What God and Cats Know

by Sheryl Nantus

  “And Felis justice is...” Brandon stirred his own coffee with a wooden stir stick. “More of what I saw last night?”

  “It may not be pretty, but it works.” I rubbed my temples. I wasn’t ready to go into a discussion about the Pride and what passed for law in the Family. More so because I wasn’t sure if I believed it myself, having been on the wrong side already.

  “So what was the deal with assaulting the cop?” He lowered his voice to a whisper, glancing at the other patrons. “That’s all they told me.”

  “Had the kid in an alleyway. Couldn’t let the cop see him in full Change.” Adding a small packet of sugar to my flavoured coffee I took a sip. “Better to let the kid go than have to deal with that mess.”

  Bran shook his head as he took a small bit of my carrot cake. “I’m still not getting what all the secrecy is about. Why not come out to the world?” Sitting back in the well-worn faux leather chair, he tilted his head toward the window and the pedestrians outside. “Do you really think their world is going to change that much if they find out there’s Felis out there?”

  I almost gave myself whiplash looking around to see if anyone had overheard Bran’s statement. “Scream it a bit louder, why don’t you...”

  “No one’s listening.” He grinned, reaching over and grabbing my hands. “I could tell them I was a vampire and you were a zombie and no one would care. Or they’d try to sign us to movie contracts. So, back to my question—why won’t you consider ‘coming out?’”

  The carrot cake fell apart under the white plastic fork, making me even more envious of those who could cook. If it didn’t have the baking instructions “Just Add Water” it wasn’t in my cupboard, or what used to be my cupboard...

  “Think of it this way—are you willing to stake the lives of innocent children on it? Because there’s always going to be someone who’ll try to use our differences to justify violence.” I jerked my thumb out the window at the passing pedestrians. “Heck, we can’t all get along just based on skin colour. Imagine adding that some of us get darned furry whenever we feel like it.” I lifted the oversized cup to my lips. “I imagine there’d be a slew of lawsuits from freaks wondering if they can claim paternity because they’re Furries on the weekend or some lunatic demanding we all be sterilised to keep the gene pool fur-ball free.” A shoving match began just outside the coffee shop, as if on cue—a pair of teenage boys posturing for a larger group waiting for the streetcar. We watched the game act out over the next two minutes until everyone had saved enough face and the streetcar arrived. “On the other hand, be some wild mixed-martial arts fighting.” I took a sip of coffee. “That’s why we’re not letting everyone know who we are. Just imagine the schoolyard fights.”

  Brandon chuckled. “I’d pay to see that. So what’s our next step?”

  The coffee had a thin layer of foam on it, coating my lips. “We go back to the school and see who the kid was. Get a name, start tracking him that way.”

  “Or...” Bran pushed the knapsack he had been carrying over to my feet. “We check his book bag.” He grinned as my eyes went wide. “What, you think I just stood around when you ran off?”

  Chapter 18

  Flipping open the black leather top, I shook my head. “You walked into the cop shop with this? Are you nuts?”

  He put his hands together with a twinkle in his eye. “Wise man say, walk with attitude and never blink.”

  “That’s awful.” I pulled out a handful of textbooks. “However, I’ll forgive you this time.” Flipping the top book open, I nodded. “Tony Kolanski.”

  “Definitely not his mother’s name.” Bran stole another piece of cake. “Guess she got married. Or remarried.”

  “Whatever.” History, physics and one battered mathematics book that must have dated back to the 1980s. “Nothing else here—guess he keeps his electronics on him.” I pushed the books back into the bag. “Finish up and we’ll go visit his mother.”

  “What?” Bran frowned. “You think she knows about him?"

  I nodded, taking another sip. “She's his mother. She knows. But she probably doesn't know how bad things have gotten. Right now he’s a kid on the run and probably pretty pissed off.” Flipping open my cellphone, I hit Jess’s number. “But we can at least start a hunt for him and his home is as good a place to start as any.”

  Reaching over, Bran took the phone from me, closing it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You really want to put a city-wide hunt out for this kid?”

  “Uh... Yes.” I didn’t snatch the phone back from where it sat on the circular table, but I was close. “Jess’s going to be able to throw down a roadblock and track this kit wherever he’s hiding. If he tries to leave the city by bus, plane or train we’ll know long before the cops do, and it’ll be a lot more quiet than screaming it over the airwaves.”

  “And that’s for the best?” The edge of Bran’s mouth twisted up in a sarcastic smile. “Having him hunted down like a dog?”

  “Like a cat, if you want to continue the image properly.” The coffee was cooling quicker than I could drink it. “Look, this ‘kid’ has killed one woman, and darned well tried to kill me. Twice.” I held up two fingers to emphasise my point. “So I’m not really thinking that he’s going to roll over and ask for a tummy rub if we meet him again.”

  “But that’s the problem. You’re thinking like a Felis and a woman and a PI.” He tapped his head. “Think like a teenage boy who’s not only had this huge secret for his entire life, but also one who’s just discovered women. His hormones are in flux, to put it mildly.”

  I blinked. “So?”

  Leaning back, Bran gave me an infuriating grin. “Boys love teachers. Heck, we get all hot and bothered when they walk into the room—especially if they’re good-looking like Janey Winters.”

  I blinked again, more rapidly. “You think Tony had a crush on her?”

  “Guarantee it.” He reached out and snagged the last piece of cake from my plate. “I would have been, at that age.”

  I held up my hand. “Stop. Right now. I’m getting some freaky mental images here.”

  Stretching out his long arms, Bran laughed. “Look, I’m giving you the male perspective.” He tucked his hands behind his head, a sudden serious look on his face. “I can tell you from experience that if he slips into the runaway underground, you’ll never find him.”

  “Never say never.” My gaze remained on the phone.

  “Look...” His hand landed atop mine. “I’m not bullshitting you on this. He could be in a whole other city by lunchtime if he makes the right connections. Hocks his toys and hits the road and then where will you be?”

  “And this talks me out of calling Jess because...”

  “He’s not going to split without talking to his mother first. Remember, she’s not the enemy. Yet.” Bran held up a hand, marking off the points on his fingers.

  “First, he’s scared and hormonal, and definitely pissed off. But he’s not going to run before at least checking in with his mother and stepfather, if for nothing else other than to grab more cash before he runs.”

  “Second, you launch one of your Hunts, I can guarantee there’ll be bloodshed. The kid’s not going to go down quietly and you’ve already seen that he’s willing to fight and fight hard to get away. One of your peeps call him out and he’s not going to bow down like a good little boy in front of one of your Alphas. He’s going to brawl like a world-class fighter right there in the middle of the street at high noon. That generates press and that’s not going to be good if you want to keep your secret.”

  “Third... you’ve got me.” He grinned. “Man to man, I’ll probably be able to connect to the punk better than you can, especially now that you’ve already brawled with him twice.”

  Leaning over, I poked him in the chest. “So macho.”

  “Hey!” The chair wobbled dangerously as he tried to regain control. The wooden legs finally succumbed to gravity, dumping Bran on the floor with a thump so loud the ot
her customers looked over, some with annoyance that we had dared to disturb the tranquil setting. “Don’t be shooting the messenger!” He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the glares.

  I dropped my head onto the table, resting it on my hands. “I need to move out of this city. I need to move out of this life.”

  He reached over and patted my head. “Maybe. But right now let’s go over to this boy’s house and see what’s up before you pack up and leave, ’kay?”

  Thankfully there were only a handful of Kolanskis in the phone book and only one within walking distance of the school. It was one of Toronto’s older streets, townhouses squeezed onto every square inch of earth with a floor mat’s worth of grass in front and back.

  The Kolanski’s house had been built on a postage stamp-sized piece of land on the corner of two small side streets, probably bringing up the house’s value. A small picket fence, no higher than my waist, ran around the front of the house. The porch was filled at one end with plastic storage boxes almost totally obscuring the view out the front window. The house needed a paint job badly from top to bottom.

  Bran swung open the gate. “Nice place.” The brown grass stood ankle-high with a few stepping stones leading up to the porch steps. We picked our way through to the front door. I reached out and poked the doorbell with my index finger, the melody resonating behind the door.

  A woman opened the door. Life hadn’t been good to her, not by a long shot. Her blond hair was long and stringy, sticking to her face and neck. Her bloodshot eyes stared at us as if we were plague carriers.

  “Yes?” Her voice wavered up and down the scale with that one word.

  I brought out my official identification. “Hi there. My name’s Rebecca Desjardin and this is my partner, Brandon Hanover. I’m a private investigator looking into the death of Janey Winters.” Putting on my best smile, I leant forward, signalling that I wished to gain entrance. “May we come in?”

  Her eyes darted to Brandon’s face then back to mine, then out to the empty driveway. “Maybe. Yes.” She stepped back. “We have PIs in Canada?”

  Bran snickered, silenced with a sharp jab in the ribs from yours truly. I stepped inside the narrow hallway, a sickening sweet smile plastering my face.

  “Yes, yes we do. Certified and everything.” I showed my licence again. “Seriously legit.” My breath caught in my throat, hoping she wouldn’t either ask for Bran’s licence or toss us out in the street. Believe it or not, that’s happened to me more than once where people refused to believe I had actually paid for that piece of paper.

  “Oh, my.” She pushed by me, motioning us into the living room. “Please, sit down.”

  The living room was quaint and comfortable, from the hand-knit afghan lying over the back of the dark-green sofa to the family pictures hanging on the wall. I spotted Tony up there, in various stages of his life, a sweet baby rolling on a carpet with a wide toothless grin, a shy child glancing at the camera as he struggled to keep his balance on a bike and pre-teen with a sullen look standing between his mother and a gruff man who had to be his stepfather. None of them involved fur.

  “I’m not sure what I can help you with.” The blond woman sat down, wiping her hands in the stained apron at her waist. The dye job hadn’t been that good, probably homemade—grey roots already poked free. Her voice quavered as she looked back toward the door. “My husband’ll be home in a few minutes, maybe he...”

  I sat on the sofa beside her, putting my hand on hers. “Kathy. We know about Frank. And Tony.” Flexing my fingers, I showed her the small, almost invisible scars between my knuckles. “We know.”

  The whisper shocked her into silence for a few seconds. Her thin hands, the skin dry and flaking, moved to touch mine. “You’re...like Frank?”

  “I’m a friend of Frank’s.” It was the truth, in a way. “We’re worried about Tony. We’re worried that he might be...out of control.”

  Rising from the sofa, she walked around the chair where Bran sat, looking at the family photographs. She hugged herself while she spoke in such a low voice I had to work to listen to.

  “I never told Henry about Frank. I told him that Tony’s father had been killed in an industrial accident, made it feel right.” A deep whiffling breath, punctuated by sobs. “We got married when Tony was six.”

  “So you taught him how to control himself,” I prompted.

  She sniffled. “I tried.” Her reflection in the glass was distorted and warped. “The first time he...went furry, I freaked. I thought about taking him to the hospital but then I realised they’d poke and prick him to death.”

  I nodded. “Yes, yes they would have.” Inwardly I winced at the image. It was one of the Pride’s biggest fears, to lose a kit to the wonders of science. “So you didn’t take him.”

  “I did the best I could.” Wiping her eyes, she stared at me. “Did I do okay?”

  A few stray blond hairs flew into my face when I shrugged. “You did the best that you could. I doubt many women would have been up to the task.” This was the truth. “It must have been hard keeping the secret.”

  “I told him to never do it again.” She wiped her nose with one sleeve. “I told him that if he had to do it to go into the bathroom and do it away from anyone else.”

  My jaw tightened. Definitely the wrong instruction to give to a growing boy racked with hormones. “Frank should have told you.” I stood up. “Frank was wrong in not telling you but he didn’t think the boy was his.”

  Brandon, to his credit, sat there in silence. His gaze kept darting to the front window and the dim light allowed in by the storage boxes. I sensed the tension building in him.

  I moved to touch Kathy’s arm. “We need to talk to Tony.”

  Her moist eyes shot up to meet mine. “Oh my God...you think he had something to do with that teacher’s murder?” One hand pressed to her forehead she closed her eyes. “I knew he was acting strange but I thought it was just being a teenager.” She stared at me, a sad smile on her face. “He’s such a boy. You know.”

  I nodded. “I know, and trust me, teenage Felis can be a handful.”

  Kathy opened her mouth, stopped then continued. “Felis? Is that what you call yourself?”

  “It’s what Frank was.” I didn’t care right now about confidentiality or keeping the Family safe. “He never knew that he got you pregnant. He didn’t think he could.” My eyes went to the staged family pictures above and around us. “It’s rough growing up with these...skills. I knew a woman who could have helped Tony.” My voice choked at Ruth’s memory. “She would have helped him understand these emotions, these feelings.”

  “Probably. Maybe.” Grabbing the end of her apron, she began to wrestle it into knots. “Now he’s hurt someone and has to answer for it.”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t lie to her. “We think he’s involved with the murder and we need to find him.”

  She shook her head, the light greasy strands sliding back and forth. “I haven’t seen him since he left for school this morning.” A tear broke free, running down her face. “You think he killed her, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” I was being way too honest. “But...” I waved my hands. “It’s complicated. He’s a young boy, she was a teacher, another Felis...” The words stuck in my mouth like cotton balls. “It may not have been all his fault but he needs to come see us before the police get on his trail. We need to help him before he kills again.” I began to speak faster, my fingers clenching together in loose fists. “He needs to learn about himself, his heritage and how to control himself. He needs to...”

  Bran came to his feet, his jaw clenched. “Trouble.”

  The front door swung open, admitting a giant who filled the lobby. Henry Kolanski strutted into the living room with a scowl on his face and hands thick enough to fit around my neck and Bran’s with room to spare.

  The beefy man fell into the chair Kathy had vacated only a few moments ago. His stare took in the three of us. “Kathy. Beer.”

  The woma
n disappeared into the back, the kitchen presumably, and dashed out with a bottle, cap already off. She put it into his hand and moved to stand by his chair. He looked at us. “Who are you and what are you doing inside my house?”

  Before I could speak, Brandon leapt forward, shaking the hand that didn’t hold the beer. “Brandon Hanover, investigative reporter.” In a parody of what I had done only minutes before, he dug out his press identification from his wallet and placed it in Henry’s view.

  “Hmph. Who do you write for?” His eyes narrowed as he scanned the small print under the photograph. “The Inquisitor?” His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I like that rag.” The lips twisted into a smile. “Good paper. Fun reading.”

  I let out the breath I had been holding, slowly.

  “So whatta here in my place for?” The man shrugged, wincing. “I work hard all day in a warehouse hustling boxes and I don’t want any trouble.”

  “Well...” Bran’s eyes met mine as he grinned wider than a cat with a mouthful of bird. “We’re here because there’s been a sighting of a monster cat in the area and wondered if you or your wife had seen anything.”

  The tired man’s eyes lit up. “You gonna quote me?”

  Brandon’s fingers flew inside his leather duster, coming out with a notepad and pencil. “You speak, I write.” He nodded toward Kathy. “Your wife here hasn’t seen anything, but if you have...” His eyebrows waggled upward. “It’s a hot story for our next issue.”

  “Hmm.” Henry nodded, his eyes studying the beige carpet. “I’ve seen some mighty big cats in the backyard. But I’m not sure if you’d call them ‘giants’.’” One meaty hand scratched his pate.

  The pencil scribbled across the empty page. “But you have seen some large ones, yes?”

  Henry shifted in the chair, taking a deep swig from the bottle. “I’ve seen some nice big pussies in my time.” He leered at his wife beside him, who shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “And you can quote me on that.”

  Bran returned the wide grin, snickering loudly. “I hear you, man. I hear you.” He matched the man, leer for leer. “Great quote.” Bran looked around the room as if he had just walked in. “You got a boy? Any chance of talking to him? Maybe he’s seen something. We love family angles.”