Unknown - 23_Cat_In_A_Vegas_Gold_Vendetta

“Next you’ll get around to ‘Poor Louie,’” Matt said, “and maybe finally me.”

“It’s hard,” Temple said, “to feel sorry for a guy whose business associates just gifted him with a new Jaguar.”

“Really?” Max commented. “That ride was a gift? Good going.”

“That’s the trouble. It would mean ‘going.’ Leaving Vegas for Chicago.”

“Matt’s been offered his own TV talk gig,” Temple explained.

“Good show,” Max said in the Brit way, then laughed at how literal he’d been. “Brave man. I don’t remember hearing you on the radio except for a spin through the dial lately, but you seem adept at that.”

“Yeah. If you need any counseling on your memory loss…”

“I need someone who can bring it back.”

Matt said, “That would be someone you had a deep emotional connection with.”

Awkward silence.

“Midnight Louie,” Temple said with a pointed forefinger. “You two were always ‘soul brothers.’”

Max crossed his arms on his knees and bent down to fix Louie with a stare. “Those unsmiling Irish eyes of yours have hidden depths, do they, Louie, old boy?”

The cat’s expressionless face shook with a sudden sneeze, which broke the building tension as they all laughed.

“Maybe he’s developed an allergy to you while you were gone,” Matt twitted Max.

Louie pawed his muzzle like a dazed boxer while everyone sat back and sipped their drinks.

“Speaking of jogging memories,” Temple said, “I could use professional help on dredging up exactly how I might have gotten the worm ring. If it was near the aspergillum incident, I might be able to check my PR date book and get some ideas.”

She almost went on to say that Molina had returned the semi-engagement opal ring from Max, but … assessing both men’s politely guarded air, she decided the topic of her affections and any rings that resulted from them had gone on about as long as reasonably possessive and competitive-but-civilized men could stand.

“Okay,” she said. “Homework for Temple. Track down the when and how of Evil Kitty’s hate tokens.”

They’d dipped their heads for a silent sip to that resolve when the limo sped forward so fast they all had dripping chins.

The limo swung into a wide left that made it lurch like a swamped boat.

“Bottoms up,” Max shouted, downing the contents of his glass and reinstalling it in the rack.

Both he and Matt reached for the same button in the Starship Enterprise–complex panel installed in the upholstered ceiling.

Temple had ridden in limos for her job before but not the latest tricked-out models.

Matt won the button war. “What’s going on, driver?” he asked.

“Sorry!” came Rico’s angry voice over the intercom. “We’ve got a … wasp on our tail. I so much as blur the wax finish on this baby, it’s my ass on the line. Crazy biker kid!”

With that, the limo sped up and screeched around another corner.

“The windows are tinted so dark we can’t see out,” Matt complained, pushing more buttons until the side passenger windows descended, revealing a speeding panorama of off-Strip shops and importing a blast of warm, pollutant-laden streaming air.

Both Matt and Max had their heads out opposite windows.

Midnight Louie leaped up beside Temple. What a good guard kitty. She was about to pat him, but his shiny fur skimmed her palm as he jumped to the rear window ledge and stared into the dark as if he had laser eyes.

Temple got on her knees and joined him.

“It’s the Vampire,” Max and Matt shouted as one.

Really, Temple thought, that vampire fad was now at the point of overkill. If she never heard about another one …

Then the shrieking whine of an overtaking engine so shrill and loud that it inspired the name of a mechanical beast came through with the wind, and Temple saw through the black back window a blinding Cyclops blur that darted off to the side like a UFO.

Next she’d be seeing Elvis.

Or … she leaped to Matt’s side of the car, but the passing traffic and buildings were only a blur, even with the window down.

Temple glanced over at Max and his open window and saw a gun butt balanced on the door padding. Of course he’d be armed these days.

“Speed Queen,” Max muttered in determined fury.

Something was coming up alongside them, overtaking them. Someone in a space suit. There was that UFO imagery again. The speed, the road cinders flying into their eyes—Temple thought she was coursing through the Chunnel of Crime ride between Gangsters and the Crystal Phoenix again, only it had been put on crystal meth.

Max was aiming the gun at the rider.

“No!” Temple shouted.

She must have leaped across the limo’s conversation-pit middle, because even as she screamed, what looked like a dark arm brushed Max’s braced elbow. The firearm flew out the window.

“Holy freaking flying cat!” Max shouted, leaning far out the window, hair wind-slicked, eyes squinted almost shut.

The limo was finally slowing. Max slumped back in the cushy leather, wincing. He’d heaved himself up on his knees, folded and twisted his legs like he used to, and hadn’t felt a thing in the excitement.

Matt was hair-ruffled and bleary-eyed too as he pulled himself back into the seating.

“The Circle Ritz Hesketh Vampire motorcycle,” Temple said, dazed. “I don’t get it.”

“Using Electra Lark’s Speed Queen helmet,’ Matt said, eyeing Max.

“You or Electra been riding it lately?” Max asked Matt.

“No. Not lately. It was my only transportation for a time, a while back. I started getting shadowed by another rider. You know anything about that?”

Max’s laugh was weary. “If I did, I don’t now. Could have been Kathleen or a traffic cop. Seeing and hearing that bike brought a lot back. All of it just about the ride. I gave it to Electra as collateral, I think.”

Temple nodded confirmation when he glanced at her.

“Then I got irritated when I saw she’d gotten that corny helmet. And I seem to know … somehow … that you rode it, Devine. I’ve had visions or dreams of Kitty the Cutter crashing on another motorcycle, being dead. And that’s all I know, but it’s more than I knew a few hours ago. Maybe there’s hope for my memory.”

Matt nodded. “The motorcycle literally jolted your brain cells. Probably the intense high-pitched scream. And it was something you loved and wanted. That leaves an indelible mark, too.”

Another awkward silence.

“Where’s Louie?” Temple asked, searching the black carpeting.

Max turned to Temple. “I’m sorry. I hardly understood what was happening when it was happening, and you probably didn’t see it. My shrimp-breath ‘soul brother’ was determined to stop me from shooting at a moving target.

“The weight of his leap knocked my arm away. That forestalled my shot, but not his own momentum. He landed on those leather saddlebags behind the rider like he was on a bungee cord that worked.

“He’s tailing that Vampire in the riding pillion position at seventy miles an hour to God knows where.”

Chapter 33

In the Hot Sauce

WHEE! If I had a headdress I could be the Flying Nun.

Not that I’d sign up for the chastity part. Or the obedience part. Poverty I could handle, having been born in the streets.

Meanwhile, the Hesketh Vampire and I are flying down side streets lurching to the left and to the right, the metal foot-peg caps sparking on the pavement. I am at my claw-hanging, balancing-like-a-butterfly, screaming-cat-spat best, vocalizing in counterpoint to the engine.

I realize my Miss Temple must be a trifle worried by my absence and means of egress from the limo, but I did not want Mr. Max doing anything intemperate with a firearm. He is not quite himself, as you may have noticed.