Cat In A White Tie And Tails

I am not aware of the passage of time. I do not carry a cell phone or wear a wristwatch. I only feel the hot night air weighing on my black velvet catsuit. Ha! My nails curl and loosen, curl and loosen, aching for purchase on something soft and evil.

A splinter of long bluish light flashes at the seam in the black glass exterior. A tall figure blocks it, then vanishes with it. My keen vision sees the plantings at the pyramid’s base waver. I twitch my right ear in Pitch’s direction. The statue that is he shifts and disappears.

I wait.

Oh, how human and clumsy! The light bulges this time, clearly silhouetting a figure with a melon-sized head and balloon-sculpture’s body, tied off in puffy limbs indicating arms and trousers. Harem pants, actually.

My left ear signal bestirs Blacula to rise slightly and spur a snoozing Three O’Clock to life as they move to shadow the exiting medium.

I have saved the best for last. The secret doorway profiles for an instant the slick dame and last of the lot.

Mr. Max is my special pet. It may not make sense to any who did not come up in a multigenerational relentlessly carnivore clan, but woe to any who would trifle with the ex-squeeze of my supposed father’s current human. Any disturbance on Mr. Max’s domestic scene will be swiftly punished.

So I slide like an oil slick over the asphalt to a parked black Camaro that burps open at the snap of the sorceress’s fingers on her key ring. It takes a moment for her to turn and spin her major spike heels into the car’s front seat. I am used to such footwear-caused delays and do a Midnight Louie twist into the narrow space behind the driver’s seat.

Three Synth members; four Midnight Investigations, Inc., operatives on their trail. Where will our assignments lead us and what will we learn there?

Chapter 13

Surprise Party

Naked was the best disguise, they said, but surprise was the better half of naked.

Max rolled out of the tunnel into the mechanical closet headfirst, his supple spine pulling his legs after him so he hit the floor on a roll he could push out of sideways and at the same time lift his hands in a defensive position.

The man waiting to ambush him had grabbed the unfastened grille and held it up like a shield, the other guy’s lost knife in his right hand.

Max struggled upright against a wall of wooden shelving, his eyes getting used to the light that showed his opponent wore a security guard’s uniform, complete with gun holster.

Max ducked, knowing he was busted.

The knife slashed toward him in an expert spinning arc that buried the blade point in an upright pine board near his carotid artery.

“Better your fingerprints are the last ones on that than mine,” the guy said just as Max saw past the uniform to the man wearing it.

“Impressive aim. What brought you here?” Max asked, grabbing a dirty rag from the shelf to pry the knife loose and then wrap its slightly bloody blade.

“Tailing you.”

“In your work clothes?”

“Guards are all over the Strip. Nobody notices them here, like mail carriers in residential areas. Is the guy in the tunnel dead?”

“I hope not.”

“You need to ID him?”