Cat In A White Tie And Tails

“Sorry. That position is filled. I am the ‘temp head detective,’ and all I need is some warm bodies to tail the subjects in case they split up, which is likely. As long as you can walk and report in, you are hired. A couple of street dudes from Ma Barker’s gang are en route.”

“This private detective game sure requires using up a lot of footpad leather.”

“That is why we hitch a ride when possible.”

“The last time sonny boy did that with me, I was almost flattened in traffic, right in front of the golden lion at the MGM Grand. I do not like to look like a doofus in front of a major feline Vegas icon, especially a dead doofus.”

“You referring to the statue, or you? One thing I can guarantee: You will be a dead doofus unless you quit complaining.”

The old guy rocks back on his ample haunches, which allows the streetlights to reflect from the short white hairs on his nose and chin. His previous spot had come with being his own little icon at Three O’Clock’s Restaurant, all the lobster droppings he could eat, and full social security being mascot for the aging Glory Hole Gang turned hash-slingers.

“I forget,” I tell him, “you were living the leisurely lakeside life at Temple Bar on Lake Mead.”

“Yes, indeed. I had retired off a salmon trawler in the Pacific Northwest to Arizona, as many well-heeled seniors do nowadays. I am not much for heels, but I am for tiring.”

He sits to pluck a few stray hairs from between his toes, looking nonchalant. Where have I seen this air of male self-satisfaction before?

“That Temple Bar turf is barely in Arizona,” I point out, “and seniors are scrambling like the rest of us to avoid severe lifestyle cuts these days. The pattern is to work beyond the age of retirement.” I drum my forefront nails on the parking lot asphalt. “I can have you and Blacula tail one suspect together. There are only three. Pitch and I can take the remaining two.”

“But these folks slink in and out, maybe even in disguise, Louise. How can we cut them out from that crowd that keeps coming and going?”

“That is why we were given superior night vision, Grandpops. And Blacula’s hearing is sharper than a bat’s. Where do you think he got the name? Midnight Investigations, Inc., is tops on night surveillance. Here are Ma Barker’s footpads now.”

I am happy to see the pair wears ninja black from ear-tip to toe-hair. We do the usual close encounter four-step as the newcomers edge around to eye me and Three O’Clock while we exchange the ritual sniffs, struts, and down-low growls.