Blind Justice

10

BEN TAPPED HIMSELF ON the chest again. “C’mon, Giselle. Listen to me. Jump.”

Giselle was sprawled across the easy chair in the living room, peacefully licking herself clean. She glanced up at him, wriggled her nose, then returned to her bath.

“Giselle, this book Jones gave me says cats can be trained, just like dogs or dolphins or other smart animals. When I tap myself on the chest, I want you to jump into my arms and act like you’re glad to see me. Got it?”

Giselle didn’t even look up.

“C’mon, cat. I don’t have all day. I have to get ready for tomorrow’s hearing. So jump already.”

Giselle shifted herself languorously to the other side of the chair. She stretched, meowed, and otherwise went about her business, totally snubbing him.

“Giselle, pay attention. I’m talking to you. I’d like to see some cooperation.”

Giselle jumped down from her chair, strode into the kitchen, perched herself beside her food bowl, and stared at Ben.

“Forget it, Giselle. It’s not going to work that way.”

Giselle shook in a manner that Ben thought looked much like shoulder shrugging, except of course that cats don’t have shoulders. She plopped down beside her bowl and waited.

“I’m not kidding, Giselle. I’m not going to let some overstuffed feline boss me around.”

Giselle absently resumed her bath.

“All right already! I give in!” Ben threw down the book and stomped into the kitchen. “I’ll get the Feline’s Fancy.”

Giselle followed close on his heels. He opened a can of the gourmet cat food and set it on the floor. Giselle dove in nose first, acting as if she hadn’t eaten in days. Come to think of it, Ben thought, she hadn’t, although she appeared to have sufficient fat reserves to carry her through several lean periods.

“But don’t get the idea that this is your permanent entree,” Ben said, trying to reassert his tenuous role as master of the house. “Once this can is gone, it’s back to the cheap stuff.”

Giselle nibbled happily and ignored him entirely.

Ben heated a Pizza Pocket in the microwave and took it into his living room. There was not much there in the way of furnishings—a TV, an old piano, and pizza delivery boxes stacked practically to the ceiling. His only indulgence was the stereo system: Mitsubishi receiver and CD player, Boston Acoustic speakers. A throwback to his days as a music major, no doubt, and his dreams of glory.

Ben thought about playing the piano, but he knew he couldn’t compete with Joni and Jami’s Guns-N-Roses records reverberating on the other side of the paper-thin walls. He channel-surfed the TV—there was nothing worth watching. He listened to his CD of Judy Garland—Live at Carnegie Hall. An amazing recording, but he couldn’t focus.

He decided to turn in early. He would have to get up around six to prepare for the hearing anyway. He performed his nightly ablutions, pulled on some old gym shorts, and crawled into bed. He tried to clear his mind, to drop off to sleep, but found it impossible. Everything was racing through his head at once, demanding his attention. Mike, and Spud, and Abshire, the FBI agent from hell. The chickens. Derek. And Christina, her face smeared with black.

He couldn’t help but worry. Christina’s life was on the line. Even if she managed to avoid the Big Needle, this incident could destroy her life. He had to be thorough, had to consider every angle. If he let anything slip, the results could be tragic, even fatal. He would not let her down. The way he had Ellen.

There was a sharp stinging in his eyes. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t relax, couldn’t let go. His head was throbbing, He closed his eyes and tried to force the demons out of his head. It was no use. He rolled over and pulled the covers close.

He felt something wet and ticklish brush against his nose.

He opened his eyes. It was Giselle.

Ben raised the covers, and she crawled inside. She did her push-paw routine for a little while, then she settled into a nice warm spot in the small of his back and fell asleep.

So did Ben.