Jack Beale 00 - Dangerous Shoals

don’t get this done now, those stains may become permanent.” Privately, she hoped that cleaning up the blood might keep her friends from dwelling on what had happened. Jack put the radio on, and they punctuated their efforts with small-talk as they worked.
    “There,” said Jack as he managed to slide the secretary over, exposing the last ugly stain. Max looked away, but Courtney moved right in with her bucket and sponge. She was scrunched up on her hands and knees, briskly scrubbing away, when suddenly she stopped as her attention focused on something under the secretary. She bent lower, reached under, and after a moment of groping about, withdrew her hand.
    “Hey Jack, I found one of Cat’s toys. Catch.” With that she tossed a small object in his direction.
    He caught it and looked at it quizzically. “Where was this?” he asked.
    “Under the secretary.”
    He studied it carefully. “This isn’t one of her toys.”
    Max came over to look. “What is it?”
    “I’m not sure.” Actually, he was quite sure what it was. But the evening had been upsetting enough, so he pushed it into his pocket and said, “Let’s finish up. It’s been a long day.”

CHAPTER 76
    KURT’S HAND WAS THROBBING , and there was no ignoring the pain by the time he reached his motel. Standing over the sink, he examined the rips on the bloody glove and began to peel it off his hand. With one final tug it came free, and he dropped it into the trash. He looked at his hand and could see that there were several wounds. “Fuckin’ cat,” he snarled as he turned on the water. As he began washing away the dried blood, he tried to ignore the pain. After the water flowing down the drain changed from red to clear, he checked out the extent of the damage. There was a small whitish something sticking out through the skin on the back of his hand. When he touched it, it moved and sent out a wave of pain.
    He went to his fishing bag and pulled out a pair of needle-nosed pliers that he used for pulling out hooks on the rare occasions he caught a fish. It took several tries, but he finally was able to get a bite on the object. But when he tried to pull it straight out, it resisted. He tried a second time, twisting it just as he would a fishhook. With some effort it came out. A cold rage built deep within when he understood that it was one of the cat’s claws.
    Kurt took a deep breath to stay his rage and then he smiled, remembering the blood. He felt a strange satisfaction in the knowledge that the cat had died a slow and horrible death despite that last futile act when it had struck out, leaving a claw in his hand. He set the pliers with claw next to the sink, intending to save it as a souvenir of the night’s good work. Then he began to examine his hand again.
    The spot where he had just pulled out that claw was still oozing blood. There were other scratches on the back of his hand that were red and inflamed, but they didn’t cause him much concern. Presumably, they looked much worse than they were. That’s when he noticed the other marks. Four small punctures—each extremely tender. “Son of a bitch. That fuckin’ cat bit me,” he said with a bit of amazement.
    His medical supplies consisted of a bottle of aspirin and some Band-aids, so he tore a pillowcase into strips and wrapped his hand the best he could, swallowed several aspirins, and began pacing around the room, talking out loud. He found the sound of his voice comforting. Because of the nature of his work, he had no friends, and anytime he talked with another person it was out of necessity: ordering a meal, asking directions, renting a car or motel room. Casual conversation did not exist in his world, so he talked with himself and the voice in his head talked back.
    Calmly, he echoed a mentor from the days when he had first learned his trade. “Okay Kurt, think. Think about what happened tonight. You went in there to retrieve the transmitter from the broken lamp and find the CD. You got in just fine. Then, what happened? You got distracted. First, it was her. Then it was …” He realized that the voice was getting louder. Suddenly, he stopped pacing, stopped talking, and looked down at his still-throbbing hand. His mission was beginning to get out of control, he was getting out of control, he was making mistakes, and that was unacceptable.
    His voice remained calm, but its tone more urgent, as he continued the conversation with himself. “Kurt. What are you going to