Cat Tales (10 page)

Probably the pass was no good, but instead of tossing it into the garbage can, he slid it in his pocket. With the cats rubbing and slurping at his feet, it didn't feel right to just toss the gift away — one of them had gone through the trouble of bringing it to him . . . and now that he paid attention to the cats, he could see which one.

A gray tom with patchy fur and one ear crusted in scabs, sat straight as a poker, watching him as if waiting for a thank you. No, not a thank you. The skanky tom wanted to tell him something.

The tomcat stared at the pocket where Ferp had stashed the pass, then glanced over his shoulder.

“What are you saying?” Ferp asked the tom.

The tom turned and trotted a few feet toward the distant grandstand, shaking his tail like a rattle-snake.

“If you want someone to go for a walk with you, wait until after breakfast,” Ferp said and then he remembered that the last time he'd explored around the grandstand on a Sunday morning he'd found a pint of Old Duke. Some kids probably had misplaced the bottle the night before. Not that he blamed them for forgetting the wine. If he had a hot little girl under the grandstand, he might even forget his booze. Well, that was if it was ten or fifteen years ago, back when he was a kid too.

Ferp followed the tomcat across the rutted race-track, to the grandstand.

Fresh tire tracks, dual like those of a big truck, stopped on the west side. Where the truck had turned around a pair of turquoise underpants decorated the soft earth.

He didn't remember hearing any trucks or cars last night, but he'd been sleeping with Duke of grapes and nothing usually woke him then.

Claws raked Ferp's pants. He swung his foot, but the tom dashed off before he could hoist its butt. The damn thing only trotted out of range, then looked back and yowled.

“Okay cat, it's your game.”

The tom circled something. In the grass by the grandstand a shoe lay, a black pump, the kind Mama used to wear. The tom rubbed his chin on the shoe.

Ferp shook his head. “You find the other one, we might get fifty cent for them down at the clothes exchange, but a single shoe's a bust. No sense wasting time here.”

Leaving the tom behind, Ferp hobbled back to the camper, chugged down a mug of the good stuff, then headed for Church Street and St. Mary's.

This time of year, the sun hit St. Mary's steps at 10:00 A.M. With mass getting out at 10:30 that allowed him time to relax and catch his breath before he started hustling the Catholic crowd for change.

Ferp grunted down onto the bottom step and stretched out his legs. He leaned forward, squinting. On the far side of the sidewalk, a bulging newspaper rack sat next to a light pole. He could just make out the headlines through the wire-reinforced glass:

MISSING GIRL'S BODY FOUND
LOCAL MAN ARRESTED

The pictures below the headline caught his attention.

He lurched to his feet and stared at the newspaper. The pictures showed a woman's dark colored pump, a bus pass, and a cell phone. The caption read:
Police
Seek Evidence.
He touched his pants pocket, making sure he hadn't lost the thin rectangle of plastic. Could it be the pass they were looking for?

His pappy's voice rattled through Ferp's head.
Keep
your mouth shut.

Ferp closed his eyes, shutting out the voice. The cops had found the dead girl, they had a suspect in jail — they just needed to find the evidence. He wasn't telling on no one.

A twinge of pain jabbed his knee.
Them that says
things get hurt.

Ferp massaged the hurt from his knee and dared another glance at the paper. On the bottom of the page was a formal photo of a high school girl. He'd show the cops the bus pass, but just that for now. . . .

Behind him, the doors of St. Mary's creaked open and organ music rose. If he left now, he'd miss the Catholics. And at a minimum they were good for ten bucks: three bottles of Old Duke. He shifted his weight onto his good leg and scratched his chin. Then huffed out his breath and started up Church Street, a bit more lickety-split than he usually liked.

By the time Ferp reached the police station he could hardly breathe. The way he wheezed, you would have thought he had asthma like Mama had.

Pappy had always said,
if Mama didn't shriek so
much, she wouldn't have that damn breathing problem
.

Ferp shook his head. He weren't like Mama; he weren't going to die of not breathing.

He sucked in a long breath and yanked on the police station door.

It didn't open.

He squinted at the blackened window glass and jabbed the buzzer.

A grainy voice he recognized spat back at him. “Is that you, Ferp?” Jolene said.

He could picture her behind the tall counter, her black eyes far too small to be human, skinny legs, her high heels tap, tap tapping across the police station floor.

Mama's shoes clicked like that. But not when she came home late at night; then she carried her shoes; and her feet went pad, pad, pad across the linoleum.

Jolene's voice came again. “I got better things to do than play games with you.”

“I found something,” Ferp said.

“That's nice,” Jolene replied.

Something brushed Ferp's leg: the damn tomcat.

It must have followed him. He reached down to touch the tip of the tom's tail. The cat ducked out of reach.

Ferp rang the buzzer again. “I found some of that murdered girl's stuff.” He waved the bus pass and realized he had said more than he had intended to. He rubbed the back of his neck. Had she noticed what he said?

The tomcat clawed at his pants. Behind him the traffic whirred. What was taking her so long?

Damn Jolene. He rang again. “I got the bus pass with me.”

“Wait a minute,” Jolene answered.

He set the pass on the concrete window ledge and squished his face against the glass. He could see her skinny ass shimmying out from behind the counter and disappearing down the hall.

From behind him came the screech of tires.

Ferp swung round.

A minivan and a BMW swerved into the far lane to avoid hitting the tomcat.

The tom stopped on the center line. He licked a paw, then glanced at Ferp.

It weren't really
his
cat, but right now it felt that way. And big trouble was coming from both directions: to the right a line of cars clamored into the street from St. Mary's parking lot and to the left a milk truck and a tractor trailer loomed.

Ferp dashed into the street.

Horns blared.

The milk truck slowed.

“Damn drunk,” someone shouted.

“Get out of the road.”

A car squealed past.

Ferp scooped the cat off the center line. The sloppy weight of the tom surprised him. Then again,
trouble
never is light,
his pappy said that too, said it lots before he died two years ago.

Ferp tottered across the far lane and down the gutter until he found a break in the curb. With his hands full of tomcat he couldn't grab his pants leg in order to bend his knee and get up the high curb.

He balanced the tom on one hip, holding him tight, while he felt his pocket.

Empty. He'd left the bus pass on the window sill.

Ferp glanced up the street at the police station. No one had come out yet.

Scratching behind the tom's scabby ear, he mulled over the situation. He hadn't considered it before; but if old Chief Scranton was on duty today, he might not come out at all. Scranton didn't have much use for him.

Ferp smacked his dry lips. It would have been nice to have a nip of the Duke right now. He clutched the wiggling tomcat tighter and kept an eye on the station.

Watching, came natural to him. Pappy always said it were better to watch.

Watch yourself boy, keep your mouth shut. Them
that says things get hurt. You know what hurting is
don't ya?

With his free hand, Ferp touched his knee.
Yup
Pappy, I know.
And at the same moment, as if to reinforce the point, the tomcat dug in his claws.
Spawn of
the devil, just like Pappy.

Ferp dropped the tom.

The tom glared up at him, his good ear swiveling. He looked back at the street, then sauntered to the curb and yowled.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ferp saw the door of the police station open and Chief Scranton step out, his hat in his hand, his grayed hair spiked like a porcupine.

Scranton picked up the bus pass from the window ledge.

The tom crouched as if about to jump back into the street. Ferp lunged and grabbed the cat by its scruff. He swung the tom up, so they stared eye to eye. “Is there a reason you want to kill yourself, or are you just trying to keep me from going to the cops?”

Watch yourself boy, keep your mouth shut. Them
that says things get hurt. You know what hurting is
don't ya?

Ferp studied the cat's eyes. “If you didn't want me to take the pass to the cops, why did give it to me?” He was talking to a damn cat; now that was crazy.

Crazy like talking to Scranton.

A shiver prickled up Ferp's spine as he recalled a Sunday ten years ago, back when Chief Scranton was called Sergeant Scranton and he had come to the house to talk to Pappy.

Ferp had stood stock-still against the refrigerator.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Scranton had glared at Pappy.

Ferp wondered how come lying came so natural to Pappy. Pappy's voice shook. “You can't find her anywhere?” His shoulders trembled. ”You've dredged the lake?”

Scranton raised an eyebrow. “You sure your wife didn't run off with someone?”

Pappy scratched at his scabby ear. “We had a time early on when she wandered.” He shook his head. “I went to the doctor and got me some pills. Fixed me up so I can go all night — that cured her of cheating.”

“Yeh, right,” the corner of Scranton's mouth twisted with cynicism. “Speaking of doctors, you might want to get a doctor to look at that boy of yours.” He brought his arms out from behind his back and folded them across his chest. “You said it was a baseball hit him upside the knee?”

Ferp looked away as Scranton's eyes met his. He never was as good as Pappy at the lying. And if Scranton stared at him long enough he'd see things he shouldn't. See Pappy swinging the pipe. Maybe even hear the crunching sound of the pipe hitting his knee.
Them that says things get hurt. This ain't nothing
com pared to real hurting?
That's what Pappy had said right after he swung the pipe.

Drawing in a deep breath, Ferp brought himself back to the here and now. He glanced once more at the police station. Jolene came out of the door. She and Scranton started talking as they stared off in the wrong direction.

In the wrong direction.

Anger rose from deep inside of Ferp. Even without looking in his eyes you'd have thought Scranton might have asked more questions about his broken knee back then. But not Scranton, he only asked about Mama.

Ferp clutched the tomcat close. He lumbered down the street and into an alleyway. If the bus pass was the one the cops were looking for, if they wanted to question him, then Scranton knew where to find him. And lots of women wore black pumps, and the cat hadn't dragged home a cell phone. Better to stay out of it.

When Ferp got back to the camper, he left the tom on the stoop and went inside. He braced a broom against the door to hold it shut, chugged down a mug of the Duke, and decided to take a nap.

F
ERP'S EYES snapped open.

Rain tap, tap, tapped on the roof and the dimming light told him late afternoon had come.

A car horn blared.

That must have been what woke him. He tucked his shirt into his pants and hobbled to the door.

Outside, Chief Scranton leaned against the hood of his cruiser, picking at his fingers casually like he hadn't even noticed the cold drizzle.

In the cruiser another man sat on the passenger side and behind him a dog paced, back and forth, barking his head off.

Ferp clomped down onto the stoop.

Scranton frowned. “Jolene tells me, you're the one left the bus pass at the station this morning.”

Ferp nodded. His stomach churned. Why had he thought going to the cops was a good idea? If only the cat hadn't given him the pass and shown him the other stuff.

Scranton stood up, brushing off the back of his trousers. “Where'd you find it?”

“On the stoop.” Ferp said.

Scranton's eyes narrowed.

Ferp glanced around. The skanky tom sat in the grass beside the cruiser. “That cat brought it to me.”

“Yeah, right.” Scranton started toward the driver's door of the cruiser. “Don't know why I bothered to drive out here. I knew it was a waste of time.”

The cat's tail stood up straight, shaking like a rattler. And for a split second, Ferp thought the cat had a human face. A chill trembled through him. He couldn't have seen that. He must have had a bit too much Duke before his nap.

Chief Scranton opened the cruiser door. “I thought you might have out-grown lying,” he mumbled.

Ferp swallowed hard. Scranton's leaving was for the best. He shouldn't have started this, but he wanted to say he it wasn't lying. He should tell Scranton about the shoe and the underpants —
Keep your mouth shut,
the words filled his head.

Yup, that's what he would do, Ferp told himself. But before he could hold back, he said, “Was it the girl's pass?”

“Can't be sure. It's too scratched up to read the barcode.”

“But it could be?”

“Yeah.” Scranton folded his arms across his chest. “Your cat didn't happen to drag in anything else?”

Ferp couldn't figure out if Scranton was being sarcastic or not, so he thought it best not to mention the cat again. “No, but I found somethings over by the grandstand, a shoe, underpants, and tire tracks.”