Felidae Page 9

  She found a pair of latex ones in the supply closet off the hall of the penthouse. The other problem was the car itself. Tabitha had no problem finding it in the garage under the hotel and she gingerly pressed the key ring and unlocked the door with a beep. The black leather seats were soft and buttery, made for comfort. Tabitha sighed. And Brenton’s ass had been firmly planted in them plenty of times. Likewise, she couldn’t chance her arms accidentally touching the steering column or resting anywhere Brenton had touched casually, marking the territory and making it a sex trap for Tabitha.

  Sitting where Brenton had sat was definitely touch and go. Would her jeans alone offer enough protection? Tabitha was taking no chances and raced back to the room in the back of the garage basement where various electrical boxes and controls were housed. She found a pair of white overalls, greasy but of thick canvas and stepped into them, zipping them protectively. They were huge on her but they would work for the purpose she required.

  Tabitha had one last problem; Brenton’s scent was bound to be in the car and would waft to her. Tabitha could imagine herself getting pulled over, her hands fondling herself, trying to get herself off, like a rabid dog in heat while the policeman called for backup and the men in the white coats. No, she had better cover all bases.

  The garage attendant wasn’t on duty yet. Brenton had a pass card that raised the wooden gate to allow him to come and go as he pleased. Lou, the usual daytime attendant had bursitis in his shoulder. He constantly applied Ben Gay until he reeked of the stuff and the whole garage smelled of unguent. His booth was empty but open on the side. Tabitha found his supply of Ben Gay and rubbed a thick trail under her nose. She nearly had a hissy fit as her senses were assailed by the pungent odor and her eyes filled with tears. Damn Brenton for this! He was gonna pay big-time!

  When she was sure of her reinforcement against any pheromone reaction Tabitha got behind the wheel, carefully adjusting the seat forward by electronic control, and eased out of the garage like some sort of germ freak. Her hands were encased in yellow latex, her body enveloped in white canvas. She looked like a reject from Ghostbusters or a generic HazMat team member. Tabitha gritted her teeth, knowing how ridiculous she looked.

  The last obstacle she would just have to acknowledge and ignore. Taking a car of this caliber to the docks was about as sensible as a woman going there alone in the dark was. But Tabitha was batting a million tonight so what the hell? Besides, it would be daylight in a few hours and the nighttime scum that used the docks for nefarious activities would crawl back into their holes and the day workers would be up and around.

  Any other time Tabitha would have been able to judge how close she was to the docks by the tang of saltwater in the air and the smell of night fog drifting aimlessly in wisps, like ghosts in the darkness. But tonight all Tabitha smelled was Ben Gay and she hated it. She practically growled as she drove, wanting to shred the car’s leather seats with her claws extended, over and over, taking out her frustrations and aggression. But she couldn’t seek retribution until she knew what was going on. But she would get even, oh, yes she would!

  If there was any trace of Brenton in the Vanquish, and Tabitha was positive there had to be, then she was safe, as she had no reaction, except a Ben Gay high as she drove. The traffic was light still, the morning rush a few hours away. The closer to the docks she got, the more sporadic the traffic as delivery trucks came and went and semis took over, looking to load, or unload cargo.

  Old Harbor Road ambled around the oldest docking ports. Cobble Street was the oldest street known in the city as it got its name from the stones embedded in its surface and had existed since milk trucks were drawn by horses and cabbies tipped their hats.

  Like most bygone era streets it was narrow and noisy, the car tires making a whomping noise as it eased over the cobbles. Tabitha followed Old Harbor until she came to Cobble and made a right. The ancient street had once fronted a booming fish and flower market but sometime during the Great Depression it had changed its caliber of people from regular working stiff to irregular business trade. Huge warehouses backed up to one side of Cobble Street and the fish market square was now a ghost town of rotting boards and homeless folk, living in the alleys and occasionally finding handouts or money-for-hire jobs at the docks.

  To park Brenton’s Vanquish on the narrow road was suicide for the car but Tabitha had other things to worry about. The warehouses were mostly brick and cement, their huge slab walls had writing of once prosperous businesses, long since relocated to a better part of town, or failed investment ventures, long since gone. None of these buildings had seen fresh paint since World War II and it was impossible from the angle to tell what was housed within. The physical address of Regeant’s did not help as none of the buildings had numbered addresses. How did the place do any business? Maybe they didn’t, not legal anyway.

  Tabitha backed the Vanquish into an alley that had nothing to recommend it except dark shadows and anonymity. She certainly didn’t want to cruise up and down looking for the right warehouse. She’d stick out to any passerby or person acting as lookout. There was a rustling sound coming from deep in the alley. Tabitha waited but no one appeared. Only a gust of wind or a homeless person restlessly lurching about in his makeshift cardboard box home. The street was eerie at this hour; night not quite relinquishing its hold, and day not yet gaining its momentum.

  As a token gesture Tabitha locked the Vanquish, the beep of the electronic remote lock echoed like a gun blast to the end of the alley, bouncing back. So much for subtlety, Tabitha thought wryly. She made her way to the old disused fish market, a faint odor of fish from days gone by still redolent in her nostrils. Or was it her imagination? Perhaps wishful thinking? The old wooden stalls were long gone, the lumber used for trashcan fires for the numerous street urchins and wandering alcoholic minstrels. Now only newspapers blew across the square, teased by the wind that scooted them like ghosts in a dance dependent on air currents.

  A rat darted across the tamped dirt and chipped cement that comprised the ruined foundation of the square. Tabitha resisted the urge to chase it. Now was not the time. No benches remained from the original architectural design of a busy, predictable lifestyle with pigeons and seagulls swooping down for handouts. Now there was only Tabitha swooping in to find Brenton.

  There were numerous passages leading from the market square meandering between the huge buildings. Some of these were wide enough for carts from the docks to bring in fresh catch for selling. The deep grooves in the dirt still gave credence to this even if it had been more than twenty years since the market was used. Tabitha chose a passage at random and crept between the brick and cement walls of the huge, hulking warehouses. These buildings had neither back entrances nor side doors as they used the docks at their front for loading and unloading. There was still no hint of what these monsters housed and Tabitha had little choice but to follow the passage through to where it met Old Harbor Road. At least here the buildings fronted the docks and had valid entrances.

  As she turned the corner onto Old Harbor, a white van rumbled over the pitted road on its way to the docks. Tabitha resisted the urge to duck back down the passage. After all, she had a perfectly legitimate right to be on the street and it would have looked odd for her to skulk about in the shadows.

  The first building was Charter Boats, a wholesale and repair shop where the smell of fiberglass and resin seeped from the pores of the bricks shoring up the decrepit edifice, as if the building oozed the thick compounds. Even with the Ben Gay under her nose, Tabitha picked up the sweet acidic odor and sneezed. She patted the pockets of her jeans and found a scrap of Kleenex that had actually made it through the wash and yet miraculously was slightly intact. With this Tabitha wiped her nose and tried to lose the Ben Gay ointment that was irritating the membranes and skin around her nose.

  The next building had a royal blue awning that at one time had been a jaunty addition, but left neglected had been shredded to ribbons by the sea wind and s
alt air. This building had a whitewashed façade but no sign hanging or painted in sight. To further muddy the identity of the business, one of the large windows was boarded up and the other pane of glass was painted black. Tabitha shielded her eyes and tried to peer through the opaque paint, using her keen vision to cipher through the inky blackness. But it was no good and she couldn’t make heads or tails what was inside.

  Frustrated she checked the large front door. Not only was it also blackened with paint but a large chain and padlock was wrapped through the handle and anchored to a pole set in the front cement walkway. Tabitha looked up at the building, forlorn and cold in the early morning darkness. She would try the next building. Maybe she was barking up the wrong tree. She laughed at her choice of words.

  The next building was clearly labeled The Oriental Dragon and showed statuary and paintings through the window. Fu dogs grinned malevolently in their ceramic green painted bodies, slashed with brilliant red. Folding screens, intricately painted with long-tailed feathered Phoenix and bonsai trees, sheltered part of the interior and no matter how she craned her neck Tabitha could see nothing more. But she did catch the glimmer of the gold letters on the glass, which also proclaimed The Oriental Dragon. They were stenciled over another group of words; the blurred edges where they had been ineffectually erased just barely visible. Regeant’s had at one time been stenciled on the glass.

  But why did a defunct business still have an active phone line? Had they relocated? Tabitha’s instincts told her the answer to the puzzle lay within the building. She tried the door. It was locked tight of course. The other side fronted another passage leading back to the fish market. Tabitha paced back and forth considering her options.

  On the side, high up in the brick wall of the building, was a vent propped open. Even in cat form it was doubtful Tabitha could jump half that distance but with a running jump, maybe. Her legs were awfully short for that height. But she really had little choice but to try.

  She stretched her human body and dropped to all fours. She transformed quickly, crawling out of the pile of jeans, sweater and overalls. She would make a point of coming back for them. For one thing, she needed the protection of the coveralls for her drive back to the hotel and for another she was darn tired of losing her clothes and shoes over some no-good scoundrel by the name of Brenton Calder!

  From her position on the ground the vent looked even more daunting of a distance. Tabitha backed up and took a running jump. Her springy legs propelled her almost a foot short of the window vent. She might be good for three leaps before she lost her momentum and her muscles tired.

  Her second jump took her to the lip of the window and gave her hope. She backed way up and gave it a mad dash and half-ran half-leapt up the bricks, using their rough surface to help give her impetus. She reached the ledge of the vent frame and stuck both her front paws inside, clinging with her claws extended into the wood. By pulling herself up an inch, she could just barely see inside, but she couldn’t hold herself for long.

  With a growl she used her claws to scrabble for a better grip and pulled herself up. She was able to crawl through the vent but the inside of the warehouse was darker than outside and it took a moment for her pupils to adjust. From that height Tabitha could see a great deal. But beyond the folding screens were only pieces of ornately carved furniture, certainly nothing worth all the trouble she had endured.

  She was about to jump back down, not relishing the painful jarring leap to the cement below when she heard a gentle whirring from a back corner of the cavernous warehouse. A reflection of yellow was briefly visible then the whirring noise and darkness again. Someone had come through a door from a lighted room then closed the door. There was the echo of hard-soled shoes then a flashlight beam was making its way towards the front of the building. Why didn’t the occupant just turn on the lights? Unless they had something to hide. Tabitha waited and when she made out the pear-shaped individual passing below she could not contain her fierce growl. The reeking odor of a stogie filtered up to her. She found herself wishing for the Ben Gay to disguise the stench.

  As if feeling eyes on him, the pear-shaped man in the checkered suit swung the light through the warehouse. Tabitha was afraid he had heard her growl but he seemed satisfied with his quick sweep with the flashlight and continued on. The sound of keys jangling was clear as he fiddled with the front door lock and let himself out. Once again keys jangled as he secured the door.

  Glad he was gone, Tabitha let out her pent-up breath. That sealed her decision. She would investigate the warehouse thoroughly. She aimed for a shiny, lacquered ormolu decorated bookcase, hoping it would soften the jump, and leapt. To her advantage the wood had not been polished in a long while so she hardly slid in the accumulated dust and was able to nimbly jump the rest of the way down to the cement floor inside the warehouse.

  Figuring her feline form would be the safest way to look around in case someone else were to appear, Tabitha made her way through the warehouse under and over furniture heading in the direction of the doorway through which the reeky cigar man had passed. Obviously, this part of the warehouse held no secrets so she cut through under a black and gilt Chinese coromandel cabinet, moving quickly, as she wanted to be done before daylight and possible foot traffic through the warehouse.

  Without warning and before she could jump back, she heard a snap and sharp blinding pain coursed through her paw, like fire spreading fiercely through her leg. Tabitha yowled like a banshee and the sound echoed through the warehouse eerily. Damn, a mousetrap was firmly clamped on her paw! And there was no way to get it off without shifting into human form. Tabitha tried to wait to see if anyone had heard her pitiful cries of pain, but the warehouse must be truly empty as no one came from the back room.

  Tabitha could wait no longer. She shifted as tears coursed down her cheeks onto the hard floor. She had no choice but to sit naked on the cold cement and wait out the pain. Her hand hurt so badly. It was growing a little numb but even that respite was denied as she pried the mousetrap loose and the blood recirculated hotly and caused her to grimace. A thin trickle of blood ran from under the cuticle of two of her fingers. Tabitha resisted the urge to lick the wounds. Man, that smarted beyond mere pain!

  Now she was cold and miserable. She looked about for something to wrap about her to keep from freezing. On the wall was an exquisite Aubusson tapestry in blue and green silk, shot with vibrant reds and yellows. Not particular, Tabitha yanked this down and wrapped it about herself. If not warm, it would at least keep the chill off her body. Her fingers stung like the devil but the pain was growing passably bearable and she would be able to continue her investigation. Since no one had come when she had cried out cat-fashion, there must not be anyone else around. But what had the pear-shaped cheap suit been doing in the back room? That Tabitha was determined to find out.

  But when she approached the back of the warehouse where she swore he’d come through a door; there was no door. Just a plain cement back wall and a nicely decorated side wall. But no opening of any sort. The side wall was tastefully decorated with a few paintings in gilded frames hanging on display between a pair of Burmese hardwood chiffoniers. Tabitha frowned. Unless the man was a magician, he could not have come from thin air. The wall looked to be simple plaster over drywall. Tabitha ran her hand over it, careful not to bump the paintings.

  On closer examination her eyes caught what had been an optical illusion. The paintings weren’t real. They were trompe l’oeil. Murals painted directly on the wall made to look like framed masterpieces. But wait, so were the chiffoniers! They were all painted onto the wall with great skill and at first glance fooled even Tabitha’s discerning scrutiny. Even now, as she looked at them with a jaundiced eye, it was hard to tell, unless you looked sideways and saw they weren’t three-dimensional. Just what else wasn’t real?

  Tabitha ran her fingers over the wall, skimming the surface. The chiffoniers were identical, with decorative rosettes painted on their legs. The one on the
left was slightly elliptical. Tabitha pressed the bump and heard a low whirring noise and the wall beneath her fingers began to move, sliding aside, until a generous-sized opening was revealed. A safety light came on briefly then winked out. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to conceal whatever was behind the wall!

  Cautiously Tabitha approached the open chasm and peered inside. It was just an empty warehouse with some large machinery set up and some boxes and crates stacked within. What was the big mystery? Tabitha entered the cavernous room and crept up to one of the machines. It wasn’t running and stood like an alien monster, bulky metal and plastic, with rollers, slots and levers, sticking out from the sides. She touched one of the several black rubber rollers with her uninjured hand and drew back as if burned. Something gooey was on her fingers. Oil maybe. Tabitha peered at her fingers in the gloom. It looked like an ink pen had exploded!

  Tabitha hated the feel of something on her paws or fingers and was dying to wash it off. She looked about for some paper or rags but there was nothing. The costly Aubusson tapestry Tabitha wore wrapped around her was going to pay the price of this folly. Not completely heartless, Tabitha wiped her hand on the backside of it where matting had been added to bolster the delicate threads.

  There were two other monstrous machines in the warehouse. Tabitha ignored these and examined the crates and boxes. One crate was open and next to this stood a box lined with Styrofoam pieces to protect the contents. The crate contained Mexican pottery and clay statues. It appeared these were being repacked into the boxes.

  Tabitha opened another crate and found Grecian urns and figurines of nymphs and reproductions of cherubic angels molded in porcelain and resin. Yet another had Chinese dragons and representations of Buddha. These crates were fresh from the harbor and were marked as coming from Mexico, Greece and Hong Kong.