Cat's Cradle

by William W. Johnstone

  One of the older deputies, Jake, met Dan’s eyes. “My oldest daughter is workin’ up in Washington, Sheriff. You know. That damn Lou showed me a file on her. Told me if I don’t cooperate, things could go hard for her. How in the hell can they move so quickly?”

  “They’re very powerful, Jake. He just threatened me, too. Threatened to rape my wife and daughter and frame my son.”

  “You goin’ to stand still for it?”

  “For the time being, Jake.”

  “Goddamnit, Sheriff! Is this America or Russia?”

  Dan just shook his head. He really didn’t know how to answer the man’s question. He knew only this: he was going to get out from under the totalitarian rule of Lou and his OSS people. If he could, without risking the lives of his family.

  Dan looked at Chuck. “He get to you, too, Chuck?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” the man said tersely.

  And Dan knew that Lou had made a very vindictive and mean enemy in Chuck. Mountain born and reared, the wiry chief deputy grew up with the stories of blood feuds and shots in the night. Lou had made a very bad mistake in threatening Chuck.

  Standing across the street from the high school, Pat Leonard watched all the police activity. A state trooper had just told him they thought they had the man responsible for all the murders cornered. But something nagged at Leonard; the trooper seemed evasive. He got the impression the man was trying to tell him something. But what?

  Pat was a small town newspaper owner and editor, but one with a lot of big city experience. Savvy. He had started out as a cub working the night beat in Richmond. From there he’d gone to Washington. Then spent ten years in New York City before returning home to take over the local paper after his dad died. Nobody had to tell Pat that things weren’t as they seemed in Valentine. Too many local deputies with worried expressions. Too many strangers in town. And nobody in their right mind would reopen that old terminal. Too many debts against it; too far off the beaten path.

  Pat didn’t know what was really going on here in his little town and county. But he damn sure intended to find out.

  He got into his car and drove out to the terminal. But he didn’t make it that far. He was forced to stop at a new fence just off the highway. The road leading to the old truck terminal was effectively blocked. Too far off for pictures. He got out of his car and walked up to the gates.

  “Can I help you, sir?” a guard asked.

  Pat turned to look at the man. Where in the hell had he come from? And why would the man be wearing a pistol and one of those handy-talkies? What was so important about an old truck terminal?

  “Just curious,” Pat said. “The signs say this is government property.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Housing a civilian trucking firm? HPB?”

  “Also correct, as far as it goes. HPB is under contract to the government. The truckers who’ll be pulling out of here work exclusively for Uncle.”

  “Hauling what?”

  The man smiled. “I’m afraid that’s classified, sir.”

  “Oh. Hush hush and all that, huh?”

  “Just classified, sir.”

  “I see. Well, thanks for the information.”

  “You’re certainly welcome, sir.”

  When Pat returned to his office, Lou was waiting for him.

  * * *

  “How’s your deputy?” Taylor asked.

  “Goodson says he’s stable,” Dan said. “But the man spoke in double talk. Like he was trying to tell me something. Trying to get me to read between the lines.”

  “Could you?”

  “No. I couldn’t make any sense out of it. And on top of that, the Reynolds family is gone. Mother and kids. I sent one of my men over there to pull them in for questioning and they’re gone.”

  “Getting stranger and stranger,” Taylor said. “Dan . . . what I’m about to ask . . . do you have any contacts left in Washington?”

  “Like . . .”

  “The CIA?”

  Dan smiled. “Funny you should ask that, Tay. Yeah, I do. I’d like you to have one of your, ah, vacationing troopers get the gear and electronically sweep this office for bugs. I’d like that done just before I call. Can you arrange that?”

  “Easy. I’ll have it done first thing in the morning. Forbes is the wire expert.”

  “Fine. I’ll call him after that’s over.” Dan looked up as Carl and Mike walked into the office. He introduced them to Captain Taylor and waved the boys to a seat.

  “What’d you characters do now, bust out of college?”

  “Naw, Dad,” Carl grinned.

  “So what’s up?”

  “Strange things still happening here in Ruger, Mr. Garrett?” Mike asked.

  “You could say that.”

  “Sheriff Garrett, do you believe in the devil?”

  “Yes. I believe in heaven and hell, Mike.”

  “Captain Taylor?”

  “Yes, son. I do.”

  Mike laid the worn old book on Dan’s desk. “The last chapter in that book tells of a strange religion—stranger than the others detailed in there. Cats and kids and Satan.” Mike related everything he had read about the Cat People. Then he leaned back in his chair and said, “The girl and the cat have to rest in twenty-five year cycles. If they’re disturbed, well, all hell—literally—can break loose. Mike told me about the paper he did on the New York City murders. That was twenty years ago. Is there a connection?”

  “Maybe,” Dan said. He and Taylor exchanged glances. The trooper said, “It’s a place to start, Dan. I’m about ready to believe anything.”

  “Has any of that stuff been verified?” Dan asked, pointing to the book.

  “No, sir. But shortly after it was published, the author was killed. The body was partially eaten and the blood sucked from it. Small footprints and cat tracks were found in the blood.”

  Taylor sighed. “Maybe there is a connection.”

  “You boys through with finals?”

  “Yes, sir,” they both said.

  “Carl, you and Mike go on home. Stay there. Keep an eye on your mother and sister. Don’t let them out of your sight. Both of you are good shots. I know, I taught you. Carl, you get those M-one carbines out and load up the thirty round clips. Keep them handy.”

  “Dad? ...”

  “I’ll explain when I get home. Thank you both for this information. Now take off and stay at the house.”

  The boys gone, Taylor looked at the old book on Dan’s desk. For some reason he could not explain, he did not want to touch that book. “I don’t want to believe it, Dan.”

  “Neither do I.”

  Dan stilled the ringing of the phone. He listened for a moment, then hung up after a terse, “Thanks.”

  “Denise Moore died a few minutes ago. That was one of the so-called doctors out at the terminal. He didn’t tell me what she died of.”

  “You a praying man, Dan?”

  “Not in a long time. You think prayer is the answer to this?”

  “Damn sure wouldn’t hurt.”

  Dan’s intercom buzzed. “Dogs are ready, Sheriff.”

  “Okay.”

  * * *

  “You going to autopsy?” Goodson asked.

  “Not yet. I want to keep an eye on the deputy.” He jerked a thumb toward the body of Denise. “She’ll keep for a few hours.”

  The man left, closing the door to the cold room of the portable morgue. The body of Denise lay on a narrow table, the sheet covering her from the waist down. A peculiar humming filled the small room. Several of the jars and bottles began vibrating. Surgical gauze began unwinding and dropping to the floor. The sheet lifted from Denise’s body and slowly slipped to the floor. Those areas on her body where the doctors had stitched suddenly opened, blood oozing out.

  Denise opened her eyes.

  BOOK TWO

  Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchers.

  Keats

  1

  “I don’t
like to be threatened,” Pat said, not backing up an inch from Lou.

  “Why, I’m not threatening you,” Lou replied, a look of innocence on his tanned face. “I haven’t said a threatening word, have I?”

  Pat’s laugh was not pleasant-sounding. “Implying. Inferring.”

  “No, no, Mr. Leonard. Not at all. I’m just appealing to your sense of patriotism, that’s all.”

  “Sure, sure. Come on! That’s pure crap and you know it.”

  Lou smiled and pushed the desk phone closer to Pat. “Call your wife, Mr. Leonard. Every husband should be concerned about his spouse, don’t you think?”

  Pat’s eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to say, you bastard?”

  Personal insults rolled off Lou with the man taking no offense. He’s been doing this type of work for years. Very little bothered him. Besides, Lou was crazy. Functionally insane. “Nothing, Pat. Nothing at all. Just call your darling little Sissy.”

  “How do you know my wife’s name?”

  “I know lots of things, Pat. I even know what size bra she wears.” He laughed and stared at the newspaper editor.

  “I guess,” Pat said, “that somehow, you’ve gotten to Dan and his people. Maybe the state police, too. But you won’t intimidate me. I’m calling the FBI and then I’m calling AP and alert them to this story.”

  Lou shrugged his shoulders. “Well, Mr. Leonard, I certainly won’t try to physically stop you.”

  Pat caught the “physical” part of it. He picked up the phone.

  Lou said, “Your wife still takes her shots every day, doesn’t she, Pat?”

  Pat paused, his finger poised over the dial. He lifted his eyes. “My wife is diabetic, yes.”

  “I’m curious, Pat. What would happen to her if she were to go, oh, say, four or five days without her shots? Would that cause her any difficulty?”

  “You lousy—! You wouldn’t do that?”

  “Mr. Leonard,” Lou’s voice was low and soothing. “I have not said I was going to do anything. My, my, but you do have quite an active imagination, don’t you? I merely asked a question, that’s all.”

  Pat placed the phone back in the cradle. He sighed and nodded his head. “Very well. Okay, Mr? . . . ”

  “Lamotta. Lou Lamotta. Okay—what?”

  Pat glared at the man. “What is it that you want from me, Mr. Lamotta?”

  Lou’s face brightened. He grinned hugely. “I just knew you were a true blue American, Pat. I knew that when I read that you’re a veteran. I’m a veteran, too. We’ll have to get together sometime and talk about the service. All right, Pat. Let’s lay out the ground rules.”

  * * *

  “Where in the goddamn hell have you been?” Mille barked.

  “Doin’ what you sent me to New York to do!” Kenny said. “Jesus, Mille! I’m not Superman, you know?”

  “What’d you find, Kenny?”

  “Let me sit down and take a load off, Mille. Damn. I been on a flat out dead run ever since I pulled out of here.”

  Beer in hand, his ragged tennis shoes off, one big toe sticking through a hole in a very dirty sock, Kenny grinned. Like that famous cat.

  Mille smiled back at him. “You got it, didn’t you?”

  Kenny pointed a finger at her and said, “Bingo, Mille-baby We got the big one.”

  * * *

  Dan thought the day would never end. Paul Moore had burst into his office, demanding and threatening and finally breaking down, sitting in a chair and crying like a baby, his face in his hands.

  Dan never thought he’d ever feel sorry for Paul Moore—rich, arrogant, pompous, and almost always totally obnoxious. But for a moment, he did feel sorry for the man.

  Then Moore had shattered the momentary emotion by lifting his head and roaring, “I’ll have your job! I pay your salary, you know? You and all the rest of these losers you have wearing badges. Now where is my daughter?”

  Dan had shown him the way out of his office.

  Mathews’ dogs had been less than useful. They could turn up nothing. They had acted confused and frightened. Unable to track. And for some reason, they were very leery of cats. And one deputy had commented that he could not remember ever seeing so many cats.

  The long day finally ended, much to the relief of the day shift of deputies. Taylor said he was going back to the motel, take a long, hot shower, have a quiet supper, and go to bed. “Boss must be gettin’ old,” Trooper Collins said to Trooper Lewis.

  Luckily, Taylor had not heard the comment.

  Driving home, Dan noticed but did not pay any particular attention to the large numbers of cats wandering the countryside. No one really paid much attention to the growing number of felines. Yet.

  Vonne met Dan on the front porch of their home. She was angry, and made that very clear at once. “I’ve been trying to reach you by phone all afternoon, Dan. I want some answers and by God, I want them now. What the hell’s the idea of sending those boys home with orders to arm themselves and guard me?”

  Dan raised his hands in surrender. “Can I please get inside and have a beer? Please? I’m going to level with you all. But, Jesus, Vonne, give me a break, will you?”

  The boys had taken Dan very seriously. Both his military carbines were loaded up and leaning against a wall in the den. Both Carl and Mike had pistols close by them.

  Dan removed his hat and tossed it on the rack. “Carl, get me a beer, will you? And get one for yourself and Mike, too. I know you boys drink, so you might as well drink in front of me.”

  “And fix me a bourbon and water,” Vonne said.

  Dan looked at his wife, surprise in his eyes. “Is it New Years’ Eve?”

  “What do I get to drink?” Carrie asked.

  “Iced tea,” her mother settled that quickly.

  “I’m not a child,” Carrie said.

  And that prompted Dan to change his mind about excluding Carrie from the conversation. He had thought about doing that; but Lou had mentioned his daughter, so she certainly had a right to know.

  He sat them all down in the den, fully aware that his house might well be bugged, and took it from the top, leaving nothing out. When he had finished, he popped open another beer and leaned back in his chair. He looked at his family-they all thought of Mike as family. “That’s it, gang. All of it.”

  Dan looked first at Carrie. The girl was uncertain whether to smile or look serious. She wasn’t at all sure if her dad was putting her on, or not.

  “It’s all true, Carrie,” Dan said. “Don’t doubt it for an instant. From now on, you don’t leave this house without my permission, or unless you’re accompanied by your mother, your brother, or Mike. Is that clear? ”

  “Yes, sir. What about Linda? She’s going to come over tomorrow and spend a few days with me. Her parents are going out of town.”

  “I’ll talk to her.” He looked at his wife. “From now on, lady, you go armed. At all times. You’re as good a shot as any woman in this county. With the exception of Susan Dodd, perhaps. You put that .380 in your purse loaded full. And you bear in mind the lawman’s motto: I’d rather be judged by twelve than carried by six. All right?”

  She laughed at him. “You’re serious! Come on, Dan. It’s stopped being funny.”

  “Funny!” Dan roared, losing his temper. “Goddamnit, Vonne. Do you think this is some sort of a stupid joke?”

  Carrie’s eyes widened. Daddy just didn’t talk to Mother like that.

  “Don’t you yell at me like that!” Vonne flared.

  “My word!” Mike said.

  Carl wisely kept his mouth shut.

  Dan gripped the arms of his easy chair. He took several deep breaths, calming himself. “Listen to me—all of you. You are all in danger. From all directions. Lou Lamotta is a psycho. A fanatic. I can’t stress that enough. He would do anything—anything —to keep the lid on this . . . this matter. I don’t want to turn you all into a bunch of paranoids, but you’ve got to exercise caution from now on. Mickey Reynolds is loose an
d running; he’s changed into some sort of ... of monster. That’s the only word I can use to describe him. And only two ... beings know what else is out there,” he waved his hand, “prowling the countryside.”

  “Two beings, Dan?” Vonne questioned, her voice small as the full impact of what her husband was saying struck home.

  “Two beings, Daddy?” Carrie echoed. “Who are they? ”

  Dan’s eyes briefly touched each person in the room. “God and Satan.”

  Wednesday.

  Dan awakened early, before dawn, and as quietly as possible, showered and shaved and dressed. He unlocked the door to his steel gun cabinet and took out a half dozen ingram M-10’s and a box of extra clips for each mini-submachine gun. The clips held thirty .45 caliber rounds. He turned around at a slight noise behind him.

  “Getting that serious, Dad?” Carl asked, eyeballing the armament.

  “Yes, I think so, son. Help me carry this stuff out to the car, will you?”

  Outside, the sun just breaking over the rolling Virginia hills, father and son stood by Dan’s prowl car and chatted.

  “This OSS bunch kind of has you in a bind, don’t they?”

  “Yes,” Dan said. “But I’ve got an idea how to loosen the knots.”

  Carl didn’t push. His dad would tell him in time.

  Dan looked around him. “I always wanted a place in the country. But now I wish I’d bought closer to town. We’re damn near isolated out here.”

  “We’ll take care of things out here, Dad,” the son assured him. “There is no backup at all like Mike. You remember what happened when he was fifteen, don’t you?”

  Dan nodded. A gang of thugs and street slime had broken into the Pearson mansion outside the city. They had terrorized Mike’s mother and grandmother. The fifteen year old Mike had slipped into the mansion through a back door, got a shotgun, and loaded it up with three inch magnums. He killed two of the punks, spreading them all over the den, badly wounding two more.

  He then had taken the empty shotgun and beat in the head of the fifth punk. The punk with the fractured skull had found a bleeding heart lawyer and sued the Pearson family for damages. And won.