The Ears of a Cat

by Roderick Hart

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Ralph, Red Line; I have a delivery for you.’

  ‘Please leave it in the mailbox.’

  ‘Sorry, Miss Saito, I need a signature.’

  There was a brief pause while she considered this.

  ‘Any indication of the sender?’

  This was the question he’d been hoping for, the answer he had ready a verbal key to the door.

  ‘Right, hold it. Ah yes, a party by the name of Ventris; Madison, Wisconsin.’

  As she was bound to do, she took the bait. This might be good news, a development in the Burkina Faso plan.

  But when he reached her door, it was shut, not the welcome he expected, and behind it, looking through the spyhole, Saito checked him out, a delivery man in red jacket and cap holding a packet. Red Line. Satisfied on this score, she opened the door. He offered her the package and as she reached out to take it, he punched her in the face. He had no wish to damage her mouth or nose, but he had to land it somewhere. As she fell back from the impact, he stepped in, closed the door and produced a pistol from his jacket pocket.

  ‘Go to the living room!’

  Shocked, she was slow to react, so he gripped her under the armpits and dragged her through. She was surprisingly light.

  ‘Sit down.’

  He dropped her on one of her chairs. Her hand pressed over her mouth, blood was seeping between her fingers, but as far as Pearson could see, her teeth were intact, which pleased him since he had no wish to inflict so much as a blemish on this chaste and reclusive creature. To him, the prospect of sexual congress with damaged goods was less attractive than with a woman in a state of perfection.

  ‘Listen carefully, Miss Saito, and I’ll tell you how it is. When you’ve recovered your composure, you and I are going to the bedroom. You’re going to lie on the bed, on your back, legs apart, and I’m going to enjoy your firm young body. How does that grab you?’

  She had no intention of being grabbed by anyone, especially not by this revolting man who was clearly the individual who’d put the screws on Munoz.

  ‘I will not do this.’

  ‘When you’ve heard what I have to say, I think you will.’ He looked at her mouth; she was still bleeding. ‘We can fix this,’ he said, like a plumber checking a leak. ‘Don’t move.’

  He ran to the kitchen and returned with kitchen roll and a glass of water, which she silently accepted. She took a sip or two and dabbed at her mouth with tissue. She had yet to notice the bloodstains on her top.

  ‘Right, so where were we? Oh yes, I’m the man who’s been keeping an eye on you for months. What I don’t know about you isn’t worth knowing.’ Enjoying his moment of power, he kept on talking; always a mistake. ‘Catherine Cooper, Cindy Horváth, Gudrun Grönefeld, Future World – what I have on you guys could put you away for the rest of your lives.’

  ‘Unless I lie on my bed with my legs apart.’

  ‘Why, you catch on quick. I’m impressed.’

  ‘But how do I know…?’

  ‘How do you know I won’t turn you in afterwards regardless? You don’t. For you it will be a gamble but, who knows, it might pay off and no one will ever find out what you’ve been up to.’

  ‘Or what you have done.’

  ‘Indeed. But Gina, just so you know, I’m not hanging around here. If what I have on you isn’t enough,’ he took a small phial from his pocket, ‘I have this.’ She looked at it but said nothing. ‘Okay, so you don’t want to know, but this is saponin. Guess what it does when added to water. The water in your aquarium, for example. Guess what it does to the fish.’

  ‘The fish have done nothing to you.’

  ‘And I will do nothing to them.’

  ‘Provided I lie on my bed with my legs apart.’

  Hearing this line a second time, Pearson realised that despite the weakness of her position, Saito was playing him. Stung by that, he grabbed her, lifted her from her chair and dragged her to the bedroom. Her futon was closer to the floor than he’d have liked, but it would do. He threw her onto it, turned her over on her back, loosened his pants and straddled her, his knees either side of her hips. The promised land was in sight, but Saito had no intention of letting him reach it. She drew the long ebony kanzashi from her hair and stabbed him in the groin.

  He suppressed a scream of pain; a neighbour might hear him and call it in. His first instinct was to smash her teeth down her throat, but he suppressed that too. Using his tackle was one of the few pleasures left; the sooner he hit the repair shop the better.

  49

  When the driver arrived, her eyes were drawn to the large spreading bloodstain in the area of his groin by Pearson himself, pressing one of Saito’s hand towels against it and glancing anxiously downwards. Much though she could use the money, she told Pearson to fuck off: the suggestion of violence was bad, but what swung it was the prospect of blood on her upholstery. She had enough problems without that. But the second driver, window wound right down, was an entrepreneur in the making.

  ‘Wife trouble?’

  Pearson’s eye was caught by two large dice, still swinging in the windscreen even though the vehicle had drawn to a halt. How could this idiot hope to get anyone to a hospital in one piece?

  ‘Girlfriend.’

  ‘Cut it off, did she? Read about cases like that.’

  He saw himself touring the studios recounting his critical role in rescuing this man, clearly subject to domestic violence, just in time for the severed organ, preserved with ice in a cocktail shaker, to be sewn back in position with skill and surgical twine, thus restoring a normal sex life in due course. This would be a headline-grabbing story, sensational enough to interest axe-wielding feminists and give average males the shakes. More to the point, it would bring in much-needed interview fees.

  ‘No, but it wasn’t for want of trying. Are you going to take me or not?’

  The emergency room was exactly as expected on a Saturday night, crowded with down-and-outs, drunks, junkies and the occasional straight-up citizen who’d chosen the wrong night to have a heart attack or stroke. He also noticed with dismay the smell of stale cigarette smoke brought in on the clothes of heavy smokers, believing on available evidence that second-hand smoke was nearly as lethal as direct inhalation.

  He knew his case was urgent but so, it seemed, was everyone else’s. When he was finally seen and the privacy curtain drawn, Dr Ibrahimi had a nurse cut his pants away with scissors and clean him up for inspection with ethanol swabs. Pearson was okay with the visual inspection, not so happy with the prodding, especially of his right testicle.

  ‘That hurt?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’m not the patient, Mr Pearson.’

  ‘Of course it hurts. You’re hurting it.’

  Dr Ibrahimi was sorry about that but clinical investigation was necessary; they had to know exactly what they were dealing with. When he’d finished, the doctor removed his latex gloves and gave it to him straight.

  ‘Your injury is serious. It will not heal by itself so the sooner we operate the better. We would wish to prevent further damage down the line and, if possible, restore full function.’

  Pearson was horrified. ‘If possible?’

  ‘It may prove necessary to remove the damaged testicle.’

  Hearing this induced in Pearson a sudden attack of nausea, which he recognised at once as an instance of mind over matter.

  ‘Try not to vomit, Mr Pearson, retching may well cause further damage.’

  ‘Easy for you to say.’

  ‘Indeed it is, but don’t be discouraged,’ Dr Ibrahimi said with a smile, ‘bear in mind that if it comes to the bit, you can still fire on one. Nurse Desoto will talk you through the procedure and have you sign the necessary consents if you wish to proceed.’

  ‘What other choice do I have?’<
br />
  ‘Realistically? None.’

  As the doctor departed, Nurse Desoto drew closer.

  ‘I shall tell you what will happen and also what can go wrong. You should understand before you sign.’

  Dr Ibrahimi, surgeon to the poor and needy, would do his best to avoid damaging any of the nerves and blood vessels supplying the testes and other organs, which Pearson took to mean the penis. About one hour before his general anaesthetic, she would give him an injection to dry up internal fluids. This would make him sleepy. As with any operation, she continued, sounding like a quotation from a dictionary of surgical procedures, when the integument was compromised, there was always the possibility of internal bleeding and postoperative infection. Since this was a serious operation, he could expect to be their guest for at least one week, possibly longer. Unless, of course, he chose to recover elsewhere.

  When Nurse Desoto left, Pearson lay on his bed attempting to regain at least some of his composure, but before he could do so he was visited by a woman with documents.

  ‘Mr Pearson? I know this isn’t the best time, but given your need of postoperative care, I have to ask about your HMO. I take it you have a plan.’

  He had but couldn’t recall the details. Emergency treatment would be covered but after that, if his plan didn’t extend to the recovery period, hotel charges and the like, it might come down to treat and street.

  ‘So before we go any further, I suggest you make a call. We need to clarify the position.’

  An orderly had dumped his jacket at the foot of his bed. It was a painful stretch, but when he managed to fish his phone out of the pocket, he found that his HMO was not in its contacts list. How careless was that? But as he scrolled on, he was reassured to find, right at end of the list, a name which was included. Ventris. And had not Ventris just assured him he was back on the payroll? In which case, he should by now be included in Ventris Labs insurance scheme once more. How fortunate was that? One call would be all it took.

  ‘Yo, Pearson, what gives?’

  The voice was loud in his ear, the confident tones of a man who had it all whether he needed it or not.

  ‘I have a problem.’

  ‘I’ve known that for years, Adalbert. Be specific, for Christ’s sake.’

  But when he explained what had happened, he was subjected to raucous laughter all the way from Madison, Wisconsin, and a comparison which had not occurred to him yet, though doubtless it would have in the end.

  ‘You and Munoz, what a pair of dicks you are. Or maybe that should be were; you won’t have so much function in that department now. You guys really should learn to take better care of your privates.’

  When the laughter subsided, Ventris told Pearson not to worry; he’d cover it. If the hospital admin needed to verify that, all they needed to do was give him a call. Though there was no way he could have known this, Pearson was later to claim that he ended up in exactly the same bed previously occupied by Munoz. But just as a feeling of relief was beginning to take over from anxiety, Nurse Desoto approached his bed again, this time with an officer of the LAPD.

  ‘Mr Pearson, we understand from the hospital authorities that you have been the subject of aggravated sexual violence.’

  Pearson’s brain went into overdrive. He couldn’t hope to explain what had happened and leave out his part in it. And since the revenge he intended to visit on Saito involved covering her every move and making her look over her shoulder so often she’d pick up a permanent crick in the neck, he didn’t want her ending up in the hands of the police. In any case, he couldn’t afford to reveal the reason for his interest in the first place.

  ‘Then the hospital authorities have it wrong, Officer: it was an accident pure and simple. Screwdriver slipped.’

  The officer looked sceptical. ‘So what are we talking here, assembling a flat-pack?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  The officer turned to the nurse with a sigh.

  ‘You know what they always forget? People like us, medical professionals, police officers, we talk to people.’ He turned his gaze back to Pearson. ‘In this case, the cab driver who drove you here. You told him your girlfriend did it. I take it I’m right in assuming this girlfriend of yours isn’t a screwdriver.’

  Fair comment. As far as Pearson could tell, Saito never screwed anything or anyone.

  ‘Okay, cards on the table. But all I can tell you, Officer…?

  ‘Poniatowsky.’

  ‘All I can tell you is that the woman in question is currently under investigation on grounds of national security.’

  ‘Right, so who are you with, FBI, NSA, Homeland Security?’

  ‘BND.’

  Officer Poniatowsky turned to the nurse again.

  ‘A new one on me. And who might they be, Mr Pearson?’

  ‘The Bundesnachrichtendienst.’

  ‘Come again!’

  ‘German Intelligence.’

  Of Polish antecedents, Officer Poniatowsky didn’t like the sound of this.

  ‘If the Krauts had so much intelligence, they wouldn’t have lost the war.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  But the officer got it. For whatever reason, the victim didn’t want the incident followed up.

  ‘Suit yourself, buddy. We could care less, right, Nurse Desoto?’

  ‘Right, Officer.’

  An hour later, as he went under, his subconscious released by anaesthetic, Pearson recalled a bilious green typewriter in Saito’s living room, a machine he’d registered without noticing. That was interesting; that was worth following up: the woman was using snail mail as security. And surely there was something else; the mobile phone she’d been using to record her impressions of the VR 360 Headset. What had she been doing when he forced his way into her apartment? Had the phone been on record? He was very much afraid that it had been.

  50

  ‘We have to talk.’

  ‘No, we don’t.’

  ‘I think you should hear me out.’

  ‘Get lost, Gina.’

  Munoz had gone back to work after two weeks’ sick leave. In the view of his doctor, his difficulty in recovering was now more mental than physical. Yes, the repair had been successful; clinical tests showed that his organ had regained its function, but at the aesthetic level, Munoz was unhappy. In its new incarnation, it lacked the impressive military bearing of before. Worse, he now had a fear of using it for one of its two intended purposes in case the same disaster overtook it again. It stood to reason: repaired or not, it had to be weaker as a result of its trauma. While his fear was understandable, Dr Cabral pointed out, in overly brusque tones, that by thinking in this way he was disabling himself. The fact that she was right was no consolation at all.

  ‘This is important, Rafael. I’ll be round in twenty.’

  When Saito arrived, Aleksander was cleaning the oven with rubber gloves and a caustic degreaser. He suspected the worse when Munoz ushered Saito into his bedroom and shut the door. Was Rafael paying for it with this geisha-looking girl? That was the most likely explanation; no self-respecting female would willingly conjoin with a sleaze ball like him.

  As she sat on the room’s only chair, Saito noticed Ai on the floor, face upwards in her box. As a result of his accident, Munoz no longer resorted to her. Which was a pity but couldn’t be helped.

  ‘What’s so important you had to come round?’

  ‘A man forced his way into my apartment. He tried to rape me.’

  Even though the attempt had failed, this man had probably got further than Munoz ever had, a wry thought he kept to himself.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  She’d used concealer for a week to hide the damage to her face.

  ‘Any particular reason why you?’

  It hadn’t been random. Whoever he was, her attacker had known
about her and several of her friends.

  ‘That include me?’

  ‘He didn’t mention you.’

  ‘So what did he look like, this guy?’

  When Saito described him, Munoz knew at once who he was.

  ‘That’s him, the dickhead I told you about! Said his name was Pearson. Worked for the security services. Had an ID. Candystone, something like that. He knew I’d collected your package. Said he wouldn’t take it any further provided I kept an eye on you and reported back to him.’

  ‘And you agreed.’

  ‘Had to, on account of what was in it. Which wasn’t what you said.’

  ‘I didn’t say what it was.’

  ‘Cut the crap, Gina! When I thought it was from Apple, you could have but you didn’t.’

  ‘Could have what?’

  ‘Set me straight.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And when I called you out on that, guess what, you claimed it was insomnia medication your doc had refused to prescribe anymore. Pull the other one, baby. Liquid melatonin! We’re not even talking a meth precursor here and the NSA wouldn’t give a fuck about melatonin!’

  ‘There was a reason I didn’t tell you.’

  ‘Isn’t there always?’

  If he didn’t know what the package contained, he couldn’t be accused of withholding information. She’d kept him in the dark for his own protection.

  ‘Let’s get real here, Saito. The best way to protect me was not conning me into collecting your packet in the first place. You’re always the same, you know that? Go for what you want regardless, trample over the little people like me.’

  And still she hadn’t told him what was in it.

  ‘Right, so to answer your question…’

  The package contained samples of a virus. Munoz could pass that on to Pearson because he already knew. It would keep the man off his back. Sitting on his bed, he was aware he was perspiring and Saito didn’t like sweat. Come to think of it, however hot it was, she never seemed to perspire.

  ‘As you can tell from the open window, the unit’s awaiting repair. Anyway, what’s with this virus; why would you want something like that?’