Рита Браун - Catch As Cat Can

Liberally lubricated by the open bar, the conversation flowed, the volume rising with the courses of wine attending dinner. The nymph and satyrs in the fountain, having sampled drinks offered them by admirers, became friskier than intended, the satyrs most particularly. It wouldn't be long before they took their mythology literally.

After dinner, liqueurs were served along with a staggering array of desserts, fruits, cheeses, and sherbets.

Sated, the guests sat, eyes glazed with happiness.

As the tables were cleared, Sean stood up. “Excuse me, folks, I'm going outside for a smoke.”

“I didn't know you smoked.” Lottie stood up, too.

“I didn't until now. They can say what they want about nicotine, it really does soothe the nerves.” He smiled wanly.

“I guess a little puff can't hurt you too much.” Lottie smiled indulgently.

Other people filtered out. Thomas, chest pocket filled with divine Cuban cigars, trailed men behind him. They resembled penguins following the Big Penguin.

Lottie ducked off into the ladies' room before joining the smokers. Harry was in there brushing her teeth.

“Harry, I can't believe anyone is that obsessed with their teeth.” Lottie turned up her nose in disgust.

Harry rinsed out her mouth. “Those nuts on the chocolate cake got stuck in my teeth. It drives me crazy.”

“H-mmph.” Lottie marched off.

As Harry emerged she bumped into Aunt Tally. “Isn't he divine?”

“Who, Aunt Tally?”

“The Marine.” She indicated with her eyes a fit man in early middle age wearing his Marine uniform for just this occasion, a carryover from the nineteenth century and one that delighted ladies. His short waist-length tunic fit him tightly, his medal ribbons, four rows deep, bedecked his left chest. His blue-black closely fitted trousers carried a thin red stripe on the outside. His patent leather dancing shoes gleamed.

“What happened to your date?”

“Harry, too old. I can't stand old men.” Tally flicked up her cane.

“Well, what about that other guy?” Harry hadn't met the lawyer.

“Uh.” She shrugged. “Dull. But now this one, he's a man all right.” She covered her mouth with her gloved hand and looked exactly as she must have looked at seventeen at her coming-out debutante ball—minus the wrinkles, of course.

Harry lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I know you can't be good but go slow.”

“At my age, sugar, there is no slow. Get it while you can! And I will, I will!” Tally giggled, then hurried into the ladies' room.

Rick, dying for a smoke, had been waylaid by Jim Sanburne. As they were talking Rick's beeper went off.

“Excuse me. I'd better take this.” A little printout read DON. Rick's face registered no emotion. “Jim, I've got to go.” He briskly walked to Coop, herself walking outside for a smoke. “Come with me.”

Hoping not to call attention to themselves they walked fast but not frantically to Rick's car.

“Something's up,” Mrs. Murphy noted.

51

Pulling into Don Clatterbuck's, they grabbed their guns and opened the car doors, crouching behind them. Coop dearly wished she weren't in a ball gown.

Rick moved away from the door, running low. He stood outside the shop door, reached over, and opened it. He flattened himself against the building. Nothing.

Coop, keeping as low as her dress would allow, joined him on the other side of the door.

Rick reached in, flicking on the light switch.

No sound. No movement. He ran inside, diving for the workbench. Nothing.

“Coop, come on.” He scrambled to his feet, brushing off his tuxedo.

The door to the safe hung wide open. It was empty.

“Our birdie can't be too far away.” Coop grabbed a chair, placing it under the camera. She turned off the camera, removing the tape inside.

Yancy had set it up, locking the tiny TV playback box in Don's broom closet. Coop hiked her long skirt up, stepped down as Rick opened the closet. They quickly plugged in the small monitor.

“Dammit!” Rick exploded.

A masked figure. A black cloth covering the face, slits for eyes and mouth, wrapped in what could be a black bedsheet or long cloak, it stopped in front of the camera after emptying out the safe to give them the finger.

“I'd like to see his face when he discovers the money's no good.”

“Won't discover that until he gets it in a bright light.” Rick slipped his gun back in his chest holster. “Whoever did this knew we'd be at the ball tonight.”

“Boss, that's no surprise. Everyone's at the ball tonight.”

“Maybe, but we know this—he knows that we're here. I think we've just been suckered.” He sprinted for the car, Coop right behind him. She turned out the lights as she ran out.

“Boss, Boss, I can't run as fast as you.”

He waited the extra twenty seconds it took for her to fold herself into the car. “Coop, I wouldn't give you a nickel right now for Sean's life or Lottie's.”

“We'll nab them.”

“That's not what I mean. One of them is going to be dead.” He peeled out, spewing stones everywhere.

52

Mrs. Murphy stretched herself. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Pope Rat, scurrying from the direction of the caboose, carrying a bag of popcorn toward the garage. “Hey, Tucker, there's the rat.”

Tucker vaulted off the Volvo, racing toward the large, glossy rat.

“She can move,” Pewter admiringly said.

“Yeah, maybe we'd better provide backup.” The tiger paused. “Here come Rick and Coop.”

“You cover Lottie. I'll cover Sean,” Rick ordered as they raced back to the ball.

“H-m-m, Mom's in there.” Murphy gazed after the dog, who ran after the rat, unwilling to part with the popcorn. Instead, Pope Rat turned and scooted back into the caboose. He had cleverly gnawed an entrance right over the coupling and just to the right of the human-sized door.

Tucker had hit this impasse before, so she ran around and with great effort pulled herself up on the first step and was at the caboose door in the rear, the last thing one sees as the train rides by. But this time it wasn't locked. She pushed it in, surprising the foulmouthed creature who was sitting in front of the wood-burning stove.

Pope Rat bared his fangs. He picked up the popcorn bag, slowly backing away toward his hole.

Tucker stopped for a moment. A gunnysack of money sat in the middle of the floor. Much as she wanted to break Pope Rat's neck she turned and bounced down the steps, running flat-out for the Volvo. “Murphy, Pewter, the play money is in the caboose!”

“We'd better get Mom.” Murphy moved toward the main building, great purpose in her stride. They had noticed cars coming and a few going while lounging in the back of the Volvo but nothing had captured their attention as out of the ordinary. Now all three animals wished they had climbed on the roof of the car to see exactly who was driving in and driving out.

The band played old tunes, new tunes. The dance floor was crowded. Rick and Cooper entered the building a few moments apart. Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker followed Cooper in.

Harry, sitting this one out to drink a cup of tea, saw her three pets. “Oh, no.” She got up but noticed Cooper's face. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, you never told me about the matchbook.”

“Diego told you the truth.” She scanned the room for Lottie, out on the dance floor with the Marine, much to Aunt Tally's disgust.

“I'm so glad.” Harry exhaled in relief. “All right, you varmints, we're going back to the car.”

She walked out, the three following her much too obediently. As she reached the car all three took off toward the caboose.