Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Rivalry

“All right,” he said. “You sure love those furballs of yours, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do,” she admitted. He pulled up to the curb and she got out.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked, leaning over.

“Um, pretty sure I’m not.”

“You’ve got a smudge on your nose, Poole. C’mere.”

She stuck her head back in, wondering where she could have smudged her nose, and when she was close enough he gave her nose a kiss. “There. That should take care of it.”

“I, um, I think I have another one… here,” she said, pointing at her upper lip.

He quickly pulled her into the cab and she laughed as he ravished her until they both had to come up for air. “Well, hasn’t this been fun?” he asked with a grin as she crawled from his lap and out of the car. “We should do this again sometime.”

“See you around, Chase.”

“Pick you up in the morning?”

“Sure thing. Though you’re going to need a cannon to wake me up.”

He drove off and she headed into the pharmacy. Max and Dooley had been looking so dispirited lately she thought they could use some extra vitamins. Max probably thought it was the beef he seemed to have with Diego, but she was pretty sure he simply needed some choice supplements. Or maybe she should change his diet? Max was a very picky eater.

She got the vitamins and walked out of the pharmacy, and she’d just set foot for home when a white stretch limo drew up next to her and Charlie Dieber opened the door.

He was only dressed in navy star-spangled boxers and looked much the worse for wear. Not the squeaky-clean pop star she’d become a fan of. “Hey, babe!” he called out from inside the limo. The pervasive sweet smell of marijuana assaulted her nostrils and she coughed. “Wanna party with the Dieber?”

“No, thank you,” she said with a disapproving frown. “And shouldn’t you be home?”

“Home’s for suckers,” he announced. “Besides, they keep trying to kill me, so home’s kinda dangerous right now. But I’ve got everything we need right here, babe. Just step into the Dieber Machine and the Dieber will give you a night you will never forget.”

She bent down so her eyes were level with the pop star’s. “I’m Odelia Poole, Charlie.”

He grinned lasciviously. “Nice to meet you, Odelia Poole. Lovely name for a sexy dame.”

“I’m working with the police to find the man who tried to shoot you this morning.”

“I’m liking you better and better. Why don’t you get in so you can tell me all about it?”

“She’s a cop, boss,” the driver called out. “You may want to rethink this.”

Charlie gulped. “A cop? She doesn’t look like a cop. Are cops usually this hot?”

“She’s a civilian consultant,” said the driver, who seemed to be well-informed.

“We met at the house this afternoon,” Odelia reminded him, a touch of pique in her voice. How could this idiot not recognize her? They met twice! “And again this evening? I was the one who discovered it was one of your bodyguards who put that knife on your pillow?”

“So you did!” he said, his face clearing. “Hey, you’re clever and hot!”

She pressed her lips together. “Please be on your way, Charlie.” She would have said ‘Please get lost,’ but she was still working the man’s case, and didn’t want to be rude.

“Ouch.” He touched his bare chest. “You just broke the Dieber’s heart, babe.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” she muttered, slammed the limo door shut and stalked off.

He rolled down his window. “Some other time, huh, babe? Can I have your number?”

Without turning back, she held up a hand. She would have raised her middle finger but the same principle still applied: never disrespect the subject of an ongoing investigation.

She couldn’t help wondering, though, if the world wouldn’t be a better place if Charlie Dieber had taken that bullet that morning instead of Ray Cooper. She reprimanded herself. Charlie might be a douchebag, but even douchebags didn’t deserve to die. Right?

Chapter 18

After a long trek, we finally made it back to Hampton Cove. We passed through the small marina, the streets pretty much deserted, as one would expect in the middle of the night, and that’s just the way we liked it. And we were about to head on home and sample some of that delicious kibble our humans like to put out when Brutus froze midstep, and stared straight ahead, like a pointer dog—which is odd, since Brutus doesn’t even like dogs.

“What’s wrong, Brutus?” asked Dooley, ever considerate.

“This is the end,” he breathed in a stertorous voice. “I’m throwing my hat in the ring.”

“But you don’t have a hat,” Dooley pointed out in an admirable display of logic.

“Look, fellas,” Brutus heaved. “Look over there.”

We looked over there, and that’s when we saw what had suddenly made him pant like a pointer. It was Diego and Harriet, seated on the roof of The Hungry Pipe, the popular restaurant that’s one of the marina’s draws. I could just make out their silhouettes as they were sitting, heads together, backlit by that same moon that had fascinated Clarice so much.

“It’s our spot,” Brutus said, still sounding as if he’d swallowed a mosquito. “The spot I declared my everlasting love and devotion. The very spot I vowed to love and protect, to honor and cherish, to be all that I could be…” He heaved a soft sob, and for perhaps the first time since I’d made his acquaintance, I could see actual tears glisten in the tough cat’s eye.

“That’s not very nice,” said Dooley, in a massive understatement.

“He’s doing it on purpose,” Brutus said. “He knows how much this place means to me and he’s just rubbing my nose in it.”

It seemed a little far-fetched to think that Diego would know when Brutus would pass by The Hungry Pipe and see him and Harriet on the roof. The cat might be evil, but he was not clairvoyant. What had probably happened was that Harriet must have pointed the spot out as one she favored, and Diego decided to humor her and see what the big deal was.

The big deal is that Colin Carret, the Pipe’s proud owner and a perennial optimist, always overestimates the appeal of his place, and prepares more food than his clientele can ever tuck away. And since his kitchen happens to be on the top floor of the building, a lot of that food makes its way into his garbage bins, which are located on the roof before being transferred to the alley below via the kitchen elevator in the morning. Every cat in Hampton Cove knows that the Pipe is the place to be to get your paws on some high-quality grub.

I decided not to introduce this sordid materialistic theme into the conversation. Brutus was hit hard enough as it was. And as we watched, Diego and Harriet’s profiles retreated, and moments later we could see them descend the fire escape, reach street level, and stalk off in the direction of home and hearth, where presumably Diego would eat my food, drink my water, poop in my litter box and take my place at Odelia’s feet.

“I can’t go home,” Brutus announced brokenly, and staggered towards that same fire escape, and was soon mounting the steps, in the throes of a debilitating emotional crisis.

“We can’t leave him like this,” I told Dooley.

“Yeah, he doesn’t look very happy,” Dooley announced.

“You wouldn’t be happy if you were forced to watch the cat you loved canoodle with some other cat.”

“I’ve been watching Harriet canoodle with other cats all my life,” Dooley reminded me. “I think I’m a canoodling expert by now—at least where it concerns Harriet.”

He was right. Dooley had always nursed a quiet passion for Harriet—a passion which unfortunately had never been reciprocated by the haughty white Persian. “One day, Dooley,” I told him. “One day you’ll find the cat for you.”