The Chicago Rat Shifter

Chapter 14

“Miss Grant, everybody has rats. It"s Chicago.”

A burly exterminator in a white jumpsuit stared curiously at Becca and Cyrus as they stood on the sidewalk outside the Wicked Cat. He had a bushy mustache and a paunch. An embroidered company logo on his chest said “Fontanelli & Son Pest Control.” The logo was an angry brown rat, a cockroach, and a spider in a giant crosshair. Cyrus wondered if this guy was Fontanelli himself or the son.

“Call me next time you see a rat and I’ll come out as soon as possible.”

Cyrus sensed the heat from Becca rising like a thermometer. She wasn’t going to take “no rats” for an answer. They’d already waited all day for him to show up, which he did just before the evening rush, and that didn’t help Becca’s stress levels.

The exterminator crossed something off his clipboard, and Cyrus wanted to wince. Clipboards...no more clipboards...

Fontanelli wrinkled his bushy mustache and said, “I looked all over the perimeter. I didn"t see a thing. You got rats in the alley, sure. Everybody does. The dumpsters are like smorgasbord buffets for them. But you do an okay job in the coffee shop, so they stay outside. Same time next month?”

Becca didn"t say anything. The wind blew, rustling her bandanna, and she stared daggers at the exterminator.

“Wait a minute,” Cyrus said, buying the guy some time before his inevitable bend to his sister’s will. “The rat wasn"t in the coffee shop. It was outside the apartment. You didn"t see anything up there?”

“I know rats,” the exterminator said. “It doesn"t follow that any were up there. There"s no food. The doors are sealed. Sure, they could get in if they wanted to, but you folks don"t strike me as slobs. Your apartment was squeaky clean aside from some plates in the sink.” He shrugged. “And I"m just as guilty of that as you, fella.”

“Obviously, it didn"t get in my apartment because it was lying dead on my welcome mat,” Becca said, dismissing Cyrus’s question. “If there’s a rat, there are likely more we can’t see. And if I have a problem downstairs, I want to be proactive. So I need your help, please.”

Becca always put please at the end of a command. In Cyrus"s case, it meant he needed to do it. If he didn"t, he would die. No telling what she would do to this guy.

Fontanelli frowned. “Listen, Miss Grant. You"re a great customer. I see you twice a month and I appreciate your business. But I don’t believe in fixing what isn’t broken.”

Becca said nothing.

“How do you know it wasn"t a cat that drug it in?” Fontanelli asked.

“There aren"t any cats in the building,” she said, dismissing him. “I already checked that.”

“Dogs?”

“Someone does have a dog, yes.”

“See, that"s it,” Fontanelli said. “I could treat your building with extra traps and rodenticide. But it"s not to solve the problem, because you ain"t got a problem. All it"s going to do is cause trouble for the other pets in your nice facility.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said. “We know what we saw. How do you explain it, then?”

Fontanelli looked up at the apartment window for a moment, thought, and shook his head. “Maybe the thing was poisoned to the point that it got disoriented. When rats eat poison, they don’t die right away. They wobble their way to death. We call it dead rat walkin’. Maybe one of your people left the back door to the alley open. The rat gets in, but he’s already poisoned, see. He’s not exactly making smart decisions. Somehow he ends up on your doorstep, and boom—you call me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Becca said.

“You ain’t made any enemies?” Fontanelli asked. “Angry boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Know any witches?” Fontanelli asked.

“Witches aren’t real,” Becca said.

“Then like they say in the priesthood: it beats the hell out of me.”

“Fine,” Becca said. “I understand what you’re saying, but you have to understand where I’m coming from.”

“I"ve been honest with you for the last two years. Why would I lie to you?” Fontanelli tapped his watch. “I got a hundred other clients, half of them in Logan Square. You know how many calls I get? You know how many times I have to go to the same residence and explain to customers the same things over and over again, that they ain"t got a rat problem, that they got a human problem? I tell ‘em—use a dumpster like you’re supposed to, with the lid closed. Don’t leave food out. Caulk your openings. I"ve been doing this for thirty-seven years and I can tell you plenty of stories. But I guarantee you won’t find any exterminator in this city that can give you a story about how that rodent ended up on your doorstep, ma’am.”

Cyrus whispered to Becca, “Maybe he"s right.”

The exterminator wandered to the back of his work van and opened up the rear doors. Checking his inventory, he nodded and walked back over to them. “Here"s what I"ll do. I"ll put a few extra traps out in strategic spots. If you have rats inside, and I mean IF, we’ll catch one or two. I won"t even have to charge you for my time today. But if I don"t catch any in the next week, then I’m gonna have to charge you.”

Becca extended a hand. “Deal.”

“All right, I"ll get to work.”

Cyrus and Becca waited while Fontanelli worked in the back of the van, preparing snap traps and poison.

“You think he’ll catch anything?” he asked.

“God I hope so,” Becca said, returning to the coffee shop.

Cyrus"s phone beeped in his pocket.

His alarm.

It was time to leave so that he could meet Thurston. But maybe Fontanelli could give him some rodent tips.

“Excuse me, sir?” Cyrus asked.

Fontanelli, probably irritated from doing Becca this favor when he could have been at other paying jobs, peeked out from behind the door of the work van. Bright green balls reflected from a white tub. Fontanelli was scooping them into a bucket.

“Is there anything I should know about…working with rats?” Cyrus asked.

“Huh?”

“I got this job,” Cyrus said, “and I don"t really know what to expect. All I know is that we"re going to be working with rats. Wild ones, I think.”

“Be sure to hug "em,” Fontanelli said, “and kiss ‘em on the mouth while you"re at it.” Fontanelli looked him up and down. “Did you get beat up by a rat? You should take care of that eye, champ.”

Cyrus puffed sarcastically and walked away.