Be There in Five

352.

I shield Mustang from the macabre sight, telling her to stay back. Even after a half-century in this line of work, I am appalled by the grotesque visual. My best guess is maybe fifty. The rotting smell is from a pile of decomposing cats piled in the center of the garage. I again tell her to stay out, keep watch, and cover her mouth and nose. I pull my handkerchief and hold it to my face as I gingerly move towards the cats for a closer look. The smell is overwhelming, vile and sickening. Matched with the graphic vision, I feel my stomach violently protest. I turn to exit but hear something familiar as the only sound in the evil space. I look to find its source and see what appears to be a race clock, large, rectangular with its yellow analog numbers flipping with each passing second. It takes me five flips to comprehend that the numbers are counting backwards. It is set in count-down mode with the time remaining at 44:24:21 - and counting. It is an obvious message stating without doubt that the race is officially on, and we have the time reaming to do - or die.

"Let's go," I order, rushing from the garage and back towards the house.

"Were those cats?" She asks.

I answer in the affirmative, "Yes, all dead and all black. River Kats is my guess."

We cover the twenty feet between the garage and the house and I smash the door assembly with the reinforced butt of the shotgun, risking the possibility of a booby trap. We enter together, she with her Sig out and up. We find nothing in the kitchen and dining area and quickly move through the empty house stopping only when something out of the ordinary is found. We quickly find the one notable exception. Tacked to the living room wall is an 8.5 x 11 hand made poster. Along with a picture of the cat in question is the announcement that she is lost and if found to please call the provided number and ask for Beth.

"Let's go, we have a lot to do and little time to do it." I pull my cell and punch the ten digits of what appears to be a local number as we scramble towards the Escalade.

"Yes hello?"

"Is this Beth?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"We just saw your poster, how long has your cat been missing," I hurriedly ask.

"It has been almost three days, do you have Blinky, is she OK?"

"Maam, this is the FBI and we are investigating a crime and need any information you might have on suspicious activity on a house on the……"

"I knew it," she interrupts, "those hoodlums on Sierra Street, they did it didn't they?"

"Could you identify any of them?"

"They always wore hoodies and sunglasses, even at night, but I have been suspicious for a while, so I jotted an few license plate numbers and have them right here."

I interrupt back and ask for her address saying we need to talk to her in person. She complies unhesitatingly and says she live on the next block over, the light blue house with the Black Lives Matter sign on the lawn.

"We'll be there in five minutes, thank you."