"Oh it was. And it was all deformed, too. Didn't hardly look human at all. They put it in another room while they checked over the old lady, and when they came back it was gone. Disappeared."
"Do they know who stole it?"
The storyteller nodded. "They found some footprints." His voice dropped. "But they weren't human."
"Really?"
"The cloven hoof of the Beast." The old man took a sip of his coffee.
"Brian--he's the one that told me about it--he said he's thinking of writing to the National Enquirer or something and telling them about it. They'd probably be interested in something like this."
The mechanic nodded. "Make mucho bucks off it, too."
"Damn straight."
Gordon didn't believe the last half of the story, but he had no doubt that the first part was true. Even the most outrageous exaggerations usually had some basis in fact. He looked at Brad, then stepped toward the two men. The thought that yet another deformed and stillborn infant had been born in Randall troubled him. He cleared his throat loudly. "Excuse me," he said. "I couldn't help overhearing your story."
The old man nodded. "Yeah, it's something."
"I'd like to know when and where this happened. Could you tell me what you know about it, where you heard about it?"
The man put a ketchup soakedfrench fry in his mouth and followed it with a swallow of coffee. "I heard about it from Brian Stevens. It happened at the Randall Rest Home last night." He held up his empty cup and signaled to the waitress for more coffee.
"Last night?"
"Yeah. Brian's wife is in the nursing home. She saw it with her own eyes."
"The woman was ancient," Brad said, tapping Gordon's shoulder. "What do you expect? You think she's going to have a healthy blue-eyed bundle of joy when she's ninety goddamn years old?"
Brad was right. Such a situation could be attributed to age. Women who had children past the age of forty often had retarded babies or babies with birth defects, and that was certainly possible here.
Still, the story bothered him. He knew nothing save what he'd heard from this old man--and three-fourths of that he attributed to exaggeration--but he had a hunch, a gut feeling, that the baby's problems had been unrelated to the age of the mother.
"Come on," Brad said, picking up his case. "Let's get back to work."
"Yeah, sure," he said. He nodded toward the two men at the counter.
"Thanks."
"No problem." The old man opened a packet of sugar and poured half of it into his coffee, throwing the rest into a dirty amber ashtray. "Glad to be of service."
Gordon followed Brad back out to the truck. Behind him, he heard the mechanic mention the Beast. "I don't like this," he said. "I don't like it at all."
"I don't blame you." Brad grunted as he pulled a case of Diet Pepsi from the truck. "But I wouldn't worry about it too much if I was you.
The doctors took all those tests and they said everything's going to be okay." He smiled. "Whatever it was didn't seem to affect your baby maker none."
Gordon shook his head. "I just don't like it." He pulled down another case of Pepsi and carried it into the diner.
The kitten was .. . cute. It was the only word to describe her, much as Marina hated to admit it. Cute. Even surrounded by unkempt derelict cats in a hideous wire cage at the rear of the Humane Society building, the kitten's spirit was still undaunted; it shone through the dismal surroundings like a beacon. The kitten's light gray fur was clean and fluffy and stuck out on the sides of her flattened face like a mane. Greenish yellow owl eyes, wide and perfectly round, peered bravely, curiously forth from amidst the hair. A red mouth, filled with tiny baby teeth, emitted barely audible but heartrending peeps.
Marina cautiously stuck a finger through the bars of the cage and the little kitten bounced happily toward her on fat little feet. The kitten reached up with her two front paws and grabbed onto the finger.
She bit the tip affectionately. The bite tickled, and Marina pulled her finger back, laughing. She turned to the Humane Society attendant.
"I'll take her," she said.
The man shrugged noncommittally. "Cost you ten dollars, including shots."
"That's fine." Marina smiled as she stuck her finger once again through the wire cage. The kitten grabbed onto the finger and started biting.
She filled out the proper forms and paid the money at the front desk, trying to think of names for her new pet. She definitely didn't want to name the kitten something like Coco or Princess or any of the other sickeningly saccharine names favored by old ladies or young girls. And names like Missy orQueenie that ended in an "ee" sound were definitely out. Perhaps Alfalfa would be good, after the Little Rascals'
character. Or Horton, after Dr. Seuss' elephant. Or Francois, after Truffaut.
The attendant brought the kitten out and asked Marina if she would like a box for the trip home, but she said she'd rather hold the kitty instead. The man handed her the peeping ball of gray fur, and she cradled her new pet in her arms like a baby. The kitten lightly bit her finger and purred.
Dracula. That would be a good name.
No,Vlad . AfterVlad theImpaler , the original Dracula.
She looked down at the gray furry face. "HiVlad ," she said.
The kitten looked up at her and bit her finger.
Vladspent the trip home exploring the car. She crawled under the seats, hopped on the dashboard and spent quite a while doing God-knew-what in the very back of the Jeep. Marina tried to drive and keep an eye on the kitten at the same time. She didn't want her to get stuck under the seat or try to jump out or something.
Once home, she grabbed the kitten, who was rummaging around in a box of emergency car parts, and took her immediately into the house. She put her down on the hardwood floor of the kitchen.Vlad looked around suspiciously at first but quickly lost her fear. She trotted off to explore the living room, padding across the floor on her fat little feet.
Marina spent the afternoon followingVlad around the house, keeping the kitten away from restricted areas such as the couches by picking her up, saying "No" and putting her down someplace else. She poured her new pet a saucer of milk but discovered that she had forgotten to buy any kind of cat food. She opened a can of Star-Kist tuna and made a note to have Gordon get some real cat food.
She made a makeshift litter box from an old Pepsi carton and filled it with dirt from the garden.
At a little after three, she putVlad back in the car and drove into town to pick up Gordon. She parked in front of the warehouse, held the kitten in her lap and waited. A few minutes later, Gordon pulled open the door of the Jeep, sat down and sighed. "Damn I'm tired. My arms hurt like hell."
Marina said nothing.
He looked at her. "What are you waiting for? Let's go." His eyes found the small bundle of fur in her lap. "Got a new pussy, huh?"
She hit his shoulder with her fist. "How can you be so crude?"
He smiled. "Must be from hanging around Brad all day. You'd be that way too if you had to spend all your time with him." He held out his hands. "Let me see the little guy." Marina handed him the kitten and he held the animal's face next to his. "Cute little thing, isn't he?"
"It's not a he, it's a she. And her name isVlad ."
"Vlad? That's a boy's name. Why are you calling her that?"
"Put your finger next to her face."
Gordon held out an index finger andVlad grabbed it with two paws and began biting. Gordon laughed. "That's great." He put the kitten down on his lap and rubbed her fur, playing with her. The kitten leapt and attacked. He held his hand over the kitten's face, and she tried to bite his palm. "You're a little fighter, aren't you? Aren't you?"
Vlad bit.
They drove toward home.