out of here!" Ruthie screamed.
With his eyes bulging from the effort, Eddie half-dragged, half-carried Ruthie back along the hallway toward the stairs.
When they came abreast of the counter where Eddie sat, Ruthie looked down at her foot. The front of it was gone—all the toes, the ball of her foot, leaving only a bloody stump of heel. The ankle was ripped open, exposing shattered bone and tendon. Ruthie screamed once more, then she fainted.
Chapter 5
In a small house on Burgundy Street, just over two miles from the Pleasure Dome Massage Parlor, Oliver Yates peered intently down into a glass case. His attention was totally absorbed by an evil-looking gila monster that was crawling lethargically across the sand that covered the bottom of the case.
"I think he's going to be all right," Oliver said, without turning to look at the girl sitting on the couch across the room. "He's showing more life tonight than he did yesterday. If he continues to show improvement, I think we'll have old Tyrone back on display by the first of next week."
"Glad to hear it," said Alice Moore. She made no effort to keep the boredom out of her voice. Alice was a redhead with dazzling green eyes, and a generous mouth that looked great when she laughed. Alice was not laughing now.
Oliver turned away from the big lizard at last and looked at her. "Hey, don't let your enthusiasm run away with you."
She got up and came over to where he was standing and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Believe me, Oliver, I'm really glad that Tyrone is feeling better. I just wish that sometimes you'd look at me with the same concern you show for him."
Oliver started to say something, but Alice went on. "I know a lot of men take work home from the office with them, but a briefcase full of papers isn't as visible as ... as one of those."
"It's your work too," he said.
"I know, and it is an honor being chief assistant to one of the youngest zoo curators in the country. I just think it would be nice if the young curator could tear himself away from the four-footed friends long enough to notice that one of his two-footed friends has a new hairdo."
"I noticed, and it's beautiful." Oliver grinned at her.
"Mr. Andrew told me it's almost impossible to mess it up. Why don't we try it out?"
"A heck of an idea," Oliver said. He put his arms around her and drew her in close. They were just getting well into the kiss when the old iron knocker on the front door sounded its clank-clank-clank.
"Damn, who could that be?" Oliver wondered.
"If it's the aardvark with a sore throat, I'm leaving," Alice said.
Oliver gave her an I-can't-do-any-thing-about-it shrug and crossed the living room to open the door.
A broad-shouldered black man in a three-piece suit stood outside under the coach light. Behind him in the street a blue and white New Orleans Police car idled, the lights blinking on its roof bar.
"Dr. Yates?" the man asked.
"I'm Oliver Yates."
"I'm Sergeant George Brant, New Orleans P.D." He held out his wallet to display the shield of the city police and his picture. "May I come in?"
Oliver moved aside and the policeman stepped into the cozy living room. He nodded to Alice, who was still standing by the glass case with the gila monster inside.
"What can I do for you, Sergeant?" Oliver asked.
"I think we might have one of your cats down at the Pleasure Dome Massage Parlor."
Oliver stepped back and looked at him. "This isn't a joke, is it?"
"I'm a policeman on duty, Dr. Yates. I don't make jokes."
"Right." Oliver cleared his throat. "One of my cats, you say."
"We've about narrowed it down to you. All the cats at Audubon are accounted for, there's no circus or wild animal show playing within two hundred miles, and citizens don't keep these babies as pets."
"As of six o'clock this evening no cats had escaped from our zoo," Oliver said. "What kind is it?"
"It's big and it's black, and it looks mean as hell," Brant said. "That's as much as I could see, looking through a
With his eyes bulging from the effort, Eddie half-dragged, half-carried Ruthie back along the hallway toward the stairs.
When they came abreast of the counter where Eddie sat, Ruthie looked down at her foot. The front of it was gone—all the toes, the ball of her foot, leaving only a bloody stump of heel. The ankle was ripped open, exposing shattered bone and tendon. Ruthie screamed once more, then she fainted.
Chapter 5
In a small house on Burgundy Street, just over two miles from the Pleasure Dome Massage Parlor, Oliver Yates peered intently down into a glass case. His attention was totally absorbed by an evil-looking gila monster that was crawling lethargically across the sand that covered the bottom of the case.
"I think he's going to be all right," Oliver said, without turning to look at the girl sitting on the couch across the room. "He's showing more life tonight than he did yesterday. If he continues to show improvement, I think we'll have old Tyrone back on display by the first of next week."
"Glad to hear it," said Alice Moore. She made no effort to keep the boredom out of her voice. Alice was a redhead with dazzling green eyes, and a generous mouth that looked great when she laughed. Alice was not laughing now.
Oliver turned away from the big lizard at last and looked at her. "Hey, don't let your enthusiasm run away with you."
She got up and came over to where he was standing and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Believe me, Oliver, I'm really glad that Tyrone is feeling better. I just wish that sometimes you'd look at me with the same concern you show for him."
Oliver started to say something, but Alice went on. "I know a lot of men take work home from the office with them, but a briefcase full of papers isn't as visible as ... as one of those."
"It's your work too," he said.
"I know, and it is an honor being chief assistant to one of the youngest zoo curators in the country. I just think it would be nice if the young curator could tear himself away from the four-footed friends long enough to notice that one of his two-footed friends has a new hairdo."
"I noticed, and it's beautiful." Oliver grinned at her.
"Mr. Andrew told me it's almost impossible to mess it up. Why don't we try it out?"
"A heck of an idea," Oliver said. He put his arms around her and drew her in close. They were just getting well into the kiss when the old iron knocker on the front door sounded its clank-clank-clank.
"Damn, who could that be?" Oliver wondered.
"If it's the aardvark with a sore throat, I'm leaving," Alice said.
Oliver gave her an I-can't-do-any-thing-about-it shrug and crossed the living room to open the door.
A broad-shouldered black man in a three-piece suit stood outside under the coach light. Behind him in the street a blue and white New Orleans Police car idled, the lights blinking on its roof bar.
"Dr. Yates?" the man asked.
"I'm Oliver Yates."
"I'm Sergeant George Brant, New Orleans P.D." He held out his wallet to display the shield of the city police and his picture. "May I come in?"
Oliver moved aside and the policeman stepped into the cozy living room. He nodded to Alice, who was still standing by the glass case with the gila monster inside.
"What can I do for you, Sergeant?" Oliver asked.
"I think we might have one of your cats down at the Pleasure Dome Massage Parlor."
Oliver stepped back and looked at him. "This isn't a joke, is it?"
"I'm a policeman on duty, Dr. Yates. I don't make jokes."
"Right." Oliver cleared his throat. "One of my cats, you say."
"We've about narrowed it down to you. All the cats at Audubon are accounted for, there's no circus or wild animal show playing within two hundred miles, and citizens don't keep these babies as pets."
"As of six o'clock this evening no cats had escaped from our zoo," Oliver said. "What kind is it?"
"It's big and it's black, and it looks mean as hell," Brant said. "That's as much as I could see, looking through a
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