Ник Сайнт: Purrfect Peril

“Yeah, why would we stick our necks out for some stupid human?” shouted another.

“Free kibble for all!” suddenly piped up Brutus. “That’s right,” he added when all eyes turned to him. “If you help us out tonight there’s free kibble for all as your reward.”

“Who’s gonna pay for that? You?”

“Uncle Alec will be so happy with what we did for him that he’ll be happy to put on a feast to end all feasts,” said Brutus. “I know the guy and that’s just what he’d do.”

“What kind of kibble?” asked a suspicious twenty-something old-timer.

“Yeah, not the generic kind. I get enough of that at home,” said another.

“We want prime brand kibble or we ain’t moving a paw!” cried a third.

“These cats are driving a tough bargain,” said Brutus, blowing out a breath.

Finally I held up my paws. “Prime brand kibble for all!”

“Lifetime supply?” asked a cheeky little red cat.

“Don’t push it, Brandon,” Brutus growled.

“You cats should be ashamed of yourselves!” suddenly a voice rang out through the park. When we looked up we saw that Clarice had joined us. Perched high on a tree branch, she was looking down on cat choir, her fiery eyes shooting flame, her expression murderous.

“Clarice,” said Shanille feebly. “What an honor.”

Clarice is something of a legend in Hampton Cove’s cat community. Feared and admired. Her appearance now was akin to the return of Luke Skywalker. If Luke Skywalker were a battle-scarred old warrior, living in self-chosen exile on the edge of our world. Oh, wait, he is.

“You weak, spineless, gutless bunch of sissy cats!” Clarice now thundered from her perch. “You shapeless blobs of self-indulgence! How dare you demand prime kibble in exchange for saving the life of the man who keeps this town running? The man who keeps the riffraff out? The man whose selflessness and sense of service is the stuff of legend? Whose commitment to Hampton Cove is the backbone of this community? Its very heart? You should be honored to serve the man who serves you. Not demand your pound of flesh!”

“More like a pound of kibble,” piped up one cat, then ducked down his head shamefacedly when Clarice hissed in his direction.

“You’re right, Clarice,” finally said Shanille. “My human would say the same thing. Shame on you, Father Reilly would say. Shame on you for refusing to help a man in this, his hour of need. We need to come together as a community now and save one of our own.”

It wasn’t as effective as Clarice’s speech, but heads were bowed, tails were tucked between legs, and finally it was agreed we should do what it took to save Uncle Alec from certain doom.

At least if I was right and he was, indeed, in mortal danger.

Admittedly I wasn’t a hundred percent sure about that.

I was almost sure, though. Let’s say ninety percent.

Maybe eighty. Possibly seventy…

Definitely fifty, though.

Chapter 36

Philippe Goldsmith pulled up his collar. In spite of the late hour he wasn’t absolutely convinced the streets were deserted. They should have been, but you never know with these sleepy little towns. Some old-timer might very well be up and about before dawn to walk his ratty old canine. Or some crusty old dame might be sitting at her window, cat in her lap, spying on the neighbors. Or a bird watcher, training his binoculars on a rare spotted owl.

And so it was that he furtively checked left and right as he walked on, his head retreating and emerging from his collar like a particularly timid turtle’s. It didn’t help that he had night vision trouble. During the daytime he saw just fine, but as soon as the sun went down the world turned a little blurry around the edges. He nervously pushed his glasses up his nose and squinted into the darkness that surrounded him.

There. Was that a cat meowing? When he stopped and turned, he thought he saw a furry form scurrying behind a tree, ducking out of sight. Weird. He’d never seen so many cats since his arrival in town. It was almost as if this freaky little place sported more cats than humans. They should have called it Cat Cove instead of Hampton Cove.

The weight of the cooler he was carrying hampered him in his progress. Not that it was particularly heavy, but the knowledge that at the slightest provocation its contents could blow him to kingdom come did much to make perspiration stand out across his hairline and drops of sweat to trickle down his spine.

But it had to be done. His life’s work depended on it. He might not be his family’s pride and joy, like Burt had been, but he was slowly getting there. If only the old man hadn’t been so damn selfish. Wanting to keep going until he dropped—with never a thought to anyone but himself. But Philippe had taught the old coot a lesson he’d never forget. And now he needed to finish the job and show the world what a really fascinating man was capable of.

He giggled nervously, then jumped when another cat scooted out in front of him, almost tripping him up. He kicked at it, but the horrible furry creature was too quick.

He hated cats. Hated them with all the fervor of his being. Nasty little creatures. With their weird cat eyes that seemed to stare straight into your soul. And their sharp claws, ready to dig into your legs when they jumped onto your lap. Just like Shadow. At least she’d had the good sense to run off and drop dead someplace. Good riddance. And just when he was thinking about Shadow, suddenly he thought he saw her, sitting in a tree, staring intently.

He blinked, but when he looked again, she was gone.

He shook his head annoyedly. Damn those wretched eyes.

He slunk along the sidewalk and halted in front of a row house.

The lights were doused, as they should be. Alec Lip was sound asleep.

He wondered if Tracy was in there with the corpulent chief. She’d better be.

He snuck into the small patch of front yard, checked left and right again, put down the cooler and extracted the bottle from inside and placed it on the chief’s doorstep, precariously balancing it against the door. The moment the chief opened his front door, the bottle would topple and kaboom! Bye-bye Most Fascinating Man in the World Wannabe!

He then retreated into the darkness across the street, but not before putting a note into the chief’s mailbox. The mailbox would take a hit from the explosion, but the note would remain intact inside the metal box. When investigators found the note, signed by the Most Iconic Man in the World, they would have another suspect to turn their attention to.

Across the street from Chief Lip’s house was a small patch of park, perfect for dog walkers, and he settled down behind a shrub and checked his watch. An hour was all it would take for the nitro inside the Seis Siglas bottle to defrost and become active again. One hour.

And as he prepared himself to wait, he became aware of those creepy night sounds all around him. As if nature was watching, and waiting, ready to pounce—just like he was.

And then he saw them. Cat’s eyes, lighting up all around him. Dozens of them.

He shivered. Not from the cold, but from the sensation of being watched.

What did they want with him, these freaky cats? What were they waiting for?

Then he shook off the crazy notion. Sure, cats were watching him. Of course they were. Cats were just a bunch of dumb creatures. They were probably pissed he was trespassing on their terrain. Hogging their nocturnal hunting ground. Scaring away the mice.

“Shoo!” he whispered loudly. “Get away, you horrible creeps! Go on—get!”

They didn’t move an inch, though. Just kept on staring at him, eyes unblinking and freaking him out in no small degree. Just what he needed. Bunch of cats getting on his nerves. He checked his watch again. An hour had passed. The time had come. And not a moment too soon. He got up stiffly and hurried over to the other side of the road.