The weight of the cooler he was carrying hampered him in his progress. Not that it was particularly heavy, but the knowledge that at the slightest provocation its contents could blow him to kingdom come did much to make perspiration stand out across his hairline and drops of sweat to trickle down his spine.
But it had to be done. His life’s work depended on it. He might not be his family’s pride and joy, like Burt had been, but he was slowly getting there. If only the old man hadn’t been so damn selfish. Wanting to keep going until he dropped—with never a thought to anyone but himself. But Philippe had taught the old coot a lesson he’d never forget. And now he needed to finish the job and show the world what a really fascinating man was capable of.
He giggled nervously, then jumped when another cat scooted out in front of him, almost tripping him up. He kicked at it, but the horrible furry creature was too quick.
He hated cats. Hated them with all the fervor of his being. Nasty little creatures. With their weird cat eyes that seemed to stare straight into your soul. And their sharp claws, ready to dig into your legs when they jumped onto your lap. Just like Shadow. At least she’d had the good sense to run off and drop dead someplace. Good riddance. And just when he was thinking about Shadow, suddenly he thought he saw her, sitting in a tree, staring intently.
He blinked, but when he looked again, she was gone.
He shook his head annoyedly. Damn those wretched eyes.
He slunk along the sidewalk and halted in front of a row house.
The lights were doused, as they should be. Alec Lip was sound asleep.
He wondered if Tracy was in there with the corpulent chief. She’d better be.
He snuck into the small patch of front yard, checked left and right again, put down the cooler and extracted the bottle from inside and placed it on the chief’s doorstep, precariously balancing it against the door. The moment the chief opened his front door, the bottle would topple and kaboom! Bye-bye Most Fascinating Man in the World Wannabe!
He then retreated into the darkness across the street, but not before putting a note into the chief’s mailbox. The mailbox would take a hit from the explosion, but the note would remain intact inside the metal box. When investigators found the note, signed by the Most Iconic Man in the World, they would have another suspect to turn their attention to.
Across the street from Chief Lip’s house was a small patch of park, perfect for dog walkers, and he settled down behind a shrub and checked his watch. An hour was all it would take for the nitro inside the Seis Siglas bottle to defrost and become active again. One hour.
And as he prepared himself to wait, he became aware of those creepy night sounds all around him. As if nature was watching, and waiting, ready to pounce—just like he was.
And then he saw them. Cat’s eyes, lighting up all around him. Dozens of them.
He shivered. Not from the cold, but from the sensation of being watched.
What did they want with him, these freaky cats? What were they waiting for?
Then he shook off the crazy notion. Sure, cats were watching him. Of course they were. Cats were just a bunch of dumb creatures. They were probably pissed he was trespassing on their terrain. Hogging their nocturnal hunting ground. Scaring away the mice.
“Shoo!” he whispered loudly. “Get away, you horrible creeps! Go on—get!”
They didn’t move an inch, though. Just kept on staring at him, eyes unblinking and freaking him out in no small degree. Just what he needed. Bunch of cats getting on his nerves. He checked his watch again. An hour had passed. The time had come. And not a moment too soon. He got up stiffly and hurried over to the other side of the road.
Then he pressed his finger to the bell and pushed. Nothing. Not a sound.
He cursed silently. Dammit! Just his luck. The only house without a bell.
Good thing he had a back-up plan. He dashed across the street again, where the chief’s pickup was parked and gave its tires a hearty kick. Nothing. He kicked the back panel and this time he hit the jackpot. The car’s alarm started blaring so loudly it could probably be heard all the way to the other side of town.
He ducked back down behind his bushes, laying low, and watched with bated breath.
After a long moment, the lights went on inside the chief’s house.
He watched on, giddy with anticipation. Any moment now. Any moment…
Just then, there was a loud meow, and suddenly a cat came hurtling out of the underbrush and raced across the street! It was a red cat, and a chubby one at that. But it still moved with marked agility and speed. It was going for the door—going for the bottle!
“No!” he cried, getting up from behind his hiding place. “You stupid cat!”
And then the cat launched itself at the bottle and jumped right on top of it!
Probably thought it was a frickin’ mouse! Just his luck to encounter a kamikaze cat!
He ducked down, pressing his fingers in his ears. And then… nothing. No explosion.
He stuck his head out again, staring in horror and shock. The cat was kicking the beer bottle down the front yard, and the damn thing didn’t explode! How was this possible?!
But then the front door opened and the chief stepped out. And then up and down the street doors opened and people appeared, annoyed by the blaring alarm.
Time to move.
Time to get the hell out of there.
And then he was speed-walking away, putting as much distance between himself and the chief’s house as possible. They’d find the bottle and they’d find the nitro and the note and he wanted to be back at the hotel when they came to arrest the Most Iconic Man.
Just like the day when he’d blown up his grandfather. After he’d placed the bottle in the man’s room, while Burt was in the shower, he’d quickly left the hotel via the fire escape, gone down around the back, and met this annoying reporter woman out in front, giving himself a nice solid alibi in the process.
And it was then that he discovered he was no longer alone.
That fat red cat was following him, meowing up a storm!
He walked faster, and the cat moved right along, now joined by a white cat, a small tabby and a big black cat that looked like it meant business. And as he broke into a trot, more cats joined the fray, and he saw that he was suddenly surrounded by the foul creatures! All around him they moved like a mass of fur! And then suddenly one of them jumped out of a tree and landed right on top of his head, claws extended, and dug in!
“Get off me, you horrible monster!” he cried, and tried to extricate himself from the clawed menace. “Get off!” He dragged the creature off and threw it away, but more cats used him as a climbing pole and suddenly they were everywhere! On his face, on his chest, digging their claws into his back. Dozens—hundreds! Thousands!
He stumbled and fell and his world turned into a nightmare of clawing and screeching monsters pressing him down, scratching his face, his hands, his neck!
“Get away from me, you beasts!” he roared, thrashing wildly. “Leave me alone!”
This was the stuff from a Stephen King novel! Cujo: The Sequel. This time with cats!
And then he heard the sound—the terrible sound.
Sirens. Police sirens.
He couldn’t see a thing. The cats were all over him, blocking his view. Immobilizing him. Screeching up a storm. Going completely berserk.
The sirens stopped right next to him. Doors were slammed. Footsteps sounded.
And then a voice. A woman’s voice.
“Well done, Max. You got him.”
Suddenly, as if by command, the cats retreated.
When he had managed to adjust his glasses, he saw he was surrounded.
There was that annoying reporter—Odelia Poole. And Chase Kingsley, that equally annoying cop. And Chief Alec and Tracy. And more cops. Lots and lots more. He didn’t even know a small town like this could have so many damn cops.