Meter Maids Eat Their Young (22 page)

The screeches and bellows began to Doppler away. I heard the utility door slam, heard a cat yowl in pain. I tried to get up, to go to them, my attack cats, but the room was going white on me, fading and I couldn't move. The last thing I remember, before it all went dark, was Doubtful winding her way over my shoulder and lying on my chest.

When I woke, there was a pillow under my head. Jaz was sitting on the floor next to me, one hand clutching a cell phone, the other brushing my cheek. It was a pleasant sensation, until the pain in my skull registered its presence. I rolled over, Doubtful clinging to my chest, and puked.

“Teller,” she said, her hand on my shoulder now. I felt embarrassed and sick, and wanted to crawl off and hide. She shook me gently.

“Teller. The ambulance is on the way. And the police. What happened, Teller?”

I groaned. Just what I needed. Doctors and cops. My favorite people after lawyers.

“The cats,” I managed to say. “How are the cats?”

“Spook is splattered with blood and there's a gash over his eye.  He won't let me near him. The rest, I don't know.  Most of them are outside prowling and screeching. What the hell happened here?”

Before I could answer her, I heard the sirens turn up the block. Then there were two guys kneeling next to me, black suitcases open around them, poking and prodding, taking my damn temperature and blood pressure. I imagined the latter was off the scale.

“Pretty low,” one said.

“Pulse fast but strong,” replied the other.

“Can you turn your head?”

It took me a beat to realize he was talking to me. I started to swivel my head, felt what was left in my stomach take flight, and turned away from him just in time to add more puke to the pile.

“Concussion,” said the guy. “Maybe a fracture. We need to transport.”

“I'll get the stretcher,” said the other guy.

I groaned. Just what I needed: A hospital. I hated hospitals. At least I had health insurance. I lay my head back on the pillow and Jaz began to stroke my face. That alone made it almost worth being nearly killed.

“The c-cats … check on them … a vet … please,” I muttered and once again everything went dark.

By midnight I'd been poked, prodded, poked some more, stuck in a brightly lit cylinder no bigger than a coffin, and wheeled to a bed.

“No fracture,” the man in white standing at the foot of the bed said. “Some minor brain swelling but that's to be expected,” he continued. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

I looked at him, blinked a couple of times. “What fingers,” I said.

His eyebrows arched, and he started to write something in the chart he was holding.

“Joking,” I said. “Just joking. Two. You were holding up two.”

“Good,” he said. “Your vision and your humor seem to be intact.”

“Can I get out of here now?”

“It would be better if you spent the night.”

“Better, perhaps, but is it really necessary? I'm worried about my cats.”

He pondered this a moment, a slight smile curling his lips.

“I don't suppose there would be any harm in it. But I want to see you back here first thing in the morning.”

“I can do that,” I said, sliding my legs out over the side of the bed.

“Your clothes are there on the chair,” he said. “Do you have a ride home?”

“I'll make sure he gets there,” came a voice from the doorway, the second to the last voice I wanted to hear. I looked up and there was Marion, as crisp and clean at the end of this day as he'd no doubt been when it began.

“Fine,” said the doctor. “And I mean it, Mr. Teller. I want you back here first thing in the morning.”

“Right,” I said, pulling on my jeans and shucking the hospital smock. “First thing.”

Marion and I left the hospital in silence. Though he had to grab me several times when my legs went all wobbly, we made it to his car without me falling on my ass.

“You should have let them keep you,” he said as he started the car.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for your concern.”

He gave me a sharp look.

“Sorry,” I said. “My ‘play nice' function is a bit impaired at the moment.” I had to swallow hard to get the next sentence out. “Thanks for giving me a ride.”

“It's not altogether altruism, Teller.”

He pulled out the hospital parking lot and turned in the opposite direction from home. Before I could ask him where we were going, his cell phone rang.

“Chambers,” he said, plugging a Bluetooth in his ear.

There was a long moment while he listened. I stared out the window, trying not to think about my near brush with death.

“That's good news,” Marion said. He looked over at me. “I'll get down there as soon as I can.”

“Problems?” I said when he pulled the Bluetooth from his ear.

“Police business,” he answered.

“Where are we going?”

“You'll see soon enough.”

Five minutes of silence later, we pulled up at the police impound yard. Marion pulled a remote from the dash, pushed the button and the gate inched its way open. A minute later we pulled up in front of a dark grey Nissan Pathfinder. It had a crumpled passenger-side fender, one headlight pointing downward.  I noticed the license plate was missing.

“Is this the SUV that tried to flatten you the other night?”

Startled by his question, I hemmed and hawed and attempted an evasion.

“I, uh—”

“Don't bullshit me, Teller,” he said. “I already know someone tried to run you down, a little detail you conveniently failed to mention.”

I turned to look at him, a move that made my head pound and my vision go blurry. A swear word from Marion the Pure? This was serious.

“You know?”

“I know.”

“How?”

“It's my business to know. You want to tell me what's going on?” he said.

I sat for a moment, staring at the SUV, trying to decide what to do, what to tell Marion, what to hold back. I'd spent so many years toying with him I found it hard to believe I was being straight up with him of late. At least a little.

“Yeah,” I said. “That's it. Is it the one that—”

“Yes. Forensic boys found blood stains in the back. It matches Harrison's. We're checking the DNA to be sure but I have no doubt it's his.”

He put the car in gear, circled around the lot and out through the gate.

“Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?” he said.

I stared out the window at the darkened downtown buildings, my thoughts bouncing about like bingo balls in an air hopper.

With a deep sigh, I told him how I'd gone home, found the Doubtful Guest outside, how I'd gone in through the back door and had my ass soundly whipped.

“What did that guy want tonight, besides crushing your skull?”

I considered telling him about the tickets but rejected the notion. First, I had but a vague idea what they meant, with no corroborating evidence to back it up. Second, he would likely take them from me, regardless, and I'd be back to square one. It was obvious from the insurance bill my health care provider was going to receive that those tickets meant something to someone and, if I let them go, I'd never find out who that someone was.

“Kill me, I suppose,” I said. “Like they did Harrison. And maybe the others. Make it look like a burglary gone bad.”

He pulled into my driveway and killed the lights, leaving the motor running.

“Why” he said. “Any ideas on who ‘they' are?”

I started to shake my head, thought better of it. “I'd like to say someone at the DPE but I have no proof so, at the moment, I haven't a clue. To either question.”

“Clueless is a dangerous place to be, Teller.”

“Tell me about it. But I'm convinced it's all connected; Harrison, Gjerde, Forrester, the Meter Mangler, the DPE, me. I just can't see how it's connected. Not yet, anyway.”

I opened the door, started to ease myself out and stopped.

“You might want to start searching for a dark blue Mercedes,” I said. “Diesel. Newer model.”

“You know who this guy is, don't you?”

“On sight. I don't have a name. And after tonight, with what the cats did to him, I have a feeling he's going to lay low.”

I stepped from the car and started to close the door.

“Here,” said Marion as he tossed something small in my direction. I snatched it out the air and examined it.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“Indeed,” Marion said. “One of my men found it attached to your landline. You might want to be careful what you talk about on that phone.”

I closed the door, still clutching the tiny bug. Marion backed out the driveway and I watched as his taillights faded away. Unclenching my fist, I examined the bug again. So that was how he knew what I'd been up to, why he'd shown up earlier, and why he came calling last night. I slipped the bug into my pocket and began to make my way up the walk.

Jaz was waiting for me on the porch. I was wobbling pretty badly by the time I got there and she helped me to a seat.

“You should have stayed in the hospital, you idiot.”

“I hate hospitals.”

“What happened here, Teller?”

“How are the cats?”

“Spook needed stitches but he's fine and a bit dozy from the pain killers. He's on your bed, sleeping. Likewise the Beast. He has a cracked rib. Booth and Mooch are limping but the vet said there were no broken bones. Feral and Puss have several broken claws. Doubtful's tail is bent but the vet says it isn't broken.”

“Wow. Something, huh? Attack cats. Who'd of thought it?”

I felt tears welling up. My cats saved my life. No more generic cat food for them. Nothing but top of the line from here on out.

“Your place is a mess,” she said.

“I can imagine.”

“I was going to try and straighten it up, then I thought you might want to … I don't know, look around or something, see if anything was missing.”

“Thanks, Jaz. I appreciate that. And for taking the cats to the vet. Let me know how much it was and I'll get it back to you tomorrow.”

“Don't worry about it.”

“Did you see anything?” I said. “How did you find me?”

“I got a …” she started then shifted gears. “I came home and there was all this screeching and yowling and bellowing coming from the backyard. Then this big guy comes running down the driveway, screaming and flinging off cats. Scared the hell out of me. I ran up to the house, but the door was locked so I went around back and in through the utility room. Found you out cold on the dining room floor. I called the cops.”

“Did you get a good look at the guy?”

“No. Too dark.”

“Did he see you?”

“I doubt it. He was too busy having his face scratched off to notice much of anything.”

“Good.”

“Teller. What's going on? What did that guy want?”

“Jaz, I feel like a package delivered on Christmas day by an angry postal worker. My hair hurts I feel so beat up, but I'll get past it. I've had hangovers worse than this, and right now, I just want to crawl into bed, gather up my cats and forget this day ever happened.”

“Are you sure? I could stay if you want.”

My heart jumped, which sadly made my head pound more. What a time for an offer like that, though I doubted she intended it to be the gesture I almost wished it was.

“Thanks. Really. I appreciate what you've done. More than you know, but I can handle it from here.”

I started to rise but fell quickly back. In the end, Jaz helped me to my feet, guided me into my bedroom, and lowered me onto the bed, careful not to disturb Spook or Beast. She unbuttoned my shirt and slid it over my shoulders and down my arms. Kneeling, she pulled off my boots and then my socks. When she stood back up, I thought for a moment she was going to go for my jeans. I wasn't sure how I felt about that as I don't wear underwear, but I was saved further worry when she swiveled me around and pushed me back to a prone position.

Doubtful jumped on the bed, followed by the rest of the felines.

“You gonna tell me what happened, Teller?”

“In the morning. I promise.”

She nodded once and left.