Cat People (14 page)

Joe Creigh at last stopped his demented jig and fell heavily to the ground. Mercifully, he lost consciousness as blood continued to pump from the severed brachial artery.

Oliver ran to the side of the fallen man, pausing long enough to grab Alice by the arm and shake her back to her senses. Her eyes cleared gradually and she looked to him for instructions.

"Get to a telephone," he said. "Call for paramedics. An ambulance."

"It's too late," Irena said quietly.

Oliver's head jerked around. He had forgotten for a moment that she was there. Irena was standing several feet away. A stream of blood from Joe's torn shoulder had run down to form a puddle at her feet. Her white shoes were stained with crimson.

"What do you mean, too late?" Oliver said.

"You can't do anything for him. He's dying."

Oliver looked down at the slack gray face of the young man. The flow of blood was already lessening as the body emptied itself of fluids. Joe's eyes were open, the pupils rolled back up into his head.

"We've still got to do what we can," Oliver said.

When he looked up again Irena was staring into the cage. There, with the ragged remains of the man's arm in its mouth, the cat stared back at her.

Oliver was prepared to wait at the hospital until there was definitive word on Joe Creigh's condition, but the hospital staff made it clear that he would only be in the way, and the outcome of the surgery might not be known for many hours. He took Alice home after they gave her a sedative at the hospital. Irena had slipped away after the violent events of the afternoon, and Oliver had not had time to try to reach her.

He sat later with a grim-faced Bronte Judson in his poorly lighted office, listening to the sounds of the night creatures. To Oliver it seemed that every animal in the zoo was awake and restless tonight. He could identify most of the cries and squawks and chitterings, but there were other voices that were strange to him. Sitting stiff and frowning across the desk from him, Bronte Judson paid no attention to the animals. He had other problems.

The telephone on the desk pealed, and both men jumped as though they had been shot. Oliver snatched up the instrument and barked a "Yes?" into the mouthpiece.

He sat with his lips pressed together in a grim line as he heard from the other end of the line the report he had been dreading. He hung up the phone without saying goodbye.

"Well?" Judson demanded.

"That was the hospital," Oliver said in a distracted tone.

"Of course it was the hospital. Who else would be calling here tonight? What did they say?"

"Joe Creigh is dead."

Judson groaned. "Oh Lord, the city inspectors are going to be all over us now. There might even be a grand jury convened."

"He never really had a chance," Oliver went on. "He was in deep shock by the time they got him to the hospital, and with all the blood he lost, they just couldn't save him."

"I'll probably be called in by the mayor for an explanation," Judson said. "What am I going to tell him?"

"If we had better medical facilities on the grounds, we might have done more for him."

"And the budget. What's going to happen to our budget when the council convenes?"

Oliver stared across the desk at the chief administrator. "Screw the budget."

"Sure, that's easy for you to say, You've got all those big-money offers from the colleges to fall back on. If this zoo goes under I'm out of a job."

Oliver spoke slowly and distinctly. "Bronte, a man is dead."

"I know, I know, and I feel as badly about it as you do. I'll tell you one thing for sure—that cat is gone."

"What do you mean,
gone?"

"I mean there is one thing I am going to be able to tell the mayor or the grand jury or whoever, and that is that we will not tolerate a killer animal in the New Orleans Zoo."

"It wasn't the leopard's fault."

"Don't start your Humane Society pitch with me, Oliver. That leopard killed a man."

"The man was tormenting him with an electric prod."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"A lot, I'd say. You can't expect an animal to take that kind of mistreatment."

"There's no point in discussing this any further," Judson said. "The cat is gone."

"Explain that."

"Back when you told me what an unusual animal it was, the size and all, I shopped it around a little. I got one really good offer from Cromartie Labs, in Houston. Today I acccpted it."

Oliver jumped to his feet. "Cromartie Labs? Those people are butchers. Worse! You know what they'll do? They'll pull that leopard apart, piece by piece, while he's still alive and feeling. I won't allow any of my animals to bs turned over to those torturers."

"It's out of your hands, Oliver. The deal is made. Not only will it get this killer off our hands, we stand to make a few bucks on the deal."

"Make a few bucks? Bronte, don't you have any heart?"

"Yes, I have," the administrator said quietly. "You might think back and remember that I suggested in the beginning that painless euthanasia might be the best way to go."

"I couldn't have killed the animal without a reason."

"Well, now there's a reason."

Judson stood up and adjusted the crease in his trousers. "I'll have to start putting together some kind of release for the media. Is there anything you want me to say?"

Oliver sagged back into his chair. "No."

"Good night, then," Judson said. "Keep your fingers crossed that we don't come out of this too badly."

Once the administrator was gone. Oliver sat for a long time staring down at the coffee-stained blotter pad on his desk. The night voices spoke to him.

Cromartie Labs. The damned sadists should have been put out of business long ago. Oliver ground his teeth, visualizing the agony the leopard would be put through before death finally came.

"I can't let it happen," he said to the empty office.

Oliver left the room, walked through the deserted building, and down the stairs to the basement. He went to the gun cabinet and opened it with his key. From the small selection of rifles and handguns inside, he picked a reliable Winchester bolt-action model. He loaded it with steel-jacketed 300 Magnum cartridges. He picked up a heavy flashlight, climbed the stairs from the basement, and went out of the building.

The loaded rifle weighed like a cannon when Oliver carried it out into the night and down the slope toward the trees. The sounds of the animals were all around him. Never in his life had he felt so alone.

With the flashlight beam picking out the trail ahead of him, he made his way through the grove of trees and out onto the patch of level grass that surrounded the quarantine cage. Everything looked so calm in the moonlight, a sharp contrast to the wild scene of a few hours before.

He snapped off the flashlight and walked softly around toward the front of the cage. There was no sense alarming the cat too soon. Also, Oliver admitted to himself, he was in no hurry to look into the eyes of the creature he was about to kill.

He found a grassy spot in front of the cage and knelt there. It was too dark to see anything inside, but from there he would have a clear shot at the cat, wherever it happened to be. He worked the bolt, levering a cartridge up into the chamber. It made a loud clacking sound in the night air.

"Sorry, big fella," Oliver said softly, "but this is the way it has to be. I will not let them rip you apart in Houston."

He thumbed on the flashlight, ready to bring the rifle into play immediately and swept the interior of the cage with the beam of light.

The leopard was not inside.

Incredulous, Oliver rose to his feet and walked closer to the bars. He played the light over every inch of the cage interior—the floor, the shelf, all four comers.

The leopard was not inside.

Feeling a sudden chill between his shoulder blades, Oliver whirled and swept the surrounding brush with the flashlight beam. Tiny eyes glittered back at him, and little feet scurried away over the dried leaves, but there was no leopard.

Moving cautiously, the rifle held ready for use, he advanced to the door of the cage. With the flashlight clamped awkwardly under one arm, he fumbled for the key that would open the cage door. He found it and started to insert it into the lock. At the slight pressure the door swung inward.

The cage was unlocked.

Oliver stood holding the key while his mind raced. How could such a thing have happened? After the tragedy here earlier, he had personally tested the cage to be sure it was sound. There was no doubt that the door was locked then. It was sure as hell open now.

He stepped into the cage, holding the flashlight before him. There was something on the floor, back by the rear wall. The cage had been thoroughly hosed out after the leopard's attack on Joe today, but something was lying there.

Oliver walked closer, bending down to see better what was on the floor. There was a pool of thick grayish mucus. In the center of the pool was something that looked like a fragment of dark, decaying flesh.

Oliver nudged the shapless lump with the toe of his boot. The sticky resilience made him shudder. It was definitely not feces, but what the devil could it be?

Abruptly he turned away. There was much to do. Somewhere loose in the night was a deadly animal. It was no longer in Oliver's hands. The police would have to be called. He would want Alice to help him. This was going to be a very long night.

Irena sat on the edge of the bed in her room at the Gallier house and stared down at the white shoes, which still rested where she had stepped out of them. They were still spotted with Joe Creigh's blood. Since arriving home late this afternoon, she had consciously shut out of her mind the horrifying scene at the zoo. She had spoken briefly to Femolly, taken a shower, put on a long satin nightgown, and climbed into bed. However, she did not sleep.

Now, staring at the blood spots, brown and crusted on the white leather, she could no longer pretend that nothing had happened. Impulsively she kicked the shoes across the room, where they thumped against the wall. That stupid young man! Why did he have to torment the leopard into an act of violence?

She picked up her sketchbook from the bedside table and began to leaf through it, critically studying the pages that were filled with drawings of the big cat.

"You poor lovely creature," she said. "What will happen to you now? Who will protect you? Who will give you love?"

With a sudden crash the door leading to the balcony burst open. Irena stifled a cry as a man stepped into the room.

"Paul!"

Her brother stood for a moment framed by the black night outside the window. He was pale, with a stubble of beard. His eyes had a wild, unnatural glitter.

"Where have you been?"

"I was ... in prison," he said haltingly.

"Prison? I don't understand."

"The convicts. They need spiritual help as much as those of us on the outside. Perhaps more. I spend time with them whenever I can."

"You left so suddenly."

"I had no choice. There was a boy who was dying. He asked for me. I'm sorry I had no time to say goodbye." Irena went to her brother and wrapped her arms around him. "You're here now, that's what matters. Oh, Paul, I've had such a terrible day."

From out in the nigTit came the distant braying of a police siren. Paul eased out of Irena's embrace and turned to close the window.

Irena stepped back and looked at him more closely. "What is it, Paul? You seem so strange."

"Do I?" His voice was taut. Different-sounding. He crossed the room, turned the key in the bedroom door, and pocketed it.

"What are you doing?" Irena said.

He looked at her with a smile she had never seen before. "When you came here, I didn't know if you were ready. I didn't want to do anything too soon, so I waited. But now, I've seen how you are about him, and I know you are ready."

"I don't know what you're talking about. How I am about who?"

"The zoo keeper, of course." Paul spat the words out.

"You're not making sense, Paul."

"I'll spell it out for you. You want to fuck the zoo keeper, don't you."

The word hit her like a slap across the face. Irena recoiled.

"Don't bother to deny it. I could smell it on you. Wanting to fuck him. And do other things too. It burns you up, the wanting. You can taste him in your mouth, feel him in your cunt. Yes, it makes you burn. You're burning now, aren't you, little sister?"

He started toward her. Irena shrank away.

"No! Stay away from me! Don't touch me!"

"Don't you see, I'm the only one who
can
touch you. And you're the only one who can touch me. We're safe together, because we're alike."

"I'm
not
like you. You're sick!"

"Oh, yes, you are. We are the same, little sister. You know we are. You've always known it. Don't you remember when we were children? When you were just a little girl? How you and I heard voices and knew things that other people can't possibly know?"

The sirens in the night grew louder. Now there was the barking of dogs in the distance.

"Paul, you're really in trouble. You need help."

"That's not what I need, little sister. I need the same thing you do. And tonight we are going to nourish each other."

He sprang forward and seized her so swiftly that she had no time to react. He spun her around and pinned both arms behind her back, holding them at the wrists with one powerful hand. Irena struggled, but it was useless against her brother's strength. He marched her toward the bed.

"Paul, please don't do this," she cried. "Don't hurt me."

"Don't you understand, I have to? You and I are the same blood, Irena. We need each other. We need each other's bodies."

He pushed her forward until her knees bumped against the edge of the bed. His free hand hit her in the small of the back and she fell face forward across the bed. Paul released her wrists but kept one hand flat against her back, pressing her down onto the bed. She tried to cry out, but her voice was muffled by the blankets.