Cat In A White Tie And Tails

Right now, what was left of the Synth wasn’t expecting to see anyone or anything. All hunched morosely over the cocktail of choice, the liquor bottles sitting on the glossy black bartop ready for several refills.

“The street troops did a fine job,” the solo man said mournfully. “Their timing was perfect.”

“So was the ‘timing’ of our enemies,” the slender woman in a green satin gown answered, pointed elbows on the bar, a wide-mouthed martini glass cradled in her hands.

“Two sets of them,” the heavyset woman said in a ponderous voice. Temple couldn’t see past her voluminous caftan to what witches’ brew she drank. “Who invited the tap-dancing fools to our sidewalk snatch party?”

“The Darth Vaders came here uninvited,” the man reminded her. “We were helpless then too.”

Temple was back-stepping on tiptoe. Max wouldn’t have wanted her to be here alone with these Synth members. Why the heck had he called her here? At least Louie …

She looked down. Louie was gone. He’d probably ambled somewhere else in the empty nightclub, soundless and stealthy.

Well, darn.

Rethink that.

Well, damn.

Here she was alone with a trio of depressed magical mobsters who’d tried to heist a Strip casino only hours ago. She made out the shape of an upholstered banquette behind her and sank down on it, trying to become invisible.

“This place is kaput,” the man said. “We can’t pay the mortgage, just like Mr. and Mrs. America.”

The plump woman spoke next. “Going for that prize money was a long shot, Hal, but Cosimo’s death is what really did us in. He knew where all the money we’d been promised was hidden. Do you think he gave it up to whoever killed him?”

“It was never our money,” the man told her. “We were in it for the glory of doing a mass illusion like tonight. Face it. We knew we were being set up as a distraction for another major heist by whatever crime elements amassed the supposed hidden fortune we were guarding, but look at the razzle-dazzle we stage-managed with the crowd tonight. Our street performers’ transformation, the distraction, the scale, we almost waltzed that transparent treasure chest right out of there until that mob of tap-dancers co-opted our action.”

“‘Close’ is worthless,” the Thin Woman said. “We were outmaneuvered by the Cloaked Conjuror and his freaking Fred Astaire accomplice. How did they know to do the white tie and tails bit? That was our gimmick!”

Hal was still mourning. “I don’t know. It’s just lucky we set up a flash mob of civilians to wear the same Vader heads and cloaks as the two thugs who accosted us in our own clubrooms only nights ago, or we’d never have been able to escape. How could CC know about our plans? We just put them together on the fly with…”

“Guess who’s missing right now? Max Kinsella,” the Thin Woman pointed out. “We stole the formal-wear heisters idea from his act, but he conjured a whole new illusion for us.”

“So we were betrayed. What’s new,” Hal asked. “We should slit our wrists? You’re a medium, Czarina Catharina,” he added bitterly. “What do you see in our future?”

The woman spun around on her barstool. The lighting from above made her face into a cratered dark side of the moon, excessive weight, age, and defeat evident in every highlight and shadow.

Temple glimpsed a giant bubble glass behind her, almost empty, with booze the color of C. R. Molina’s electric blue eyes at the bottom. Had Czarina been drinking that much Blue Curaçao straight? Temple checked the bottle on the bar. Yes. Oh, the calories!

“I see dead people, Hal,” Czarina intoned.

“Oh, shut up.” The Thin Woman straightened her sharp shoulders and half spun to address Czarina. “Nobody died today. Just dreams died today. The Cloaked Conjuror is a bigger sensation than ever, the big, fat, rich, anonymous bully. He’s okay, but we shed our Vader skins to escape and are okay too.”

“Maybe not, Ramona.” Hal spun to face into the deserted room, elbows pushed back to lean on the bar.

Oh, great. Temple was once again an unseen eavesdropper on the Synth at work and play, or, actually, idle and in despair. She was a witness. They’d recognize her from the last time she’d shown up at their headquarters, would know she wasn’t just a “lost customer.” She wished she’d been foolish enough to carry a gun here again.

Would Max really invite her to this Synth pity party and not show up? Just how muddled was his memory?

She considered bending out of sight below the table, planning to crawl out in the darkness, a tactic both humiliating and scary.

A clinking sound stirred the banks of shelved liquor bottles behind the bar. The trio snapped their heads to the rear, spinning back around to face the mirror behind the wall of booze that reflected shards of their unhappy faces.

Temple froze in place. Any motion now would attract them.

“Poltergeists,” Czarina intoned.

“The building settling,” Hal said. “Why shouldn’t it fall apart too? You just said ‘nobody died’ today, Ramona. What about yesterday? Just few days ago.”