Breeds 2 (23 page)

He flicked on his turn signal and when the lights turned green, the car behind allowed him into the lane. He pulled onto Duffus Street and hit the gas, looking over car roofs and spotting the cruiser far ahead. Carma leaned ahead, holding on to the dash as if coaxing more speed from the vehicle.

The patrol car arrived at a two-vehicle collision, a classic T-bone where the drivers stood beside their wrecked rides, snapping pictures with their cell phones.

“False alarm,” Carma said.

“Looks that way.”

“Drive on.”

Kirk passed the site, thankful that his lane wasn’t affected by the crash.

“You know what a monster is? The literal definition?”

“Go ahead,” Kirk said.

“Well, there are several definitions. And some of them are unquestionably true. But people created and defined the word. People. Them. Am I one of them? I look like them but am I monster? I’m not. I’m a
were
. I’m better than them for a number of reasons we’ve already discussed. You read too much classic lit. That’ll warp your perceptions about what is and isn’t. You saved a guy’s life by bringing him into the fold. You ask me, they’re the ones who are cursed, not us. Not us.”

“We still eat them,” Kirk pointed out.

“We do,” Carma nodded. “But so what? Cats eat mice. Are they monsters? Eagles will make meals of rabbits. Are they monsters?”

Kirk frowned, not bothering to respond. He’d heard it before from her, or at least a similar speech delivering the same message. “Where to now?”

Carma told him where to go.

Back at the apartment, Morris got up from the sofa where he’d fallen asleep, upon the insistence of his bladder. He went to the washroom wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and relieved himself. His face stared back at him in the mirror as he washed his hands. Once finished, he pulled this and stretched that, inspecting himself in the mirror. His neck felt great, his cuts healed. The speed amazed him.

When he opened the door to leave, a scowling Ian Bryce stood in his way.

Morris matched the ferocious look. “Something on your mind?”

Bryce took his time answering. “Yeah.”

“Well?”

“You’re not right,” Bryce said with stark frankness.

“Guess I’m not,” Morris said and got into the man’s personal space. “So fuck off.”

But Bryce, all burly three hundred pounds of him, didn’t move. “I’m watching you, Moses.”

“Watch my ass all you want. But you get the fuck out of my way now, or as God is my witness, we’ll wrestle.”

The tension swelled between the two wardens, the glares deepened, and Morris knew that the Quebec warden wasn’t about to back down.

“Bryce,” Janice called from the living room. “Stop poking the fucking bear and get your mutual hairy ass away from him.”

That diffused the swelling hostility between the two. Morris stepped through the opening but glared howitzer strikes at the warden.

“He giving you a hard time?” Janice asked, lounging on the sofa. Her white socks twitched.

“No,” Morris said and picked up his coat.

Janice exchanged a quiet look with Nick Dyer camped out in the easy chair. “Where you going?”

“Out,” Morris said. “Without your fucking permission.”

A wry smile crossed Janice’s face. Dyer was expressionless, studying the Pictou warden.

Morris pulled on his coat, taking his time, and regarded all three of the present wardens in turn. “Getting tired of being watched in here.”

Without another word, Morris turned and walked past Bryce, delivering a stern check into the man’s shoulder. Morris didn’t look back as he let himself out.

It was a long time before anyone spoke.

“That one’s off,” Bryce said. “I can smell it.”

“We’re all off in here,” Janice said.

“Don’t fuck around. Shit’s going on with him.”

“Don’t need to smell that to know it,” Dyer sighed.

“Whether something’s off with him or not, he’s still a warden,” Janice said. “And we still have a hunt going on. Everything else is secondary.”

“I’m calling it in,” Bryce said.

Janice and Dyer exchanged looks again, but neither said anything as Bryce left them.

“We’re still talking though, right?” Dyer said, sizing up Janice’s stretched legs.

“Mm-hm,” Janice answered.

“Then all’s well.”

That prompted Janice to meet the Maine warden’s eyes. Dyer smiled at her.

She smiled back.

Bryce swung the bedroom door closed and went to the window. He stood and waited, watching the parking lot for Morris to appear. When he did, Bryce retreated a step and took out his phone. The number he dialed was a number he’d known for a very long time, one for emergencies.

“Yeah, give me a call back when you can,” Bryce growled into the phone as Morris turned one way and then the other, watching traffic zip along. Bryce closed his phone and not ten seconds later the device vibrated.

“Yeah. This is Bryce. Listen, we have a second concern developing here. Anyone call in about Moses Morris?”

He listened, observing Morris from the crack offered by the curtain.

“Well, yeah, I’d say,” Bryce said. “He’s healing a lot faster than he should be, and he’s not talking too much about it. I mean a lot faster. Like four or five times fast.”

Morris walked a few steps and made a show of taking a deep breath.

“Oh, really?” Bryce said and shook his head. “She didn’t? Interesting. Well, now you know.”

The voice on the other end of the line spoke again.

“Will do,” Bryce finished and closed the phone.

As if hearing the click, Morris turned around and looked up at the bedroom window.

The overcast morning kept Haley in bed a good hour longer. She liked to sleep, liked to dream, and, despite her squatter existence and nagging anxiety about waking up to the sound of construction crews about to demolish her home, she slept quite well. In her dreams, she still had her family. In her dreams, she laughed, loved, and grew old with her husband. Saw her daughter overcome her fear of spiders, grow up, and marry. In her dreams, Haley’s perfect grandchildren, a girl and a boy, visited her almost every day.

Haley loved to sleep. Slept to dream.

Gray light seeped around the blankets nailed over the windows, invading the room and urging her to rise. She lingered, luxuriating in that comfortable warmth from a pile of old blankets. The thought occurred if she should get a prescription for sleeping pills and take them all at once. Dying like that seemed like a good way to go, a peaceful way to go, except she was fearful of taking her own life, fearful of crossing over to the other side by her own hand.

She rose, mouth pouted, eyes narrowed, and sleep-stomped to the washroom. Thick socks muffled the noise. She arranged her hair with half a mirror––the other half had been smashed out long before she had made it her home. Her bladder urged her to move quickly as there was no running water for her flush box at the house. She’d have to go down to Halifax Place to use the public washrooms. Or the public park. Both were a hurried (and sometimes frantic) ten-minute walk from her front door.

She straightened out her clothing, took the one stale muffin she’d left in a take-out box, and pulled on her boots. Her back cracked as she pulled away the timbers barring the entrance of her house. Haley wondered why she even bothered with the crude attempt at security. If someone wanted to get in, really wanted to get in, it wouldn’t be a chore to do so. Her castle would crumble pretty damn quick, in fact.

She gathered up her environmentally safe shopping bags and filled them with three empty plastic jugs. She would fill those with water. All set, she thought, as she pulled open the front door.

Right there on her step was John, bright-eyed and hopeful.

His sudden appearance surprised Haley, but it wore away into a smirk.

“Get homesick, did you?”

John smiled back and grunted.

“Didn’t like the accommodations at the shelter?”

His left cheek twitched at the question, but he didn’t answer.

“What was it? The snoring or the farting get to you? Well, anyway, I don’t blame you. There’re good things and not-so-good things about the place. But I figured you should know about it. And now you know. You waiting for me? I’m heading for a washroom, right now. Fill up some jugs and then maybe come back here. Maybe head down to the shelter for lunch. They have soup and sandwiches for lunch down there. All the ham and cheese you could ask for. Interested?”

No response. Just like a big old puppy.

“Figures. Come on, then,” she said as she closed her door and fastened the length of rope around the nail.

“Here,” Haley said and handed him the pair of shopping bags. “You carry these.”

She stopped, noticing bloodstains on John’s blue-gray parka.

“The hell happened to you?”

John didn’t answer.

“Well, you can’t go walking around like that,” she said, stressed, noting that he didn’t look hurt at all, except for what might have been a scar on the left side of his nose. She hadn’t noticed that before. Haley shook her head and turned back to the door.

“Come on in,” she groaned and unraveled the rope from the nail. “People see you like that, they’ll think you took the coat from a gunshot victim. You didn’t take the coat from a gunshot victim, did you?”

John didn’t say a word.

“Good answer. You stick with that and you’ll do fine. You better not get into any trouble with the sweater I’m going to give you.
Loan
you. On a very temporary basis. Till we can find you another coat. Won’t be from the shelter though. They get testy about handing out more than two coats to one person. We’ll have to go shopping for you later on.”

Haley entered her home with John on her heels. She realized what she’d just said. She turned and faced the big man, studying his unconcerned features, long enough for John to stop and stare himself, no doubt wondering what was going through her head.

“Well, what the hell,” Haley said in resignation. “You’re housebroken now, anyway. Might be good having a guard dog around here. For now, anyway. But you get weird on me and I’ll scream like a five o’clock whistle. Understand?”

If he did, he didn’t show it.

“Yeah, thought so. Get your ass in here and let’s get you into a sweater. It’ll be cold, but that’s your punishment until dark. Goddammit. I can dress you up but can’t take you anywhere.”

Not fifteen minutes later, she had him out of the stained coat and in her spare sweatshirt. He let her dress him, offering no resistance. The man was like a big old rag doll still in possession of its bones. She tossed the coat in the kitchen sink and wondered if the little detergent she had on hand would clean it. That would be a chore for another time.

Right now, she had to get to a washroom.

“All right,” she announced as she tied off the front door once again. “Let’s get going. Momma’s gotta pee, big time.”

They arrived at the shelter just after noon, when the lines for lunch were dwindling. Haley talked to the volunteers on behalf of John and loaded up the trays with lunch leftovers. The soup was hot, the sandwiches a little on the skimpy side, but were all good and kindly offered.

“Eat up,” Haley told him as they sat at a table. “When it starts to get dark we’ll head on over to the M and M Mall. That’s Martin and MacDonald. Some call it MartyMac. Which has a nice ring to it. MartyMac Mall. See if we can’t find you a coat in the dumpsters. Sometimes a few of the clothing shops have clothes that aren’t stitched properly or have one too many zippers. Some kind of defect that makes the coat unsellable. Doesn’t happen much but we’ll take a look. Otherwise, we have to make the longer trek to another shelter that’s way down on the south side. Better to check the places you know before we have to make the hike over there. And don’t you forget what I’m doing for you, either, buster. You’ll get chores for this.”

John ate, couldn’t get the spoon into his mouth fast enough. Or the sandwiches, which he sucked down in single bites. Haley watched and remembered her unborn grandchildren.

Heather appeared at their table and beamed at both. “Hi Haley. Hi John. How are you guys today?”

“Hi Heather,” Haley said. “I’m good, but this turkey—well, no change.”

“Come back here tomorrow, okay?” Heather said, “There’ll be a social worker stopping by. She’ll run an assessment and maybe put in a request. Fill out some paperwork. Maybe she can get him into a smaller clinic and not a full-blown hospital. Work him into it slowly.”

That would at least be a start, Haley thought.

“Any plans for today?” Heather asked brightly.

“No.” Haley answered, knowing the woman meant well. “Maybe take a walk in the park.”

“Is he going with you?”

“I guess so.”

“Good. And better stay away from Regency. Police found a body up there this morning.”

“What?”

Heather nodded. “Something, ’eh. I walk my dog over there, too. Police are all over that area this morning.”

“My Lord.”

“Drug killing, probably. One dealer offing another. I’m sure we’ll hear all about it later this evening. You guys’ll be around for supper?”

“We’ll try to make it but I do have some plans today,” Haley said. “Haveta take this guy shopping again.”

“I’ll tell Louis to put some food away for you.”

That brightened Haley’s spirits. “That would be wonderful, you sweet dear.”

Heather smiled back. “No problem. You’re a semi-regular. Well, have a good day then. Hope to hear you talking soon, John.”

John watched her leave.

“You finished?” Haley asked.

There was nothing left on John’s tray.

“Go to the washroom and use it. I’ll wait for you at the exit over there.”

Haley got up and John immediately followed, sweatshirt specked with soup stains. A thought struck her then, as he rose to attention, a memory of the other night when he saved her ass from rape and maybe even worse.

“You, ah, you didn’t hear anything about that murder, did you?” Haley asked.

John looked at her, waiting for more.