The Kimota Anthology Part 23

The pavements were slick, rainwater belched through clogged gutters. I'd heard rumours that a gang of Collies were trying to figure out the city's plumbing problem now that the Peace Accord between Mutts and Mogs had been signed; although how long that lasted was anyone's guess. Down below a rhino from the zoo charged an already busted car. A grizzly rifled through a grocer's store window, Lemurs swung from busted street lights.

As I said, we don't know how it happened; rumour was of a book going round written by some dude called Machen saying we'd tried to take over once before, way back in WW1. It didn't really matter. All I knew was that one evening I went to sleep a normal Tortoisesh.e.l.l; next morning I woke up on two legs speaking English and about eight times the size I used to be. Jimmy - I took his surname for the business - folks don't like that much change - was a quivering mess on the floor; insane. Going out later I saw that it had driven all the Sappy's crazy - most ended up in the zoo's they'd built for other animals. Later that day I got back and found he'd been savaged by a pack of lions out for revenge. I felt bad about that.

So I took over. I'd been open for weeks and no case to show for it. Food wasn't a problem, or lodgings; it was all this time I had to fill, and it was taking some getting used to.

Then a shadow appeared at the frosted gla.s.s. I told it to come in.

She slinked into my life like a mirage, tail wrapped around her neck like a stole.

"Benji Spriteman?"

I tried to keep cool. "S'what it says on the door."

"I didn't know where else to go." She curled up on a chair, white tail gently swis.h.i.+ng the air. I was distracted by a Parrot outside doing a loop-the-loop on a phone wire when she said the word Tortoisesh.e.l.l. I was all ears.

"One of my own. Tell me more."

"Well you see, it's like this-"

The long and short of it was that a Tortoisesh.e.l.l had gone missing. Boy, was I dumb. You learn from experience - I hope.

I picked up one of the dimestore paperbacks Spriteman had kept on his shelves, putting it back down again straight away. I'd memorised it pretty well. "My fees is a hundred up front, plus fifty a day, plus expenses. If I crack the case I get to take you out for salmon." She purred her agreement.

I wasted no time and headed for O'Bells on 24th, a regular hive of skulduggery. My hunch was it was the work of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty of Humans, a new and potentially dangerous group bent on trying to regain power. There'd been various stories of animals going missing; mainly dogs, but dogs aren't smart even now. I daresay a few other creatures had got waylaid too.

Tipping my hat to the Gorilla on the door, he moved aside. Even though it was mid afternoon the club was swinging. The band hadn't improved none; the Tabby on the double ba.s.s kept getting her whiskers caught, and the drummer whacked his tail with his sticks from time to time.

"I'm looking for a missing Tortoisesh.e.l.l, name of Ed Mahoney, he's said to frequent here." I was bluffing, but it sounded good. "Ed Mahoney..." the Tom behind the bar scratched his whiskers and yawned. "Nope, doesn't ring a bell. Get you a drink?"

"Yeah. Tuna oil. On the rocks."

There was laughter over at the other side of the club. A dog was kicked out for licking its b.u.t.t. I turned back to the bartender. "Know anything about the SPCH?"

"A little," he said, polis.h.i.+ng a gla.s.s. "Yeah, they're going be bad news. Bar snack?" I grabbed an anchovy from the bowl. "You think they took him?"

"I don't know." Knocking back the oil, I left the bar, unsure where to go next.

I went and got a bite to eat, the tuna oil had made me hungry. I tried a new place on Main taken over by a consortium of Alsatians. At least they had some idea - the poodle parlour I'd tried last week had nothing but that nouvelle c.r.a.p the Sappy's used pretend to enjoy. I was feeling adventurous with the advance in my pocket so I ordered a steak, rare.

"I'm looking for a Tortoisesh.e.l.l," I said to the waiter, an Afghan.

"Aren't we all sir," he replied. This new order of things was throwing up some interesting configurations. There was talk of a pig and a frog that had got spliced someplace. Word was they were gonna call the nipper a Frig.

"It's one that's gone missing, is all."

Another one?" the waiter called to a back room. "Hey, Alphonso, come here a minute."

Alphonso looked like he still had trouble with the Two Leg thing. Hobbling over to my table he panted eagerly. "Yeah?"

"This fella here's looking for a Tortoisesh.e.l.l too."

"No kidding? Jeez, what's happenin' in this town lately? They sure are popular all of a sudden."

"Yeah?" I leaned across to him, moving away when I caught his breath. "tell me more."

"There ain't much to tell. They just seem to go missing, like that."

"You heard of the SPCH?"

Alphonso looked confused. "I doubt it's them. Those guys aren't too smart I hear. Not that specialised."

I was going to interrupt and make a speech about me being the detective, but thought better of it. He was right though - the Sappy's I'd seen had the brains of cat litter, and about half the use.

I ate my meal, looking around the joint. An oversized Toucan waddled around topping up drinks. My eyes were drawn to a strange looking dude in the corner, hunched over and badly in need of a suntan. There was something about that guy that made me feel uneasy. "Who's the old guy?" I asked the Tuke.

"Oh him. Arnie, his name is. Bit kooky, ain't he? Mind you, knows his way around the city. Reckon's he seen it all in his time."

"Yeah?"

I waved the Tuke away and finished my meal at around the same time Arnie finished his. I gave him a few minutes then paid my bill, following him to a tower block on the edge of the city.

By now it was getting dark, and the streets were livening up a little. The lights of the Fairground shone through the skysc.r.a.pers, and I caught a faint whiff of candy apples. My whiskers started to twitch. There was thunder in the air. The pavement was grey with rain.

Arnie stood at the door talking to the Doormog. I got to wondering why a Persian would want to be a Doormog, when it was pretty clear we Felines were the smartest things around. As I got near I recognised him. Arnie had gone inside.

"Hey Bootsy," I clapped him on the back. "Beneath ourselves, ain't we?"

"Shh!" he licked his paw and smoothed his fur back down. "I'm undercover. Been here a week."

My heart sank. A cop. Just what I needed. I drummed my pad against the wall. "Did I just see Arnie go in there? I've been meaning to catch up with him for ages. I even heard he had a Sap for a servant now." I was fis.h.i.+ng, of course.

The Persian looked me over. "First I heard. You know him?"

"Yeah." I pulled my keys from my overcoat. "I need to return these to him. He left them at my pad the other day."

Despite his breeding - or perhaps because of it - Bootsy wasn't the brightest cat on the block. "Can I get in?" I persisted.

"Oh, what the h.e.l.l." Pus.h.i.+ng a secret code on the grille which I pretended not to notice, he let me through. "Fourteenth floor." He called after me.

The lift took me as far as the seventh when the door opened. A bulldog in overalls was shaking his head. "Hey you, oughta there. Maintenance. Lift's on the blink."

"Seems fine to me."

He started growling. "You an expert? Go on, skidaddle."

Seven floors later I was all in. Before The Terror Spriteman didn't give me much in the way of affection but he fed me well. I needed the exercise badly - just not today.

I padded down the murky hall. One light flickered on halfway down then gave it up. Near the end of the corridor overlooking the street I'd just walked along the name Murchess had been scratched off the plate and replaced with Arnie. I knocked.

It took the old fella a while to get there but I heard him wheezing down his hall. "Yeah, just a minute," he called, fumbling with the chains.

Opening the door I recoiled slightly. What kind of a guy was this? Ugly as sin and a face with more lines than the underground map. "Yeah, whaddya want?"

"Hi Arnie," I said, showing him my badge. "I hear you know your way around this fair city."

His eyes bulged. "Who said that? who are you? I ain't done nothin' wrong."

"Didn't say you had," I walked past him into his front room. "I need information, Arnie."

He walked round me. "Hey, I ain't no snout! whatcha think I am, huh?"

"Take it easy, Arnie, take it easy." I was thinking of the films I'd seen in the old days, curled up on Spriteman's lap. But I was no Spillane. I had to play it my way, or none at all. It's what being a cat is all about. "I've been enquiring about all these Tortoisesh.e.l.ls that keep going missing and somebody said you knew your way around. Might even able to help me."

Arnie looked at me slyly. "Fancy a change, huh?" I'd no idea what he was talking about but went with it. "Yeah. Change is as good as a rest, they say."

"I see." Arnie picked up a pen and started rolling it around his mouth. Grabbing a piece of paper he scribbled down an address. "Go here, sometime after midnight. It's near the river, big warehouse. You can't miss it." I looked down at his writing. It was worse than mine but I knew where it was. "Thanks." I made for the door, stopping at the frame. "One last question, Arnie. Is this anything to do with the SPCH?"

Arnie threw back his head and laughed. "h.e.l.l, no!" he chuckled. "Imagine the irony in that!"

The path next to the river was full of sludge. Behind me I heard the bells of the clock chime thirteen. They hadn't got the hang of it yet, whoever they were. Ten minutes later I decided to make my move.

Creeping around the side of the corrugated wall I heard voices up ahead. Peering round the corner I saw two odd looking figures shamble towards the door. They made me feel the way Arnie had. I gave them a minute to get inside and went to the door, finding it unlocked. I edged inside.

I don't know what I'd expected but it wasn't this.

The warehouse was filled with brilliant white light, the walls also tiled white. Huge sinks with runnels along the edges filled a large section of the room. One wall was lined with knives and hooks, and what looked like fine string wrapped around nails. A shudder ran through me; my paw itched on my gun as I saw the others in a room over to the right of me.

Inching my way along the wall I heard the talk in there. Before I burst in I should've listened properly: first rule of being a detective. Well, it would become my first rule. All I heard was talk of cutting and chopping and it got my fur up. I rounded the corner and burst the door inwards, gun pointing at the a.s.sembled mob.

"Okay, freeze!" I shouted.

A Siamese looked at me with disdain. There was blood on his white jacket. "Now, what the h.e.l.l is going on here? Where are the tortoisesh.e.l.ls?" The cat sniffed the air like I was a bad smell.

"You must be one h.e.l.l of a traitor," I continued. I wanted to knock that grin off his face so badly. "I though the SPCH was bad but-"

"Hey just hang on a second." He snapped. "We run a legitimate operation here. Well, as much as we can without any laws to stop us... what's your problem anyhow?"

"I'm looking for a missing Tortoisesh.e.l.l," I told him. "Ed Mahoney."

The cat looked angry. "Why don't you just take it, like you took the others?"

I was thrown off balance. "Excuse me? A client of mine reported him missing."

"Him?" A faint smile crept over his face and he whispered to the Ginger Tom beside him, who pa.s.sed it along to another Siamese and before long they were all laughing wildly.

"Hey! I've got a gun, here. You want to tell me what's so G.o.dd.a.m.n funny?"

The Siamese stopped laughing. "Follow me."

With the piece in his back, he led me through a corridor with the word "Surgery" above the entrance. Every door we pa.s.sed seemed to have a weird name next to it: 'Dewclaw Correction', 'Beak Reductions', 'Spot Removal'. A strange thought came into my head. I couldn't have been that stupid. Could I?

I purposely ignored the sign on the door he led me through.

And there they were; all stacked against the wall like green piecrusts. He looked at the labels on each one, and stopped. "Here we are," he said, lifting it and placing it in my arms. "Ed Mahoney.". I could feel my skin reddening beneath my fur.

As I walked through the street with Ed Mahoney's old lodgings on my head keeping the rain off, one question kept coming back to me; what did she want it for? Maybe she'd said but I hadn't been listening. It was my first case, I was hot to trot. Suddenly I remembered something Spriteman used to say. h.e.l.l, it was true. "G.o.d in his heaven should've left the earth to the monkeys."

I was learning fast. But not fast enough.

[Originally published in Kimota 15, Autumn 2001 and has since been expanded into a novel].

LIMBO LARRY.

by Hugh Cook.

"But he's perfect!" said Gibi Gibi with dismay, checking out Larry's parameters. "Where do we even start?"

Young. Athletic. Upper middle cla.s.s parents. Good education. Good genes. Good at the pool table, too.

"Just wait," said Broblomov Zooz. "Just wait, and watch what happens, and you'll learn something."

They watched.

"Kiss me," said Caroline. "What's the matter, Larry? Didn't you take your pill?"

"I have the weirdest feeling," said Larry, "that we're being watched."

The feeling came again, now and again. At the oddest moments.

Eyes staring at him from out of his spaghetti. Eyes? No, just chestnuts.

"Caroline! Is this your idea of a joke?"

Maybe G.o.d was watching him, or something. Well, no matter. I'm a good boy.

So thought Larry. And maybe he was right. But good isn't perfect. Stealing the policeman's dog was the first mistake. It was meant as a joke - - we're just college students, okay? But n.o.body was amused. Strike one! Kidnapping the baseball to hold it to ransom was the second mistake. Hey, that baseball was worth half a million bucks. Half the nation could remember seeing, live on TV, the hero hitting it for the record.

"It was just a joke," said Larry lamely.

But the law has no sense of humour, and that was strike two.

A bunch of other stuff he didn't get caught for. Smas.h.i.+ng the window to get at the whiskey. The bar fight in which he hospitalised the other guy with a pool cue. Tras.h.i.+ng the company's backup tapes on the day he got fired. Stealing the car and driving drunk out of Las Vegas on the day he lost the last of everything at the blackjack table.