Las Vegas Chew Toy first two chapters

Las Vegas Chew Toy First two chapters

Chapter 1

“Dr. Dailee, are you quite well?”
“Yes, I’m fine, Miss Pinon, it’s just my phone. Excuse me a moment.”
“Of course, dear.”
The phone call took just two minutes, Kayla replying to the caller, with a string of affirmatives. Her elderly client poured more tea from the elegant teapot on the low table between them. With one hand she intercepted an inquisitive button nose.
“No Muffin, you don’t like tea.” The small white dog took two steps back and barked a sharp, clear demand. “No, baby cakes hush now, your teacher is on the phone. You know she works with the police. It could be important, so hush now, we’ll get back to you in a moment.” The white Maltese lowered his head and growled, letting out a series of sharp demands that his owner reacted to by reaching into a porcelain jar next to the sofa and extracting several dog treats. She fed one each to Muffin and to several other small, furry children who appeared as soon as she raised the jar’s lid.
“Miss Pinon, we will have to continue this session later. There has been an emergency, and I have to go,” Kayla said in the formal tone she found herself adopting when speaking to her elderly clients.
“Oh, but Dr. Dailee, what about my little ones? What do I do if they misbehave again?"
When, when they misbehave, not if, Kayla thought. Out loud she said, “Keep walking them several times a day and try to keep them locked in the kitchen when you’re not with them.”
“Oh, but it is so hard to keep an eye on them all the time.” The older woman’s hands fluttered in her lap, as she petted, the small white Maltese perched there. Miss Elizabeth (“call me Liz”) Pinon was widowed and living with her unmarried son. With no grandchildren to spoil, she had turned to dogs. Maltese terriers to be precise. She now owned six of the breed, all spoiled rotten and badly in need of discipline.
“That’s why last week I suggested you only let one or two out at a time,” Kayla answered.
“Oh, I tried that, I really did, but the dears left in the kitchen cried and carried on so, I just had to let them all out. The babies just don’t like to be separated.”
Kayla had known when she took this case on that it would be a long-term project. Miss Pinon had already gone through four other behavior trainers and still did not understand why she had trouble with her herd of Maltese. Kayla took a deep breath and resisted the urge to look at her watch. She really had to leave if she was to make it across town in the next half hour.
“I’ll come by next week, Tuesday, and call you on Friday.”
“If you must, but I don’t expect to be billed for this visit.”
“Of course not, Miss Pinon, now I really have to go.” Kayla had made it to the door and had one hand on the knob.
“Wait, I haven’t given you this week’s package.” Kayla signed and released the knob to take the proffered box. Holding it under her arm, she completed the complicated dance necessary to exit the house without releasing a tide of white fur. The box ended up in the back of her covered truck bed with last week’s contribution.
Miss Pinon had read an article last month suggesting that the objects a particular dog chewed on revealed clues about that particular dog’s personality that could be helpful in determining why he chewed in the first place and how to stop him. Ever since, she had dutifully saved everything her little darlings set teeth into. At least Kayla had talked her into providing only pictures of chewed-on furniture, or she was sure her truck bed would be full of tables and chairs. Disregarding the posted speed limit, she drove across town in twenty minutes.

Four police cars crowded the driveway, forcing two more to park in the street. Behind them was one of the white and blue, Las Vegas animal control kennel trucks. Yellow police tape had been strung out around the small boxy, one-story house, and clumps of men and women stood around looking in the open door.
Leaving her truck, she followed an eager young uniform toward one of the groups of people waiting out in the yard. She recognized Roger Bryson, the head of animal control investigation. At five-six he was the shortest of the men standing there. ‘Square’ was what Kayla always thought whenever she saw his short blond hair atop a ruddy face. He had broad shoulders, muscular arms and blocky legs ending in hiking boots. His Midwestern accent did little to dispel the down-home country boy look. They had gone out once or twice and still remained friends.
“Ah, you’re here,” said one of the better-dressed men. Detective Kenneth Wingate was always one of the better-dressed men in any group. He was dressed as usually, in a suit and shoes that probably cost more than three months of truck payments. Rugged good looks combined with dark raven hair expensively cut and trained to slide across a broad, lightly tanned forehead.
“You asked for me, Detective Wingate?” His perfectly behaved hair never fell into his eyes or caught in one of the flawlessly shaped eyebrows that shaded emerald eyes. They were poised over a strong nose framed by high cheekbones
“Yes, Dr. Dailee, we have a situation here and Roger Bryson requested your presence.” He gestured with one hand.
“Hey, Kayla, they want me to trank a big cat and I would feel a lot better if you took a look and drew up the dosage. I have a lot more experience with angry pit bulls than exotics and don’t want to screw this up.”
“Cat?”
“Yah, the dead guy has a puma in there,” piped in one of the other men. “I’m Lee, Lee Coit, evidence collection.” He stuck out a meaty hand for her to shake. “If it were up to me I’d just shoot the dang thing. But, with all the TV out there. . .” He trailed off indicating the media being held at bay down the street by patrol officers.
“There is no reason to kill her,” Roger broke in, shaking his head.
“No, she just killed her owner and wants to eat the rest of us. Let’s not hurt the poor, misguided kitty,” Coit said.
“Just a minute. We have not determined cause of death yet.” Detective Wingate took control of the conversation. “I don’t want to hear any speculation. I don’t want the press to hear any speculation. Roger, you and Dr Dailee prepare a tranquilizer. Lee finish the external pictures.” He turned to a nondescript fourth man following him. “Mitch, get those cars moved so that the animal control truck can get in closer to the house.”
Coit raised one hand in mock salute and waddled toward his equipment. Roger and Detective Mitch Kelly started down the driveway. Kayla turned, putting one hand on Kenneth’s shoulder.
“Kenneth, what happened, who’s dead?”
“The victim is an elderly man. At first glance it looks like his pet puma killed him.”
“Is there any sign of abuse?”
“That’s one of the things you’re here to tell me. I want your first impression.” He stepped back, allowing her a clear view of the small house. It was white with blue trim, the yard clean and neat. The last of the sun’s rays blocked by two large pine trees created deep shadows. Only the tall wire-topped topped fence attached to the sides distinguishing it from any other house in the neighborhood. That and the clumps of uniform officers standing next to the six patrol cars and the yellow crime scene tape.
Moving away from the police lieutenant, she approached a group near the plate glass window facing the street. Squeezing her way past several large male bodies, she looked in on a quite normal-looking living room. There were the gray outline of a couch and chair and what could be a low coffee table. Red and blue lights briefly lit up the interior revealing shadowed pictures and bright throw pillows. The lights reminded her of nights waiting in the car as her mother gossiped with the patrolmen, finding out who was pregnant, getting married, taking her role as the captains wife seriously.
“Where’s the body?” Kayla pulled her attention back to the present. She hated coming to crime scenes.
“Our witness says he died in his office.” He pointed to the hallway on the left. “Down there.”
“Witness?” She turned her head, looking up at his chiseled profile. A nasally voice broke in on her right.
“Yah, the Indian kid who called it in.”
“Coit,” the warning clear in his voice. Coit held up the camera in defense.
“Taking pictures here boss.” Raising the viewfinder to his eye he snapped away. Speaking from behind the shield of his camera, Coit continued. “Begging your pardon, Doc, the young Native American gentleman who is currently going ape shit in the back of Unit Twenty-seven.”
A frown marred Kenneth’s face as he looked down the driveway. “Why is he upset?”
“I think he saw the gun,” answered Roger. Walking next to him was a young girl dressed, as was Roger, in the tan uniform of animal control. He was carrying a trank rifle, and in one hand she held a battered plastic case. “This is Yolanda Evenson.”
Kayla reached out to shake hands and found herself staring into a valley of cleavage just held together by a straining shirt button. Glancing down she noted the four-inch-heeled clogs. “Hi, I’m Dr. Kayla Dailee, county vet.”
“Where’s the puma?” The women ignored Kayla’s hand and pushed up close to the window. “I can’t see anything.”
“Miss Evenson, please step back from the window.” Lt. Wingate reached out to stop her from touching the glass. “This area has not been thoroughly processed yet.” She turned, her long blond hair flipping across Kayla’s face as she faced the police officer.
“Where’s the body? Roger said I don’t have to look at any dead bodies.” Yolanda reached out, touching the label of his suit. “Nice suit, Brooks Brothers?”
Before he could formulate a reply Mitch ran up.
“Wingate, Silverhawk is very agitated. He thinks we are going to kill Amy. He says he can control her.”
“Amy?” asked Roger, looking up from his check of the rifle.
“That’s the cat’s name,” answered Mitch. “Silverhawk says she is tame, a pet, and he can get her to go into her room.”
“Her room?” questioned Kayla.
“One of the rooms in the house is set up for her, like a cage.”
“It would be easier to trank her in a confined space,” Roger broke in.
“Ok, Mitch go get Silverhawk, we’ll give him a chance.”


CHAPTER TWO
There were books on the floor. For some reason that bothered her a lot. Some were open, their pages bent, their spines cracked. Her first thought was to pick them up, wipe them off and return them to the tall oak bookcase that stood against one wall. Who would care for the books now that their owner was dead? She wondered who would pick them up and wipe the blood off them. There was blood, but not as much as her imagination supplied. The floor was spotted with it, and reddish black dried splatter painted the room. There were splotches of it low on one of the walls. A few flies had discovered the grisly treat and were gorging themselves on the edge of one of the pools.
The familiar wet-iron smell of blood registered faintly in the back of her mind and her body responded by flooding her with adrenalin, preparing her to jump in and do something, save something. But this time there was nothing she could do, no one she could save. Her skills were no longer needed here.
In the center of the mess was a male body. An old man. Deep wrinkled caverns covered his face a few, with small rivers of blood drying in them. He was dressed in jeans and a white tee shirt with a casino logo on it, one of the free giveaway shirts. The tee shirt was now stained brown with blood. He had a blank, peaceful expression on his face not quite joy, but as if he had been happy to die, looking forward to making his last journey.
Pulling back, she made herself look at the rest of the room. A desk stood in one corner with its chair neatly pushed in. Two folding chairs, one fallen over, were near the desk. The body was on its side facing the door, one hand outstretched like he was reaching for the hallway the other directly in front of his chest, palm up, waiting for someone to put something into it.
Stepping closer she focused her attention on the wounds on the man’s neck. The area below his chin looked like it had been chewed, not bitten, not crushed, but chewed on. Great gouges were etched into the flesh, torn muscles and bits of skin were shredded, and blood soaked the whole area. A bit of bone could just be seen through the carnage.
“How long ago did this happen?” Kayla asked.
“We’re not sure. The victim was last seen yesterday afternoon on his customary walk. Silverhawk discovered the body two hours ago.” She nodded, her eyes still on the body.
“Are there any other wounds on him?”
“No, only the throat. Is that normal for a big cat kill?” asked Lieutenant Wingate.
“What, the throat wound?”
“Yes, that and the fact that it is so torn up, and there are no other wounds on the body.”
“No, it is really clean for a large cat attack.”
“Did you notice his hands?” asked Wingate.
Kayla looked up puzzled. “His hands?”
Kenneth nodded. “They’re clean, no blood, no defense wounds. I would think if I was being attacked by an animal I would fight back. At least try to. His hands are too clean. It doesn’t even look like he tried to stop his own bleeding, much less fought back.”
“It was his pet. Maybe he didn’t think it would hurt him or it happened too fast for him to react,” said Kayla. Lieutenant Wingate shook his head.
“I have seen many assaults and even one death by pit bull. The victim always fights back, gets in one or two blows before dying.” He waved one hand in an arch covering the whole room. “This just doesn’t feel right.”
She looked back and took in the room a second time. The knocked-over arm chair contrasted with the swivel chair neatly pushed into the desk, the neat pile of papers and folders on the desk, and the books lying all over the floor.
“Why are the books all over the floor?” she asked.
“You tell me. Would the cat have done that. Maybe trying to cover up the body or something?”
A doubtful look crossed her face. “No, and she wouldn’t have emptied the top shelves, anyway.”
“Another thing don’t cats usually use their claws more? There are no claw marks on the body none, not one.”
“Yes, felines in general and larger cats in particular usually gasp their prey by the back of the neck and use their back claws to disembowel it. This . . .” she gestured toward the man’s neck, “this front attack is abnormal behavior.” She turned towards the Lieutenant. “Was the animal wild adult caught or born in a zoo and bottle raised?” A frown marred the Lieutenant’s good looks for a moment.
“I don’t know.” He said very deliberately.” Does it matter?”
“Oh yes, It lets me know how experienced she is. If she has killed before.”
“Let’s find out.” He spoke as he herded Kayla out of the room and indicated a side door that led to the kitchen, where another detective sat with a younger Native American man. Silverhawk was dressed in jeans and a polo shirt with a designer logo above the pocket. He sat with his hands wrapped around a large Styrofoam cup. Turquoise rings dotted his fingers, and his long black hair was clipped back away from his high cheek-boned face. The other man was a pudgy anglo guy, Paul Robinson by name. He was one of the best interrogators on the force. As lead investigator, Kenneth had requested him for this.
Kenneth traded looks with Paul as he entered the small clean room. The kitchen started at a little breakfast nook, with a small round table flanked by two chairs. It was stocked with old but working appliances, and the white counter was scrubbed clean. Yellow plastic canisters ran down the back of the counter, with a matching yellow dish drainer holding one plate and one bowl nestled next to the white porcelain sink. The Lieutenant aimed a lifted eyebrow at his sometime partner and received a slight shrug and tiny nod in return, indicating that Paul was not sure if the young man was involved or not.
“Mr. Silverhawk, how are you doing?” The young Indian shrugged and lifted his eyes from his cup, glancing at Kenneth, then away.
“This is Dr Dailee a veterinary consultant. She has a few questions regarding the puma.” Another shrug was the only response. Kayla stepped forward, extending her hand and staring him in the eyes to force a reaction. She had done this with grieving pet owners, pushing them out of their immediate grief and making them interact again with the living. It worked the same for this man. He looked up at her, met her eyes, and reflexively extended his right hand to grasp hers.
“I know this is hard for you, but any information concerning the cat will help me.”
“Amy.” The word was spoken so quietly she almost didn’t catch it.
“Her name is Amy.” This time the words were stronger. “And she didn’t do this.” Silverhawk stared into Kayla’s eyes as he spat the words out, willing her to believe him. “She wouldn’t, couldn’t hurt him. She loved the Sharma as we all do. I don’t know anyone who would do such a thing.”
“The cat’s name is Amy?” replied Kayla.
“Yes, he has had her since she was a kitten.”
“He raised her from a baby. Did he buy her from a breeder or zoo?” The distraught man shook his head.
“No, no, he found her on a spirit walk, a vision quest nine years ago. Amy had a broken leg and was being attacked by coyotes. He drove them off and saved her life. He brought her home, nursed her back to health, and they have lived together ever since.” A slight smile graced his dark face. “He used, to call her his wife. He would cook and clean for her and she would keep him home nights and insist he take her out on the mountain for regular vacations. They were both very happy.”
“How old was she when he found her?” Asked Kayla.
“A year, maybe less.” Kayla nodded at the information.
“Old enough to have learned how to hunt and good enough at it to stay alive through at least one winter on her own.” She turned back to Kenneth. “She would know how to kill.”
The seated man suddenly stood, pushing back his chair, his words almost unintelligible with anger.
“Wait just one minute! Just because she knows how to kill doesn’t mean she would. She loved the Sharma and never would have hurt him.”
“We are talking about a puma, a wild animal. They are inherently unpredictable.” Kenneth said, bracing himself and waving the other man back to his chair. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Paul’s hand drift toward his gun, his eyes watching the young man closely.
“No!” The world exploded out of Silverhawk’s mouth. He shook his head and repeated more quietly, “no, Amy is different. She chooses. Chose to stay with the Sharma. He would take her up to the mountain, Mount Charleston, and to Utah four or five times a year and let her run loose. He would spend three to five nights up there camping. She would be loose the whole time, she could leave anytime she wanted, but she never left his side.”
“Did she hunt her own food, run deer, when she was loose?” Kayla asked.
“Sure, lots of deer, rabbits too, and once she took down an elk.” He waved at the wall behind him at a rack of elk horns. “That is from her kill. The Sharma was very proud of her. She dragged the body over a mile to give it to him.”
Kayla nodded. This muddied the issue instead of clearing anything up. The cat know how to kill efficiently. She would not have attacked the front of the old Sharma’s throat. In fact there was no reason for her to have chewed on it at all, since pumas generally bit at the back of the preys neck, they severing the preys spine and if for some reason she had latched on to the front, she would have bitten it, not chewed it into hamburger.
Someone called her name and she quickly gave her thanks and said good-by, to the grieving man. Roger Bryson was waiting for her in the small living room his buxom assistant standing next to him the small medication case in her hands.
He jerked his head toward a door across the room. “She’s in there. The cat I mean. The other Native American, not the victim but the one who found the body, he locked her in. He said she’s friendly.” He brandished the catchpole he held in one hand, a long steel pipe with a loop of twisted steel cable protruding from one end. A sharp twist of the rubber grip could tighten and loosen the noose. “Friendly or not, she’s still a wild animal.”
“Right. What drugs do you have?” Kayla gestured at the small case.
“Ketamine and Acepromazine. Also Diazepam and Xylazine.” Yolanda listed the inventory of drugs then continued, her blue eyes blazing with righteous anger. “I think this is just like so wrong. People shouldn’t be allowed to like, keep wild animals in a cage. It is, like, so wrong. Pumas should be free to roam the wild, not caged in someone’s house. I’m glad the old man is dead. It’s what he deserves.” Then, unexpectedly she burst into tears and pushed the case into Kayla hands. She turned and fled the room with one last comment over her shoulder. “And now they’re going to kill the poor animal and, like, that is just so wrong.”
Kayla and Roger just stared after the distraught girl for a moment, then looked at each other. Roger’s strong shoulders shrugged.
“She wanted to come, she’s a first-year veterinary student out at the collage. I thought it would be good experience for her.”
“Won’t make it to second year without a lot of maturing. What’s she doing in animal control?”
“Her fathers some rich political dude, wanted his little girl to see the reality of life. Like most young girls, all she wants to do is play with the puppies.”
“Well, when she learns the realities of the job she will either sink or swim, sixty percent of veterinary students never make it to graduation.”
“Yah, I have seen a lot of them come and go. It’s a tough profession and they have to work with people like us.” He flashed a quick grin at her. She returned it and he felt his heart thump a little louder. He had heard through the veterinary grapevine that she had broken up with that jackass Jeffery. A bad break-up, was what he had heard. He decided to take the leap.
“Ah, maybe when this thing is all over you would like to go out for a cup of coffee, some food, or something?” She turned appraising eyes on him.
“I have early rounds in the morning, so I’ll take the ‘or something’, as long as it’s not too late.”
“Early breakfast at Eddie’s?” He named a local 24-hour coffee house near animal controls main building. She shrugged.
“Sure, I could do breakfast.”
Roger turned his attention back to the cat behind the door.
“What do you want to use on Amy?”
“Let’s use the Ace and Ketamine at eight percent strength.”
“Eight? I use five on the aggressive dogs.”
“And I use ten on large animals. Eight should be good as long as she doesn’t have any cardiopulmonary issues.”
“She is nine, ten years old. We need to watch for a heart problem.” They discussed the dosage and dangers of each drug before settling on a cocktail of seven percent Ace and Ketamine and 25 percent Diazepam.
“Do you have any idea how much she weighs?”
“No,” Roger replied with a grimace, never happy to admit his ignorance. “I peeked in through an outside window, but the light is off and I really couldn’t tell much. Also, she is missing a front leg. So that throws off any standard calculation.” He turned his bright blue eyes to her. “That’s why I asked for you. The standards are just guess work, but with the weight of one leg gone I don’t trust them.”
“Show me this window and let’s gather up the strongest flashlights we have. Maybe even a spotlight from one of the cars would help.” She looked around for the nearest uniform officer. “I would like to get as good a look as I can so I’m not dosing blind.”
“I have a portable flash in my car Maim, I could get it for you,” a bright young officer piped in, excited to be in on the case. This would make a great story for him to tell his newest girlfriend later that evening.
“Get it and meet us out back,” said Roger, and the three of them took turns going out the front door. Roger and Kayla went around the small house, and the officer headed down the drive past the now reshuffled animal control trucks to his patrol car parked on the street.
There was a ten-foot high wood fence surrounding the property not unlike the one around her own yard, thought Kayla. The second chain link fence five feet inside the outer wall helped satisfy USDA exotic pet regulations. The police had cut the locks from both gates and Kayla automatically closed them both behind her. A small plot of grass with a single tree lit by security lights was attached to the garage. Patches of Palmdale grass tufted along one wall leading to a second, larger tree carefully planted eight feet in from the chain link. A raised flowerbed encircled both trees, providing both a place to sit in the shade and a cooler place for the plants. Both beds were full of green plants Kayla knew nothing about green stuff and for a moment wished her friend Carson was there. She had roomed with the botanist in college and they had remained close friends.
Next to the house were three feet of small, irregularly shaped red rocks that most homeowners used to keep the wet grass from their house foundations. They passed a coveralled technician spreading white fingerprint powder on the frame of the sliding door on their way to a shoulder-high window partway down the exterior wall.
“This is it. As you can see it’s barred and the interior of the room is protected by thick reinforced wood walls.” Roger stepped back so she could take a look. “The floor is covered with indoor-outdoor carpet.”
Looking through the dark window, Kayla could just see large shadowy shapes. One of the larger shadows looked like a bed. There was a darker lump on the bed that could be about the right size for a puma. Her speculation was confirmed a moment later, as a beam of light emerged from the flashlight Roger held.
“There, she’s moved to the bed.” Just barely visible in the weak light was a large, tawny golden shape with eyes that glowed as the head turned toward the window.
“Here, try this.” The young officer handed Roger a large portable spotlight.
“Thanks that’s a lot better.” The light illuminated the room and its feline occupant
The cat was reclining on a bed set in one corner. She was about the size of a mastiff, but lacking a mastiff’s bulk. Her body type was more in line with a well-conditioned Dalmatian. Kayla thought. Overall, she gave the impression of a fast, strong, sleek predator. This was no overweight poorly kept house pet, as were so many of the exotics she had seen over the years. This cat knew that it was the apex predator in its world. She drew back from the window.
“Wow, that is a fine-looking animal. The old man took very good care of it.”
“I have the largest portable kennel in the truck. After she is down, I,” he emphasized and repeated the pronoun, “I will go in to make sure she is secured, then you can check her over, and if she’s in good shape, we might as well make the cast of her teeth we both know the cops are going to want. Then you can ride with her, if you want to the kennels we have large cat cages in the basement.” Kayla nodded. She knew of the exotic containment area in the basement of animal control, although she had never had a reason to visit them before.
“I would like that. Let’s go back inside.” They returned to the front of the house and they found Lieutenant Wingate in the kitchen talking quietly with Silverhawk. Half a dozen Styrofoam cups of coffee were lined up on the counter next to two large bakery boxes. He waved at them when Kayla and Roger came in.
“The patrol made a coffee run. Have a cup and that box has doughnuts and bagels.” Kayla peered into the boxes, contemplativing their sugary delights. Her favorite was there, a puffy cream-filled delight with sugar icing glistening and sticking to her fingers as she released it from the box. With her other hand she snagged a napkin. She looked over the offering of Styrofoam.
“Any tea?”
“No, don’t you drink coffee?”
“Never acquired the taste.” Joining the two at the table, she laid out the capture plan between bites of her doughnut. She noticed Silverhawk had an untouched plain round in front of him, and the Detective was finishing off a wheat bagel. He downed his last bite and stood.
“Let’s get started.”
It was decided that Roger would do the actual shooting, since he had more experience with the trank gun. Kayla mixed up the drug cocktail to bring the cat down safely immobilizing her.
Roger positioned himself at the door jam. The first door was a plan thin wood interior door, but behind it, to both their surprise, was a two-paned Plexiglas custom-made barrier designed to keep the cat in and them out. Roger repositioned himself and grumbled about not knowing about the windowed door earlier. He had to admit the old man kept the cat in style. In his six years in animal control, he had seen more than his share of substandard exotic animal care. This room, along with the fenced-in yard was the best large cat confinement he had seen.
After taking a deep breath and double-checking that the two uniforms both carrying regular rifles and the animal control officer were ready, Kayla opened the door. The cat just lay there on the bed, tail twitching, and she barely moved when Roger expertly shot her in the rump with the dart. He drew back as Kayla slammed the door shut, just missing the tip of the rifle.
“Well, that was anticlimactic,” he remarked.
“Just hope the rest of the evening will go as well,” she replied, checking her watch to figure out how long it would take for the darted cat to go down.
“Lets give her fifteen minutes to start and see how she is.” She peeked through the crack in the outer door. The large predator had not moved from the bed. That was good because there was much less chance of her hurting herself if she stayed where she was.
“Sounds good, Doc, want some coffee while we wait?” She shrugged and peeked again at her patient.
“I’m going to stay here and keep an eye on her. You go ahead. If there is any tea I’ll like some of that, or even a cup of hot water, I have my own tea bags in my car.”
“Tea?” He looked perplexed. “You don’t drink coffee?”
“No, never could stand the stuff.” Roger flashed a quick grin showing strong, slightly crooked teeth.
“Uh, oh, my mom always told me never to trust a woman who didn’t enjoy a good cup of coffee.”
“Oh, well, the relationship is doomed. We might as well not go out to breakfast,” she answered as she risked another quick peak into the room. The cat was still on the bed.
“I never did do everything my mom told me. I think we can risk it.”
“Really, you’re a rebel aren’t you?"
“Wore a black leather jacket and rode a motorcycle. Never shaved my head, though I did grow my hair long, and if you ever tell anyone I will sick a thousand fleas in your bed. But, I use to wear a red headband.” She turned to look up speculatively at him.
“Any tats?”
“God bless, would any self-respecting rebel be without a few?” Grinning, she turned both of her eyes to Rogers face.
“Where?” She enjoyed the sight of his quick, full grin. He wagged an index finger at her.
“Never on a first date.” He leaned over her to observe the large cat. “She looks like she’s down.”
“Lets give her a few more minutes, then I’ll go in and . . .” he stopped her with a raised hand.
“No, I thought we decided that I would go in first.”
“I’m the doctor, and besides you’re better with the gun. I’m the logical one to go first.”
“I’m larger and stronger,” he countered.
“I’m smaller and more agile.”
“I have more large-animal experience,” he said.
“I have more exotic cat experience.”
“I have more experience in the restraint of wild animals.”
“I have more medical experience with anesthesia,” she replied before a strong male voice interrupted.
“If the pissing contest is over I just want to interject that I will be going in with whoever wins.” Lieutenant Kenneth Wingate loosened the snap on his holster and made sure his weapon was ready.
“You won’t need that,” said Kayla.
“Humor me.” He pulled the weapon. “I’m the expert on murders.”
In the end all three of them entered the room. Roger first, with the trank gun, Kayla next, and Kenneth last, weapon at the ready. Amy did not move when Roger prodded her with his rifle butt and Dr. Dailee pushed him aside to examine her patient. During the brief exam, Kenneth stood weapon ready and pointed at the ceiling uneasily, watching the big cat on the bed.
A sudden shout from the other end of the house made him turn away, lowering his gun.
“No, let me go!” It was Silverhawk’s voice raised in anger and confusion. “You can’t kill her! She is innocent! Let me go!” Under the shouted words Kenneth heard the soft words of his partner attempting to calm the man. When he heard a loud crash from the kitchen, he headed to the door. A cry from Roger stopped him before he could reach the exit.
Roger had just leaned over the prone form of Amy to hand Kayla a small tube of ointment for the cat’s eyes when the sudden crash from the kitchen startled him. It startled not only the humans Amy startled as well, bringing up her one good front paw and wrapping it around Roger’s torso, her head rising and fangs sinking into his shoulder.
“Roger,” Kayla cried out, “don’t move!” She reached out to steady him, holding him in place trapped between the furry body and arm of the large animal.
Lieutenant Wingate turned and raised his gun pointing the barrel at Amy’s head. “Doctor, move out of the way.”
“No, don’t shoot,” said Roger between gritted teeth. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
Kayla looked up and with one hand moved the guns barrel away from the cat’s skull. “She is just reacting to the noise. It’s a side-effect of one of the drugs we used.” Kayla waved the hand that had moved the gun toward the door. “Look we need it quiet in here. Go see what’s happened and tell them to keep the noise down.” Kenneth hesitated, looking down at the man trapped against the furry body.
“Go,” Kayla said. “I’ll take care of things here.” She was removing her belt. Responding to his raised eyebrows, she said, “It’s to secure her back legs. Go, I need it quiet in here.”
Hesitating a moment longer, Kenneth watched as she wrapped her belt twice around the cat’s legs before holstering his gun and patting Roger lightly on his back, well way from the large claws that dug into his right side. He left to help his partner deal with the upset man in the kitchen whose voice was just starting to penetrate the walls. Amy reacted to a loud yell, and her grip on Roger tightened a fraction. Blood ran down his side and dripped on the mattress as Kayla finished her makeshift restraint.
“Roger, don’t move, don’t pull away.”
“I know, I know.” With his good arm he braced himself on the bed, using his legs to form a triangle to hold himself immobile, one shoulder still firmly gripped in the cat’s mouth. He knew, as did anyone who worked routinely with animals, that when you are bitten you don’t pull away. More damage is done when the human pulls away than the animal inflicts with the initial bite. Now, the claws dug into his back were another story. They hurt.
“I’m going to give her more Diazepam. That should relax her enough to get you free.”
“Hurry I’m not sure how long I can hold this position. The bite is very shallow at the moment, but if there’s another loud noise she may just bite down harder.”