We'll Always Have Parrots(91)

“I imagine there will be repercussions,” Francis said, lifting his chin and straightening his back. He strode over to where Michael and Walker stood.

“Kids,” he said. “I hate to do this. I’ve enjoyed working with both of you. But it’s not fair to you. I don’t want my notoriety to rub off on you, and I don’t want to take the chance that my legal troubles could distract me from handling your careers properly. I think it would probably be best for all concerned if you sought representation elsewhere.”

They all shook hands solemnly, and Francis strode off, head high, eyes fixed on the horizon.

“What do you think?” Walker said.

“Humphrey Bogart, last scene from Casablanca,” Michael said. “‘Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of.’”

“Nah, Ronald Coleman,” I said. “As Sidney Carton. ‘’Tis a far, far better thing I do—’”

“I meant, do you think he’s pulling our leg?” Walker asked.

“Sounded serious to me,” Foley said. “Crazy as a bedbug, but serious.”

“Who cares?” Michael said. “We don’t have to fire him; he fired himself in front of witnesses.”

“True,” Walker said. “Cool. I’ve got to go make some phone calls.”

He ambled off, looking very pleased with life.

“Don’t you need to make some phone calls, too?” I asked Michael.

He shook his head.

“I already made my phone calls,” he said. “My old agent is getting bored just running the restaurant. She jumped at the chance to take me on again and get back in the business.”

“That’s great!” I said. The one time I’d met her, I’d liked Michael’s former agent—now, thank goodness, once again his agent. “And does she think she can solve your contract problem or—oh no!”

People were still on edge. Everyone whirled at my exclamation, and the cops kept their hands near their weapons. But I was the only one who ran out into the hall where the uniformed animal control officers were hauling the sedated Salome along on an improvised tiger-sized stretcher.

“Careful,” one of the officers warned. “We don’t know how deep she’s under and—what are you doing?”

They probably weren’t used to seeing tigers that often, and they certainly weren’t prepared for the sight of a civilian sticking her hand into the tiger’s mouth and removing something trailing from Salome’s teeth like abandoned dental floss. Although this something was considerably more substantial than dental floss.

“Isn’t that Spike’s leash?” Michael asked, coming up beside me.

“She’s eaten Spike,” I muttered.





Chapter 43




I stared down at the leash. The last foot of it, the part that should have been attached to Spike’s harness, was missing. A wave of guilt washed over me. I hadn’t even stopped to worry about Spike after Salome’s escape.

“We’ve got to do something,” I said. Sounding rather fierce, I suppose. The nearest officers stepped between me and Salome as if to protect the sleeping tiger.

In spite of my best efforts, neither Dad nor the animal control staff seemed to understand the importance of performing an emergency Spikectomy on Salome. I followed the stretcher out into the parking lot, fuming.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Michael said. “There’s no way he could survive being…um…whatever. I’ll break the news to my mom.”

“I’m sure he didn’t suffer,” Dad said, patting my shoulder.

“Michael! There you are!”

Chris Blair was running over to see us. Michael turned to greet him, but I continued watching as the animal control officers dragged Salome back into her cage. Maybe when they had her safely in the cage, they’d stop watching her so closely, and I could do something. If I stuck my arm down her throat, would she cough up Spike? Or was she more likely to wake up and eat my arm for dessert?

“Is that okay with you, Meg?”

“Is what okay?” I asked, turning reluctantly to see what Chris wanted. Didn’t anyone else care about poor Spike?

“Can you rehearse the combat demonstration with Michael now?”

“Now? With Michael?” I said, my eyes still drawn to Salome’s cage.

“Yeah, he’s good enough with a sword to take my place.”

“What happened to you?”

I emerged from my obsession with rescuing Spike long enough to notice that Chris was sporting a large bandage on his right hand.

“Didn’t you hear a word I was saying? That evil little mutt of yours tried to take my hand off when—”