Бретт Холлидей - Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 34, No. 3, February 1974

He shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

“You watch,” she said. “It’s really funny to watch.”

Hugo sniffed at the small pile of what looked like powdery chaff and then began to lick it up. He moved away after the catnip was half-consumed, shaking his head violently. With little leg-shaking leaps, Hugo then galloped out into the living room. Len and Gracie followed.

There, the cat began to wash his face with a paw. Every once in a while he glanced around with a glassy stare. Then, suddenly, he began to roll over and over, back and forth across the rug. Next he got up and ran around in a circle, performing small leaps into the air. Then he again went back to crazily rolling around on the rug.

“See!” Gracie cried, delightedly. “He’s really having a good time, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Lennie said. His deep blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “He sure acts like he’s stoned. I wonder what’s in that stuff. Must be some kind of dope or something. I mean, at least it affects cats that way.”

Suddenly, he turned and went out into the kitchen. He returned a moment later, carrying the box of catnip. He began reading from the label.

“Listen to this. It says: ‘A fine blend of catnip leaves, blossoms and stems. Its stimulating effects will promote ideal exercise and enjoyment for your cat...’ ”

He poured some of the tiny light brown dried twigs and sprigs onto the palm of his hand, raised them to his nose and sniffed. He shook his head. “No odor to it.”

“What does that mean?” Gracie asked.

He ignored the question. “Stimulating effects, the label said but really doesn’t tell you what the ingredients are. What is catnip, anyhow? Let’s check it out.”

The encyclopedia called it: “Catmint or catnip, common names for a hardy perennial herb, Nepeta Cataria, of the mint family. It is a native of Europe but a common weed in North America. Its sharp fragrance is attractive and exciting to cats.”

“Uh-huh,” Len said. “Marijuana’s a common weed, too. Maybe I’ve got something here.”

He left the room and returned a few minutes later, carrying the catnip box in one hand and a packet of Zigzag cigarette papers in the other. He sat down at the cocktail table, poured some of the catnip onto a cigarette paper, then expertly rolled it, licked the glued edge to seal it into a tube and twisted the ends.

“What on earth are you doing, Len?” Grace asked, frowning. “You’re not going to smoke that stuff!”

He showed her his slightly crooked, boyish grin. “Why not? It can’t kill me.”

He stuck the tube into his mouth, struck a match and applied the flame to the other end of it. He pulled a deep draft of dry tasting smoke and expelled it. He thrust his face into the cloud of smoke, sniffing deeply. Then he stared wonderingly at the smoking tube in his hand.

“Far out!” he said. “Smell that! It smells exactly like weed.”

“Like what, Len?”

“Like grass. Pot. Marijuana. Can’t you smell it?”

He took another drag and blew the smoke at her. She sniffed and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I suppose it does at that. But so what?”

“So this. I couldn’t tell the difference. That means neither could anybody else. Like, I mean, even The Man would think it was weed being smoked in here, if he came in.”

“What man, Len?”

“Oh, come on, Gracie. The Law. The cops.”

He took another drag and inhaled it deeply, sucking in air along with the acrid smoke. He shook his head, marveling. “It even tastes like grass. It could fool me. Now let’s see if it has the same effect.”

After several more puffs, Len snubbed out the catnip cigarette into an ashtray.

“Nothing,” he said. “Well, maybe a slight hit but that might just be my imagination.”

Gracie clucked her tongue impatiently, her sweetly pretty face frowning a little. “I just don’t know what you’re getting at, what this is all about.”

“I’m not too sure, myself,” he told her. “For one thing, I had a crazy notion that catnip might contain marijuana, but now I doubt it. However, tomorrow I’m going to the county seat at Midburg and have a lab check it out.”

“For what?”

“To make sure the stuff doesn’t contain any type of narcotic and is strictly legal to possess.”

“But what on earth for?”

He gave her an enigmatic smile. “We’ll see, baby. It just may be that I’ve figured out a way to get back at that lousy hick town constable of ours for busting me a couple of weeks ago. And picking up a big chunk of money at the same time.”

“Oh, Len,” she said. “Why don’t you just forget about all that. Why keep brooding about it? It wasn’t really Constable Bisby’s fault. He was just doing his job. You knew it’s illegal to possess marijuana. I don’t see how you can blame Jim for arresting you when he caught you breaking the law, right out and out and no two ways about it.”

“Oh, sure,” Len said. “Just doing his job, doing his job,” he parroted. “Only, I thought he was supposed to be a friend of ours. You even went to school with him. Well, I mean, I guess I knew he was no friend of mine, really. I could tell the way he sometimes looked at me that he figured I was just a no-good bum, living off of his wife. Well, maybe so. But that’s a lot smarter than being a two-bit hick lawman. Especially when he’s independently wealthy and doesn’t have to hold down a stupid job like that.”

“Well, it keeps him busy,” Gracie said. “And Jim likes law work.”

“Oh, I’ll bet he does!”

“That’s not fair, Len. You know he seldom has to make any arrests. And someone has to keep peace in the town.”

“Yeah. Well, I wasn’t breaking any peace and he busted me. I’m just driving along, minding my own business, having myself a small weed to relax and what happens? Big Joe Law stops me, he says, to tell me my rear license plate is hanging loose. Then he smells the smoke in the car, discovers the roach I’d stepped on. Hell, I figured he was so dumb he wouldn’t even know what the smell was. But, oh no, on something like that he’s got to be smart!”

“Please, Len,” she said. “I’ve heard all this. Why do you have to keep bringing it up?”

“Because I’m the one it happened to, dammit. It’s important to me. I’m the one who spent two nights in that stinking county jail before you bailed me out. I was lucky I drew a fine and suspended sentence, instead of time in the pen. Just because that Toonerville-type judge said he felt sorry for you and thought it was about time I started supporting you for a change and made one of the conditions that I get a job and keep it.”

“Supporting me, Len? On the sixty dollars a week that you make at the gas station? When you spend most of it on liquor and get drunk every night?”

He waved his hand. “What do you want me to do? Go nuts with boredom? I don’t dare take a chance on smoking pot any more. And after pumping gas for a bunch of small town idiots all day, I got to do something for relaxation, don’t I?”

“Well, we... we could play Canasta or Quinto or Monopoly, Len, like we used to all the time. Or even have some of our friends in once in a while.”

“Oh sure, Gracie. Way out! What kicks! Only I got sick of Canasta and Quinto and Monopoly. And your damned stupid friends. Your friends, not mine. Me, I’m an outsider in this hokey little town, always have been. They all think I’m putting them down because I’ve got a few brains, a decent education and haven’t spent all my life in Yahoo County. Plus the fact they all think I married you only because you have a nice little piece of property here and a comfortable fixed income the rest of your life from your mother’s estate.”