The Cat that Clawed Cleveland
by
"I’m telling you, Roy, there’s something up with Mike."
Squinting against the bright sunlight, Roy DeSoto sighed as he maneuvered the squad through the busy mid-day traffic. With John Gage, it seemed something was perpetually up with someone. Granted, Mike Stoker had seldom been the subject of one of his partner’s rants.
As he gave the matter further consideration, Roy’s brow furrowed in mild confusion. Stoker had never been the subject of one of Johnny’s rants. "Something’s up with Mike? Mike Stoker? Quiet guy, drives the engine? That Mike?"
Out the corner of his eye, he saw Johnny shake his head. "Oh, he’s quiet all right, but don’t let that fool you. The quiet ones can be the hardest to figure out."
Roy braked the squad to a gentle stop as the traffic light ahead changed to red. Swiping at a bead of perspiration which trickled down the back of his neck, he swiveled to face the dark-haired paramedic. "I’ve spent years trying to figure you out, and you’re anything but quiet."
Johnny scowled, but refrained from commenting. Instead he continued, "This morning, he and Chet were sitting there reading the paper. Chet asked him to pass the section with the TV listings. You know what he said?"
"No, but I’m guessing you’re going to tell me."
"He said there weren’t any TV listings in today’s paper."
Roy shrugged. "So? Maybe they forgot ‘em. It happens every so often."
Thrusting an index finger in Roys direction, he said, "You might think that, but no. Chet grabbed the section away from him, looked for himself. There they were, plain as day. In fact, he found one of those stupid late movies he loves so much. One he hadn’t seen before." He leaned forward, resting his forehead on the palm of one hand, his fingers tapping at the top of his head. "Shoot, what was it called?"
"Don’t ask me. I haven’t got the faintest clue."
"The Cat that Clawed Cleveland," said Johnny after a few seconds, a note of triumph sounding in his voice. He straightened in his seat. "What’s with that guy, anyway? Terror at the Library, The Thing that Ate the World, The Cat that Clawed Cleveland? Why would anyone spend so much time watching such a load of junk?"
Roy pressed on the accelerator as traffic began moving again. He sighed again. "Johnny?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you headed somewhere with all this?"
"I’m getting there, Roy. I’m getting there."
"Well, do you think you might actually reach your point before Chet’s movie starts?"
"Okay, fine," he said in a mild huff. "Anyway, when he mentioned the flick, you’d have thought Mike got zapped by a power line. He must’ve jumped three feet."
Roy tried to picture the easy-going engineer reacting that strongly to anything, to no avail. "You sure you’re not exaggerating a bit? Maybe he saw the listing and is as sick of Chet’s cheesy movies as you are."
"You didn’t see him. It was like he was scared half to death just hearing the title. Then he started in on how bad it is, as if that would do any good. Heck, knowing Chet, that probably just made him wanna see it even more. I swear, that guy has--"
"Johnny," Roy broke in, "I know it’s difficult, but try to focus."
"I think there’s some reason he doesn’t want us to see the movie."
"Us? Don’t you mean Chet?"
"Well, I figure if Mike’s gonna make a fuss, I have to see why. I guess I assumed you’d be curious too."
"You should never assume anything."
By this time, they had arrived at the station. Roy backed his way carefully inside. As he drew to a halt, the unmistakable aroma of Marco’s chili wafted in through the open windows of the squad. His stomach rumbled, reminding him how long it had been since breakfast.
"Now, you just watch. At lunch, I’m going to do a little subtle poking, see if I can’t figure out what’s going on."
Johnny, subtle. Roy had to struggle to maintain a straight face. Climbing out the driver’s side door, he followed Johnny into the kitchen.
"Man, am I hungry," said Johnny, ambling over to the stove. Marco stood in front of it, stirring his chili. "How long till it’s ready?"
"Sorry, it’s got a good twenty minutes yet. We had a call."
He sighed. "Twenty minutes, huh?" Wandering over to the refrigerator, he pulled it open, then poked his head in and asked, "Anything good left over from C Shift?"
"Nah," answered Chet from the couch. "I already checked."
Roy took a seat at the opposite end of the couch. "So, where’s Mike?" Even as he asked, he found himself uncertain as to why. Johnny’s obsessions hardly needed encouragement.
Chet shrugged. "I don’t know, probably polishing the engine."
Johnny chuckled from the kitchen table.
"I hear there’s a film you want to check out on the late show." For one brief second, a flash of fear stabbed through Roy as he contemplated the idea that Johnny-think might be contagious. Then, a more logical part of his mind assured him he was merely heading Johnny off at the pass, so to speak. Establishing if there was a grain of truth to any of his partner’s suspicions before he blundered in with his ‘subtle poking’.
Chet became quite animated. "You bet. The Cat that Clawed Cleveland. Clyde Heneman’s last film. It’s supposed to be a masterpiece. Even better than Night of the Killer Cockatoos, if you can believe that. There was some kind of distribution problem, for a lot of years it hasn’t really been shown, but I guess they must’ve worked it out. All I can say is, this’d better be a slow night. I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited to see it. And to think I might not’ve known about it at all if I’d listened to Stoker."
Before Roy could inquire further, the tones sounded, followed by the voice of dispatch. "Squad 51, sick child, 1345 West Helford. One three four five West Helford, cross street Lyons. Time out, 1225."
He leapt to his feet and exited the kitchen just behind Johnny. He heard Captain Stanley acknowledge the call, then his lanky superior handed him the slip with the address. Climbing into the squad, Roy donned his helmet and pulled the chin strap tight. With siren blaring, he pulled out of the station.
* * *
It was a good three hours before Johnny and Roy returned to the station. Entering the kitchen/rec room, they found the guys gathered around the chalk board, absorbed in watching Captain Stanley plot out fire fighting strategies. Cap turned from the board and said, "How’d you guys make out?"
"The kid was diabetic, overexerted himself a little and his blood sugar got low. He passed out under the house, and his mother has a bad back and couldn’t get to him. He’s fine, now."
"That’s good," said Cap with a bob of his head. Eyeing the conspicuous bandage on Johnny’s right arm, he added, "Can I assume this is what took you guys so long?"
Ah," said Roy, the corners of his mouth turning upward in a thin smile. "Johnny had a run in with Mr. Fribbles."
Cap arched an eyebrow. "Mr. Fribbles?"
"Their pet cat."
"Pet cat," said Johnny, with a disgusted frown. "I think he’s part puma."
"The kid was under the house in the first place ‘cause he was trying to get to the cat. When Johnny climbed up under there to check him out, I think Mr. Fribbles thought he was going to harm the kid and decided to protect him. Wouldn’t let Johnny anywhere near the boy. According to the mother, he’s like that, very loyal, almost more like a dog than a cat."
Johnny snorted. "At least you can call off a dog."
"So what did you do?" asked Cap.
"I had Roy get a turnout coat from the squad and then I used it to bundle up Mr. Fribbles and wrestle him out from under the house while he took care of the kid."
"Wow," said Chet. "Sounds like a warm-up for tonight’s movie."
Johnny gave him an incredulous stare. "You mean it’s about a cat, cat? Like a house cat?"
"Huh," said Roy. "I guess I figured it’d be a lion, or maybe a cougar or something."
Chet’s face took on a pained expression. "Anyone can make a lion or a cougar scary. But a house cat, now that takes a real master."
Johnny patted gingerly at his arm. "Besides, you didn’t have to deal with Mr. Fribbles. It’s doesn’t sound all that silly to me at the moment."
Roy had to concede, Johnny did have a point.
"Did you get a chance to eat?" asked Cap.
Johnny rubbed at his stomach. "No, and boy am I starving."
"Well why don’t you two grab a bite, and then you can join—" he was interrupted by the klaxon.
"Engine 51, a rubbish fire, 3127 Leyland. Three-one-two-seven Leyland, cross street Creston. Time out, 1548."
With the station to themselves, the hungry paramedics went to work preparing a late lunch. Soon they had ladled themselves a couple of bowls of warmed over chili, and settled at the table to eat.
Without even bothering to swallow the spoonful of Marco’s spicy concoction he had shoveled into his mouth, Roy said, "You know, for once you might be onto something."
"I am?" Johnny looked up with a puzzled expression, his words accompanied by a saltine spray.
"Well, it sounds to me like Stoker really was acting a little weird this morning. You know what I think?"
"No," said Johnny, echoing Roy’s earlier words with more than a hint of sarcasm, "but I’m guessing you’re going to tell me."
Fair enough, he probably deserved it. "I think maybe he had a part in the movie."
"I’ve been thinking that too. I mean, what do we really know about his past? Maybe he did a little acting before he became a fireman. This is LA, after all. Wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened."
"And now he’s a little embarrassed. Doesn’t want any of us to see it."
"It must be pretty bad, to get him this worked up." With an evil grin, he added, "I can’t wait to see it."
* * *
The rest of the day passed steady, but not overwhelming. Between calls, the men were kept busy with chores and drills. Consequently, Johnny never did get his chance to grill Mike. After a while, though, he had confided in Roy it was better that way. Roy couldn’t help but agree, though not entirely for the same reasons.
As the time for the movie drew near, Cap and Marco, both oblivious to the entire situation, called it a night and retired to the dorm to catch some shuteye. Chet, taking advantage of Johnny’s apparent conversion to the B-horror cause, was delivering a dissertation on the illustrious career of Clyde Heneman.
All the while, Mike just sat quietly at the kitchen table. On the surface, he didn’t look particularly worried or upset. Yet, Roy couldn’t help noticing the occasional frown which crossed his face as he listened to Chet’s lecture, or the frequent glances at his wristwatch.
"It’s on in a couple minutes, right?" said Johnny. "Why don’t we get the old set warmed up."
Chet jumped up to switch it on, but nothing happened. "Oh, no. Not tonight. Don’t do this to me." He gave it a good whack, but still nothing. "What’s wrong with this thing?"
Roy shot a glance at Mike, who quickly looked away. Definitely odd.
Joining Chet, Johnny gave it a good slap of his own. "Dumb thing. I’m telling you, we need a new one. Seems like it never works when you want it to."
Roy wandered alongside them. "Well, hitting it isn’t going to help." With a quick peek behind, he added, "But plugging it in, might."
Johnny glared at him, then grabbed for the cord. "I would’ve figured it out, you know."
Roy just smiled and nodded. Not a particularly effective attempt at sabotage, but considering his limited opportunity, Mike had taken his best shot.
With the television set turned on, Johnny and Chet pulled over a couple of chairs and settled themselves in front of it. As Roy approached the kitchen table, Mike stood up as if to leave the room.
Quietly, Roy said, "I know this movie thing’s really bugging you."
Mike shrugged. "It’s no big deal."
"You’re in it, aren’t you."
He nodded.
"I didn’t know you had an acting career."
"I wouldn’t call one picture a career."
"Well, whatever. I wouldn’t worry about it to much. I mean, we’ve all done some embarrassing things."
"I know," said Mike. "That’s not really the problem."
Their conversation was interrupted by a cry from Chet. "Oh my God! Is that who I think it is?"
Johnny emitted a cackle. "It sure is."
"Stoker," said Chet, "we’ve worked together all this time and you never mentioned you knew Clyde Heneman." He sounded genuinely hurt.
In a voice so low only Roy could hear, Mike said, "That’s the problem."
"Come on," urged Chet. "You gotta tell me about it."
"I thought you wanted to watch the movie?" Said Roy.
"I do. But later, I wanna know everything."
Mike just shook his head and stalked out of the room. Roy thought about following, but before he could, the station tones sounded.
"Station 51, possible heart attack, 1325 Windemere. One three two five Windemere, cross street Cheswick. Time out, 23:37."
There came a loud groan from Chet. "Oh, man. It figures."
* * *
The vehicles pulled up in front of a large, Mediterranean style dwelling. The men quickly gathered the medical equipment, then hustled up the well-lit front walkway, past a burbling fountain, to the front entryway.
Roy knocked at the door. "Fire Department."
There came no response. Chet and Johnny began peeking in the windows, while Roy tried knocking and calling again.
"I see him," said Chet. "He looks pretty out of it."
Roy shot a glance at Captain Stanley. He shrugged, then said, "See if you can knock it in."
"Wait." All eyes turned towards Mike. "Try under that rock."
Johnny bent down and shifted a large, reddish stone. Sure enough, he found a small tin box underneath. Inside was a key.
"You know this guy?" asked Cap.
"My uncle. Haven’t been here in over ten years, but I guess some things never change."
They hurried inside and made their way to the room into which Chet had peeked. There they found a stocky, grey-haired man of about sixty lying on the floor. Johnny immediately set about assessing his condition.
Looking at Mike, Roy asked, "What’s his name?"
"Clyde. Clyde Heneman."
So there was more to it. But this was not the time to worry about such things. Squatting beside the victim, he said, "Mr. Heneman? Can you hear me?"
He stirred, then called out, "Mike?"
Roy looked up at Stoker. For a second he just stood there, then he turned on his heels and left the room. Roy exchanged a confused glance with his partner, then said, "Mr. Heneman, what exactly happened?"
"My chest…hurts."
"Okay. Just take it easy. Do you have a history of heart trouble?"
"No."
Roy wrapped the BP cuff around his arm, taking the victim’s blood pressure, while Johnny started attaching EKG leads. He then moved to the side and set up the biophone. He relayed the vitals to Rampart, and then sent a strip of EKG.
Once the indicated oxygen and medication had been administered and the patient was stabilized, they prepared him for transport. After he had been loaded into the ambulance, Mike stepped down from the engine and approached Roy. "Is he going to be okay?"
"I think so."
Resting a hand on Mike’s shoulder, Cap said, "Tell you what, pal, as long as we stay available, we could always swing by Rampart on the way back."
"No, that’s okay."
"I’ll let you know how he’s doing," said Roy.
Mike just nodded.
* * *
As they drove back to the station, Johnny sat in uncharacteristic silence. When his partner fell into one of those moods, Roy often found it more unbearable than his ranting.
"I have to admit you were right," Roy said after a while. "The quiet ones really are the hardest to figure out."
Still nothing. Roy began to wonder if Johnny had even heard him. Then, at last, "I wonder what the story is?"
"Family situations can be very complicated."
"Yeah." Another long pause, then, "Man, if I’d known there was some kind of problem, I never would’ve…."
"I know."
The pair lapsed back into silence for the rest of the drive. When they arrived at the station, they found everyone gathered in the rec room.
"The docs are pretty optimistic," said Roy. "His chances look good."
"That’s great to hear," said Captain Stanley. Mike looked relieved, but didn’t say anything.
Cap yawned. "I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’d still like to get some sleep."
There came several murmurs of agreement. Within minutes, everyone but Roy and Mike had shuffled off to the dorm.
"So, he’s really going to be okay?"
"Yeah, I think he is."
"That’s good."
"Listen, I don’t mean to pry-"
"No, that’s okay. I don’t think I could sleep right now anyway. Might as well talk."
Roy motioned him towards the couch. After they had settled in, Mike said, "Have you ever heard of a fertilizer called Grows More?"
Roy nodded. "Joanne uses it in the garden."
"Well, my grandfather on my mother’s side, he’s the one who founded the company."
"Really?" The man was full of surprises tonight.
"Uh-huh. He had two kids, my mom and Uncle Clyde. He always wanted Clyde to go into the fertilizer business, but Clyde, well, he had other interests."
"Filmmaking?"
"Yeah. My grandfather was convinced it was just a phase. He indulged Clyde, let him make his movies, even financed them--on a real shoestring budget, mind you. Thought after a while he’d get sick of it."
"But he didn’t?"
"No. His films never did amount to much at the box office. Strictly a cult following."
"People like Chet?"
Mike chuckled. "Exactly."
"So how did you fit in to all this?"
"Well, Uncle Clyde was a fascinating guy, kind of the black sheep of the family. He always was one of my favorite relatives. I guess I couldn’t resist it when he made me an offer."
"To be in one of his films?"
"The Cat that Clawed Cleveland. I’d done some acting in high school, thought it might be fun. He’d just gone through a rough period--his wife had left him, he was having legal difficulties, and of course there was the ever present pressure from the family. He was determined this was going to be the film that established him with the Hollywood mainstream."
"I take it, it didn’t."
"It should’ve. We had a great time making it. Clyde was like a new man. He’d been a bit depressed, but all of a sudden he was full of energy. And despite what I told Chet, it actually turned out decent. He claimed it was all because of me." Mike fell silent. He sat staring at his hands, held tightly clenched across his lap.
"So what happened?"
"I never intended to go into the business. Even then, I knew I wanted to be a firefighter. When I told Clyde, he was devastated. He never did make another film."
"And you haven’t spoken since?"
Mike shook his head.
"Would you like to?"
"Maybe. But I doubt he wants to speak to me."
"Well, there’s only one way to find out."
"I don’t know. He’s got enough problems right now, without me adding to them."
"Well, just give it some thought. If you decide you’d like to see him, let me know. I could always go along for moral support."
"You’d do that?"
"Sure."
"I don’t know what to say."
Roy shrugged. "Just think about it." He gave Mike a pat on the shoulder. "Now, how about getting some sleep?"
"I suppose I could give it a shot."
* * *
Two days later, Roy received a phone call from Mike.
As he entered Clyde’s hospital room, Roy couldn’t help noticing that despite the tubes and wires, the man looked far better than he had last time Roy had seen him. He lay in bed, watching television.
With a backwards glance, Roy saw Mike lagging just outside of the doorway. He motioned him to enter. After a few more seconds of hesitation, Mike complied.
When it became apparent Mike was not going to initiate a conversation, Roy said, "Mr. Heneman?"
Clyde turned his attention from the gaudy game show. Grabbing the television remote, he muted the sound. Giving Roy a quick appraisal, he said, "You’re one of the paramedics, aren’t you?"
"That’s right. Roy DeSoto."
"Well, I’ve got to thank you. You saved my life, for sure." Then, his soft brown eyes widened in surprise as he took in Roy’s companion. "Mike? Is it really you?"
He nodded and took a few steps towards Clyde’s bed.
"I could have sworn I heard your voice the other night, but I was so out of it, I thought I’d imagined it."
"No, I was there."
An awkward pause followed. Feeling the need to fill the void, Roy said, "So, did they say how long you’d be in here?"
"Not really. I gather my progress has been outstanding, but even so, I imagine I’ll be here a while yet." Looking up at Mike, he said, "They showed ‘The Cat,’ you know."
"Yeah, I know."
He smiled. "Guess I wasn’t as ready for it as I thought."
Mike’s gaze fell to his feet. "I’m sorry."
"What on earth for?"
Shifting his weight uneasily, he said, "Well, you know. What happened."
"Mike, I was forty-seven years old and had been making movies for over twenty years. Do you know what I had to show for it? A broken home, a big legal mess and a long string of mediocre films."
"They’re not so bad. There’s a guy I work with at the station, he’s a real fan. He just loves ‘em."
"Well, I love them too, but let’s be honest, most people would disagree. I wanted to make a film that the public at large would respect. I started to think of ‘The Cat’ as a real make or break moment in my life." He paused, motioning Mike to seat himself in the chair beside his bed.
"Working with you was a genuine pleasure. Your enthusiasm reminded me of myself when I was young. Everything just seemed to come together and I thought I had everything in the bag. My first real shot at the mainstream."
A brief flicker of sorrow crossed his features. "Then things just fell apart right before my eyes. I couldn’t even get the damned thing distributed. I was mad at the world, and you just happened to make the most convenient target."
Mike looked a bit stricken, but said nothing.
"Shortly afterwards, your grandfather died. Somehow it seemed wrong to let Grows More die along with him. He’d supported me my entire life, I guess I figured I owed him." Clyde chuckled. "You know what’s really ironic? Once I got over the bitterness and resentment, I honestly came to love the business. There was a critic once who said I had a natural talent for producing crap. He was more right than he ever could’ve known."
Clyde reached out to touch Mike’s arm. "In the past couple years, I’ve come to regret the way I treated you. Blaming you for my own failures, cutting you out of my life the way I did. I always hated my father for trying to pressure me into a career, and I went and did the same thing to you. But, by the time I figured it out, I thought it was too late to do anything."
Mike raked a hand through his brown hair. "I regret a lot of the stuff I said to you back then, also. I didn’t want to disappoint you, but I had my own life to lead."
The older man yawned. "Maybe this whole heart attack thing is really just fate’s way of giving us a second chance."
"Maybe." When Clyde yawned again, Mike said, "Anyway, you need your rest. I’m on duty tomorrow, but how about I stop by the day after? We can talk some more."
"I’d like that."
"So would I."
Once they had bid their farewells and stepped out into the hallway, Mike turned to Roy. "I really don’t know how to thank you."
Truth be told, he felt like he hadn’t done much of anything. "Don’t mention it. I’m just glad it went well."
* * *
A month later, Roy sat at the kitchen table, gulping down a cup of coffee at the start of shift. He saw Mike walk into the room bearing a small stack of envelopes. He approached Captain Stanley, and after a quick and quiet exchange of words, Cap called for everyone to gather.
"My uncle is having a private screening of The Cat that Clawed Cleveland, and he’d like all of you to attend," Mike said, distributing the envelopes.
After reading over the pertinent information, Roy said, "I’ll have to check with Joanne to be sure, but I don’t see a problem with us going."
"I wouldn’t miss it," chimed in Johnny.
Cap and Marco also voiced their acceptance.
To everyone’s surprise, Chet said nothing. He just stood staring at the little white card in his hand.
"What’s the problem, Chet?" Asked Johnny. "I thought you, of all people, would jump at this opportunity."
Chet blinked a few times in confusion. "Huh?"
With growing impatience, Johnny asked, "Are you going, or aren’t you?"
"Are you kidding? You better believe I’m going."
"Then what’s up with you?"
A broad grin spread across his face. "I just can’t get over how cool this is. A personal invitation to a private screening of Clyde Heneman’s final masterpiece. Autographed, and everything!"
They all just shook their heads and laughed.
END