"My name is Remo," he said, peeved.
"Blame your parents for that," Judith suggested. As they strolled down the hallway, Sadie shouted loud protests, threatening to call the police. Remo and Judith ignored her.
There were a few doors lining either side of the short corridor. Most were closed.
"That one." Judith pointed to the second office from the end.
Remo had sensed the steady heartbeat coming from beyond the closed door. He assumed Judith had been here some time in the past to know Tulle's office.
Remo didn't bother to knock. He pushed against the chipped, green-painted surface of the old wooden door. It creaked painfully open on the cramped office of the Boston director of Humans for the Egalitarian Treatment of Animals.
Curt Tulle looked up from his desk. At least Remo assumed that's who it was. He couldn't quite tell if the thing he was looking at was human under all that fur.
Curt wore a raccoon hat, the kind made popular during the 1950s. A long, draping woman's mink coat was buttoned tightly up to his neck. The neck of the HETA director was wrapped, in turn, by a dark ermine stole. The clasp holding the wrap in place made the head of the hapless creature appear to be biting the animal's tail.
To Remo, there was no more accurate a phrase to describe the look on Curt Tulle's face as that of an animal caught in headlights. It was sheer, blind, frozen terror.
"Keep the windows rolled up and your hands in the car," Remo suggested over his shoulder to Judith.
As Remo spoke, Curt Tulle finally found his voice. "Who are you?" he demanded angrily. "Who let you in here?"
The ermine stole was already stuffed inside the drawer. He seemed to remember the raccoon hat abruptly, snatching it from atop his head. The drawer opened again, and the hat was flung inside. Curt slammed the drawer loudly shut a second time. A few shimmies of his shoulders loosed the mink coat. He kicked it into the well under his desk.
"I guess the only thing about fur that's murder is the price," Remo commented.
"Filthy hypocrite," Judith snarled, her voice a low growl.
When she moved toward Curt, Remo had to intercept her.
Her passion gave her extra strength. Remo had to exert surprising force to pull her away. He scooted her back behind him.
"Let's put the good-cop-psycho-cop act on hold, shall we?" he suggested to White. To Curt, he said, "We're investigating the disappearance of the BBQs from BostonBio."
"BCWs," Judith hissed angrily.
"BMWs," Remo corrected.
"Hey, I know you." The HETA director squinted. He was looking at Judith White. His deer's eyes grew even wider. "You're the crazy scientist who's trying to play Mother Nature."
This time Remo didn't move quickly enough to stop Judith. She darted around him, leaping and sliding across Curt Tulle's desk in a single fluid move. Along the way, she scooped up a letter opener that had been lying next to a banker's lamp. The greenshaded lamp went flying as Judith kicked around, dropping in beside the startled HETA director. With one hand, she grabbed a clump of thin hair, pulling back his head. The other hand aimed the business end of the letter opener into Curt's Adam's apple. "Where are my animals?" she screamed.
Curt choked fearfully. "I don't know!" he cried.
"You're lying!" she snarled.
"No! No, I'm telling the truth!" His desperate eyes sought out Remo.
"Say something!" he pleaded.
"I'm not cleaning up the body," Remo cautioned Dr. White. Stepping back, he settled comfortably into a chair, pleased for a change to farm out the heavy lifting.
Curt was sweating. Judith's voice was close to his ear, hot and menacing.
"I know there are HETA-funded terrorists who live for this crap. You paid them to break into my lab, didn't you?" She jerked his head back harder. "Didn't you!"
"Possibly!" Curt admitted. Perspiration had broken out across his upper lip.
"Possibly?" Remo asked from across the room.
Curt tried to shrug. "We do disperse funds from this office," he admitted. "I can't always say for sure where the money goes to ultimately. Legal reasons."
"I'll legal you a blowhole," she barked, pressing the blunt knife into his flesh.
"Please!" Curt begged.
Remo interjected. "Who do you think took the animals?"
"No one knows for sure," Curt replied nervously. "But I was talking to a HETA sympathizer in Salem a few hours ago. A guy named Billy Pierce. He hinted around that he might know something. I told him I didn't want to know. Please. You've got to believe me. I don't know anything."
"Truer words have never been spoken," Judith growled.
She wrenched Curt's hair one last time before flinging the terrified HETA director face first onto his desk.
The letter opener had inadvertently punctured a small spot on Curt's neck. A drop of deep red blood clung to the end of the blunt knife. Judith seemed surprised at the sight of the blood. She held it before her eyes, as if shocked that she could have performed an act of such violence. She snorted once deeply-angry at herself-and then flung the knife away.
"Coward's blood. I can smell it a mile away," she announced contemptuously. She twirled away from the desk. "Are you ready to go, Hank Kimble?" she asked Remo.
Remo got slowly to his feet. "I'm guessing you don't get many Christmas cards," he ventured. Without another word to the shaking HETA director, the two of them left the office.
In the hall, they nearly tripped over Sadie Mayer. Rather than call the police, the old woman had opted for eavesdropping outside Curt Tulle's door. She dogged them to the lobby.
"Scumbag son of a bitch!" Sadie yelled. "Filthy bastard scum-sucking bum."
"You're sweet," Remo commented at the front door. "Do you French your father with that mouth?"
"Son of a bitch bum!" Sadie screeched. She stabbed an angry finger at Judith. "He who sleeps with dogs winds up with fleas!" This was apparently a caution to Remo.
"That reminds me. Honey, we're low on flea powder," Remo said to Judith.
"Shut up, idiot," the scientist snarled impatiently, shoving her way through the front doors.
"Goddamn son of a bitch bum!" Sadie shrieked at him.
"When did Boston start dumping testosterone in the drinking water?" Remo asked.
In response, Sadie tried to kick him. Avoiding her bone-and-bunion-filled Reeboks, he slowly trailed Judith White outside.
REMO AND JUDITH WEREN'T GONE more than one minute when a set of keys jangled outside the steel alley door near Curt Tulle's office. The fire door opened silently. A pair of dark-clad figures clicked the door shut behind them.
Stepping carefully, the two shapes moved swiftly up to the HETA director's office.
Curt had knotted his ermine stole around his neck once more and was stroking the soft fur in a gentle, soothing manner. Sitting behind his desk, he looked up with a start when the new pair of visitors slipped into his office.
The man and woman were both somewhere near forty. They wore jackets over their black leotards. Their ski masks were stuffed into their coat pockets. Dressed too warmly for the early-autumn day, both of them were sweating profusely.
The HETA man nearly jumped out of his skin when he first saw the couple. When he realized that he recognized them, his face relaxed somewhat.
"My God, you scared the hide off of me." He tugged off the ermine stole, stashing it away once more.
"What's the matter with you?" the man asked.
"Didn't you see them?" Curt said, agitated.
"We came in the back." This from the woman.
Curt took a deep breath. "Judith White was here."
"The Beast of BostonBio?" the woman asked, aghast.
Curt Tulle nodded. "She had some buck with her. They're looking for those whatever-they-ares. The BBQs."
The woman smiled smugly. "They'll never find them."
Curt looked up sharply. "You know where they are?"