Cat In An Alien X-Ray

I ignore the, uh, catcalls, and continue to walk on moving parasols, making a last daring leap to the brass top rail on the balcony and bounding off it to the floor.

“Get that cat!” a few someones yell in chorus, but there are so many tourists consulting smartphones or texting as they tour that I am soon lost in a welter of moving legs.

I am an expert at doing a serpentine do-si-do through that kind of crowd. My prey is heading for the exit. That means I only have to sprint through some luxurious displays of exotic plants and flowers. The fancy loam is clogging up my shivs, but dirt is great camouflage for me, and my trail can be detected only by a sinuous shaking among the greenery. I bust through to the south entrance and out in plain sight of Bast, parking valets, and everyone …

… to see the sassy rear of a little red Miata disappearing down the driveway.

What an expedition. What a day.

When I see sassy rears, I expect a lot better success rate than this parasol chase.

Chapter 7

Stunted!

Temple found the rubber soles of her “sensible” ballet flats no match for rubble.

She’d agreed to meet Silas T. on this uncivilized stretch of Paradise Road, but had underestimated the ability of her soles to deal with desert hikes.

Well, walks anyway.

Her tender arches strove for balance on the sharp irregular surface of stone-studded sand. It was like walking over a spike-embellished Hells Angels motorcycle jacket, not that one of those guys would ever do a Sir Walter Raleigh and throw his outer garment down for a lady to walk on.

Beside her, Silas T. Farnum hooked his thumbs in his trouser belt loops and gazed at the desolate sun-baked scene like Alexander the Great contemplating an empire extending from the Arabian and Caspian to the Black and Mediterranean Seas. She guessed that’s why history called that sort “visionaries.”

Farnum’s vision was on the small side, like him. “That’s it, right there.”

Temple squinted despite sunglasses. No gigantic hotels shaded this backlot to Vegas Strip glory. Looking where his stubby forefinger pointed, she saw what seemed like a giant parking garage abandoned after going up a scant ten stories. It was just a skeleton of a building, intersecting girders and concrete making a dull gray brown plaid mostly obscured by giant tarps and plastic sheeting. Past its homely, raw structure, Temple glimpsed gaudy slices of completed Vegas Strip edifices.

“That’s all you’ve got?” she asked Farnum. “I’m sand-blasting my insteps to see another stalled construction project?”

“Not … quite. Watch the top of the building.”

“Building” was an overambitious word for it, but Temple dutifully looked.

A blast of noise right beside her made her jump. That was some phone ringtone he had. Deep drums throbbed.

She glanced sideways, disapproving, only to see him holding a small recording device with a mighty big sound she was starting to recognize.…

Farnum beamed. “The symphonic opening theme to 2001: A Space Odyssey. So glad a person of your generation recognized it. That confirms you’re the one for me.”

“Well, I may not feel confident that I’m the ‘one for you,’ Mr. Farnum.”

“Are you watching the top of the building, Miss Barr?”

“All right, but if I’m watching that space, I’m giving it one more minute flat to impress me.”

He just chuckled.

Had Temple been wearing her usual spike heels, she would have kicked herself for being dragged into this iffy outing with a certified fruit loop. Here she was always telling Matt he was too sympathetic to life’s losers. At least that was his job. Her job was publicizing legitimate enterprises.…

Temple stared as she saw the familiar disk of the spaceship Enterprise rising like the Earth over the moon in the film 2001: A Space Odyssey. No … that iconic Star Trek ship had big thrusters behind the main disk. This thing was all disk as it elevated against an ocean-deep sky of intense blue. This thing was a—