Catnip (21 page)

The large man leaned back in his chair and
shook his head. “I’m not going to apologize for liking guns. Some
people are into collecting fish and others like fine wine. Me, I
enjoy the heft of a good rifle, and like I said, I’m not hunting
people.” He switched his gaze over to Harry and added, “And
speaking of hunters, you wanna tell about the killings in
Manhattan?”

“It’s a lie, all of it,” Harry said. He
didn’t feel like repeating himself, but at the same time he
resented having to defend his good name. More than that, he
resented his father’s name being crapped on and dragged through the
mud.

Callaghan arched his eyebrows. “Is it now?
Let’s see what the newshounds say.” He looked at Doug and chuckled.
“No offense.”

“None taken,” Doug grumbled.

Callaghan stood up, searched the bed for the
remote control and switched on the television. After finding a
channel, he pointed to the screen and said, “Hey, kid, this is a
live feed.”

Harry saw Agent Farrell outside FBI
headquarters with his casted arm and clawed up face staring grimly
into the camera. It made him feel like ripping something up. The
reporter shoved a microphone in front of the agent’s mouth. “What
is the FBI prepared to do?”

“We’re offering a reward for the capture and
return of Harry Goldman,” he intoned. “The reward is in the
six-figure range and we are currently taking calls from anyone who
might have seen him. We believe he’s still in the state of New
York, and…”

Callaghan shut off the television and tossed
the remote onto the bed. “The FBI is offering six figures? That
is
some serious coin. I believe I could use some of
that.”

Harry said nothing, and the fat man prodded
him with the barrel of the rifle. “So, you feel like telling me
what you really did?”

Doug interceded and growled, “All I’ll say is
he didn’t do it. When the real killer crashes through your door,
you’d better hope you’re quick on the draw, because he’ll be coming
for you first. He’s the biggest thing you’ll ever see, bigger than
you, and ten times as mean.”

Callaghan laughed. “You mean he’s a big dog?
I’ve shot big animals before, buddy, so don’t try to scare me. I
don’t scare easy.”

Doug shook his head. “No, this guy’s a bear.
You think you’re tough? You’re nothing.”

His statement earned him a grin from
Callaghan. “We’ll see,” he said. He got up from his chair and went
over to the door to inspect it and his mouth twisted in anger.
“Which one of you boys kicked in the lock?” he asked. “This is one
of the strongest makes on the market, and you busted it like it was
nothing.”

Doug started to speak, but Harry’s anger
increased and he gave his companion a gentle kick in his
hindquarters to stop him. “You can talk to me,” he said. “Your lock
is a joke.”

Callaghan’s face turned red. “Is that right?”
He came over and smacked Harry across the face, which sent him
sprawling and left a bright welt on his cheek. His good humor
disappeared and a wintry tone replaced it. “Let me remind you, kid,
you
were the one who trespassed, you and the dog-guy over
here.”

To emphasize his point, he kicked Doug hard
in his side which elicited a loud groan from the hapless victim. “I
got every right to shoot you or turn you in. I haven’t decided
which to do yet. I’d rather not, but don’t think I won’t. Think
about that.”

Harry couldn’t think for a moment. His ears
rang from the slap and then he concentrated, blocked out the pain,
and shook his head to clear it. Getting back on the bed, he nodded.
“All right, I’ll tell you the truth. Just don’t hit my friend,
okay?”

Callaghan eyed him like a man with a
flyswatter would eye his next winged target, but backed off, a
curious look on his ruddy face. “Start talking, kid.”

Harry didn’t understand why everyone had to
call him a kid. “I’m a transgenic researcher, Doug is a victim of
an experiment, the FBI is after me, and I’m totally innocent. You
think I could kill all those people?” He smiled in spite of the
pain. “You’re dumber than I thought.”

Well, it
had
been the truth. From the
dubious expression on Callaghan’s face, it was obvious he didn’t
want to understand. The insult obviously pissed him off as he
raised his hand for another slap and slowly lowered it as the
meaning of the words came through to him. “Transgenics…are you
talking about animals and people, mixing them together?”

Harry was tempted to give the most sarcastic
reply imaginable and decided not to. Instead, he just nodded.
“Yeah, that’s right. It’s the science of transposing genes from one
species to another. They also call it cross-species
transposition.”

Callaghan’s eyes flickered. It seemed the
windmills of his mind had started to turn a bit faster. “So what’s
the whole idea behind this?”

“The whole idea is to use those animal genes
to cure diseases. Except that I didn’t do this to my friend.” He
nodded at his semi-canine companion. “Someone else did. We’re
trying to find out who did it so I can reverse the process.”

Callaghan’s face lost its quizzical look and
he burst out laughing. “Kid, that’s the best story yet! I don’t
know much about science, but you’re the best liar I’ve ever seen.”
He kept laughing and slapped his enormous thigh repeatedly.

Harry knew educating him would be an uphill
battle all the way. “Tell you what, let me show you my work and my
bio and then you can laugh. We got a deal? You got me tied up and
it’s not like I can get away, right?”

Callaghan stared at him for a moment and then
shrugged. He took the Swiss Army knife out of the toolbox, reached
into his pocket and brought out a cellphone. “Okay, just for fun
before I call the FBI and claim my reward, you can show me.” He
hefted his rifle. “Just don’t do anything stupid or Mr. Protector
will do his job.”

After the man had cut him loose, Harry rubbed
his wrists to get the circulation back in his hands and got his
computer working. Soon, the files appeared on the screen and he
pointed everything out. “Take a look and tell me if I’m full of
it.”

He searched for a file about his father and
after clicking on it, his late father’s picture appeared. Callaghan
forgot about his weapon for a moment and his lips moved slightly as
he read the information. With a grunt he straightened up and a look
of respect appeared on his face. “Okay, maybe you’re telling the
truth. But seriously, kid, if this bear thing you’re telling me
about is around here, then how come I haven’t found it?”

“You wouldn’t want to,” Doug chimed in from
the bed. In the space of a few minutes, his snout had become more
pronounced and his voice sounded gruffer than ever. “Even that
pigeon shooter of yours wouldn’t stop him.”

Callaghan started to reply and then a soft
meow
came from outside. “Jeez, we got another visitor?” he
asked with a clearly peeved tone in his voice as if he resented his
interrogation time being interrupted. “I don’t have any milk.”

Going over to the door, he opened it and
peered out. Anastasia’s arm shot out of the night with her claws
extended and she wrapped her hand around his throat. The fat man’s
face quickly turned from red to purple in the space of two seconds.
“I don’t really like milk,” she said. “Drop the rifle and live.
Decide!”

After a moment’s hesitation and some gurgling
on his part, Callaghan did, and Harry went over to pick it up. He
also took the man’s cellphone for good measure. The fat man’s eyes
bugged out in fear as he stared at her, then Doug, who was eyeing
him with a wolfish grin, and then back to her again. His body
quivered and it seemed as if he was on the verge of having a heart
attack. He sputtered, “Who in the hell is this?”

Anastasia marched him over to the chair,
pushed him down on it, and shook her body all over, spraying the
area with water. “I’m Harry’s girlfriend and right now I’m wet and
also very pissed off. So be a good host, stay in your seat, and
shut up.”

Callaghan didn’t stop staring at her for a
moment, even when she went over to Harry and hugged him tightly.
“You’re really a…a…”

“Yeah, I’m a cat-girl,” she interrupted and
pointed to the other transgenic victim who was now slurping beer
out of a bottle. “Deal with it. I have.”

Doug gave a loud belch. He stood next to the
refrigerator chugging on a beer and now looked more canine than
human. “Beer’s good,” he managed to say, a slight coating of foam
around his mouth.

Callaghan sat back in his chair and mopped
the fear-sweat from his face. Without his rifle he didn’t seem very
confident. In fact, he practically wilted in their presence. “So
are you guys going to kill me or what? I don’t have much
money…”

“We don’t want money,” Harry cut in. “We want
some information and maybe we’ll borrow your car.” He stopped to
think for a moment. “How long have you been living up here?”

Callaghan gulped down air. “About twelve
years,” he replied. “I started my business back in oh-two and it’s
been going pretty good since then.”

“Tell us about your neighbors,” Anastasia
said. She leaned her face in close to Callaghan’s and he recoiled
in fear. “Did you notice anyone up here, anyone unusual?”

He thought for a moment, licked his lips
nervously, and then shook his head and his voice shook as he spoke.
“This is a pretty big area. The closest place to me is the Slide
Mountain Forest House and I’ve known the owners for a long time. I
know most of the other people around here, too. It’s for my
business, that’s all, I swear.”

As Callaghan gibbered on about being an
honest person, someone who just wanted to do his job, Harry decided
their host wasn’t such a bad guy after all. He disliked the concept
of hunting, but Callaghan didn’t seem like the psychotic type he’d
initially pegged him for.

After thinking it over, it was time for him
to do a little searching of his own. “Do you have a phone book?” he
asked.

“There’s one in the bottom drawer of the
desk.”

Harry pulled out the phone book, leafed
through it, and found the section on this part of the Catskills. He
named a few names and asked the hunter if he knew the people.
Callaghan nodded at each name, but when he came to one of them—a
Mr. Farber—their reluctant host held up his hand.

“I knew Farber a little.” Callaghan stroked
his beard in thought. He seemed calmer now, as if he’d come to
accept the impossible. “He had a heart attack the first year I got
up here. From what everyone told me, he used to come up with his
wife every summer for vacation. He died real fast, just about the
same time I got this place.”

“Do you know who bought his cabin?”

Callaghan blinked a few times as if trying to
recall the details and then he snapped his fingers. “Yeah, yeah, I
just remembered! I met him once when I was making the rounds,
trying to drum up business. He talked like an American, but he had
a foreign name. It’s, uh,” he tapped the side of his head a few
times. “It’s Nurmelev.”

Harry thought about the names he’d heard his
girlfriend murmur.
Nurmo…Nurmlev…Nurmelev
…it had to be the
same guy. Riffling through the phone book, he couldn’t find the
name, but that meant nothing. Some people had unlisted numbers. His
girlfriend and Doug only stared at their captive. Obviously, the
name meant nothing to them, either. “Did you ever do business with
him?”

Callaghan shook his head. “No, he said he
wasn’t interested. He was really polite, but pretty set in his
ways. He said he always got his food shipped in through another
company. When I drove around his place years back, I saw workmen
fixin’ up the cabin and sometimes vans passed through.”

“What kind of vans?”

“Vans,” Callaghan shrugged. “Some of ‘em had
advertisements for carpeting or electricians or food. I figured
they were his suppliers.”

The information—vans driving through,
workmen—gave Harry an idea. He stepped outside and dialed the
number to the FBI. It had started to rain really hard now, and the
water bounced off the earth and the cabin and soaked his legs.
While he waited for the call to go through he checked the darkness
for any shadows. Seeing none, he heard the voice of Farrell say,
“Harry, is that you?”

“Yeah, and I need you to check
something.”

“I need you to come in,” the agent countered
and he sounded almost panicky, unusual for him. “Where are
you?”

Harry didn’t answer. Aware that they were
probably tracing the call and locking on to his location, he just
gave the agent his ideas. “Try running a trace on a guy named
Nurmelev. You still have your Interpol connections, right?”

“Yeah, I do, but…”

“Just do it,” Harry ordered. He hung up and
threw the cellphone as hard and as far as he could into the woods.
Maybe the FBI would do as he asked or at the very least, send
someone up here after they traced the call. After rejoining his
friends inside, he asked Callaghan, “What did he look like?”

“Lemme think for a moment. He was short,
bald, and had a really narrow…”

A bellow suddenly cut through the rainstorm
and Callaghan’s head jerked up at the sound. “What in the hell was
that?” he asked, his voice sounding fearful.

Anastasia’s ears pricked up and Doug started
to growl. Harry quickly packed up his computer and modem while the
hunter shivered in his chair and practically wet his pants. “What
the hell was that?” he asked again, and this time he sounded on the
verge of panic.

“Company,” Doug said grimly. He went over to
the door, sniffing the floor and then retraced his steps over to
Anastasia. “You smell him?”

The fur stood up all over her body and she
gave a hiss of pure rage. “Yeah, and he’s close.”

Close was an understatement. Harry tossed the
rifle to the hunter. “Let’s see how good you are.”