Блейз Клемент - Raining Cat Sitters And Dogs

After his food and water were replenished and his cage tidied, I got out some of his toys and we played together. When it was time for me to go, he allowed himself to be returned to his cage, and I draped his nighttime cover over his bars.

I wished somebody would put me behind bars before Maureen came that night. I wished they’d drop a cover over me to hide me from the world.

Instead of going home, I called Michael and told him I wouldn’t be there for dinner. He didn’t sound disappointed. In fact, he sounded as if dinner was the last thing on his mind, which was another indication of his anxiety about Paco. I didn’t need to ask if he’d heard from him.

I drove to Anna’s Deli and got a Surfer sandwich to take to Siesta Beach. Siesta’s powdery white sand is composed of always-cool quartz, and locals believe it has mystic qualities unknown to ordinary beaches. Whether our faith is based on fact or fantasy, I need to shuffle my feet in that crystalline coolness on a regular basis and absorb some of its energy.

I arrived at the beach when a tangerine sun was inches above the horizon. Ribbons of cerise and gold streaked the sky and gilded the edges of baby white clouds. I walked toward the edge of the surf and sat cross-legged to watch. Along the beach, people fell silent and respectful, all of us watching the last quivering moments of resistance before the sun slipped smoothly into the water, sending out brilliant shafts of color.

When the light dimmed and the clouds turned gray, people gathered up their towels and picnic hampers and straggled toward the pavilion while seabirds wheeled overhead. Alone, I listened to a rosy-pewter sea whisper spume-filled messages, then took off my Keds and went down to let the surf wash over my feet.

When I was a kid, I had a fantasy that I could fly and see through walls. Wonder Woman must have started out like that and then grew boobs and got that costume that didn’t move when she did. Anyway, in my Wonder Kid fantasies, I always began standing in the surf. I thought the sea foam rolling over my toes brought magical energy, so I’d stand there and let the magic seep into me, rising up my legs and into my skinny torso, and finally through my outstretched arms. Only then could I lift off and rise in the air. I didn’t have to flap my arms or kick my legs or anything. All I had to do was think where I wanted to go, and my body went there. In my imagination, I sailed over Siesta Key’s streets and watched cars and pedestrians down below. I hovered over my friends’ houses and watched their families. I sailed around the firehouse where my father was and looked at him laughing with his fellow firefighters. Sometimes I settled down on the firehouse roof so I could be close to him.

I guess I haven’t changed much since then. Feeling the surf tickle my toes still made me feel charged with energy. I don’t believe anymore that I can fly, but by the time I walked back to my sandwich, the Siesta symphony of surf, salt, and sand had soothed my soul.

I would help Maureen leave the money to ransom her husband, and I would not have any more nervous quibbles about it. I had made a promise, and I would keep my word. If the money that ransomed Victor was ill-gotten, that wasn’t my problem. If paying off kidnappers was a dumb decision, it was Maureen’s decision to make, and she’d made it. I was simply being a friend, a sidekick, like Sancho Panza or Tonto.

For the moment, I’d forgotten about friends like Thelma and Louise. It’s good that we can’t see too far ahead. If we could, we’d never go forward.

13

When I got home, Michael and Ella were in a chaise on the deck. Michael was stretched out almost flat on his back, and Ella was sitting upright on his chest with her ears cocked toward the darkening shadows under the trees. She didn’t wear her harness and leash, but Michael’s encircling hands were ready to restrain her if she decided to investigate the night.

When they heard my footsteps, two heads turned to look at me. Ella flipped the tip of her tail, and Michael tipped his chin.

I said, “I didn’t groom Ella today. I can do it now.”

Michael said, “I already combed her. I’m getting pretty good at it.”

I was disappointed. Grooming Ella is my job, and I enjoy it.

I dropped into a chair and let the evening sounds of whooshing surf and late-hunting seagulls envelop me. One of Michael’s hands stroked Ella. She yawned.

If Paco had been home, it would have been a normal end to the day. Except that it wasn’t the end of my day, just an end to Michael’s and Ella’s. In about four hours, Maureen would be here to get me. If I was lucky, Michael would be asleep and never know.

I said, “No word from Paco yet?”

He shook his head, and I could tell from the grim line of his mouth that he didn’t want to talk about it.

Overhead, the sky had gone from blue to a murky violet, and early stars were beginning to wink at us. I looked for a hint of rain clouds, but there weren’t any. At least I wouldn’t have to slog in the rain to leave Maureen’s ransom money.

I stood up and brushed at cat hair and beach sand on my shorts. I said, “Well, I’m going to bed.”

Michael said, “Yeah, me too. You want me to put Ella in your place when I leave tomorrow?”

He would be going back to the firehouse at eight o’clock the next morning. The fact that he’d asked the question meant he didn’t expect Paco to be home when he left.

I said, “If you’d like. Or I can get her when I come home.”

Ella looked back and forth at us like somebody watching a tennis match. We didn’t like to leave Ella alone too long, so she stayed with me when Michael and Paco were gone. But that wasn’t why Michael and I were talking about her. We were doing that to avoid talking about the big gaping hole where Paco should have been. I finally gave them both a smooch and went upstairs for a shower.

After I showered, I stood in my closet and thought about what to wear. A man wouldn’t do that. If a man planned to take a bag of money to pay off kidnappers, he wouldn’t give a single thought to what he should wear. He’d walk out in the same clothes he wore every day—pants and shirt, shoes, maybe a sweater or jacket. He’s a man, what other choice does he have? Women, on the other hand, have a boatload of choices.

I was going to walk down a dark path where chilly sea breezes would blow at me. Bad people would be watching from somewhere in the darkness, only they would think I was Maureen. If they knew I was me, the person Maureen had run to after they’d specifically told her to keep her mouth shut, they would kill Maureen’s husband. All of which meant I had to dress right or Victor might end up dead.

I decided on a pair of old black jeans that would blend with the night, and topped them with a hooded navy sweatshirt. I put on my usual white Keds. With all the dark stuff, the white Keds stuck out like Minnie Mouse paws, but they’d have to do. When I checked myself in the full-length mirror in my office-closet, the faded seams on the sweatshirt made chalky lines and my knees shined through the holes in my jeans like yellow traffic lights. Without the hooded top, I would have looked like a silly rich woman wearing falsely distressed jeans. With it, I looked like a desperate woman in truly distressed jeans ready to scrounge food from a Dumpster.

Next, I had to choose accessories. For that, I pulled out my gun drawer and got my freshly cleaned and oiled .38. I dropped five rounds in the cylinder, and slid the barrel under the waistband of my holey jeans. Force of habit made me put another five rounds in a speed loader and stash it in my pocket. Then I went downstairs and got my old department-issued four-C-cell flashlight out of the Bronco. My accessories weren’t terribly chic, but I figured I might need all of them while I skulked around in the dark.