Douglas Nelson - Cat On A Blue Monday

I bestir myself, which makes me feel like last week's stew, and slip through Miss Temple Barr's accommodatingly loose French doors. (These French are notoriously loose in every manifestation.) I naturally recall that my normal egress--the small, high, open bathroom window--has been closed for my own good. This means that I will have to put myself to considerable trouble to achieve another escape route. Which cannot be doing my own good much benefit, but those who determine one's own good do not worry about such trivialities.

So I am out on the patio and up in the blink of an eye, if it is a lizard's peeper and rather slow to blink. I stand on the penthouse patio, girding my loins for another encounter with the elusive Karma. This loin-girding is a figure of speech and somewhat obscure. It certainly is not the fun it should be.

I push my way back into the shadowy interior. All is still, which means that Miss Electra Lark is nowhere in the vicinity. I have nothing against Miss Electra Lark, other than her taste in household companions and furnishings, but I am not eager to be caught trespassing on her turf. She is a buxom lady who is quite capable of sweeping me out the door without so much as a by-your-leavings.I am in luck, as usual. Faint light flickers from the many prognosticating orbs--otherwise known as crystal balls stationed around the room. The light glows green, and I realize that I have once again stumbled upon the hypnotic eyes of the prescient Karma.

"You rang." say I in a bored, Maynard Krebs manner. (I am fond of vintage television reruns on the cable channels when I can get my mitts on a remote control.)

I cannot say that Karma uncorks a sigh, but she certainly looks askance.

"Louie . . . Louie . . . Louie," she breathes, "Such a common and undistinguished name. Sometimes one must descend to the cruder tool. I see a cogitation of cats in disarray, abandoned, threatened, At sea."

"Maybe they met up with an owl with a three-pound note." say I. "I myself might skip town with some bird with dough about now."

"Louie . . . Louie . . . Louie. You are incorrigible."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," I warn her wan-coated silhouette.

A pale paw flops out from under the sofa fringe, which begins doing a distracting hula at this interruption. I almost miss seeing the several oblongs of pasteboard pinned to the carpet by tour admirably sharp claws.

"I have been studying the Tarot." Karma announces.

"I am not unfamiliar with the pharaoh." I riposte. "We go back a long way together."

"Tarot," she repeats. "T-a-r-o-t."

"As in tommy-rot." I answer.

"More like tomcat-rot," she purrs, "but unfortunately, your health appears to be splendid." Oh, Louie . . . Louie . . . Louie. Do you recognize this card?"

"I am not unfamiliar with cards." I assert as I train my discriminating peepers upon the oblong she shoves forward with one agile claw. I see a picture of a dude in a funny hat who looks as it El Greco has scratched his portrait in a sandbox; he makes a mighty odd Jack of any suit I ever saw.

"The Thin Man." say I.

"Oh--" She no longer uses my name as an expletive. "This is the Hierophant, fool."

"Say, I knew a few of these Higher Ophants in my early days.

They usually led the parade when Ringling Brothers came to town."

Karma's sky-blue eyes cross with consternation. I do like to ruffle her fluff. "The card of the Hierophant represents the figure of the Priest," she announces in high disdain. "In ancient Greece, far from my lost Burma, he was the interpreter of mysteries. Here, I fear he is the heart of the mystery. I have drawn the Hierophant repeatedly in the past few days."

This I do not doubt. I can see the claw marks on the card. In fact, the figure of the Hierophant, now that l look more closely wears that funny pointed headdress reminiscent of either a dignitary in the Ku Klux Klan or a bishop of the Roman Catholic Church, Strange bedfellows, even on a Tarot card.

I have not encountered any animated bed sheets, otherwise known as Grand Dragons, lately, but I have heard a lot about the Catholic Church all too recently from the person of the abused Peter, but no bishops. So who is supposed to be the dude on the card?

"Does not sport the big ears of a Crosby," I say. "Does not look like Dumbo."

"Neither." Karma says with great precision, "do you, but that is no excuse. Do you not sense the connection instantly?"

"I do not know many priests, not to mention even fewer elephants."

"But . . . you know . . . more priests than you know."

I hate it when she leaks cryptic words like they were precious drops of Bailey's Irish Cream. From eavesdropping on my little doll, I have my suspicions about a certain person, but they are vaguer than Tarot cards.

"One," I snarl, "but he may be in the past tense."

"There is no past tense in life. Louie. All present problems merge past and future. I fear that you are not capable of distinguishing such differences, but you are the only tool available."

"Listen," say I. "I am sick of being compared to a pair of household pliers. I am not a tool, or a fool, l am a feline being! If you insist on being abstruse, I will have to resort to my own methods."

"Your methods?" Karma sounds particularly scornful.

"I have my ways."

"Your ways! Study my ways, and learn." One long, pale scimitar of nail, the blood showing pink through its pearly surface, taps the dude with the upstanding headdress. "I have often drawn the Hierophant reversed of late. You, of course, realize what that means."

"He has undergone sex-change surgery?"

"At times." Karma says, "I suspect that you deliberately play the fool to claim some connection, however remote, with the symbols of a higher consciousness, at other times. I do not. The Hierophant in itself represents a third party, a dark horse suddenly on the scene, a surprising development, and of course the church, or he who represents it. Reversed, it denotes a rude rejection of all religious beliefs, perhaps during youth, It speaks of emotional disturbance; someone is distrustful of others, or to be distrusted."

I say nothing, not knowing what to make of this gibberish, and Karma tilts her head at me. "Speaking of the Fool, you will see that I have drawn this card, too, as well as the Emperor, which is heaven and spiritual things under the all important sign of Libra, as I mentioned before. And the Emperor reversed, which is chicanery. Also see here the Tower reversed, another Libra card, and the sign of an obsessive, distorted mind and spirit, of reality skewed to suit an unscrupulous, twisted mentality."

I wait for her to associate this last description with me, but am disappointed. "Quite a cast of characters," I comment, cocking my head to denote intelligent contemplation. I am getting the hang of this oracle routine.

"These are not from a single cast of the cards, but the same figures have appeared repeatedly. Obviously, your task is clear, and formidable. You must find the true Hierophant, who will lead you to these other cards whose roles are less clear: Death, Deviltry, Justice and Judgment, as well as Temperance."

I hold my Temperance and say nothing. Death, Deviltry, Justice and Judgment are fully familiar to me, if not as cards, and I have always handled them well, in my own unenlightened way.

Having done my penance at the feet of Karma and her magical, mystery cards, I bow my way out of the Arcane Presence and head for my particular ever fruitful source of wisdom and all knowledge--the hot, bustling sidewalks of Las Vegas. Nevada. And whoever I can find on them with a tale to tell--man, woman or four-footed friend.

Chapter 24

Money Business

Matt was waiting in the shade of a tall stand of oleanders when she came out of the rectory.

Lieutenant Molina paused for a moment, then regarded the notebook she had been tucking into the deep side pocket of her navy jacket. "Will I need this?"