Claws Bared

by Sheryl Nantus

  “I heard that you, ah—” He frowned as he fumbled for words. “I heard you couldn’t Change.”

  “Nope.” My stomach twitched, wrestling again with the half-digested sandwich. I closed my hand into a fist. “Is that going to be a problem?”

  Henry chuckled. “Take more than that to spook me, kit. But I had to ask. Just sort of curious about it all.” He pulled off the blue latex gloves and rubbed the tip of his nose. “From a medical point of view it’s interesting to me.” He licked his lips. “Any chance we can talk sometime in the future about it?”

  “Sure. But it’ll have to wait until I’m done here. Then we can sit and chat and I’ll give you all the blood samples you want.”

  He grinned like I’d given him a precious gift. “Thank you. I know it may seem sort of morbid but I’d like to see if this is hereditary. It might skip generations and it’d be interesting to track this back and see if there’s any other cases ’round the country.”

  My mind raced back to my parents, dead for many years. “Ah, you’ll have to check with Jess on that. She’s got all the bloodline records.” I rolled my shoulders, feeling the scarred tissue pull and tense. “I never knew it happened to anyone else.”

  “Well, so far I haven’t found any other cases.” Henry gave me a grandfatherly smile. “But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. And if we can find a cure, well...”

  I opened my mouth to say something and stopped, my stomach churning with a mixture of fear and panic. All I could cough out was a mumbled mouthful of words in support.

  Henry nodded. “Thank you.” He gestured at the sterile, empty room. “There’s not a lot of people doing medical research on problems inside the family. I know it’s a sore spot but we have to get the information.”

  “Like knowing we can breed with humans.” That bit of revelation had come at the cost of one woman’s life and two families shattered with the news.

  He nodded, wearing a sad, knowing smile. “Yes.”

  I turned to Carson. “My...difficulty. Is this going to be a problem for you?”

  He shrugged. “Jess said you were the best for the job so I don’t care. Hell, you could still have your tail and I’d want your help on this.”

  Henry pulled the sheet up over Hansa’s face. “Crime is a crime. Justice needs to be done.”

  “Right.” I shook my head. “As long as we’re all on the same wavelength. Where’s his personal effects?”

  Henry pointed at a transparent plastic bag on the far counter. “I’m no cop but I can tell you he wasn’t killed for his money.”

  I pawed over the contents after receiving a nod from Carson. Wallet with all his identification and a hundred dollars in small bills, handful of wrapped candies, a receipt from the local gas station, car keys.

  “Where’s his car?” I shook the bag, listening to the jingle. “And no cell phone?”

  “Still in the parking lot when we found him. Now it’s in the police impound lot,” Carson answered. “And we didn’t find any cell phone on him or nearby. Guess the bear took it.” He didn’t crack a smile.

  “Anyone call the cell?”

  “Out of service. I figure the phone’s already in a landfill somewhere.” Carson scratched his chin. “Bet he kept a lot of information on it, which is why it disappeared.”

  “Yeah.” I glanced at the sheet-covered body. “Damned things these days can hold everything from videos to text messages to books.”

  Carson nodded. “Where to now?”

  I spotted the generic office clock hanging over a set of stainless steel cabinets. It was just past nine o’clock.

  “I’m ready for the hotel now.” I wanted to sit and read the file, process what I had so far before tearing into Hansa’s apartment. There was no use in going in guns blazing if I had no idea of what I was looking for.

  Not to mention dumping my police escort. He was a nice guy but he had his own reasons for finding Hansa’s killer—and they could crash into mine at any minute. Pride justice often had very different goals and punishments than the justice system humans used. My scars were proof enough of that.

  “Roger that.” Carson touched his index finger to the brim of his cap. “’Night, Henry.”

  The coroner tucked his hands into the lab coat pockets. “’Night, Dax.” His bright blue eyes met mine. “Call me if you need anything.”

  We walked back through the empty emergency room and into the parking lot. The streetlights highlighted the handicapped parking sign.

  “Why did you call Jess?” I stepped around to the passenger side of the car. “Could have gotten others to help. State, federal cops.” I knew we had family in law enforcement and almost every area of life. There was no restriction on what you could do with your life as long as you kept what you were a secret.

  Carson unlocked the door with his key fob. “I heard ’bout the problem you helped them with. Thought having you down here would help keep things above ground, keeping things honest. Keep it all above board without anyone questioning your loyalty.”

  Except to the Felis, my inner voice added.

  “The other Board members didn’t give you a hard time?” The streetlights marched down the street in unison, tugging us along the empty concrete.

  “Never seen a Pride operate without a lot of politics butting their way into everything,” Carson replied. “As soon as I saw the body I knew there’d be trouble. Plussey and McCallum, they got all antsy as soon as I mentioned scenting April on the body. Wasn’t like I could hide it—if I hadn’t mentioned it Henry would have.”

  He cleared his throat. “We’re not used to having murders in this town, much less a human by a Felis. Family’s getting nervous, looking at each other strange. Bad business all ’round.” He sucked his lower lip. “I’m not going to say everyone’s happy with having you down here. Once word got out, some wanted to keep it internal, not even report it to the Grand Council. Get rid of the body and let things be.”

  “Would have been easier,” I said. “Not right, but easier.”

  Carson tapped his badge. “Problem is, secrets never keep. Sometime, somewhere, story would come out. Best to nip that in the bud before it gets too far.”

  We pulled into the parking lot of a small hotel tucked just off the main highway we’d come in on, a scattering of cars filling the slots. A giant neon sign announced the Super 6 Hotel with the stereotypical flashing Vacancy announcement. A single-level long, flat L stretched out into a grove of trees barely visible from the handful of safety lights at the emergency exit doors.

  Continuing his previous habit of chivalry, the chief carried my duffle into the lobby of the hotel and placed it by the front desk. “Can I get you anything before we turn in for the night?”

  “Right now, food and sleep.” The sandwich had been good but it wouldn’t hold me until morning. An evening snack would help me focus on the task ahead and banish the last vestiges of the morgue.

  “That we can do. Order what you want from room service. You’re fully comped. They make a great Italian hoagie.” He patted his belly. “I can testify to that.”

  “Good.” I smiled. “Whatever a hoagie is.”

  “I think it’s what you call a submarine sandwich. Ernie, here’s the lady I made the reservation for,” Carson said to the young man behind the counter. His eyes went wide as he looked from me to the police chief and back again. A bit of peach fuzz on his chin signaled his triumphant entry into manhood, probably last week.

  “Young kit,” Carson said in a stage whisper. “First real job.”

  The kid licked his lips, his cheeks turning a bright pink.

  “Well, I like ’em young.” I stepped forward and took the cardkey from his hand, enjoying the mixture of terror and sudden lust in his eyes. “But not that young.”

  Carson laughed as I picked up my bag. “Oh, the Board’s going to love meeting you tomorrow.”

  Chapter Three

  I looked at him. “The Board?”

  “Board me
eting tomorrow morning at nine. I’ll pick you up at eight-thirty; take you to the diner where we have breakfast.” He headed for the door. “Just want to lay down a few ground rules and all that.”

  He vanished into the night.

  My good nature disappeared in a burning flash of annoyance, centered in my chest. The kit, sensing my change of mood, busied himself with the crossword puzzle in the newspaper spread across the desk.

  “Please send one of those hoagies and some cola to my room,” I snapped before heading down the hall.

  My room wasn’t far from the lobby and within minutes I was busy booting up my laptop. My duffel waited patiently on the bed while I snarled at the free wireless taking forever to connect.

  Pride politics. It never changed. Meetings, committees and discussions. Everything I despised wrapped up in a breakfast burrito of Felis fun.

  A stack of fliers lay on the small table, advertising the local sights. A regional festival starting up this weekend, some sort of Ren Fair. A county fair going off in two weeks. An art gallery offering old photographs of the area.

  The Cat’s Meow was the last one, the full-page spread of the male dancers posed as provocatively as they could without being obscene. A middle-aged redhead stood in the center, drawing her long pink fingernails across multiple arms and pecs, just hard enough to draw red streaks on the bare skin. I read the listing at the bottom, curious who she was.

  Sophia Martin, the owner of the club. I’d look that happy too if I were surrounded by gorgeous men like that day in and day out, tanned and oiled skin by the square foot.

  Almost made me want to switch occupations.

  I spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

  Mike Hansa stood beside her wearing a grin and a g-string the size of a computer mouse covering his privates.

  He looked a lot better alive.

  A knock came at the door. I frowned and checked my watch.

  Either the hotel employed the fastest cooks alive or someone had come calling—and I doubted it was the Welcome Wagon.

  I peeked through the eyehole.

  Dale Langstrom stood there, still wearing her power suit and looking like I’d just peed on her leg.

  I opened the door a crack. “Can I help you?”

  Her deep ruby lips pulled back over ivory white teeth. “I need to talk to you.”

  I paused for a second before swinging the door open, just long enough to see her left cheek twitch with annoyance. “Come on in.”

  I strode over to the small office table and sat down in one of the two chairs.

  She followed, settling herself opposite me.

  I waited.

  Ten seconds.

  Twenty.

  “I’ve got food coming. I wasn’t planning to share.” I studied my fingernails, making a mental note to cut them when I got home.

  “I ran a fast check on you. You’re from Canada.” She pronounced it kah-nah-dah.

  “Yep.” The mini-bar was within reach. I wondered if my comp included draining every bottle and can inside.

  “You’re a private investigator.”

  “Yep.”

  She chewed on her lower lip for a second, threatening to smear the perfectly applied lipstick.

  I checked my watch again.

  “You’re legit, according to my research.” She drew a deep breath. “I hope you’re here for the right reasons.”

  “I’m here about Mike Hansa’s death.”

  It wasn’t a lie.

  She nodded. Her long manicured fingernails, painted bright pink, began to rattle on the tabletop. I resisted the urge to reach across and slap her hand down.

  “I want you to know that we’re a good town, good hard-working people.”

  “I never thought otherwise.” I glanced at the door, feeling the first pangs of hunger.

  Langstrom grabbed a loose strand of blond hair and wrapped it tight around her finger. “Do you think Mike’s death was connected to the club?”

  “He worked there. He died there.” I chose my words carefully, negotiating the minefield. Some people might find it easy to lie but I’m not one of them. “I don’t think he was targeted by the animal because he was a stripper.” I put up my hand before she could reply. “And there’s no reason for my report to say anything about the club or his occupation. As far as I’m concerned it’s got nothing to do with his death.”

  The relief on her face almost snapped the makeup mask in half. A small, almost invisible bead of sweat appeared on her upper lip.

  “We’re good folk here,” she repeated.

  “Who have a strip club,” I added, sitting back in my chair. My stomach rumbled but I wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to check some facts. “How does it stay open?”

  Langstrom’s expression changed from relieved to annoyed, a scowl stretching her botoxed skin. “They keep winning the votes. Five members on the council, three for a majority. Myself and Jan Redman keep voting to cancel their license. Other three keep voting to keep the club open.”

  “Because...”

  “Because they think it’ll lead to more business coming back.” She crossed her legs, comfortable with political discussions. “They think people will start reopening stores and finding the money to spend on local products and employ local help.” An angry toss of her head sent blond missiles flying around her. “Fools.”

  “You think it won’t work.”

  “I think only a fool thinks stripping is going to bring in the type of business this town needs to survive.” She checked her watch. “Excuse me. I’ve got to go. Early meeting tomorrow and I’m not allowed to be late.” She stood up and brushed invisible wrinkles out of her power suit. “I’d appreciate if you let me know if you find anything before you take it public. Just call my office. They’ll put you right through.” She pulled out a business card and threw it across the table. “Don’t take it personally but I’ll be glad to see you go.”

  “I get a lot of that.” I escorted her to the door.

  The kit was there in the hallway, standing to one side with a large cardboard box in one hand and a bottle of pop in the other. I knew he’d been listening.

  The mayor glared at him.

  He held his ground and looked at me. The flash of defiance in his eyes vanished as Langstrom took another step forward and then he melted against the wall, a young kid working his first job.

  Langstrom strode by, her heavy steps echoing down the hall as she headed for the lobby.

  “Good work.” I plucked the sandwich box and bottle from the kit’s hands. “A wise man knows when to give ground and when to take it.”

  The flash of pride in his eyes before I shut the door made me smile. I knew he’d be on the phone in a few minutes, reporting back to the Board about the mayor’s visit.

  I put the box on the table and opened the bottle. The mouthful of needed caffeine helped as I held off attacking the sandwich for the few minutes I needed to unpack.

  I’d just finished hanging up a few clean blouses when my cell phone went off. It was the latest model with all the bells and whistles, another gift from Bran.

  “Hey.” His mellow tone stroked over my annoyance and shushed it into silence.

  “Hey.”

  “So, solved the case yet?”

  I sighed. “I wish.” It took a few minutes to fill him in, during which I sampled the monster sandwich.

  Carson was right. Darned good. I mumbled something to that effect into the phone.

  “Wait. Hotel food that’s edible?”

  I let out another sigh, this one of contentment. “Hot salami, pepperoni and Italian dressing all over my fingers. Damn. Tastes so good.”

  “I can think of something else I’d like to be tasting.”

  My cheeks burned. “Yeah, well. That’s not happening for a few days.”

  “No phone sex?”

  A mozzarella cheese bridge dipped and danced between the sandwich and my lips. “Dream on.”

  “Well, yeah.” He chuckle
d. I could imagine him in his fancy condominium, stretched out on the black leather couch with television remote in hand. “By the way, Jazz loves to hog the sheets. Takes after you.”

  “You could always push her to one side.”

  “And hurt your sister’s feelings? Never.” His tone changed. “This sounds like a bad movie. A male stripper and plenty of Felis women pawing him over?”

  “Don’t forget to add in the welcome wagon of grumpy locals and a mayor who’d like to see me gone,” I grunted through a mouthful of lettuce and tomato. “And tomorrow morning a Board meeting.”

  “Ouch.” I could hear him wincing. “I know you love those.”

  “I live for it.” The cell phone display blinked. “Damn. Jess is calling. I’ve got to take this.”

  “Phone sex?” The hopeful tone made me smile.

  “With Jess? I’ll ask her but I don’t know if you’re her type.”

  Bran snorted. “Spoilsport. I’ve got the first draft done and I’ll call tomorrow night to see how things are going.”

  “Right. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  I tapped the tiny button and flipped connections.

  Jess’s gravelly voice killed my romantic mood. “Took you long enough.”

  “Had to give Bran a quickie,” I deadpanned.

  “Typical human. No stamina.” I couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. “I called to see how things were going.”

  I scoured the empty box, looking for any scraps. “I haven’t solved it yet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “No.” The smooth tone unnerved me. “I’m asking what you think about the situation.”

  “I think someone killed someone who didn’t deserve to die.” I drained the last of the soda from the plastic bottle. “Hansa being a male dancer sort of complicates things. Could have used that info before I flew down.”

  “Didn’t think it was relevant. Besides, would you have changed your mind?”

  I chewed on that for a second. “Probably not.” I decided to cut through the crap before my meal turned sour in my stomach. “What’s this call all about? I don’t think you’re calling to read me a good-night story.”