Unknown - 16_Cat_In_An_Orange_Twist

Danny regarded her iridescent snakeskin-pattern pumps with gilt coils for heels.

He nodded. “Winged Mercury. You go, girl.”

She did, shutting the door behind her on the way out, leaving Danny alone in the elegant silence that would always be Simon’s last dance.

Chapter 50

Ring of Fire

I am a dirty dog.

I have, for self-serving reasons, convinced my battle-worn mother, my old lady, that she was right to want to relocate her

clan to Maylords territory.

The police have combed the empty field across from the store for all evidence from the volley of automatic weapon fire.

They found no weapons of mass destruction, only spent shells.

Nothing is safer than the last place anyone looked for anything, I tell her.

What I do not tell her is that the northern gangland territories are no longer safe for her and hers. Or for me and mine, for

that matter.

Like all ulterior motives, mine is both noble and ignoble.

I could use some trustworthy sharp night vision on the Maylords scene. Louise and I cannot do it all, even in split shifts, not with two murders already occurring on the premises and my Miss Temple mysteriously bereft of her main backup muscle, Mr. Max Kinsella.

And her secondary main backup muscle, Mr. Matt Devine, already works the night shift elsewhere.

Of course I am always and everywhere Miss Temple’s secret main muscle.

Pardon me if I do not consider the Fontana littermates to be worth more than eye candy and comic relief. Sure, they are all armed,

but I consider a handy shiv to be far more useful than a fancy Italian shooter anytime, be it weapon or wielder.

Shivs are fast, silent, deadly, close-up and personal. What more could the effective operative want? And those Fontana boys have

all that expensive custom tailoring to worry about, whereas we furred dudes have no such vanity issues … until after the fray, of course. And then we can lick ourselves into svelte shape again pronto.

Besides I do not trust dudes who hail from litters that large. Nine is a very … doglike … number. It bespeaks a certain

indiscrimination on the part of their mama.

So I have convinced my own dear, obviously discriminating, ailing, old mama that what is good for me and mine is great for her and

hers.

I am a worm and no feline, but I truly do believe that this will all work out to everybody’s advantage.

“You want to move Ma Barker now?” Miss Louise asks, snippily, when I propose my plan. “She is wounded, and no spring chicklet.”

“We are talking a better neighborhood.”

“Yeah … also a target for who knows what?”

‘That is our problem, Louise. We should know not only what but who by now. Midnight Inc. Investigations’s reputation is on the line.”

“So is your mother.”

“And your possible grandmere.”

“Get off that Divine Yvette-speak, Cher Papa! You have never admitted paternity, to me or any other living thing, including the lowly

cockroach. How is Ma Barker supposed to hoof it all those miles from the northern part of town?”

“I was going to leave the logistics up to you.”

“Right. When the tough get going, you get going in the other direction.”

“I am wounded, Louise

“Not as bad as your mama,” she spits. “I am only overseeing this stupid scheme of yours because I think the old dame

deserves a better neighborhood. It is a damn shame that you will still be in it.”

She can be very sharp, Louise. So can my mama.

I have no doubt that I shall be called to answer in the maternal court once Ma Barker is up to full snuff and snort again.

Still, I am pleased with myself. While Ma Barker’s gang keeps an eye on Maylords, I can keep an eye on Ma and the gang. And by irritating Miss Louise so predictably, I have ensured that she will be supervigilant in watching out for the old lady.

This is called, by the diplomats, killing two birds with one stone, or, actually, saving two skins with one brilliant plan.

I also have a plan on how to move the whole cat crew in one easy swoop. You might call it an attention-getting device. It takes a village to create a cat colony, and it takes a bus to move a herd. Or something like that.

I have spied just the cushy ride we all need cruising the northern neighborhood, and have tracked it to a seedy warehouse lot. Now I round up the troops so we can be ready to pounce when the truck of my choice opens its double-wide back door to Ma Barker’s gang, thanks to my having stuffed a cleaning rag in one hinge when I spotted it unattended a few days ago.

Miss Louise and I should be able to jimmy it open with our naked shivs and a bit of hit-and-run power from the heavier dudes in the gang: bang and enter, then ride home free. That is the motto for our exodus from bad neighborhood to new stomping grounds. We should arrive just in time for a midnight snack, when all the mice and rats are out.

Now if only I had a brilliant plan for trapping the Maylords killer.

But I do not. Yet. So I must keep a shiv-sharp eye out in case my Miss Temple figures out more than is good for her and somebody bad notices.

Chapter 51

Rafishy Doings

Temple had discovered that despite all the exciting events in her life, she was doomed to spend Wednesday night alone.

Max was distracted and obviously busy with projects other than hers.

Matt had made his move, such as it was, and had moved on to his demanding schedule of nightly radio shows and out-oftown speaking gigs.

Louie was off on errands of a peculiarly catlike nature, and was not talking.

She was all alone by the telephone, so she was surprised when it rang.

Her hopes ran high: in this order: Max. Matt. Matt. Max.

She was hopeless! Maybe it was Electra. That was a step forward. Maybe … her mother. A step backward. Maybe a wrong number? A desperate step.

“Hello?”

“Yeah.”

Gulp. Could it possibly be …

“Something’s going down.“Her hopes, yes.

“At Maylords.”

“What do you expect me to do about it?” she asked Rafi Nadir, for she could recognize his voice over the phone now. He must have got her phone number from the Maylords computer. Scary. She had inherited Molina’s nightmare, it seemed.

“The police-and one member of the force in particular-aren’t going to listen to me. Maybe they would to you.”

“What’s happening?”

“The loading dock. Out back. There’s a shipment.”

“Coming in, or going out?”

“I can’t say. Well, I look forward to sampling your muffins too, Buffy baby. Here’s lookin’ at you.”

He hung up.

Temple blinked. She hoped his call had been interrupted by someone he had to put on an act for. She really, really hoped

that.

Rafi’s warning had arrived on the eve before Amelia Wong’s last night in town. Coincidence? Temple wondered. Or prior planning?

Loading dock? Tonight? Alone? With Rafi Nadir? Maybe the moon was full and his Mr. Hyde personality was about to come out gibbering and slathering in unfettered lust. She just had his word that something fishy was happening at Maylords. What was she supposed to do about it? Call in reinforcements? Max was barely reachable. Matt was working. Heck, even Midnight Louie was off somewhere.

Right. She’d been through that scenario about five seconds before. Feeling a teensy bit ignored, are we? Every formerly overprotective male of her acquaintance busy out and about?

That left … little her.

Temple sat up straighter. Nadir had called her. Apparently he thought that was enough. If the big bad wolf thought little Red Riding Hood was reinforcements … maybe she should whip the napkin off her basket and pull out an Uzi. Or a Plum, as in a Stephanie operation. Temple considered the zany mystery series, then got a damn skippy idea.