Theresa Weir - The Girl with the Cat Tattoo

He walked.

They crossed the street and clung to the shadows of the houses and trees.

“His house is kind of ordinary,” Lola whispered.

She was right. Max had always pictured Joe living in a mansion. Maybe because Max had wanted Joe to be rich. For Melody. But the house was one story, not much bigger than Melody’s house.

And then he quit thinking at all.

Because cats, even extraordinary cats like Max, stop thinking when they’re scared.

Shots. Like firecrackers or cherry bombs.

Or guns.

Rapid-fire, one after the other. A second later, tires squealed, and suddenly a car flew past them, no headlights, the engine roaring.

Max took off like a rocket. Airborne, he felt a brief tug at his neck, and then he was free, the leash dragging behind him as he hauled ass. The world was a blur of fences and cement steps. Grass. A road. An alley. Cars. Barking dogs.

Home. He wanted to go home. But where was home?

From somewhere behind him Melody screamed his name, but he kept running. Fright trumped everything. Fright trumped Melody and matchmaking and good behavior. He spotted a dark area and dove for it, his heart pounding.

But when Max lost his cool, he always got it back. Fast. One minute he was scared, the next he was sitting behind a metal trash can, licking his paw and washing his face.

And then he heard a sound.

A moan.

He peeked out. There, under the street lamp, to the side of the alley, was a dark shape. While Max stared, the shape moaned.

Being a curious guy, Max took a step toward the shape, paused, then took another step. He sniffed.

And smelled Joe.

Joe! It was Joe!

Max ran for him, happy as hell. Happy as hell to no longer be alone. Joe would take care of everything.

But Joe didn’t respond in the expected way. Max meowed, hoping to be petted. Hoping to be fed some delicious treat of fish or chicken.

Joe moaned and touched Max’s head with a limp hand that didn’t feel like Joe’s hand. It kind of landed on Max’s head, then dropped to the ground.

And then Max smelled something that wasn’t really Joe. A smell that reminded Max of another time. Of David. Shot. Lying on the floor, the life draining from him.

Max smelled blood.

He meowed nervously. He wanted to leave, he wanted to run, but this was Joe. He shouldn’t leave Joe.

“Max…?” Joe’s voice was a thready whisper.

Like that other time, Max understood that Joe was leaving just the way David had left. Soon he would stop breathing. Soon his heart would stop beating, and he would cease to be Joe. A white van would come and Joe would be put in the back and driven away and Max would never see him again.

And Melody would cry.

Joe heard Max meow. He blinked, trying to bring the cat into focus as he pulled himself to a sitting position, his back against a brick wall. In the dim light cast by the street lamp, Joe looked down and saw blood pooling around him.

Shot in the leg. The thigh. And from the looks of things, his femoral artery had been hit. He put a hand to the waistband of his jeans, expecting to find a belt. Something to use for a tourniquet. But no. He’d taken a shower earlier and hadn’t put on a belt. His fingers fumbled for his cell phone. Checked his pocket. No phone. He’d stepped outside to throw out the trash. A car had come up the alley with no lights. He played back the past few minutes, trying to piece the details together even as his life drained away. Not a random shooting. No, this was deliberate. Someone looking for him. Someone who knew his habits.

His vision blurred.

The cat.

There was the cat again.

Meowing. Pawing at him.

Joe put out his hand, his sticky, bloodstained hand, and touched the cat’s head. He tried to pet him, but his arm shook like crazy. His hand trailed down, dropping to the ground, his fingers coming in contact with a leash. Max was wearing a leash.

Joe didn’t waste time wondering about what had brought Max to this alley at this moment, a leash dangling behind him. While he still had strength, Joe fumbled, trying to unhook the clasp. His bloody fingers slipped, but he finally freed the leash from the cat’s collar. A skinny leash. Probably pink or some other pastel color. It was too dark to see, or Joe’s vision was too impaired. But skinny was good. He slipped it under his thigh, brought the two ends together and tied it off, tightened the knot.

And then he blacked out.

*

Voices.

Joe heard voices. Female voices. Whispering. Arguing.

“We have to get out of here,” one of them said.

“I can’t leave Max.”

Ah, Melody. It was Melody’s voice.

Beside him, Max meowed.

Melody and Max.

What a pair.

What a great pair.

“Max!” The joy in Melody’s voice was something to hear. She sure loved that crazy cat.

Joe was flat on his back now. He could feel the asphalt beneath him, and he could feel the night air against his face. He could smell the pollen and the blooming trees, and he could smell the barbeque joint down the street. Big Daddy’s. They made the best barbeque.

Above him, someone let out a gasp. Maybe the biggest gasp he’d ever heard. Like someone overacting.

“Oh, my God.”

That was Melody.

Suddenly a light was shining in his face. He flinched and squinted and wished she’d shut it off.

“Lola, call 9-1-1. Call 9-1-1!”

He tried to raise a hand to block the light, but his arm wouldn’t move. It just wouldn’t move. He squinted and could see someone bending over him. He could see long hair and a blue dress. A white apron. Melody. Dressed like Alice in Wonderland. And she was wonderful. She really was.

Another head appeared-Lola’s-then spoke. “I called 9-1-1. They’re on their way.”

“Here,” Melody said. “Hold my phone.” The light shifted.

He felt Melody’s hands poking around. “There’s so much blood,” she said. “So much.” Her voice trembled. Joe was sorry about that.

From somewhere in the distance came the sound of a siren.

Saint Paul had the quickest damn 9-1-1 service. They were known for showing up at the scene before the caller even disconnected. Joe liked that.

But Melody.

He wished she didn’t have to witness this.

He couldn’t see her face-it was in shadow-but he could feel what she was feeling. He could sense her horror. The sirens were getting closer. Then suddenly the alley was illuminated with what seemed like a million lights, Melody’s face washed in a ghostly pallor.

Joe reached up. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted to tell her it would be okay. “S-sorry,” he managed to whisper. Somehow he was able to lift his hand and touch her face. But only for a second. Then his hand fell away, his fingers leaving a trail of blood down one ashen cheek.

With Max clutched to her chest, Lola at her side, Melody stood at a distance and watched as the paramedics worked on Joe. Police cars swarmed and lights flashed and radios squelched. Bits of conversation drifted to them.

“Should we leave?” Melody asked. Her voice was shaking, and her mouth felt numb. Then she realized her whole body was shaking. “I want to leave.” She knew it made no sense, but she wanted to run home. She wanted to get out of her bloody clothes, take a shower, and wait for Joe to come over so they could pop popcorn and watch TV. But Joe wouldn’t be coming over. Joe was at that moment being lifted into the back of the emergency vehicle in which he would be driven to Regions Medical Center.

Just like David.

And just like David, he would die. And she didn’t want to see that. She didn’t want to know about that.

Maybe she could go back to weeks ago, before Joe entered her life. Yes, that was it. She would pretend they’d never met.

“One of the officers said something about getting our statements,” Lola said. “I think we have to stick around until then.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” How had she forgotten that part of it? The string of cops? The questions, when all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep forever. Never, ever, ever waking up again?

Lola gave her a one-armed hug and briefly leaned her head on Melody’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mel. So sorry.” She didn’t have to explain, didn’t have to go on, because Melody understood all of what she meant. Lola was sorry that Joe was a criminal, but she was especially sorry that Melody had just endured a repeat of the scene enacted with David.

The emergency vehicle turned on its siren and careened away, wailing. Did that mean he was still alive? Melody hoped he was still alive.

Max let out a muffled meow, his head buried against his mistress’s chest, as if he too wanted to pretend none of this was happening.

A female cop approached, pulling out a tablet as she walked. “Melody?” she asked once she was near enough for a good visual. “Is that you?”

Melody looked up to see an officer she remembered from another life, David’s life, their life together. “Sandra?”

“Wow. Hi,” Sandra said. “You’re the last person I’d expect to see here.”

“I know. Was it drug related?”

“We aren’t sure at this point. How do you know the victim?”

“We… Well, I guess we were dating.”

“Dating? You and Joe?”

“I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t know about his secret life. He seemed like such a nice guy.”

“He is a nice guy. Well, I don’t know him very well, but everybody seems to like him.”

“I don’t understand. Is he an informant or something? I just thought he was your run-of-the-mill drug dealer.”

Sandra frowned, looked over her shoulder, then back at Melody. “Melody, Joe isn’t a criminal.”

Melody felt Max relax a little, almost as if he understood.

“He isn’t?” Melody could see her own confusion mirrored in her sister’s face. “I don’t understand.”

“I can probably tell you because his cover is blown. Joe is one of us. He’s a detective.”

Max stiffened, and for a moment Melody struggled to keep him from jumping from her arms. “A cop?” she said numbly. And now she realized he’d most likely been working undercover when her dad had seen him with the “seedy” people.

“That’s why I was so surprised to hear you were dating. After David died, I remember you saying you’d never date another cop.”

A cop.

So much worse than a criminal.

Sandra took down their information, then told them they could leave.

“How will I find out if… If he’s okay? I don’t even know his real name.”

“Joe is his real name. I’m not at liberty to tell you his last name at this point. Tell you what. I’ll give you a call as soon as I know something. And there’s nothing to keep you from following the emergency vehicle to the hospital right now.”

“Yes.” Could she do it? She had to do it.

“Will you drive?” she asked her sister.

“Of course.”

“But you have to be at work…”

“I can cancel my deejay gig.”

It was so hard to connect this world, the world of gunshots and maybe another dead lover, to the world of thirty minutes ago when the sisters were giggling together and thinking it was all some silly nonsense. A game.

Melody looked down. “I’m still Alice. Look at me. I’m still Alice.” Did anybody understand how ridiculous that was? When people were getting killed? Murdered in their homes? Murdered in their backyards? And she was wearing a blue dress with white tights and black Mary Janes? Did anybody understand how out of sync and wrong that was?

“I’ll take you home and you can change. We can drop Max off too.”

The sisters turned to walk away, back to the street and Lola’s car. Lola gave Melody another hug and said, “It’s okay to be Alice. You know that, don’t you?”

Melody shook her head. “No. No, it’s not. Where have I been for the past two years? Baking cupcakes? Dressing in costumes? Dressing poor Max in a thneed? This isn’t life. Not real life. Tonight. Tonight was real life.”

“We all need Alice and cupcakes,” Lola said. “Why do you think Joe was attracted to you in the first place? He needed some whimsy, some Alice in his life.”

A camera flashed, blinding them. Several flashes later, the man behind the camera explained himself. “I’m a reporter for the Pioneer Press. Can I get a statement from you?”

“No,” Melody said, surprised by her rudeness.

“You were witnesses, right? Did you see anything?”

The sisters kept walking.

“Can I at least get a name and phone number?” the reporter shouted after them.

“Let’s go straight to the hospital,” Melody said as soon as they were in the car. “I don’t want to take the time to drop off Max or change.” Because they might not have time. That’s what she was thinking.