Dead Mutt Walking, page 27
part #4 of Muttopia Series
“What people are you worried about? Your life is empty. I see no friends, no family. No people to think nothing.”
Little brat. She played with her thumbnail and muttered something in Russian knowing full well I didn't understand her, a tactic so aggravating my teeth ground together.
“I'm not stupid,” she said, perhaps for the third time. How could I have missed how self-conscious she was about her perceived intelligence?
“You're smart. Taking apart an engine is no easy task, but you managed it with ease. There are different types of intelligence.”
“What a dumb thing to say: different types of intelligence. Different types of stupid, too, aren't there? Glass half full or half empty makes the same amount of water, the same amount of stupid.”
“For the last time, no one wants to kill me. Tell your people I’m fine and get the hell out of my life.”
She snorted. “Different kinds of stupid, indeed.”
There was no winning with her. We passed the remainder of the day in complete silence.
We developed a routine. I'd leave for my morning jog and she’d catch up. When I went to the gym to press weight until I couldn’t make a fist, she brought a dozen doughnuts to eat while watching me. I pushed my knees until it was like asphalt grinding raw nerves, pounding myself into that meditative place, until she called it by sidling up to innocent civilians and grinned like a Cheshire cat.
At home, I read and she would mosey around, pick at a few pages of my books, and pester me about words she refused to look up even if I turned the dictionary pages for her. I compulsively answered all her questions. She began stealing things around the neighborhood: appliances, gadgets, small motors. She’d fix and return them, keeping her hands busy and greasy. Occasionally, she went shopping without me to stock the fridge with bulk meats and junk food.
Time crawled by, and I forgot about convincing her to leave.
Until one night I woke up with a hard-on so bad I thought my balls would crack open. I hadn’t cum in so long! My hand wandered down to deal with the situation…
A blond head popped up, her hair awry, eyes darting.
I twitched. I’d been so wrapped up in the need to jerk off that I’d forgotten she occupied the corner of my bed. She yawned and turned her back on me. Her black sports bra and over-sized sweat pants left little to my sex-crazed imagination. I groaned in frustration and took a cold shower.
I needed to go out and see people. Real, uninfected people who didn’t worry about monsters, murder, and mayhem. Time to head down to a blues bar where the ladies were over thirty and loved to dance without any stripper gyrations. The bands were local, the booze slightly overpriced, and the lighting was cozy. The perfect prescription for a bad mood and a grim future.
In unrelated news, I heard the best way to forget the strife caused by one female was to tumble in the sheets with another.
She knew the instant I decided to do something different, as if my resolution had its own odor. She stood, stretched, and followed me while I chose clothes. She cornered me in the bathroom while I shaved and happily ignored her.
“Where are we going?” she said. Finally, it was her turn to ask questions.
“Out.”
She inferred the rest. “Crowds are not safe.”
“I’m going out, and you can’t stop me. I need to blow off steam, have a drink, and be around people. Plus, I'd like some female company.”
“Female company.”
“Yes, women. Sexy ones who dance, get the picture? I'm going out.”
Hands went to her hips. “I suppose, for a while.”
“Not you, missy. I'm going alone. You can't get into a club dressed like that, and I won't get laid with you hanging around.”
She pulled on the strap of her sporty bra and shuffled. It was the first truly self-conscious gesture I'd seen. I'd insulted her, again.
“I need a break from this whole business,” I said. “One night off will be good for both of us. I'm going to dance with real live women. Do whatever you want, but don't wait up because I won't be home until dawn.”
“Real women,” she said, then, “Dawn.”
“Precisely.”
She scowled, grabbed the soap-dish, and whipped it at me, soap and all.
“You don't get a night off! I don't get a night off! This is life!” She erupted in a tirade of Russian, half of which I suspected was profanity.
I closed the door in her face.
She kicked it, sending a bare foot through the wood. The door split and fell, leaving a six inch plank attached to the hinges. After her tantrum, she stormed out. I didn’t care where she went. Hell, I didn’t care if she hotwired my truck. I rushed to get dressed and leave before she cooled down and found her way back.
My truck sat in the parking lot, so I sped down to the bar.
A crowd packed the joint from one side to the next. The dance floor was full, the band sounded smooth, and stacks of people smoked outside. I danced with a brunette in a bronze dress, bought her a drink, then danced with her less attractive friend who I also bought drinks for and flattered until the first woman swooped back in to claim me and take me home. She had a cute house and probably an out-of-town husband but I didn't ask.
I needed to release all my pent up energy in a down-filled bed with a D-cup beauty who made deep grunting sounds in her throat and breathy “nn-mmh” sounds through her nose.
As she came and I was about to, a sudden anxiety chilled me. My gut insisted someone was watching, but no one was, not even the brunette with her eyes shut and mouth wide open. Maybe my bodyguard finally caught up with me. Was she lurking outside? I ejaculated while another woman occupied my brain. In ten minutes, I’d try again with renewed focus.
The brunette curled sweetly into my side, breasts pressing against my ribs as she nibbled my pec and fondled my balls. Then she got it into her mind that she wanted to talk. I tried to listen, honest-to-God, but who cared if the ceiling should be repainted tapioca or antique lace?
Besides, the mutt might be storming around, waiting, eating neighbors or calling in the nasty Asian replacement I was supposed to regret. She might be rearranging, demolishing, or remodeling my apartment, all options equally unpleasant. Where had she gone when she stormed off? What had she done?
What pissed her off in the first place?
Sure, I'd complained about her clothing and her company, but she had been unshakable thus far. I thought my tag-along bodyguard was made of tougher stuff, but maybe I’d been wrong. Christ, I shouldn't have to worry about her. I should worry about disentangling myself from the housewife who'd chatted away the last twenty minutes.
One sure way to limit her talking...
I propped myself up on my side and splayed my hand over her belly. This caught her attention. Then I slid my hand lower and lower still, into the curling hair at the apex of her thighs, and I gave her new sounds to occupy her mouth. After, she fell asleep. I left, drove my truck home, and watched dawn break.
I climbed the steps to my apartment, apprehensive of what I might find.
Nothing, as it turns out. Nothing newly broken, no bombs, no Asian, and no blond. Good, I told myself.
Unease nagged my stomach throughout my shower, even after I double-bolted my door, secured my firearm bedside, climbed under the covers, and tried to sleep.
Something was not right, I proclaimed to the empty apartment.
Or, maybe everything was right and I simply hadn't accepted it yet.
Chapter 28
Koko
Anxiety pestered me awake. I found myself on the edge of the bed, reserving most of the mattress space for a body that wasn’t occupying it.
She was gone.
I jolted up, heart thumping. She’d slept in the chair, and my movement startled her awake. She hadn’t splayed herself across the covers and taken over the mattress per usual. I nearly asked why but figured I could guess. I had pissed her off by coming home smelling of another woman. Of course, she wouldn’t sleep on the damned bed. And why the hell was I thinking she should?
I needed the kind life perspective that only came when I heard myself explain the situation to someone else. Sadly, I had no one worth talking to. I hadn't befriended anyone outside of work, certainly not a normal human.
Well, that wasn't entirely true.
“Where are we going?” she said.
“Me, not you.”
“A penny for every time I hear that, medvyeht. You know how this works.”
“Not this time. I'll take two guns instead so you won't feel I'm going to die if I go anywhere by myself. Never mind that I've been caring for myself the past four decades.”
“Four decades? Four and what? How old are you?”
“How old are you?” I quipped. Please be legal; I'd hate to learn I spend my spare time ogling a minor.
“Old enough to order a beer.” She whispered, “In Canada.”
I groaned. Playing house with a girl in the nineteen to twenty range, a supremely gorgeous chick with an accent and perfect skin. Embarrassing. In one alarming instant, I realized I had never learned her name.
“Hey. What's your name?”
She blinked as if it hadn't occurred to her either. Then she folded her arms and glared, pissed I hadn't asked sooner. I'd been remiss in my duties. How do I churn a source for information if I didn't even bother to learn her name?
“C'mon, we've been living together for a month. Don't you think I should learn your name?” My gut cringed. I'd been cohabiting with a babe for a month. She had a drawer in my dresser. She hadn't asked; she had simply stuffed her shirts inside and usurped it.
“Tatka,” she said.
I held out my hand, daring her to shake it. She hesitated only slightly, and when she slipped her palm into mine, her firm grip stole my breath. Heat rolled into me, and I felt a gentle scrape of her callouses against mine. I withdrew.
“Tatka, I'll allow you to accompany me if you promise not to eat anyone.”
“I won't embarrass you.”
I think she meant it, which was endearing. “Deal.”
“And the bodyguard should drive.”
“Don't push it.”
She smiled, and we loaded into the truck. She found the blues station and didn't try to change it. If I didn't know better, I'd think she was starting to like my music. She didn't ask where we were going, she simply propped her feet up on the dash, leaned back, and patted her thighs to the beat of Big Daddy Wilson.
She was completely at ease until I turned into the hospital parking lot, then she dropped her feet off the dash and sat upright. Concern filled her face, and she shot me a look.
“I'm going to visit someone in the ICU for about an hour. If the environment makes you uncomfortable, you may wait in the truck. If you have the slightest inkling that your prey drive may endanger a patient, you shouldn't step foot inside. We avoided killing each other this long, and it would be a shame to break the trend if you find someone too appetizing to resist.”
She frowned, and I had the feeling she took it as a challenge instead of a chance to opt out. I brought a wolf to the watering hole. She reached for the door handle and left the truck. I watched her walk toward the hospital and hoped I wouldn't have to shoot her. Her hips swung like a hypnotist’s pocket watch.
I locked the vehicle and caught up.
We entered the pristine, sanitized hospital. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and goosebumps rose down her arms. Nurses wheeled a bed containing a yellowish elderly man, and the patient didn't look like he'd last the night. Tatka started to grind her teeth.
I put my hand on the small of her back, partly to read her temperature. I touched the tight cords of anxious muscle and worried about how hard a trial this might be. My imposing hand gave her a jolt. She bumped into me, sliding under my arm for just an instant. Her head touched that crook of me where lovers cuddle. Goosebumps rose on my arms. Every dash of contact toyed with my nerves. Not good. I dropped my hand and went straight to the nurse's station.
“We're here to see Zelda Blackwood.”
When Tatka heard who we were visiting, she lost interest in other patients.
“You don't appear to be family,” the nurse said.
“I'm a federal agent,” I fibbed.
“And who is this?” The nurse stared at Tatka.
“That's confidential. What can you tell me about Ms. Blackwood's status?”
“She's got no next of kin, and we didn't notify anyone about her recent situation.” I prepared myself for the bad news while the nurse fetched a file.
“When did she pass?” I said.
“She isn't dead, agent. She's awake.”
“That's good news. Will she be okay? Does she need extra care?”
She passed me a sly look. “Well, seeing as you’re a federal agent, I suppose I can tell you. Universal health care law doesn’t require us to operate unless she has more than a seventy-five percent chance of surviving. For quite some time, her condition lingered at a forty percent chance of success. Fortunately, her status improved and we were able to operate. Her bypass proceeded without a hitch. She's resting down the hall. She's lucid every now and then if you want to poke your head in.”
The prognosis was good. I must have smiled because the nurse blinked and grinned.
“Sir, I’m sure she’d love company. Ms. Blackwood perked right up when her grandsons came to visit.”
“I thought you said she didn't have any kin.”
“The boys weren't actually related. They weren't even brothers, but they always managed to slip past the desk.”
Davey and Peter, I suspected. The nurse directed us to the long-term ward with oatmeal-colored walls, blotchy tiles, and generic watercolors. Tatka walked woodenly beside me.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded with a jerk.
Zelda lay in bed covered by a meager blue cotton blanket. Needles and compounding tubes intersected her body. Her torso looked like a lump of punched dough. Her hair was matted and unkempt. I hadn't known her well, but she deserved better.
Tatka licked her lips, and I worried the elderly lady would tempt her to violence. The mutt might be seeing dinner, aged sixty years. Tatka reached for Zelda. I grabbed the girl's forearm. She grunted and showed her teeth. She pushed through my grasp and clasped Zelda’s hand.
“Oma?” the werewolf said.
Zelda’s eyes fluttered. Her skin was three shades too pale, her eyes dull and old. She overlooked me like I was a stray post.
“Kaidlyn?”
“Tatka, grandma.”
Grandma? That answered a few questions about how close they were.
“Dear, can you take the scones out of the oven?”
“Sure, oma.” Tatka patted her hand. “Don't you worry.”
Zelda squinted around the room, and her eyes finally locked onto me. She blinked fiercely. “My, but you're a big guy.”
“Do you remember me, Ms. Blackwood? I was Kaidlyn Durant's partner. I came to her house and you fed me caramel mousse?”
“Was?” Her brow twisted. “What happened? What did you do?”
“She's fine.” As far as I knew.
“Why are you here?”
“Tatka, can you give us a minute?”
“I'll wait outside,” she said, agreeing too easily. Given werewolf super-hearing, I leaned in and whispered, “Walk to wherever it is that you can't hear me, then go further. And don't eat anyone.”
She frowned and left. I watched her mighty saunter as she strolled down the hall and out of sight. I turned on the television for background noise.
“Looks serious,” Zelda said. I sat in a too-small chair that might pop.
“You remember me?”
“You came to the house once.”
“Yes.”
“You need to eat more home cooking.”
I smiled. “Possibly.”
“What are you doing with Tatka?”
“The more accurate question would be, what is she doing with me?”
“Young man, do you know what you’re dealing with?”
“I do.”
“Am I in trouble?” she said. “I don't care if I am. I'd do it all again. Your system is heartless and—”
“You're not in trouble. This isn't official business. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Why?”
“When we met, you seemed to have a grounded, peaceable acceptance of the world you know.”
“The universe provides, dear, you only have to listen.”
“I'm afraid the universe doesn't speak my language. However, you seem to have a unique understanding. A few things have come to my attention… the sociopolitical mutt situation… I need to ask about Durant.”
“Oh dear. Were you lying when you said Kaidlyn is okay?”
“I don't think so.”
“Water,” Zelda said. I poured her a glass from the nightstand, plunked a straw in it, and held it while she sipped.
“This conversation isn't about Durant.”
“You don't have a mother, do you sweetie?”
I stilled at the prying question, which somehow made me a kid again. A spark of anger flamed my blood.
“I don't mean to be rude,” she said. “But this sounds like a conversation a person would have with their mother.”
“My mother killed herself when I was a boy.”
“Oh, sweetie. I'm sorry.” She patted hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I'd rather discuss my current predicament. The more I discover about this ongoing war, the more I realize that I'm standing on a battleground where neither side is entirely right or wrong. Bad guys do good things while the good guys do bad things. I can't support the all the actions of the bureau, but neither can I rest while people are killed. This is a lose-lose situation.”
“Wondering if you should pick up the mantle of a soldier and do your duty?”
“I need to do what is right, but I'm not seeing what that is.”
“You'll feel it,” she said.
I frowned. I didn't want to feel my way through this situation while the weight of my world rested on my rusty heartstrings.
