red haters kicking in big bucks. Lou Lamotta still with them?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s crazy, Dan. A real honest to God psycho. But he’s so good at what he does, they’ll put up with his kinkiness in exchange for his expertise. The man is a human computer. His recall ability is truly astounding. What are they doing down there, Dan?”

“You got a seat belt on your chair, Gordon?”

“For years, pal.”

Dan spoke for several minutes, taking it from the top, leaving nothing out. When he had brought his CIA friend up to date, Gordon was silent for a full ten count.

Then the man started laughing. “Come on, Dan. You really had me going for a couple of minutes. Mack put you up to this didn’t he? It’s my birthday. This is the wildest birthday present I’ve ever had. Come on, ’fess up, Dan.”