by J. M. Snyder
That was a new experience, he thought, having to shake off a lot of cats to stand. He futilely brushed at the hair they’d left behind. Riley still stood at his feet, looking up at him. The others wandered off, some to their climbing frames for a bit of exercise, others to the kitchen door. He could feed them, but he’d better let Francis decide about that.
He rubbed his stubbly and itchy chin. How long would Francis take to change and make breakfast? Would Dez have time to shower and shave? He abruptly felt highly conscious of his disheveled appearance. Maybe he should say “thanks but no thanks” about the breakfast.
But he was hungry. He sat down again.
* * * *
In about twenty minutes, the scent of bacon frying took him out of the cat zone and back into Francis’s flat. The living room was still messed up, awaiting SOCO’s forensic examination. He followed his nose to the kitchen—entirely free of cats.
Francis stood at the stove, wearing sweats and a T-shirt with a black cat silhouette on it, his hair damp. His face was lumpy and bruised around one eye, which was almost closed. He smiled wanly at Dez as he chivvied bacon around the pan.
“Let me do that,” Dez said.
“I’m fine. Feel free to butter a couple of rolls, though.” He nodded at the counter, where a packet of bread rolls and a tub of margarine waited.
Between them, they worked on the simple breakfast of bacon rolls and coffee. When it was done, Dez carried it all on a tray to a table in the living room.
“My hero,” Francis said when Dez put it down and started to unload it. “I mean it,” he went on. “Ah, what you did last night…thanks.”
“It was nothing.” No, really. It was nothing. He’d done nothing useful. He’d frozen.
They sat and Dez applied brown sauce to his bacon roll.
“Well, thank you anyway,” Francis said. “And for staying here with the cats all night. Were they okay?”
“Fine. Calmed down after all the excitement. I fed them last night. Not sure if it was on their schedule, but I thought it would help them feel more…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Safer?”
“Oh, great, thanks. Yes, good idea.” He sipped his coffee. “I don’t think I should open today, though. After all that excitement, they still need time to calm down.”
“And you, too, Mr. Green.”
“Just Fran is fine.”
“Fran. You can call me Dez. And of course you shouldn’t open today. You’re hurt, you need to rest.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose that, too. I must look a fright. Do I look bad?”
Dez glanced at him, taking the moment, and the permission, to really inspect. Francis—Fran—was not a fright. Barring the injured left eye, which was a nasty insult to a thing of…well, he was rather handsome, in a sort of fine-featured way. Good bone structure. Angular rather than soft and rounded, for all its delicacy. And the one eye that was fully open was a soft hazel to go with his reddish brown hair. His skin was pale. Not an outdoorsy-looking guy at all. Right now, his chin bristled with whiskers. Too many bruises to shave, Dez supposed.
“I wouldn’t say a fright,” he said, “But you might want to give it a while before dealing with customers face to face.”
Fran sighed. “Good point.” He yawned and winced, holding his bruised face. “Excuse me one second.” He got up, then returned to the table with an iPad and started tapping away. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be anti-social, but I need to send cancellation notices for bookings. And message the staff not to come in.”
“Have a couple of them come in to take care of the cats. So you can rest.” Dez realized he sounded a bit too authoritarian when Fran looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Just a suggestion.”
Fran smiled. “A good one. I will. I had no sleep at all. I mean, after I got woken up. And I think a night in A&E unwound all the benefits of whatever sleep I did get before the break-in.”
“Well, if you’d just stayed in your bedroom and called the police instead of getting into a fight with the intruder—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Fran said, wearing a chagrined expression. “I’ve been told that about twenty times overnight, thanks very much.” He shrugged. “It was instinct, that’s all. I saw a strange man in my house, trying to get in at the cats. I acted on instinct.”
Yeah, like the instinct that had made Dez chase the guy, until he’d brandished something that, in the dark, might have been a gun.
“Anyway, you went after him,” Fran said. “So you can’t say anything.”
“That’s different. It’s my job.”
Fran looked up from the iPad for a moment. Thoughtful. “Yeah…” He trailed off and looked away, awkwardly.
“I’m on sick leave right now.”
“Yes, right, of course.”
He knew. He knew who Dez was. Maybe he’d checked him out on his smartphone during those long hours in A&E. He’d have been able to find plenty of information. Police officers didn’t get shot very often in Britain.
“If you ever need a hand with anything,” Fran said, glancing at him, “I mean, because of your shoulder, you can just ask.”
Dez smiled. This…this waif of a guy was offering to help him take the tops off stubborn jars or shift a bit of furniture. It was quite…kind of him. “I’ll remember, thanks. How do you know my shoulder still bothers me?” He’d still been wearing a sling when he moved into the building, but that was months ago.
“You favor it.” He glanced away, as if caught looking at something he shouldn’t. The idea that he’d been checking Dez out enough in their few brief meetings to realize that was interesting.
“You’re observant,” Dez said. “Maybe you’d make a good copper.”
Fran laughed. “Yeah, right. I’d mince the villains into submission.”
Dez laughed, too, but he wasn’t just teasing. The lad had tackled an intruder on instinct. He thought more of protecting others—the cats, in this case—than himself. He was observant. He had stayed clear-headed so far. Most victims of break-ins that happened while they were on the premises would still be babbling in shock, in Dez’s experience. The guy had nerve.
“Okay,” Fran said, peering up from his iPad again. “Customers cancelled. Two of the staff are coming in to look after the cats today. They’ll be here in about an hour.”
“Good. As soon as you’ve got them to work, you should go to bed.” He stood. “I’m going to hurry up SOCO to examine your living room so they can leave you in peace.”
“Oh, well, thanks. That’s great.” And he gave Dez a smile no longer quite so wan and tired, but one that warmed Dez right down to his toes.
* * * *
The next day, as he left by the street door, Dez saw Fran opening the café at ten o’clock. Fran gave him a wave as he let in the short queue of customers waiting outside. Dez waved back, then hurried to catch his bus.
He came back a couple of hours later and had to pass the café window to get to the staircase entrance. As he unlocked the door, it suddenly opened, making his keys rattle against it. Fran stood there, wearing a big grin—and another cat-themed T-shirt, this one featuring a stylized ginger tabby sitting on a fence.
“Dez!” Fran said. “Oh, sorry.” He retrieved Dez’s keys from the lock and gave them back to him.
Dez stepped inside. It was nice to be greeted so heartily, but a tad suspicious, too. “How’s your eye?”
The swelling was still there and the bruising gruesome and purple. “Oh, pretty bad. I’m mostly staying in the back to avoid scaring the customers too much. Can you come through a second? I have something for you.”
“What?”
“Come and see.”
What the hell? Dez dropped the bag he’d been carrying and followed Fran through the door that led into the kitchen at the back of the café. The small room was crowded with four other people, all women and all wearing name badges in the shapes of cats.
“Girls,” Fran said, pulling the hesitating Dez inside by his good arm. “Here he is, t
he man of the hour. My hero, Dez!”
The women broke into a round of applause and a couple of cheers. Fran let go of Dez’s arm and picked up a frosted cake. Piped on top were the words “Our hero,” alongside some cat-shaped decorations.
“The cats insisted I got you this.” Fran winked, which was extremely cute, but Dez found it hard to appreciate when his heart was pounding like it wanted to smash though his ribs. The space was too confined. There were too many people. They’re just women, he tried to tell himself. Waitresses and cat-carers. They’re no threat. Get a hold of yourself.
He couldn’t breathe…
He backed up, bumped into the counter, knocking something off. It bounced and clonked on the tiled floor. “I…have to go.”
Fran was still holding the cake, but his face became a mask of concern. The women stared and the applause stopped.
“Dez…the cake…you don’t want…” Fran faltered the words.
“I have to go.” Dez heard the panic in his voice. The fear. Fear of being trapped. Of not knowing what was behind him.
He made it out of the door backwards. Forgetting his abandoned bag, he fled up the stairs, boots thundering and drowning out the music from the café.
Chapter 3
Just after three, a soft knock roused Dez from snoozing on the couch. Only one person could be rapping on his door rather than ringing the buzzer on the street entrance. He rose quickly. He didn’t want Fran looking at him so concerned and worried again.
He opened the door to find Fran, and the ginger Tom who’d slept on Dez’s stomach a couple of nights ago, weaving around his feet. Fran carried a plate with a couple of slices of what had been the hero cake. He smiled cautiously. “The staff ate the rest of it. But it’s your cake. So…do you want a piece? Or do you have some fundamental moral objection to cake?”
Dez cracked a smile. “No. Cake is good.” And since there were two slices, Dez assumed Fran wasn’t here just to drop off a piece and go away. “Come in,” he said, standing back. “You too, Ginger,” he added.
“Riley,” Dez reminded him. The cat found the couch, no doubt still warm from where Dez had been lying, and made himself at home.
“Lives the life of Riley, I’ll bet,” Dez said.
“I try. Poor sod’s had a rough life, if his scars are anything to go by.”
“They’re all rescue cats, right?” Dez led the way to the kitchen to get some small plates.
“Yes, I work with a local rescue center. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people do to animals.”
“Oh, I would. And to kids.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Fran looked awkward and put the cake plate on the table. “Maybe I should go.”
“No,” Dez said a bit too quickly and restrained himself. “You don’t have to. Look, you want a cup of tea or coffee? Can’t have cake without a cup of something.”
“Oh, God, yes, a cup of tea would be great.”
“Just tea? Not one of those fancy frothy coffees you do in the café?”
Fran shook his head. “I drink too many of those. Just a cup of tea would be perfect, thanks.”
“You have to be downstairs soon?” Dez asked as he fussed about making tea.
“No. It’s break time. We close from three till six to give the cats a break and prep for the evening session. The girls can handle that. They keep trying to stop me from doing any work because of…” He gestured at his bruised eye.
“Sounds good to me. You should be taking it easy.” He handed a mug to Fran after checking what he wanted in the way of milk and sugar. “Sorry the mug doesn’t have a cat on it.”
Fran laughed as they took their mugs and slices of cake to the living room. “I’ll be honest, it’s a relief to be in a place where every single thing isn’t covered in cats.”
“Except the sofa,” Dez said, nodding toward the snoozing Riley.
“Except that.”
He watched what Dez would do next. Like it was a test of some sort. Dez put down his tea and plate, picked up Riley, then sat with the cat on his lap. Fran smiled and sat at the other end of the couch.
“I wanted to say sorry,” Fran said after he’d eaten a few bites of cake. “I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. In front of people. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
“It’s fine,” Dez said, trying to sound dismissive. “No problem.”
“It was, though,” Fran said quietly. He looked around the room, dim with the curtains drawn. Dez fooled himself into thinking he did that because of the sun’s glare. But in truth, he liked it dim. He liked to be out of the light. “You, um…I Googled you.”
“Yeah. I don’t want to talk about all that.”
“You’re still on sick leave.” Fran spoke as cautiously as a man treading on a frozen lake in early spring.
“That’s right.” And probably not going back for a long time. Maybe not ever unless he’d be satisfied with a desk job.
Fran glanced around again, then looked at Riley, purring loudly as Dez stroked him. “You’ve definitely made a hit with Riley. He’s friendly anyway. All the cats are, of course. But I’ve never seen him quite that much at home. Do you like cats?”
“Yeah. They don’t make a fuss.” When Fran peered into his cup of tea, Dez felt bad. “Thanks, though. For the cake. It was a nice gesture and I’m sorry I wasn’t very gracious about it. I’m just not comfortable with that whole ‘hero’ thing. I’m not a hero.”
“That’s not what the newspapers say.”
“I’m sure a clever lad like you knows that the best use for most of the newspapers is lining a litter tray.”
“Well, that’s true. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I promise I won’t use the ‘H word’ again.”
Dez smiled and raised his cup in a salute. “Appreciated.”
“Damn,” Fran said, checking his watch. “I should get back. Lots to do.” He stood. Dez made to do the same, but Fran waved him to stay in his seat. “No, don’t disturb Riley. In fact, keep him for the afternoon if you want. Just pop him back to my place when you’re tired of him.”
Dez tried to imagine growing tired of the warm fuzz ball purring under his hand. He couldn’t see it. “Thanks. I’ll do that.”
“Then I’ll see you both later.”
* * * *
As it happened, Dez didn’t see Fran again for a couple of days. One of the staff took in Riley when Dez carried him downstairs, and he wished he’d kept the cat longer, until 9 PM, when the evening sitting finished and Fran had gone back to his own flat.
But Dez answered the door on Monday morning—the only day of the week the café was closed—to find Fran waiting there. No cat or cake this time, just a sheepish smile on a face that looked freshly shaved and made Dez very aware of his own bristly chin. Fran appeared mildly alarmed when Dez opened the door, as if he might bolt like a startled cat. But he rallied.
“Hey. I just thought I’d pop over to see how you were. It’s just…I haven’t heard you go out for a couple of days and I was wondering if you were ill or something. I wanted to check if there’s anything I can get for you.”
“I’m fine,” Dez said gruffly, embarrassed. Did he appear so pathetic that Fran felt the need to check up on him like he was an elderly neighbor? But Dez probably looked pathetic, in sweatpants and a T-shirt and hoody, none of them especially clean. “That is, I wasn’t feeling too good for a couple of days. I’m okay now.” It wasn’t a lie, but he hadn’t had a cold or stomach bug. He’d just had a rough couple of days, with barely any sleep.
Fran continued standing there, looking part nervous and part hopeful.
“Want a cup of tea?” Dez asked. And regretted it. The kitchen was a mess.
But Fran nodded eagerly and followed him inside the dim flat. Again, Dez had drawn the curtains to shut out the strong morning sun, even though it seemed to be a beautiful day. Dez tried to keep Fran out of the kitchen, but he was too keen to help. Thankfully he didn’t say anything about the dishes stacked
in and around the sink.
“Damn, no sugar,” Dez muttered as he made tea. “No biscuits either. Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” Fran got the milk out of the fridge—what little milk there was. He frowned at the nearly bare shelves. “Someone needs to go shopping. I was heading to the supermarket myself. You want to come?”
“That’s okay.”
“I know you don’t have a car. I can give you a lift.”
“I have a car. I just can’t drive right now.”
“Yeah, I see you coming back from that little supermarket up the road. But those places never have much of a range. Come to the big one with me.” He grinned. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll let you have a go on that airplane ride thing.”
Dez rolled his eyes, but couldn’t say no anymore. Even so mundane a prospect as going to the supermarket took on a certain attraction if it meant going with Fran. “Okay. Can you give me fifteen minutes to get ready?”
“Hell, I’m generous. Take twenty.”
“You want me to give you a knock?”
“Oh, no. I’ll wait for you here.” Fran cracked his knuckles like he was about to play a flourish on the piano. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep myself entertained.”
Dez was both excited and mildly alarmed by this pronouncement. But he eventually understood what Fran had meant by “entertained” when he came out of his bedroom twenty minutes later to see clean dishes on the draining rack. Impressive for such a short time. He supposed Fran was used to cleaning and resetting between sittings in the café and wouldn’t waste a second of time.
“You didn’t have to…” Dez gestured helplessly at the kitchen.
“Someone had to. Come on, we’re going shopping.”
* * * *
“I suppose you have to buy a ton of cat food,” Dez said as they maneuvered carts into the supermarket.
“Yes, but not from here, not with the markup. I buy it wholesale.”