Cujo III Reloaded – This Time It's Personal
Chapter 21
Here's the next. I know it's very, very, late but sometimes ADD is just a way of saying one is 'creative'. Sometimes it's a way of saying, 'You did what?! Fix it!'
Sincere thank yous to those who reviewed, alerted and favorited. You guys kept me from chucking this when I realized I'd written myself into a corner - again.
Disclaimer: Were never mine and never made any money. Ninja cats still waiting for that promised mouse ranch - the one where mice have been genetically engineered to run directly into the mouths of cats too lazy to chase them.
*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0* Hawaii 5-0 *5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*
The Smell of Fate
Present:
"Aloha little man." was the greeting as Danny answered his cell. He didn't take offense; it was their usual way of saying hello.
"Hey big man. I heard you caught babysitting duty. Is Rambo awake yet?"
"The personage of whom you speak jus woke up 'bout a half hour ago but he's back in la la land right now."
"So, is the personage behaving himself? I'm only asking to be polite you understand; I assume he's already causing trouble."
"Naw, the big Kahuna got his self shot full of happy juice for wanting to go mahuka from da hospital."
"I'm assuming you mean he was trying to escape?"
"Yeah. He said someting 'bout havin' to go check on his team; dat someting was wrong - but he doan get a chance. Da nurse tole him to get his skinny ass back in bed an he did. It was weird Brah!"
"So, other than being a gigantic pain in the ass, how is our boy?"
"Not lookin' too good but tryin' to make a break for it anyway. There's a really tough auntie watchin' out for him. I tink she said her name was Nurse Bambi."
"Bambi!" hooted Danny, McGarrett is so screwed, "Oh, this is perfect! She's exactly the one he needs right now. She'll definitely keep him in line."
"Probly a good ting she's here 'cause he surrendered pretty fast when she treaten him. I tink da Great Warrior McGarrett's gonna go down big time if he doan behave."
"You have no idea Big Man."
Danny actually breathed a sigh of relief. If Steve found out the cat was missing, loaded to his eyeballs with meds or not, he'd be out of the hospital like a shot to go search for his not-my-pet.
That time Steve was in the hospital in Jersey and Cujo had gone on a walkabout in Honolulu; the delirious and only semi-conscious man had somehow known the cat was in trouble. That time he'd been too sick to do anything about it but his entire team thought there was something a little freaky about the Neanderthal knowing Cujo was in danger even though they were thousands of miles away from each other.
Frowning at the memory he continued the conversation with Kamekona, "Yeah, well, from past experience, Steve knows she means business. He won't be going anywhere for a while."
"Brah, residents of Hotel Halawa got a better chance o' breakin' out than McGarrett." responded Kamekona
Chuckling at the big man's assessment, Danny asked, "Did he say anything regarding what happened? How he got hurt? Or, you know, like where's his cat?"
"Naw, I doan tink he's hittin' on all cylinders yet. Didn' say anyting 'boudit."
"Maybe he'll be more talkative when he wakes again. We'll just have to wait."
"You know I would be happy to stay an watch his ass but you tink I can leave soon? I gots to go see 'bout a new shrimp shipment at my uhh fish dealer's. It's only . . . uh . . . on sale for a very short time and I gotta get dere before da . . . uhh . . . shrimp is gone."
"Yeah, go ahead and leave. Like you said, the Big Kahuna isn't going anywhere now that Bambi's there."
"You got dat right bruddah."
…..
Hours ago:
There were dogs here! Lots of them!
Cujo looked outward from his perch in the nice man's arms as he was carried toward a building that resounded with the sounds of barking and meowing. He knew this wasn't the place with the bubbles that smelled like flowers. He'd been taken to that place one time after chasing the animal with the big fluffy tail. It didn't run. It just turned around and sprayed something awful on him but it still didn't smell as bad as what the tall female sprayed on him.
This didn't smell like the bubble place at all. It smelled like dogs! He is not going in there!
Growling, the little body began to tense.
…..
Present:
He didn't remember putting the TV on. Waking from a drugged slumber, he lay listlessly watching the local news. Eyes at half-mast and narrowing further as he squinted, trying to focus on the glowing images moving across the screen; it took an extra beat or two for the pictures and words to actually take on meaning.
Apparently, he himself was the subject of the currently airing report. If he'd heard it right, he'd just been described as the 'heroic' commander of the Governor's Special Task Force who was 'clinging to life in a local hospital'.
The first thought that registered was, Almost being killed by a big-ass piece of furniture and your mother's dishes somehow doesn't sound very heroic. The image of what had caused this latest hospital stay briefly flashed into his mind but stayed no longer than the time it took for Danny to inhale a malasada before the hazy memory crumbled away. He might actually be frustrated with the lack of concentration if he could hold onto the feeling for longer than a few seconds.
Though his head was possibly filled with sawdust; physically he didn't feel too bad for someone 'clinging to life'. He knew it must be due to what Bambi had so enthusiastically pushed into the I.V. port a few minutes ago. Well, at least he thought it was a few minutes ago. He had no idea how long it had been. Carefully turning his head lest the nausea return, he saw that Kamekona was still beside him - on guard like a giant mastiff. The man was engrossed in a magazine and didn't notice his charge had reawakened.
Steve had vague memory of Bambi saying something about Dr. Trilling wanting him to stay still and not undo all their hard work . . . and that he was an idiot. Wait, was Danny here too? He wished he could focus a little better.
Blearily looking down at himself, he could see his thigh was still elevated on several pillows. Could they have wrapped it in a bigger bandage? I look like a friggin' mummy.
He knew the dreaded Foley was still with him as well. At least the haze of drugs seemed to dull the feeling of humiliation at being required to pee through a plastic tube. He did remember someone telling him his kidneys had been compromised by blood loss and they had to closely monitor output. That doesn't sound good.
Restlessly shifting as much as he could, the dull ache in his thigh became a bit more than an ache and he stopped moving. As he lay waiting for a sharp stab of pain to quiet down he was again gripped by the feeling something was amiss with his team. As soon as he could make a break for it he was gonna find out what's going on. Yeah, just as soon . . . as . . .
The muted beeping of the heart monitor was once again augmented by the soft snoring of the man in the bed.
….
Hours ago:
"It's okay cat. They'll be able to find out who you belong to. Just chill. I'm really sorry I have to leave you here but I have to get home."
As one hand let go its hold on the tense little body in preparation to pushing open the door; the cat realized it was time to take advantage of the opportunity and exploded out of his arms.
"Hey!" said the surprised truck driver as the animal hit the ground and skittered across the walk and into the foliage that lined it. "Dammit! Now what?"
He spent another twenty minutes searching for the little cat to no avail. Sighing in resignation, he went into the office to report the missing feline should anyone want to bother to look for it.
Coming back out to his rig in the parking lot, he gave one last hopeful look around before climbing into the cab and sighing before saying aloud to the empty space, "Well, good luck to you cat. I hope you haven't used up all of those nine lives. Stay off the hoods of cars just in case."
The airbrake released with a loud hiss as he put the big machine into gear and pulled slowly back out onto the highway. He really hoped the cat would be okay. It's such a sweet little animal.
…..
Present:
Kamekona had said an apologetic goodbye; saying something about having to get somewhere before the shrimp were gone. With a tongue that seemed only marginally cooperative Steve gave a garbled acknowledgement to assure him he was fine to be left alone. As he watched the extra-large entrepreneur leave the room his mind drifted muzzily for a bit before finally landing on the thought the big man moved surprisingly quickly for someone the size of a battleship. He laughed at the analogy.
Yeah, good name - USS Kamekona . . . a big battleship the size of . . . no, maybe an aircraft carrier, those are waaay bigger . . . but what would that make Danny? He'd be really pissed if he was compared to a dinghy. Ookay, can't tell him that. . . . No, wait! Danny's one of those little speed boats. They're not that big but have outboards that are powerful and thunderously noisy . . . He stopped what he hoped was only a mental conversation with himself before saying aloud, "Whoa, these drugs are really kicking my ass!"
He'd have to talk to the doctor about that. There was no way he was going to stay in la-la-land when he had a job to do. There was still something his mind couldn't quite grasp; a reason for the foreboding feeling that kept him from getting any real rest.
Damned Noritake! Damned drugs! Damned Bambi! Closing his eyes, he drifted away once more as on the glowing screen in front of him Kiki Kenworthy looked earnestly into the camera lens and began her latest coverage of the Macchiato Murders.
….
Hours ago:
He'd finally run far enough that he could no longer hear the nice man shouting after him. All around him were buildings now. He couldn't even smell the big water. All he could detect was the smell of humans, none of them familiar, and the smell of the rolling boxes that breezed noisily by him.
In the many smells around him, he had to find the one he was looking for. He had to find the man who'd hurt his human . . . and kill him.
…..
A BOLO for a cat? Now he'd heard of everything. He searched half-heartedly for the animal as he steered the unmarked sedan away from HPD headquarters. This was a big city. The friggin' cat could be anywhere. He spotted a cat lazing on the walk in front of a touristy sort of candle shop. The feline was taking advantage of the finally reappearing sun that had been mostly absent for the last few days. The dispatcher had said the one they were to look for was a solid grey color. This one was grey but it had stripes. He wondered if cat's had paw prints like humans had fingerprints. Oh well, if they found it flattened on the street somewhere, he supposed there was always DNA to identify it. They could do that right? Everything had DNA.
The day had heated up to its usual steaminess at this time of year. The detective was eternally grateful for the air-conditioning in HPD's standard issue sedan. He'd just dropped Mickey off at H.Q. His partner, (thankfully for only a few more months), stating he had to go 're-interview Kiki Kenworthy' and he didn't want to tie them both up, asked to be dropped off so he could use his own car.
Though Brotman didn't say anything, he knew what the sleazeball had been up to. He hoped the guy's wife would catch him some day. She was too nice a woman to waste her time with Mickey.
Oh well, just a few more months and he'd be sitting on his ass somewhere on a beach with a beer in his hand and Mickey Kilkenny would be only an oily memory. Retirement couldn't come too soon.
...
He was getting tired . . . and annoyed. It was hot now and his fur had dried funny. He knew he didn't look his best. The people he passed didn't stop to admire him or try to pet him. They just sort of got out of his way with a kind of worried look on their faces. Well, maybe it wasn't a worried look. It was more like the look the loud man had when he was scooping stuff out of the box of crunchy sand. Hmm.
He stopped and sat in the middle of the walk. Approaching him was a human and a dog. The dog was tied with a string. He watched them come closer before he fuzzed up his tail and gave a low growl. The dog froze at first then began barking and trying to get to him while his human screamed and tried to hold onto the string.
This could be fun.
...
Call it fate. Call it serendipity. Call if fuckin' weird, but when Phil Brotman turned the next corner onto Makaloa Street, there sat a small grey cat staring menacingly at a little terrier. He slammed on his brakes, flipped on his lights and pulled to the curb.
The dog looked unglued, straining at its leash and yapping like a wind-up toy. The woman who had hold of the other end of the leash was actually having a bit of a time holding onto her animal even though it couldn't have weighed more than twenty pounds or so. She was screaming at it to stop but, of course, it didn't. It looked like a Jack Russell.
Brotman thought the cat actually looked smug as it sat calmly running a paw over its face and ears; apparently knowing the dog couldn't get any closer. The detective was laughing aloud as he got out of his car. The cat was obviously fucking with the dog. It knew the furious canine couldn't reach him.
Just from the display of chutzpah, Brotman knew this had to be Five-0's cat but he'd never actually seen it. From its fierce reputation, he thought it would be the size of a lion, not this smallish mangy looking little thing.
Addressing the stressed and nearly frantic woman as he came within a few feet of the tense little tableau, (the cat paying him no mind whatsoever), he said, "Ma'am, would you like me to get the cat away from you and your dog?"
"Oh my God yes!" exclaimed the middle-aged local woman as she gritted her teeth and pulled hard on the straining leash, "That cat is driving Leelee crazy! I can hardly hold onto her!"
Brotman smiled at her, "Looks like we need to do an intervention huh?"
He called in a 10-11, (animal problem), wondering if he should be using the codes designating a fight in progress or the one that meant he was detaining a suspect.
He asked the dispatcher to patch him through to Sergeant Lukela. Duke had been around a long time and had pretty much seen everything. He'd been the one who told him the tale of the cat making a tumultuous appearance at a party he'd attended at McGarrett's. If this was Five-0's cat he had to ask him how the hell he was supposed to capture and transport this animal he knew had the reputation of a rabid tiger . . . do tigers get rabies?
"Hey Sarge", he said as soon as Duke came on the line, "What the hell am I supposed to do with this cat? If it's McGarrett's and as mean as everyone says it is, I'm gonna get shredded if I try to pick it up." Brotman watched the animal still taunting the dog that continued to frantically bark at it while trying to pull away from its owner.
"Get a sack, a strong one, stuff him in it and hold on tight." advised Lukela on the other end of the call, a huge smile on his lined face. He vividly remembered his own first introduction to the animal at Five 0's H.Q. There was this silk-furred innocent looking half-grown cat winding around his legs begging for attention. When he reached down to pet it there must have been ten people who screamed all at the same time "DON'T TOUCH THE CAT!"
Jeeze you'da thought it was gonna take his arm off. Later on, he learned that it could very well do that and he'd been saved from a probable mauling.
He'd always wondered why McGarrett would keep such an animal. It couldn't be the same reason people kept pit bulls; protection or feelings of inadequacy. McGarrett certainly didn't fit that profile. His BAMF reputation was well-deserved. The commander was a one-man demolition crew plus he had probably the best back-up possible in his hand-picked team. Well, the badassed little popoki fit in with the rest of them he supposed.
With a smile, he wished Brotman luck.
…..
Brotman went to the trunk of the sedan and pulled out the big bag in which was kept various pieces of emergency equipment like extra flashlights, blankets and water. Keeping one eye on the cat, he quickly emptied it. Loosening the drawstrings on the thickly woven nylon sack and holding the bag upside down and as widely open as possible, he quietly crept toward the animal still engaged in what amounted to a pissing contest with a dog.
He was glad he'd had stealth experience from sneaking up on drug dealers and assorted other perps. He just never thought he'd have to use it on a cat.
Surprisingly, the animal hadn't even looked up at him. It seemed to be having too much fun teasing the now frenzied terrier. Springing forward, Brotman shoved the bag over the surprised feline and quickly pulled the cords that drew it shut.
"Gotcha!" he exclaimed triumphantly as the bag began to wriggle while emitting the most frightening sounds he'd ever heard in his life. It was everything he could do to hold onto it. Tying a quick sloppy knot in the cords, he carried it toward the car; the dog now trying to pull in the other direction as the sounds coming from the sack increased in volume and ferocity.
"Ouch!" he yelped as teeth somehow found their way through the almost bullet-proof fabric and into his wrist. Five-0 is gonna owe me for this one! He thought darkly as he held the squirming bag away from him while he inspected the two perfectly fang shaped holes in his wrist. Cat's a fucking vampire!
The woman thanked him profusely for the rescue as he gave her a tight smile trying not to give into the pain of his punctured wrist and swear a blue streak. Wanting to set the bag down as quickly as possible before he was bitten again, he jerked open the back door of the car and tossed it in – perhaps not as gently as he could have. The bite stung like a bitch.
"Shut up cat!" he yelled to the bag wriggling and howling on the back seat. Damn that thing made a lot of noise for such a small animal!
He knew cats weren't like dogs. The ones he remembered growing up around couldn't care less when you gave them an order. He wished this was a dog. Dogs he could deal with. This was a Tasmanian devil masquerading as a cat. He'd watched animal planet. It had to be.
….
Cujo growled and cursed in his nylon prison. This was not good! He was not happy! How was he going to find the man who hurt his human if he kept becoming a prisoner?!
Someone was going to be very, very sorry when he got out of this bag! When he gets out of here, whoever had trapped him is going to be dead like a lizard! Dead like a mouse!
He could hear the man laugh at him. He really didn't like to be laughed at. The loud man had laughed at him. The loud man didn't do that anymore. He'd made sure of it.
…..
The blue Prius came charging around the corner on two wheels. He didn't know a Prius could even do that.
Dammit! He muttered as the little car clipped the corner of his bumper. This day was turning out to be a freaking mess. First Mickey decided to bail and now, he was trapped in a car with the animal that had drilled holes in his wrist and was driving him crazy with its howling. Now he was gonna have to file a report on a traffic collision. Great. Just fuckin' wonderful.
He pulled up behind the Prius as it headed to the curb and parked. Its driver, an innocuous looking little guy with coke bottle eyeglasses, exited the car; insurance card already in hand and an apologetic look on his face.
Having radioed in his location and the code for officer involved traffic accident Brotman climbed wearily out of the sedan, leaving the driver's side door open.
…
The annoyed little cat managed to hook a paw through the small opening at the top of the sack. He could feel the thick strings slip as he poked his nose through the now slightly widened opening. Pushing with all his might it slipped open enough for his head to pop out.
Taking in a quick sniff, Cujo immediately picked up on the scent. It was the man he was looking for! The man he was going to kill!
…..
As he approached the woefully apologetic looking driver who stood waiting with driver's license and insurance information at the ready, Brotman wondered, Whatever have I done in a previous incarnation to deserve such a fucked up day? Deserted by my sleazoid partner, bitten by a pint-sized rabid tiger, involved in a traffic accident, what the hell else was going to go wrong today?
Suddenly almost as though it was directly behind him, Detective Philip Brotman heard the unnerving cry of a Tasmanian devil.
*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0* Hawaii 5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*5-0*
Hope this made sense. It took forever to work out the timeline. It's beyond my skills to plot out a story beforehand so I get myself into trouble sometimes. Sorry it took so long to dig my way out of the hole. Hope to have Dave make a hospital visit in the next chapter so the wheels of revenge can be put in motion.
Please review if you're still reading. Would love to hear if you think this chapter worked or not.