intent. Serial killers do.”
“Fine, but most people will think you’re splitting hairs, “ Sikorski argued. “This is a cat who, in its first noted instance of appearance, is known to have killed five people in two different locations. You have to at least agree it’s a mass murderer.”
Roan groaned and rubbed his eyes, pushing in on his eyelids so he could see the pretty patterns of spots dancing over his corneas. He wanted to say mass killer was more appropriate, since murder essentially implied intent, but he knew that would sound like he was parsing semantics, being a “kitty sympathizer.” (He was in one sense, but not in another.) “Have you checked the areas between Tweaks’s and DeSilvo’s?”
Sikorski scoffed. “We’re looking to see if there were any notes of trouble in the surrounding areas, but that’s a hell of a large area. Unless someone calls something in, we ain’t combing the area by foot. We are going to increase patrols tonight.”
“In prowlers? You know most cats stay away from road traffic.”
“Like we got the budget for foot patrols. If you’re worried about it, Roan, maybe you should get out there yourself.”
“Yeah, right, I’ll do that,” he grumbled, hanging up.
Paris touched his shoulder, rubbing it slightly. “Same cat?” It was hardly a question.
Roan nodded, leaning back against his touch. He gave himself a second to enjoy it before reality came crashing in, and killed any fun he could have possibly had. “Exact same. God, what’s the pattern?”
“Pattern? I thought only people with malice and forethought had Infected: Prey
67
patterns.”
He stared back at him. “Malice and forethought? Have you been watching Law and Order again?”
“I try not to, but it has a thousand spin-offs playing on a hundred different channels. Even when you don’t want to watch it, you kinda do anyways. It’s going to be the law eventually, you know—watch Law and Order or be executed.”
He shook his head, and settled against Paris, wondering if he could bear to eat another slice of pizza. Recalling the crime scene had killed his appetite. “I know, but… there was something wrong with the scene.” The more he thought about it, the more he realized it. The milk on the floor, the girl surprised coming out of the bathroom. “The kids were killed quick. A couple of brutal swipes or lunges, and that was it—evisceration, decapitation. But Tweaks… he was different.”
Paris tossed the remainder of his slice in the box, and closed the lid, giving him an evil scowl. “Jeeze, thanks.”
“Sorry, I’m trying to figure it out. Tweaks was… well, he was a chew toy, as far as I could tell. The cat must have killed him first, gnawed on him for a while, then heard the other humans and went after them. But that doesn’t make sense. Why would it kill the other humans when it could just leave? The window was right there in the kitchen where Tweaks was killed.”
Paris put his arm around him and shuddered. “Hon, I love you, but if you don’t shut the fuck up about this, I’m gonna break your jaw.”
Roan rolled his eyes. Paris could take gore as long as it was the phony Hollywood kind, or just graphics in a video game; the real kind turned him into a quivering mass of Jell-O. “Fine. It just didn’t look right.
Something in the scenario was off.”
“Well, that’s what the cops are for, to figure out things like that. And you’re not a cop anymore, Ro.”
“You’re telling me to back off.”
“I’m telling you to let go. I know you can’t help playing hero, but there’s a limit. Let the cops do the job they’re paid for, and concentrate on the job you were paid for. Okay?”
“Now you’re telling me to follow the money.”
68
Andrea
Speed
“Of course I am. I’m a gold digger.”
After they both took swigs of their beers (Roan finished his off, trying not to want a second one), he asked, “Why’d you turn the TV on?”
“We both
“Fine, but most people will think you’re splitting hairs, “ Sikorski argued. “This is a cat who, in its first noted instance of appearance, is known to have killed five people in two different locations. You have to at least agree it’s a mass murderer.”
Roan groaned and rubbed his eyes, pushing in on his eyelids so he could see the pretty patterns of spots dancing over his corneas. He wanted to say mass killer was more appropriate, since murder essentially implied intent, but he knew that would sound like he was parsing semantics, being a “kitty sympathizer.” (He was in one sense, but not in another.) “Have you checked the areas between Tweaks’s and DeSilvo’s?”
Sikorski scoffed. “We’re looking to see if there were any notes of trouble in the surrounding areas, but that’s a hell of a large area. Unless someone calls something in, we ain’t combing the area by foot. We are going to increase patrols tonight.”
“In prowlers? You know most cats stay away from road traffic.”
“Like we got the budget for foot patrols. If you’re worried about it, Roan, maybe you should get out there yourself.”
“Yeah, right, I’ll do that,” he grumbled, hanging up.
Paris touched his shoulder, rubbing it slightly. “Same cat?” It was hardly a question.
Roan nodded, leaning back against his touch. He gave himself a second to enjoy it before reality came crashing in, and killed any fun he could have possibly had. “Exact same. God, what’s the pattern?”
“Pattern? I thought only people with malice and forethought had Infected: Prey
67
patterns.”
He stared back at him. “Malice and forethought? Have you been watching Law and Order again?”
“I try not to, but it has a thousand spin-offs playing on a hundred different channels. Even when you don’t want to watch it, you kinda do anyways. It’s going to be the law eventually, you know—watch Law and Order or be executed.”
He shook his head, and settled against Paris, wondering if he could bear to eat another slice of pizza. Recalling the crime scene had killed his appetite. “I know, but… there was something wrong with the scene.” The more he thought about it, the more he realized it. The milk on the floor, the girl surprised coming out of the bathroom. “The kids were killed quick. A couple of brutal swipes or lunges, and that was it—evisceration, decapitation. But Tweaks… he was different.”
Paris tossed the remainder of his slice in the box, and closed the lid, giving him an evil scowl. “Jeeze, thanks.”
“Sorry, I’m trying to figure it out. Tweaks was… well, he was a chew toy, as far as I could tell. The cat must have killed him first, gnawed on him for a while, then heard the other humans and went after them. But that doesn’t make sense. Why would it kill the other humans when it could just leave? The window was right there in the kitchen where Tweaks was killed.”
Paris put his arm around him and shuddered. “Hon, I love you, but if you don’t shut the fuck up about this, I’m gonna break your jaw.”
Roan rolled his eyes. Paris could take gore as long as it was the phony Hollywood kind, or just graphics in a video game; the real kind turned him into a quivering mass of Jell-O. “Fine. It just didn’t look right.
Something in the scenario was off.”
“Well, that’s what the cops are for, to figure out things like that. And you’re not a cop anymore, Ro.”
“You’re telling me to back off.”
“I’m telling you to let go. I know you can’t help playing hero, but there’s a limit. Let the cops do the job they’re paid for, and concentrate on the job you were paid for. Okay?”
“Now you’re telling me to follow the money.”
68
Andrea
Speed
“Of course I am. I’m a gold digger.”
After they both took swigs of their beers (Roan finished his off, trying not to want a second one), he asked, “Why’d you turn the TV on?”
“We both
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