Cat In A Sapphire Slipper

Déjà Vu

I am relieved that Mr. Matt Devine takes my hint and pulls an instant Mystifying Max-I ike vanishing act. Time to hang loose and regroup. What we have here is a cast of dozens with no guide as to who’s who and what’s what.

What I do not like is seeing such heavy artillery in little dolls’ hands. Some may call me sexist, but some may also call me “Kitty,” so I do not apologize for anything. Clearly, the Aldo Fontana bachelor party has been driven to, and walked into, a serious kettle of sharks.

First, I do my duty by my Miss Temple and stash her amour, Mr. Matt Devine, safely out of sight. That is not hard. He is taking the situation very seriously, and follows me like a lamb. He has never been one to underestimate a cat, especially moi, just like the F Boys do not underestimate the Female of the Species. Felines and females. Together we can tame Homo sapiens.

Next, I ankle back down into the teeth of the “situation.”

Like Nicky and Aldo Fontana and Mr. Matt, I find my way blocked at the bottom of the stairs by a dame.

She is even dressed in a cute little outfit that shows off her gams and high-heeled little claws and her perky little face and figure. She has long black hair, green-gold eyes, and one white vibrissae in a field of black. (Vibrissae is the scientific name for the airy front feelers that allow a fellow or a gal of my persuasion to know where we are going, even in the dark. The human word “whiskers” is too rough-and-ready a name for such a subtle and sensitive attribute of my kind.)

We joust vibrissae for a moment or two, getting to know each other.

“Where are you going?” she demands.

“I take it from your tone that this is your territory. Are you also in the employ of the armed forces occupying the place?”

“Never,” she hisses. “But you are an invader too.”

I eye my soon-to-be conquest. She is wearing a turquoise cape rimmed in matching marabou feathers. This is an irresistible lure for one of my sensitive yet macho nature. I have heard of these show cats in their Elizabethan collars and enhancing capes, but have never encountered one in the fur and flesh so closely. Usually they are caged to protect them from overmuch mauling. If this were a bachelor party for felines, she would be the icing on the fishcake. Merrrow!

Still, something criminal is going down here, and it involves my friends, or friends of my friends, and I must stick to duty.

“Stand aside, my dear lady. I am almost the only one of my party who is still free and free-ranging. I must protect my humans.”

“And I mine!” she spits back. “Until I know you are to be trusted I am not turning even one more Las Vegas scoundrel loose in this place.”

“Ah. Before I ask what you mean by ‘Las Vegas scoundrel,’ which strikes me as a case of blatant geography-ism, I must know what ‘this place’ is.”

“Fair enough, Furface. This is the Sapphire Slipper, the finest and classiest little licensed brothel in Nye County.”

I inhale deeply. A mistake. This kit is drenched in nip and Chanel No. 5. Umm. From what I can tell, she is fully pheromoned and furious, a bad combination.

“And you are the cathouse—?”

“Cat,” she snarls, as if daring me to make something of it.

I take another deep breath, maybe just to inhale that hypnotic and potent blend of feline catnip breath and human high-dollar perfume. I scent something else as well. A scintilla of memory. I have met this lady before, in her younger days, on the Strip.

For a moment I cannot speak, smell, or think. Can it be?

“What do they call you here?” I ask, braced for a shock.

She sighs. “What else? The clichéd cathouse cat.”

“I mean, by name?”

“Here? Baby Blue.”

Baby Blue. It is not a bad name. But not the right one.

“So, before you were a Satin,” I hazard.

Her eyes grow round and amazed. Then she really looks me over.

There is a long silence while our vibrissae tremor.

“Louie?” she says at last.

“The very one.”

“But, but . . . they said you had been run down by a Brinks truck.”

“Almost. It was a close shave and a haircut. I was hitching a ride downtown when I was discovered. The guard managed to sock me in the gut with a bag of nickels from the slots. I hit the pavement at twenty-five miles an hour. Between one thing and another, I was off the streets for a few weeks before I finally recovered.”

“No wonder I could not find you. I had to go to a shelter to have my litter.”

“You were with kit?” I feel as if my gut has taken another shot of nickels. What I most fear may be what I have to face as the truth. “What happened to them?”

Satin shakes her head. “They took them all away, but nobody adopted me. My coat was thin and dry from caring for five kits. I was doomed to a quick exit via the needle until the Sapphire Slipper head lady came in . . . and now they are all in danger—”

“Shh,” I hiss gently. “If these Sapphire Slipper ladies saved your life, I will save theirs.”

“How can you? Outsiders with firearms and issues of their own are all over the place. They invaded and took over our premises before your bachelor bridal party arrived.”

I cringe a bit to hear my associates, the formerly fearsome Fontana brothers, described as my “bachelor bridal party.”

Satin continues her under-the-breath report. “I managed to slip away unnoticed, but all my Sapphire Slipper ladies have been under guard since two hours before your limousine of humans arrived. That is a most impressive vehicle. You must have become a major entertainment figure to travel in such style. I have seen some fancy rigs pull up to the Sapphire Slipper, but never a stretch Rolls-Royce.”

“Stretch Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud,” I correct gently. “Yes, I have been in the personal appearance game . . . New York . . . television.”

I do not mention that my moments of fame were shilling for a cat food brand I would not touch with an infected toenail. “But now I am back home and working freelance. This is your lucky day. I am a professional. I am founder and CEO of Midnight Inc. Investigations.”

“You are a private dick?”

“So they tell me. You can see that I am not exactly at a loss here. Yes, you are right about the Limey limo, ducks. My Las Vegas posse travels only first class, and that is how I will bust us all out of this trap.”

“Your posse is large and many, but now they are disarmed and helpless.”

“Not usually. But we are armed and dangerous, are we not? You still have your shivs, right? These ladies of the night were not so foolish as to disarm you?”

She flashes them with a sudden spurt of street spirit. That is my black Satin! After my recovery from the Brinks job, I found no word of her on the Strip, although I hunted for months. A classy lady like Satin does not disappear unless she is kidnapped for domestic servitude, or worse, dead.

I take a deep breath, like Mr. Matt in a crisis. I do not doubt that Satin lost all her offspring to adoption, but some placements may not have, er, taken. I have a horrible feeling that I know one of her lost litter. There is a chilling likeness about the nose.

Miss Midnight Louise would not be able to keep her claws out of my hide if she knew her assumption of my paternity was right, and that her mother survived to become the house cat at a hooker emporium.

I shudder, which Miss Satin mistakes for regret, rather than fear, thank Bast!

“It is all right, Louie. I do not blame you for my condition and fate. We knew so little about safeguards in those days.”

“Right,” I say.

I do not know much about them these days either, except that I am surgically sterilized so I can play without paying. “Let us pad into the parlor and see who has the guts and smarts to take down the whole Fontana family at once.”