Skin the Cat

by R Sean McGuirk

  Eyes clouded and not coming back around, wiping his chin. “What?”

  “I asked if you knew where Debbie might be.”

  “Debbie?” he hesitated, catching the idea now.

  “She’s not picking up her phone.”

  “Oh right,” he said sitting erect, squinting to read the clock on the opposite wall, not really seeing it. “Let’s see…I sent her to the hotel to pack Carlina’s shit up and get her ass moved. We have a deranged killer on the loose and no idea who the hell it is.”

  Wadsworth’s eyes were heavy with sleep and he tried to throw me a grin which made him look crazy. He couldn’t hide the worry, and took to rubbing the bridge of his nose. All our jobs were on the line now. Suspensions and terminations were right around the corner. Maybe even a departmental restructuring. Breznik would soon mow us down like machine-gun fire…and stand new cardboard characters in our place.

  My phone buzzed and I glanced at the screen. The listed number was totally unfamiliar though the area code was correct.

  “Yeah?” I answered.

  “Oh man, Shade,” the voice screeched, high-pitched and rapid. “It’s real bad man, so fucking bad. Are you on the radio? Did you here?”

  “Officer White?” I said. Wadsworth darted his eyes at mine. “Easy buddy. Slow down”

  He sucked in a quick breath. “Okay,” he gathered himself a little. “Debbie went into the hotel. To Carlina. A few minutes later, I realized the lights were out in the room. No one came out Shade. I swear to God.” His voice choked.

  “And?”

  “Shade,” he gave a light sob. The kid was unravelling. My heartbeat thumped in my ears. A flash. The call that Emily stepped right in front of that truck. “I knew it wasn’t right,” he continued. “I found Debbie down in the bathroom floor next to a scalpel.” His voice went totally loose, and then hysterical. “A real bloodbath,” he sobbed. “She was sliced to pieces Shade. There’s nothing I could do.”

  The floor opened under my feet like a trapdoor. I went weightless with panic. “Emily wasn’t even at the hotel…”

  “What?” Chad blurted. “Shade? Who’s Emily?”

  The wall veered at me, smacked into my shoulder. I leaned into it, trying not to vanish out of my shoes. The old man hopped up, pushed in, right against me, his face riddled with confusion.

  “Sir,” Chad yelped. “Are you still there?”

  I had to tuck my chin to speak, my lungs taking no power, no breath. “Is she still alive?”

  “I don’t believe..,” his voice trailed off, and came back. “The ambulance got here right away.”

  My heart thudded inside my chest and my feet trying to float away from the floor. I thought of that prescription I so brazenly tossed into the trash at the same hospital Debbie was being rushed to. “Where?”

  “Exodus Regional.”

  Luke and the Chief gathered me up as I fought to stay on my feet, thinking, thinking, thinking. How did I not see this? A sex video. Greymore hammering Carlina. those unrecognizable men participating in the background. Degrading. Drug abuse. Rape? Carlina. A desperate junkie with a cash flow problem. The flash and spark of the cylinders firing in my now. Me getting it. Those motorcycle boys stumbled on the sex video. Or secretly recorded it to begin with. Greymore hired Tadpole as the clean up man. When he believed all copies had been destroyed, he freed himself of the final liability and killed the last remaining players, Tadpole and his father Barry Harmony. Blew them right through the roof. Dead men don’t talk. He knew Carlina was a safe bet. Because she starred in the video. What he didn’t see coming was…revenge. But the last domino hadn’t fallen into place. Svidi Malhotra. An Indian physician on the run for his life in white, rural America. Framed by his own wife. Why would she do that? As we pulled into Exodus Memorial, I came to that place. The truth place. Then thing a detective hates to admit more than anything else in the world: I never saw this coming.

  Into the emergency department, walking on glass legs, the panic never left me. It sat splashing in my throat like a cup of coffee poured too full, almost brimming over the edge. I could not go over the edge. Not this time. A nurse stepped up, face neutral and guided us to the edge of the ER. “This is as close as you get fellas.”

  Us buoyed on the outside looking in. She was still alive. I pressed my palms flat against the glass, peering through a crack in the curtains suspended on the other side. Debbie lay in a hospital bed Somewhere beneath an impossible heap of tubes, wires, and cables, I caught Debbie’s hard square jaw. Nothing else remained vaguely recognizable. Almost like a stranger surrounded on both sides by I.V poles, beeping monitors, a humming oxygen machine and the whirring throb and sigh of a ventilator. I touched my forehead to the glass, searching for a glimmer or a stirring. Nothing. I swiped a tear off my cheek. The Chief and Luke stepped back as I watched a doctor in a lab jacket appear in the reflection behind me. “She’s on life support?” I asked without turning.

  “Intubated,” he hesitated and tried to smile. “The vent is just to assist her normal breathing.”

  “Is she going to make it?” I said turning toward the physician. Kind eyes.

  “She’s,” he paused. “It’s far too early to tell. Her body…the trauma. She has a long, long way to go.”

  I turned my head back, putting both palms up on the glass. The doctor continued.

  “We were elated she made it here alive to begin with, given what the paramedic reported about her injuries. She’s a real fighter. She may very well survive this.” His voice dropped an octave. “But if she does, there will be some real challenges ahead.”

  I watched the machines chattering, whirring, bleeping. “Challenges?” I echoed.

  In the reflection the man shifted his weight on his feet, leaning to the other side. “The question that remains is her cognition and mental acuity.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and dropped his head. “The level of oxygen deprivation was profound.”

  “Are you talking about brain damage?” I said turning back toward him, eyes going hot, a knot swelling in my throat.

  “It’s very possible.”

  “How bad could it be?”

  “Detective,” he said glancing at the watch on his wrist. “I don’t have a crystal ball for that one.”

  “I’m not asking you to read tea leaves here,” I took a half-step forward, panic still parked in my throat, legs aching. “This is my partner. And this isn’t your first go-around. What have you seen in the past in these situations? I mean, basic outcomes…in general.”

  Wadsworth stepped between us. “Shade now listen-”

  The doctor cut the old man off, waving his palm. “No, it’s okay.” He looked back at me nodding slowly, feeling bad. “Okay,” he sighed. “Off-record. Do I think she’ll be able to tie her shoes again? Sure. That’s reasonable enough. Do I think she’ll ever return to police work? Fully functioning?” He glanced into the glass doubtfully. “It’s just too tough to call.”

  My phone buzzed in my pocket and I gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Thank you.”

  Wadsworth and Luke stepped forward making their own enquiries. I retreated into an alcove, pulling out my phone. The incoming call was restricted. “Bardane here.”

  “Hi there handsome,” the female voice seemed to smile.

  “Hello?”

  No answer.

  “Hello?” I repeated. “May I help you?”

  The voice came back, the smile gone. “How long did you lay out at his clinic?”

  My hair stood on end.

  “You ruined everything,” she muttered. “Now you have to pay. And oh, you will.”

  “Listen to me very closely Carlina,” I said. “I’m coming for you.” My jaw tightened. “And when I do, I’m going to cut you in half.”

  “Not if I get to you first.”

  Then the line went dead.

&
nbsp; 39

  Doorbell

  “Oh my God,” Melanie asked. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m in one piece,” I said smiling, because I heard if you smiled when you spoke on the phone you sounded more believable. Truly I was emotionally thin and shredded, like a torn sheet of paper. I’d been teetering on the hair-trigger edge of a full-blown panic attack. Dr. Daniel Renfield, the physician who tended to me during my psychotic break with William Silk, called earlier. He asked how the prescription was working. I told him I wadded it up and threw it in the trash. He warned me that was stupid. That unless I got on specific medication, more debilitating episodes were certain to follow until it consumed me entirely. A man on the brink I think he said. I watched my fingers tremble and wondered if he might be on to something.

  “Shade?” Melanie asked with a voice full of concern. “Are you still there?”

  Deep breath, watching my fingers jump on my left hand. “Apparently so. I mean, the body still moves.” I fell in with a loud laugh. Melanie staying quiet, not getting my humor. Not certain I did either. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t breathe. But I kept watching with amusement. Fingers that jump. All on their own. Imagine that.

  “How’s my grandfather doing?” Her voice sounder tighter, a little strained. “I heard he slept office…on that horrible vinyl sofa.”

  I looked over my shoulder and watched the old man stoop over the coffee machine, jiggling something, cursing under his breath. “He appears to be hanging in there,” I smiled. “They don’t build them like that anymore.”

  “You are at the office?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “With him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, good,” her words breaking with a wave of relief.

  Fingers bouncing. My left hand playing a light piano that wasn’t there. Me shaking my wrist, trying to make it stop. Wadsworth having no better luck with the coffee machine. A garbage truck outside roaring by. An intercom announcement. A heated discussion down the hallway. All at once. Everything overlapping.

  “People have been asking about you.”

  I jumped, forgetting all about the phone. “Who?”

  “Your Sober as a Blue Bird group.”

  “Oh…AA,” I said rubbing my temples. “Yes. When I nail Malhotra, I’ll be back.”

  “Melanie,” I said warily, not wanting to say it. “Will you do me a favor?”

  “What’s that Shade?”

  “Stay at the Wadsworth’s the next couple of days.”

  “Why?” she laughed.

  “I just have a bad feeling.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We have no idea where the hell Carlina went. And right now, I have a hunch she isn’t too fond of law enforcement officials or their extended families.” I paused. “There’s safety in numbers.”

  “You want me to hide out at my grandparents?” she asked, some sarcasm coming on.

  “Not hide out,” I grunted. “Melanie. The woman is a monster. I mean if you could see the crime scene photos…”

  “Shit,” she cut me off. “Hang on Shade.”

  “Are you okay?” I gave my left hand a hard shake.

  “The FedEx guy just pulled up out front. He’s coming up my steps with a package.” Her voice turned cross. “And they know better. All deliveries go to my drop box behind the flower shop. And yet here they are again.”

  “Okay, I’ll let you go.”

  “Hey Shade?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You really should give me a call sometime.” She paused, a doorbell ringing in the background. “You have my number.”

  She hung up before I could say goodbye.

  40

  Bait

  On my toes and leaning to the side to peer across the street, her window curtains lay still, no movement inside. I let my fingertips slide across the my scalp as I sank back to my feet, and caught my reflection in a busted window pane laying in the dirt. Skinny. Hard face. My jaws sticking out, the flesh sunken in. Who was this staring back? I’d transformed. I’d become anybody but me. Possibly nobody at all. Like a fucking ghost. Erased. The delivery truck would be here soon enough. I’d nab her. Then I would kill him while she watched. Then I’d kill her. Why? He ruined everything. For blood remains the great equalizer and faith without works is dead. I took my blade, nicked open my thumb, tasted the blood, and waited…

  Suddenly the white kitchen curtain jumped. The suggestion of a woman’s outline appeared ghostlike behind the reflective glare of glass. Tucking back the curtain, there she stood: Melanie. She moved back and forth, a flash of bronze hair here, a flash of white teeth there, a golden face smiling as she spun around the countertop. My stomach flopped. Was someone there? No. I shrank back, heart thumping. Anything but another person present. I scratched at the jagged scar over my ear so hard, it ripped open enough for blood to trickle. She suddenly set something down. A phone! She’d only been talking on the phone. A new calm rolled over me, my fingers now sticky and blood stained, the iron pungency shaping into a daydream, me a lion sprinting at full speed and colliding into a stunned gazelle, folding her in half, tearing her apart. That’s not what friends do.

  A truck rumbled in the distance, the engine huffing through the gears and growing louder. Metal brake pads squeaked and cried until the delivery truck lurched to a complete stop. My pulse ticked in my throat as I held my breath. A cardboard box tucked under his arm, the FedEx driver dropped out the passenger side, bound up the steps and punched the doorbell. Mel peered out, puzzled, and began working the door lock. Then she stepped tentatively onto the porch. In jeans and a t-shirt, she was a gorgeous brunette with a hint of Asian descent and full brown eyes. She swept her hair back on one side, drew up her shoulders, turned her palms up and shook her head ‘No’. The delivery guy mouthed something and they stood staring confused until both erupted into laughter. She signed for the thing, cradled the box in her arm and disappeared behind the French door…which she left barely open. A dead-end street, The Fed-Ex guy backed into a driveway, turned and pulled off. Five minutes passed. Come. On. Come on. Where are you already? I stood up, holding my position, on my tiptoes, trying to see deeper into her house, wanting to hold my ears, but I needed to hear it. Where are you? Another minute passed. And then it came. A deep muffled pop. The windows rattled.

  My heart went crazy in my chest. I am the lion crashing into you. I counted to thirty, scanned left and right, not twitching a muscle. Had anyone heard? I waited. The neighborhood sat idle, free of any disturbances, a car in the distance pulling off, maybe a voice calling out a block or so over. But no one here. I leapt forward across the lawn, dashed across the street and the zipped up the front steps. A thin scarf of smoke cascaded down from the crack of the entrance door, where it dispersed in a rippling wave across the porch. In one swift motion, I swung the courier bag forward, stripped off the ski cap, snapped on the gasmask and pressed a tight seal against my cheeks. No way I was going to breathe that shit into my lungs.

  Inside, torn packing paper was scattered all over the kitchen like confetti while the gas still sputtered and spewed from the hockey-puck canister by the stove. A human form writhed on the tile floor. Melanie coughed hard, her blouse and face blackened with flash powder, and then her eyes bulged when she saw me. She fought to get up but the smoke had done its thing. Her arms and legs flipped and flopped. In my excitement, I fumbled for the syringe, yanked off the cap off with my teeth, and stuck the needle into her ass cheek and squeezed the plunger. She came up to her elbows, moaned at the ceiling, and went flat to the floor, out cold. The voice was so real I jumped. That’s not what friends do.

  But there was no else here. Pinched the flesh on my arm. This was real. This was happening. Mel’s car keys were hanging on a brass hook above the stove exactly where they were every single time I’d broken in p
reviously. I stepped over her, grabbed the keys, went straight for the back door, across the deck and into the backyard. Everything was still there, where I’d stashed it last week under the deck posts: The folded wheelchair, a jumbo freezer bag containing a white lab jacket, a ball-gag, zip-ties, and a rolled hospital bed sheet. Back inside, I hoisted the limp and unresponsive Mel into the wheelchair, and twist-tied her ankles and wrists together. The ball-gag wasn’t necessary at this point. She wasn’t saying shit.

  With Mel tucked safely in, her head nodding against the passenger door glass, I drove the Toyota Corolla across town using only side streets until we crossed the lipped curve into the rear parking lot of the old university administration building. I pulled tightly between a green dumpster and the building’s rear loading dock. Not a parking spot but totally hidden.

  Out of the car and onto my feet, the heat swallowed my head, and my scar stung with sweat. I spun around and wrestled the wheelchair out of the trunk. I swung the door open spilled Melanie spilled sideways into the wheelchair. I scooted her ass over, got her posture straight and buttoned the hospital sheet around her neck. I scanned the parking lot. Nothing. We weaved up the concrete ramp where the loading dock door swung open easily. With campus abandoned in the summer, half the place was unlocked. Chalk it up to laziness for the maintenance crew. No one seemed to care. Inside the air conditioning that froze the perspiration down my spine. The wheelchair wobbled down the hall where we boarded an elevator.

  Down in the basement, the mechanical guts of the building whirred and cranked, broilers hissed, the ventilation ducts banged together in a deafening symphony. Dark shadows sizzled with the electrical stench of motors running hot and low. Blue flames flickered in the distance where a boiler sat. The clamor of chugging mechanical equipment drowned out any human noises. We wobbled and rolled until we reached it: The door.

  I took out a plastic library card and popped the lock open as I’d done on each visit before. The cinder-blocked walls were painted flat-yellow and covered in greasy handprints and grime. Above a wall-mounted heating unit, a small, snow-glass window near the ceiling glowed warmly with daylight. My camera sat on its tripod in the center of the room, linked by a cable to the laptop flashing on a desk. Next to this, a black surgical kit lay rolled up in a cylinder.