Cat In A White Tie And Tails

The Cat Pack is the elite fighting cadre I put together for protecting my Miss Temple in matters involving major weapons, like a loaded handgun … in her purse. Not good. We all wear ninja black.

Ma Barker lurches in front of me. “Front and center, you volunteers,” she orders, her slightly skewed gaze raking every black-haired dude or doll in the clan.

“What about Three O’Clock at Gangsters?” Ma grumbles to me under her breath. “We need a geezer?”

Since she is probably older than my esteemed sire, Three O’Clock Louie, gourmand and restaurant mascot, that was a low blow.

“No time to fetch him.” Miss Louise blows past me to address the clan. One swipe of the fluffy train on that youngster’s skirt puts enough fine hairs and dander into my eyes and nose to shut down sight and speech for half a minute.

“We could use a special team of the tuxedos,” she adds.

A smaller but equally triumphal roar goes up. I have to admit these guys and gals look pretty sharp with their spanking white bibs and faces, white gloves and sox and formal black topcoats everywhere else.

Sadly, those snappy white areas also make it easier for predators to spy them in the dark. You cannot beat nose-to-tail black for camouflage.

Once I can sneeze out her loose hairs, I go abreast of Louise and whisper in her little perked ear. “Those tuxedos are a mixed bag when it comes to nocturnal operations,” I warn her. “Ma Barker will shorten our tails in tandem if we lose any of her gang.”

“Relax, Daddy-O. I have this upcoming clash of Titans thoroughly scoped out. All we have to do is throw a big monkey wrench in the unfolding events, and our guys at the Oasis will come out up on top.”

“We do not have any guys at the Oasis.”

By now the grateful tuxedos are making like a Broadway chorus line in front of Louise, they are so delighted to be asked to dance at our party.

Miss Midnight Louise, I am thinking, is biting off more than I can chew.

Chapter 45

Million-Dollar Collar

“It’s either you or Molina,” the semi-familiar voice on Temple’s smartphone intoned with resignation when she answered. “I much prefer you, Zoe Chloe.”

“Um … is this Rafi Nadir?”

“My job’s at stake. My access to my daughter’s at stake. The Amy Winehouse of Las Vegas Boulevard is MIA. I need an insty, gutsy MC by eight tonight to replace the celebrity hostess that nobody knows. I figured you could do the job in a pinch.”

“Who gets pinched?”

“Hopefully no one. It’s for the prize drawing on the million-dollar see-through treasure chest at the Oasis. You have heard of that?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to resurrect Zoe Chloe. You just need someone to announce?”

“Like that creep Buchanan did on the body-in-the-safe event. You were there. You could probably do his job, right?”

“Yes. Is this dangerous?”

“I will personally keep a bead on your ass.”

“That is not encouraging.”

Rafi chuckled. “I have a feeling you are just what the situation needs. In case things get crazy.”