4c392a139708e5efb30cc267dbb0c768

“Just the one,” said Dooley. “I know because I love to watch the machine go round and round.”

“All cats love to watch the machine go round and round,” said Kingman.

“Well, my human’s machine goes round and round at least two dozen cycles,” said Kitty adamantly, “and I survived every single one of them. So there.” And having said this, she stalked off, ready to pounce on the next cat and start telling her story all over again.

“Look, Kingman,” I said. “We’re on a mission, Dooley and I. A mission to find Patient Zero. So better tell us everything you know about this flea infestation and better tell us now.”

Kingman nodded soberly.“It was a dark and stormy night…” he began.

Chapter 4

“A cat who shall not be named was on her way home from cat choir when a limo crawled to a stop right next to her. The limo door opened and a handsome cat beckoned from inside, inviting our unnamed cat choir friend in. After a moment’s hesitation, she entered the limo, the door closed behind herand the limo drove off into the night.” Kingman paused for emphasis, and was rewarded by a look of astonishment from me and Dooley.

“And then what happened?” asked Dooley finally.

Kingman shrugged.“Do I have to draw you a picture? Use your imagination.”

Dooley and I shared a look, Dooley’s more confused than mine.

“What did they do, Max?” he asked.

“They, um, played pinochle,” I said. Not my best effort, but judging from Dooley’s nod, he bought it. I turned to Kingman. “So what does this have to do with the flea thing?”

“My friend tells me that the very next morning she woke up with a terrible itch. Scratching didn’t help, and when she went to her human, he immediately diagnosed her with an acute case of fleas and called the vet to supply her with the necessary antidote.”

“So… this cat in this limo gave this friend of yours fleas? Is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Five minutes after she talked to me, I got the itch, and it’s been spreading like wildfire all over Hampton Cove ever since. So it would appear, my boys, that this infestation wasn’t homegrown, but was imported from the outside.”

“In a limo,” I said, and I didn’t even bother to hide my skepticism.

“In a limo.”

“And the cat in the limo was…”

“No idea. But I’ve heard more stories since then.” He fixed us with a knowing look. “Limo Cat has been driving through town every night, seducing local womenfolk and giving them fleas in return for a quick session of…” He cut a look to Dooley. “… pinochle. Find the limo, and you’ll find your Patient Zero.”

“So who is this friend of yours? I’d like to have a chat with her.”

“No can do,” he said. “I promised her absolute secrecy. And you know me, fellas. Kingman’s word is his bond. Kingman keeps his promises. Kingman is king of discretion.”

Kingman is king of gossip—biggest blabbermouth in town. Why all of a sudden he would clam up on me was anyone’s guess. But try as I might, he wasn’t divulging the name of Limo Cat’s first victim. Nor would he give us more details of this fateful midnight rendezvous.

“You know what I think, though?”

“Yes, I do want to know what you think, Kingman,” I said. “In fact I can’t wait.”

“I think this is all one big government conspiracy.”

Oh, God. Not with the conspiracy stuff again.“You don’t say.”

“I do say. And what’s more, I think the Deep State has made up its mind to destroy the United States cat population and has selected Hampton Cove as its testing ground.”

“It has?” asked Dooley, visibly perturbed.

“Sure. This Limo Cat probably works for the FBI or the DHS or any of those acronyms. And he’s spreading some noxious disease by infecting our cats one by one.” He nodded seriously. “Mark my words, boys. Before you know it, cats will be dying left and right.”

Dooley squeezed his eyes shut.“I knew it!” he squeaked. “I knew it! I told you, Max. We’re all gonna die!”

“No, we’re not.”

“Yes, we are!”

“Nobody’s dying, Dooley. And there’s no conspiracy.”

“Oh, yes, there is,” said Kingman. “Welcome to the Deep State, boys.”

“Fleas don’t kill cats, Kingman,” I said. “They’re annoying, but nowhere near lethal.”

“These fleas are. These are killer fleas, cooked up in some secret government lab.”

Dooley produced a soft whimper.“I knew it!”

“There is no secret government lab!” I cried. “There are no killer fleas!”

“It’s the Deep State,” said Kingman, sounding like one of those talk radio nutters.

“There is no Deep State!”

“Yes, there is.” He leaned in and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And it’s very, very deep.”

“Wow, that’s deep, Kingman,” I said, but the cat was oblivious to irony, as he nodded knowingly and tapped the right side of his nose for some reason.

We walked on, leaving Kingman to dispense his theories to the next cat that stopped by the store. Judging from the terrified look on Dooley’s face this search for Patient Zero was turning into a trip to Mount Doom and not the fun and educational project I’d anticipated.