Блейз Клемент - Raining Cat Sitters And Dogs

I tossed the paper towels I’d used for cleaning in the wastebasket. I said, “I’m going now, Big Bubba. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

He said, “Sack him! Sack him! Get that man!”

Big Bubba was a great talker, but not so hot as a conversationalist.

His TV set was on the table with the jars of seed, and I bent to turn on his favorite cop show. Big Bubba was crazy about shows where police chase killers through the streets and knock over fruit stands. I didn’t know if it was the fast cars or the flying fruit that excited him, but he couldn’t get enough of them.

Before I turned the set on, I heard a sound behind me and jerked upright. Three young men stood shoulder to shoulder in a narrow shaft of sunlight streaming through the windows.

I may have made a small shriek, I’m not sure. I’m strong and I know how to defend myself, but there were three of them and only one of me.

They looked to be around senior high school age, and they were almost comical in their studied scariness. Eyelids at half-mast, lips twisted in identical pouty sneers, hair so messy it might have hidden spiders. They would have looked even scarier if their baggy jeans hadn’t been belted so low that their underwear ballooned around their hips.

One of them, the tallest, oldest, and meanest-looking, said, “We’re looking for Jaz.”

Somehow I wasn’t surprised at the coincidence of hearing the name of the girl from the vet’s office. People with strong personalities seem to turn up all over the place, either in person or in reference, and Jaz certainly had a strong personality. I also wasn’t surprised that she knew these young men. She had the combination of innocent tenderness and hard-shelled toughness that would make her fall for street-gang swagger.

I swallowed a large lump that had formed in my throat, and tried to think of something within reach that I could use as a weapon.

I said, “I don’t know anybody named Jaz.”

Three pairs of grudge-filled eyes stared at me. For a moment, nobody said anything, and I almost thought they might leave.

Then the big one that I had decided was their leader said, “Don’t fuck with us, lady.”

I took a half step backward, and in a high voice that I hoped sounded like a clueless dimwit, I said, “Is Jaz somebody you know from school?”

One of the boys tittered, and the big one scowled at him. “We ask the questions, you answer. Understand? Now get Jaz out here.”

The middle boy, whose jeans hung so low the crotch dangled between his knees, said, “We won’t hurt her, ma’am.”

The big one said, “Shut up, Paulie.”

I traced an X across my chest with my finger. “I swear to God, I have never met anybody named Jaz. These houses all look alike, you probably just got the wrong address.”

The director in my brain said, That’s good. Don’t act like this is a break-in, act like it’s a normal drop-in by friends. If they rush you, grab a jar of birdseed and bash it on one of their heads .

Big Bubba took that moment to decide he was being ignored. “Helloooo,” he hollered, “did you miss me?”

The most sullen of the three stretched his arm forward with a switchblade knife making a silver extension of his hand.

The boy called Paulie said, “C’mon, don’t do that.”

I took another half step backward. With my heart pounding like a jackhammer, I flashed all my teeth and tried to sound perky.

“He’s an African Grey. He sounds like he knows what he’s saying, but he’s just imitating sounds he’s heard.”

The boy with the knife said, “You got that bird in Africa?”

I said, “He’s from Africa, but I didn’t go there and get him.”

As if he’d had a sudden epiphany, Paulie, the middle boy, shuffled to the table where Big Bubba’s food was arranged. He had to hold his pants up with one hand to keep them from falling. He picked up a glass jar of sunflower seeds and studied it. Probably one of the few things he’d ever studied.

He said, “This is for birds, ain’t it? I always knew this stuff was for birds. Man, my sister eats this stuff!”

The one with the knife said, “I seen a show one time where people from Africa were squeezed in the bottom of a ship, all chained together. Man, that was bad.”

The tall one looked as if he’d like to bang their heads together. He said, “That bird wasn’t on no slave ship, stupid.”

Paulie set the jar of seed back on the table. The jar now had gummy-looking smudges on it, which made me want to snatch the paper towels from the trash and make the kid clean it.

I took another half step backward and wished I had pepper spray with me.

Big Bubba hollered, “Get that man! Get that man!”

I said, “He watches a lot of football games.”

“Hello,” yelled Big Bubba. “Hello! Hello! Did you miss me? Touchdown!”

The boy with the knife clicked it closed and jutted his jaws forward. “I’d like to have me a bird like that.”

The big one said, “Dickhead! How you gone travel with a bird that talks? You need any more attention than you already got?”

I guess that’s why he was the leader, he was the one who thought ahead. He gave me a long look, most likely wondering how long it would take me to dial the police if they left me conscious.

To the dickhead, I said, “You might like a parakeet. They talk too. But if you get one, be sure it’s a male because female parakeets don’t talk. Not like in the human world, huh?”

Three sets of vacant eyes swung toward me. I smiled. Broadly. Inviting them to share my humor. Only Paulie smiled back. I’d forgotten that criminals are too stupid to have a sense of humor.

In a woman’s high treble, Big Bubba crooned, “I’ll be loving yoooo . . . alwaaaaays.” He sounded like he meant it.

Maybe it was because I was doing an Academy Award job of acting like a dithery blonde. Or maybe it was because Big Bubba was making them nervous. Or maybe they were just apprentice thugs who could still lose their cool.

Whatever the reason, the tall one said, “We’re outta here.”

Within seconds, all three had melted out the door and disappeared.

I waited, straining to hear my Bronco’s motor turning over from a hood’s hot-wire, but the only sound was my own heartbeat.

Dry mouthed, I took out my phone and dialed 911.

Deputy Jesse Morgan was at Big Bubba’s house in less than five minutes, crisp and manly in his dark green uniform, his belt bristling with all the items that law enforcement officers keep handy. Morgan is a sworn deputy, and the fact that he answered the call meant the sheriff’s office took the incident seriously.

Morgan and I knew each other from some other unpleasant incidents. When I opened the door he didn’t speak my name, just tilted his firm chin a fraction in greeting. Maybe he thought saying my name would bring him bad luck.

“You called about a break-in?”

From his cage in the sunroom, Big Bubba shouted, “Hold it! Hold it! Hold it!”

I said, “That’s a parrot.”

Morgan held his pen poised above his notebook and waited.

I said, “It was three boys, Caucasian, late teens, all in baggy pants with their underwear showing. They just walked in on me.”

“Just now?”

“Five or ten minutes ago. I called as soon as they left. One of them had an automatic knife.”

“They threaten you?”

“Not exactly. He just flicked the knife open to let me know he had it.”

Saying the word flicked made me tense a little bit, sort of preparing myself to tell the part I dreaded.

“They said they were looking for a girl named Jaz. They seemed to think she lived here.”

He looked up from his notepad. “You spell that J-A-Z-Z, like the music?”