D.C. came awake with a start and prepared to leap. He knew that tone. Zeke rose in astonishment. “I don’t understand “
“Me neither. Flinging his old mallard duck up into my face again. Why did you bring the duck into it?”
“Look, Miss Randall, I didn’t bring the duck into it. I haven’t got the slightest idea how the duck ever got into the act. I went to see him as routine procedure. He’s a reputable attorney, a man who could be trusted, and I thought he might have information about the cat’s I mean, D.C.‘s whereabouts the night before. He might have given me a lead that would have cracked the case wide open. But before I had time to ask any questions, he was talking about some crazy duck, and how he almost got pneumonia, and he kept talking about it. It was like I’d punched a button that blew up a volcano.”
She was not satisfied. “Why did you think he’d know anything about D.C.? Did you think they went out on the town together every night?”
“Please, Miss Randall, the neighbors may hear.”
She crumpled into the nearest chair. “Forgive me, I’m getting as bad as that character across the street.”
D.C. settled back down. He was glad he wasn’t the one catching it.
At least one neighbor had heard. Mrs. Macdougall, washing dishes next door, put a small finger in her ear and shook the finger vigorously. But, removing it, she still couldn’t make out the words. She could only hear Patti and a man talking in raised voices.
“That girl,” she said to her husband, “she’s got a man in her room and her carryin’ on like that before a baby sister and a little boy.”
Her husband, who hadn’t said a word all evening, emerged from behind the sports page. “You don’t say?” A look stole into his eyes. “You don’t say!”
Mrs. Macdougall did say. “No wonder the whole pack of ‘em taking sun baths half-naked. ‘We don’t want the children to grow up curious,’ her mother saying, and her so respectable-lookin’. ‘Nothing to be ashamed of, the human body.’ Rubbish and tommy rot note 11!”
13
As zero hour approached, the tension mounted. A dozen agents spread out fanlike over the area, stopping children of all ages to show them the picture of D.C. “I’ve lost my cat,” an agent would say. “Thought maybe you’d seen him around.”
Boys especially studied the photograph at length, discussing it among themselves. Only one, though, remembered seeing a cat that size. He recalled that he watched the cat paw at a door across the street from him, and gain admittance. Agents .relayed the lead immediately to Operations Center .
Other agents skirted thief-like along flower beds and shrubs, stooping to examine mud spots created by yard sprinklers. When they found cat tracks, they would place the photographic reproduction of D.C.s paw prints alongside for comparison. Dogs growled at them, housewives cast suspicious eyes on them, and boys hounded them. “Whatcha doin’, mister?” they’d ask, catching an agent on his knees peering under a bush. They thought he had lost something, which was a rather reasonable conclusion, and wanted to help hunt. The agents were noncommittal. A grunt or two usually classified an adult as unfriendly, and the little snoops would drift on.
“Somebody’s going to call the police,” said one agent, “and they’ll pick us up for being drunk or nuts, or both.” Another said, “I’m not going to tell even my wife what I was doing today.”
Block by block, they scoured the area with typical Bureau thoroughness. If D.C. had stepped into soft earth or crossed a dusty alley, they would have found his track. But not a single one did they come across, attesting to what Patti had told Zeke, that D.C. had a great penchant for cleanliness. Even when he smelled a flower and he was a great nature lover, she said he would remain on the grass and project his neck the required distance.
At Operations Center in the back of the drugstore, Supervisor Bob Newton ran a final check on twelve radio cars, spotted at strategic points on side streets near the Randall home, on four sound cone units, and on six agents equipped with infra-red scopes.
Newton cautioned them, “Remember we’re dealing with a highly sensitive type of informant. Maintain a close surveillance but keep in mind at all times that you must not do anything that will alarm the informant.”
In the Randall home Zeke cleared everyone out of the bedroom at seven-fifteen on the theory that D.C. might sense something was brewing if they gathered en masse. Before Patti left, he checked again the route that D.C. would follow. Patti remembered then that D.C, in heading for Greg’s home, would keep considerable distance between himself and one specific garage. When he was quite young, she related, D.C. had followed a playful kitten into this garage. As he nuzzled the kitten, which had skunks for parents, the most terrible thing happened. For weeks afterwards scarcely anyone spoke to him, nor was he permitted in the house, and, in fact, even the dogs gave him a wide berth.
Patti said, “He’s never gone into another garage. Some ways he’s a lot smarter’n we are. He never makes the same mistake twice.”
Now Zeke sat by a two-way radio, which he held to a whisper. In the hallway the cuckoo clock ticked with a confidence few clocks have these days. On the bed D.C. was curled into a tight ball, sound asleep. He was wearing his old collar, and seemingly had welcomed it when Patti fastened it .about his neck. A collar did something for a man, gave him a certain distinction.
Zeke’s eyes were so puffed that the cat was a black blur, and Zeke wondered how he was going to run the surveillance. Silently he lectured himself. His attitude toward D.C. was utterly unreasonable. He had no basis for his prejudice. He was guilty of the worst possible type of discrimination. He must exert every effort to change.
Seven forty-five passed, and Zeke grew more fearful with the ticking off of each minute. Almost on the stroke of eight, though, D.C. aroused, and took his bearings. His gaze passed over Zeke as if the latter were another piece of furniture. He padded to the window then, pulled aside a drape, and looked out to take a reckoning of the time and temperature.
Zeke said into the mike, “All units stand by. Informant about to leave house.”
On seeing something outside, D.C. battened his ears down until only his slit eyes showed. Whatever he saw, though, failed to interest him long, for he quietly returned to the depressed spot in the bed and began his nightly ablutions.
“All units,” Zeke said. “Informant has changed mind. Will keep you advised.”
Zeke sat on the bed, reached over, and pulled D.C. to him. He remembered his resolution and smiled down at the cat. His smile was not returned. D.C. wanted no part of him.
Murmuring, “Nice guy nice guy,” Zeke picked him up by the middle to stand him up. D.C. promptly collapsed. Just as promptly Zeke propped him up, which was a tactical error. At the end of his patience, D.C. sank a claw into Zeke’s right arm, above the wrist. Zeke was caught so by surprise and pain that he used a few old ranch hand words he had forgotten he knew.
In one quick stroke, as if he were roping a calf, Zeke seized D.C.‘s hind legs, took a good hold on him, and carted him upside down through the hallway, into the kitchen, and to the service porch door where he dropped him unceremoniously. He unlatched the door and D.C, growling a few choice words himself, looked out.
“Get out there, you big baboon,” Zeke said. “Go on, go on before I break you “
At a faint footstep behind him, he stopped. He sensed that Patti stood there, and hated to think what her expression was. Below him D.C. planted his feet firmly. Now that he had reinforcements, he would stand his ground.
Zeke said softly, “Look friend, it’s a warm, beautiful night Go on, live it up.”
He turned. “Oh, hello. Didn’t know you were around. Can’t seem to get him out, and it’s past eight.”