Лилиан Браун - The Cat Who Lived High

"At what age?" "In her forties. Forty-five, I think it said in the paper." "Was it drugs?" "No." Amber was fidgeting nervously. "It's something we don't like to talk about. Ask Mary when you see her." Ah! It was AIDS, Qwilleran thought, but immediately changed his mind. That would hardly explain the large bloodstain on the carpet, and people never died "unexpectedly" of AIDS. Or did they? "You say she was the founder of SOCK?" he said.

"Yes, she felt very strongly about the Casablanca," said Amber, relieved to veer away from the unmentionable subject. "Anybody who's ever lived here feels that way - kind of emotional about the old building." "And what happened to your doorman? You said he was shot. What were the circumstances? Was he mixed up in something illegal?" "No, nothing like that," she said, relaxing over her cup of espresso. "Doesn't this have a wonderful aroma?" "So what happened to him? What's the story?" "Well, he was a nice old joe who had lived in the basement forever. Then he went on social security, and we really didn't need a doorman any longer, but he liked to put on his old uniform once in a while and open car doors and collect a few tips. It was a long coachman's coat down to his ankles - made him feel important, I guess. But it had turned green with age, and the gold braid was tarnished, and some of the buttons were missing. Also he'd forget to shave. We called him Poor Old Gus. He was a sad sight, but he sort of fitted the Casablanca image, you know - a character! People used to drive past and laugh. He was written up in the Daily Fluxion once. Then one night some kids - high on something, I guess - drove by and shot Poor Old Gus dead!" Qwilleran frowned and shook his head in abhorrence.

"Is everything all right?" asked an anxious voice at his elbow.

"The food and service were perfection, Miss Roop," he assured her. "Give my compliments to Roberto." "Oh, thank you. That will make him very happy. Do you still have your kitties, Mr. Qwilleran?" "I certainly do! And I brought them to the Casablanca with me." "Would they like a treat from our kitchen?" "I feel safe in saying that they would be overjoyed." Qwilleran and Amber walked home under the gaslights - she carrying a half-empty bottle of wine and he carrying a foil package folded decorously into a cream-colored napkin. They walked along a street almost deserted except for a woman airing a pair of Dobermans and two men walking together with purposeful stride, swinging long-handled flashlights.

"That's our Junktown patrol," Amber said. "They're volunteers. You might like to take a turn some night, just to see what it's like." "Be glad to," said Qwilleran, recognizing a subject for his newspaper column. "Are they ever called upon to handle any... incidents?" "I don't think so. Mostly they discourage crime just by being there. They shine their flashlights, you know, and blow their whistles, and talk on their portable phones." When they reached the Casablanca and entered through the heavy black doors, Qwilleran noticed the black paint-covered brass fittings that the management no longer cared to keep polished. Only the bronze door of the Countess's elevator retained its original burnished beauty.

Amber said, "I'd invite you in for a nightcap, but my apartment's a disaster area. I'm ashamed of it." "Thanks anyway," he said. "I've had a long hard day on the road and in the elevator shaft, and I'm ready to turn in." He was glad of an excuse; he had had enough of Amber's company for one evening. He would have preferred the preppy Mary, or the mysterious Countess, or even the affable, dictatorial Mrs. Tuttle. He pictured her as a subject for his column.

Old Red was in operation, and it took them to the eighth floor, where he walked Amber to her door and said a courteous goodnight, thanking her for her company and the indoctrination.

"Sorry I couldn't give you much information," she said, "but Mary will call you tomorrow. We're awfully glad you're here, Qwill." She gave him a lingering look that he pretended not to notice.

He walked up the remaining flights, and when he arrived at Fourteen (which was really Thirteen), the door of Old Red was slowly closing. Someone was going down... or had just come up. Unlocking his door and reaching for the light switch, Qwilleran discovered that the foyer and other rooms were already lighted, although he distinctly remembered leaving the apartment in darkness, except for the bathroom.

"Who's here?" he demanded.

Koko and Yum Yum came running. They showed no symptoms of terror, no indication that an intruder had threatened them. They were simply aware that Qwilleran was carrying a packet of veal, scallops, and squid. Yum Yum rubbed against his ankles voluptuously, while Koko stood on his hind legs and pawed the air.

Ignoring them, he moved from room to room, warily. In the library both the desk lamp and a floor lamp were unaccountably lit - as were a pair of accent lamps on the foyer console, the buffet lamp in the dining room, and the bedlamps in both sleeping rooms. The French doors to the living room were closed, as he had left them, and the area was in darkness, likewise the kitchen. He examined closets, then went out on the terrace and explored its entire length, passing the French doors of 14-B. His neighbor's blinds were closed, but light glowed through dimly. The huddled mass in a dark corner of the terrace turned out to be a cluster of large empty plant pots.

Qwilleran stroked his moustache in puzzlement and returned to 14-A. Who could have entered - and why? Did someone know he was being taken to dinner by SOCK? Did they have a key to his apartment? But why would they leave all the lights blazing?... unless they were interrupted and made a quick getaway.

At that moment he heard the door of 14-B open and close. He rushed out to the elevator lobby, but there was no one there-merely the evidence that Keestra Hedrog had put her rubbish container outside the door.

Mystified, Qwilleran returned to the kitchen to give the Siamese a taste of squid; the chef had wrapped enough food for three days. But he was too late. The cream-colored napkin lay on the floor, and the foil wrapper was open and licked clean, while two satisfied gourmands sat nearby, washing up, with not the slightest indication that they felt any guilt.

On the contrary, they seemed proud of themselves.

5

"YOU GUYS HAD a picnic last night!" Qwilleran said grudgingly on Monday morning as he opened a can of boned chicken for the Siamese. " After stuffing yourselves with all that food, you don't deserve breakfast!" Yet, Koko was prowling as if he had fasted for a week, and Yum Yum was clawing Qwilleran's pantleg.

"What I want to know is this: Which one of you two turned on all the lights?" While he was dining at Roberto's with Amber, Koko or Yum Yum or both of them had discovered that most of the lamps in 14-A had touch-switches, and the scamps had run from one to the other making them light up. No doubt they expected to make this a nightly romp, but Qwilleran foiled them. Before retiring he cat-proofed all the lamps by turning off thumb-switches or disconnecting plugs, at the same time making the observation that touch-switches were not practical in households dominated by felines.

After that he had some difficulty in falling asleep. He was not accustomed to a waterbed, and he lay there expecting to drown... listening to the periodic clanking of the radiators as the boilers sent up another burst of steam...

hearing the drone of traffic on the nearby freeway... counting the number of police and ambulance sirens... wondering why the helicopter was hovering overhead... recognizing an occasional gunshot. He had lived too long in the country.

Eventually he fell asleep and slept until the yowling outside his bedroom door told him to shuffle out into the kitchen and open that can of boned chicken. While searching for the can opener, he discovered a Japanese slicer with a tapered blade and light wood handle, similar to those in the mushroom paintings. He carried it into the gallery - as he preferred to call the sunken living room - to compare, and he was right. Koko followed him and sniffed the bloodstain, opening his mouth and showing his teeth.