Chapter 5
"Good doggy," Lana murmured over breakfast, leafing through the crime-scene and autopsy photos that had been brought to her. "Very good doggy..."
Zin chuckled and shook his head, telekinetically pouring himself another glass of orange juice as he crunched a piece of bacon. Yawning, he tightened the belt on his bathrobe before leaning across the table to retrieve the salt-shaker. Owing to the events of the night before and everything that remained to be done as a result, breakfast was an early one. It was not even five o'clock yet and Zin had not had time to dress. Lana was, of course, already immaculately groomed and attired. She never left her bedroom without looking impeccable, believing that it added to her general air of menace and professionalism.
Not that Zin could find a thing menacing about an adolescent girl who had been a member of his household since her eighth year of life and was currently wearing a dreamy smile while repeating variants of the phrase 'good dog' over and over between bites of her egg-white omelet. He could tell that she was already planning Meterand's next 'assignment' even as she savored the success of this one.
"Going to share, child?" he inquired lightly.
Lana glanced up in surprise, looking abashed as she handed the pictures across the table.
"Performed with the sort of consummate skill one comes to expect from a member of the warrior-cast," she told him. "Admirable efficiency."
"Looks fairly sloppy to me," Zin remarked, giving the photos a cursory glance.
Lana swallowed and then spoke. "Not at all. Most of the damage you see there is post-mortem. Meterand went for her carotid artery. She bled out in seconds."
"Then he tore her up on general principle?" Zin asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Seems to have, yes." Lana nodded shortly. "Perhaps that will satisfy him for a few days."
"Or perhaps you were not mistaken about his increasing lack of anything resembling sanity..."
"He continues to obey you. I see no cause for concern as long as this remains the case."
Zin blinked, startled. "I don't believe you."
"No?" Lana asked, affecting disinterest and reaching for a piece of French toast.
"No, Lana, I do not," he said firmly. "What are you up to?"
"Me?" She stared up at him, her eyes wide. "Not a thing. I simply think that if he becomes too... difficult that the Animal Control, the Chicago PD, or the Tracker himself will solve our problem for us."
"That would give you great satisfaction, wouldn't it?" Zin asked.
"Meterand getting shot by the human authorities? Yes." Lana nodded unabashedly. "Although, from a practical standpoint, Collection by that Cirronian fanatic costs us less," she added, shrugging.
"Mmm, he may be decimating our workforce, but you're right. As usual," he added, his eyes laughing at her. "As long as they are only Collected, they can not truly be said to be lost to us. We may still retrieve them."
"Indeed so," Lana agreed mildly, frowning down at her French toast. "Your chef is a lazy cur, Zin. I could do better than this heavily sedated and fitted out with a Neurodebilitator..." She pushed her plate aside, shaking her head in disgust.
"So have him replaced," Zin suggested. "There has to be at least one fugitive who can prepare human cuisine. Hell, get a human."
"I won't have you bringing humans into your household, Zin," Lana said flatly, shaking her head. "Don't make me sick. You want me eating food prepared by a talking monkey?" she scoffed.
"Then find an acceptable fugitive. Hell, train one yourself if you have to..." Zin shook his head. "Better still, have a nice sit-down with my current chef and explain to him that he is not meeting minimum standards..." He smiled faintly.
"I may just do that," Lana agreed, smiling at him.
"Good girl. Just don't scare him too badly."
"Ruin all my fun," she muttered, tossing a napkin at him and trying to look annoyed.
Zin laughed and shook his head. "Your plans for Meterand, dear?" he prompted.
"Business at the breakfast table, Zin?" she asked, affecting shock.
"Someone's in a playful mood this morning," he observed, smiling at her.
"Well, someone has just seen one of your political enemies pay for her intractable stubbornness." Lana smiled faintly. "Would you prefer if I act like some human, grumpy just because it's early?" Her smile widening, she added, "Or like your wife? Grumpy just... because?"
Zin chuckled and shook his head. "Funny, my dear. But if Meterand were here to hear you..."
"He'd probably use my leg as a toilet, I know." Lana shook her head. "Or add a fresh set of teeth-marks to my ankle. I still say we should have him neutered..."
"I told you both," Zin reminded her, shaking his head. "Next time he bites you, we will."
"Good." Lana smiled and picked up the autopsy report. Her smile faded slightly as she and she handed it to Zin. "Those Detectives again..."
He shrugged. "Well, they have been investigating the bank robberies..."
"So they know they're connected. I thought it would take them longer." Lana shook her head, looking faintly troubled.
"Lana, with the state that the local police are in over Meterand's recent activities, those two would probably be sent to investigate if a Pomeranian gave birth in the city limits..."
"I suppose so," she agreed, frowning.
"You've all been careful not to let your faces be seen during the bank jobs, right?" Zin asked abruptly. "No fingerprints? Wearing your gloves and masks?"
"We have," Lana assured him, gratified by his obvious concern.
"How's the hand? Hurting?"
"Nothing I can't handle."
"Lana..."
She bowed her head immediately and quietly confessed, "It's still quite painful, sir."
"Here, let's see," Zin commanded, snapping his fingers at her hands.
Lana obediently unwrapped her hand and extended it across the table to Zin.
"Looks like some of these may be infected," he announced after a few moments of examination, sighing.
"Hardly surprising given what I've seen dogs on this planet eat..."
Zin ignored the comment. "Get yourself to Doctor Neko again, Lana," he directed, rising. "And then meet me in my office so we can discuss Meterand's next assignment."
"Yes, sir." Lana rose, bowed sharply, then turned on her heel and left.
***
Reading witness statement after witness statement, all so similar that they could have come from the same witness, Vic found himself half-dozing at his desk. His lethargy was interrupted by a shout from Maria.
"Drugs!"
He looked up wearily. "The no-doze is in the file cabinet..."
"I was talking about the dog, Vicky," she clarified.
"Drugs? The dog's on drugs?" he asked, rising and helping himself to a few caffeine pills. He obviously needed one because he could not just have heard his partner say what he thought he had.
"Sure. Why not?" Maria shrugged, shoving on the desk and sending her chair rolling across the office, nearly colliding with her too-slow partner. Ignoring his mumbled protest, she pulled open the filing cabinet and started extracting files. "Think about it. We have easily half a dozen cases here where we have UNSUBS displaying what witnesses or the ME describe as 'superhuman strength', right? So how many drugs can do that?"
"Lots?" he ventured, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Exactly. So what if the circus-mutt's on something like that? Would explain how he could tear a woman's throat out."
"Good point."
Maria paused, considering for a moment before saying, "Close the door."
Raising his eyebrows, Vic did as directed. "What's up, Mar?"
"PCP, something like that increases strength, aggression, pain tolerance... all the usual suspects. Everything we've seen in this thing, yeah?"
"Yeah." He nodded and sat down. "So?"
"So, a trained chimp would be hard pressed to pull off some of the thing's this dog's been trained to do. Someone's been tweaking its intelligence, too," she said softly.
"You think?"
"Don't you?"
"Drugs don't increase intelligence, Mar," he began uneasily. "In fact, most kill brain-cells."
"So maybe it's experimental. Because something is going on here. The things this dog is doing, Vicky? Not natural."
"No," he agreed quietly. "They aren't. But who would want to do something like that?"
"Develop a drug that increases intelligence? Who wouldn't?" She shook her head. "I mean, it's a nice system except the part where it seems to have made the thing just a tad homicidal..."
"Now where have we seen otherwise normal, sane, laid-back individuals become faster, stronger, and unexpectedly lethal?" Vic asked rhetorically.
"Now that is the $64,000 question, isn't it?" Maria asked, dropping the files onto their desk. "Let's starts looking for the connection."
***
Jess was leaning on the bar, talking to Mel in the empty barroom. "So he says... oh, bloody 'ell!"
Mel frowned, trying to figure that out until she realized that Jess' attention was not even remotely on her story anymore. She turned to follow the shocked-looking girl's gaze and matched it with a horrified expression of her own. Cole had returned from his attempt to track down the Pomeranian.
Cole had returned from his attempt to track down the Pomeranian with his shirt shredded and bloodied and his face bearing a slightly dazed look.
"Oh, my God!" she gasped, scuttling to his side. "Cole! Are you okay? Are you in pain?"
She was berating herself for asking such a stupid question when Cole answered absently, "I don't think so, Mel," and wandered past her, towards the stairs.
Jess hurried out from behind the bar. "Cole! What happened?"
"I upset a Pomeranian, Jess. I think I've changed my mind about having one for a pet, Mel," he added, shaking his head and vanishing up the stairs.
"Should I call an ambulance?" Jess asked quietly as the two stunned women stared after him.
Yes, let's bring the nice alien to the hospital where the nice men in the white coats can alien-autopsy him, Mel thought dazedly. Like getting mauled by a Pomeranian was not bad enough. Was that adding insult to injury or injury to insult, she wondered.
"Uh... let me go... check on him," she suggested. "I'll... see if he needs a hospital..."
"Was that blood all his?" Jess whispered, staring uncertainly at Mel.
"Uh..." Mel, who was not even sure if Cole's blood was red, shrugged. "I... I'm sure it must... well, I mean... Cole's not... I should go check on him," she finished lamely, racing up the stairs and locking the apartment door firmly behind her. "Cole!" she called, surprised when she did not find him in the bathroom cleaning up. She breathed a sigh of relief to find him still conscious in the war-room, but she was surprised to see him typing away as though nothing was amiss. "Cole?" she asked cautiously.
"Yes, Mel?" he asked, looking up curiously.
Mel swallowed hard. "Is that blood... is that all yours?" she whispered.
"Yes, Mel," he answered absently. "I was wrong about the dog, Mel."
"Cole, come with me," she directed gently.
"Why, Mel?"
"Because... well, you're covered in blood Cole! Come with me!"
"Why, Mel?" he repeated, rising and following her into the bathroom.
"So I can... well... see how bad it is. Take your shirt off. Are you okay? Can you get it off yourself? We can cut it off if you can't."
"Yes, Mel," he said, looking perplexed as he stripped off his shirt. "You are upset, Mel?"
"That's putting it lightly, yeah!" she snapped, grabbing a clean washcloth and regarding his blood-caked chest uncertainly. He did not seem to be bleeding heavily from any injuries, but she was afraid that if she wiped away too much dried blood he might start. "That little puppy did all this to you?" she whispered, extending the washcloth only to pull it back again before it made contact.
"Yes, Mel."
"What did those people do to it?" Mel demanded, still staring at his chest with wide eyes.
"A fugitive has possessed it, Mel," Cole explained, regarding her curiously for a moment before deducing that she was upset because his skin and clothes were so dirty. Relieving her of the washcloth, he started wiping away the blood.
Not really absorbing his words, Mel watched him mop off his chest, wincing at how rough he was being with himself. "How can that not hurt?" she demanded finally.
He looked up in surprise. "I have already healed myself," he explained simply, shrugging. "There are no more injuries."
"You can do that?" she whispered, reaching for his chest with a trembling hand. True to his word, in spite of the blood, there was not a mark on him. "Oh, my God," she whispered, staring up at him with wide eyes.
He smiled gently back down at her. "I like it when you touch my chest, Mel," he announced.
Mel's eyes widened even more, which Cole would not have thought possible, and she hastily withdrew her hand.
"How?" she whispered after a moment's uncomfortable silence. "How do you do that?"
"I just... do," he explained, shrugging and resuming his interrupted cleaning job once it became clear that Mel was no longer interested in touching his chest. "Most Cirronians can."
"They can... heal injuries? Big ones? Because that was a lot of blood..."
"The wounds were more extensive than those I normally have to heal on myself," he allowed, "But it is not very much harder. It just took longer," he explained. Finished getting the worst of the blood off of his chest, he reached for his shirt again.
"Cole!" Mel protested, grabbing it from him. "You can't put
that back on."
"Why?"
"Because it's torn to shreds? Because it's covered with blood? Did you see the look on Jess' face, Cole? You can not walk around with your clothes in this state." Shaking her head, she walked to her room and nosed through the closet until she found another men's shirt. "Here, put this one on."
"Okay, Mel." He took the shirt and pulled it on. "You are still upset," he noted. "Why?"
"Wh... Uh... I'm just... well, God, Cole, you just scared me a little walking in covered with blood like that." She gave him an uneasy smile. "You do know that I worry about you, don't you?" she asked, her smile fading slightly.
"Yes, Mel," he agreed, smiling warmly down at her. "You do worry."
"Too much sometimes, huh?" she asked, staring at her shoes. Her eyes widened as she felt Cole's fingers close around her chin and push her face up.
"I am no longer hurt, Mel. The danger was not great. I am fine," he whispered, his expression reassuring. "You no longer have to worry, especially now that I know what I am up against."
"What are you up against? What did they do to it?"
"I told you, Mel, a fugitive has possessed it. Meterand, I think. It felt like Meterand," he told her. "Mel?" he asked, alarmed when she swayed on her feet. Catching gentle hold of her arms, he helped her to her bed. "Mel, are you ill?" he asked anxiously, crouching in front of her.
"Oh, no, Cole. Sorry. Just... a lot of shocks for one afternoon," she explained. "I... I didn't know that they could possess things other than humans."
"Neither did I, Mel," Cole told her. "Actually, it is somewhat surprising that they can take human hosts at all, but with the dog it is different. His life-force was... disturbed. His DNA is mutating the host's. Both have become unstable. That is why his behavior is so erratic."
"Oh," she whispered, nodding. "But you aren't hurt?"
He smiled and shook his head gently. "No longer, Mel."
"Good." She managed a shaky smile. "Now, Jess is going to have a lot of questions..."
"About the blood and my torn shirt?"
"Yeah. So we're going to tell her that I came upstairs and dressed the injuries to your chest, that they only looked serious."
"They did only look serious," he pointed out with a faint grin. "And you have dressed my chest."
Mel smiled. "Good, so it's not even a lie. Come on, Cole. We should go reassure Jess before she calls an ambulance." Or Vic.
"Okay, Mel," he agreed, rising and following her down the stairs.
