“Enemy activity at our six,” Brutus suddenly whispered.
“Six? What’s our six?” asked Dooley.
“Our rear!” he hissed.
I looked over my shoulder while Dooley checked out his butt. A guard was having a smoke and taking a stroll in the garden. He didn’t look particularly dangerous to cats.
“Another bogey at one o’clock!” Brutus warned.
“A booger?” asked Dooley.
“Not a booger! A bogey!”
“What’s a bogey?”
“I have no idea, Dooley,” I said. I did see a cat lying on his back on the lawn, four paws in the air, his mouth open and a trickle of drool on his fur, clearly enjoying the feel of the sun on his jelly belly. How Brutus would know that this cat’s name was Bogey I did not know, nor did I care. All I cared about was making sure we weren’t captured by the Dieber and shipped off to some godforsaken place to live with one of his crazed Bediebers, no Cat Snax in sight.
Brutus suddenly held up his paw, claws clenched into a fist. “Sitrep! Stat!”
“Please speak English, Brutus,” I said. “I have no idea what you’re saying.”
“We need to draw up a plan of campaign. I suggest we split up. Max, you cover the left flank, Dooley draws a bead on the right flank, and I’ll engage from the front. Oorah!”
And he charged ahead, leaving Dooley and me to stare after him in bewilderment.
“Um. What did he just say, Max?” asked Dooley.
“No idea, Dooley. Let’s just go and find Harriet. That’s what we’re here for.”
“I like that,” he said gratefully.
At a slight distance we followed Brutus and soon found ourselves in the pool area again, which was where Dieber Babes liked to hang out—both the human variety and the feline. Today wasn’t any different. Dozens of young women were frolicking around in the pool, the Dieber himself the center of attention as he plunged around on an inflatable turtle, and wherever I looked I saw cats taking it all in their stride. Guarding this scene of peculiar bliss were powerfully built men and women, their heads swiveling continuously, their eyes roving, and little plastic thingies plucked into their ears which from time to time they touched with their fingers, at which point they spoke a few words to themselves.
Like I said, humans never think other humans can see them talking to themselves, which is kinda cute, actually.
“I don’t see her, Max,” Dooley informed me. “I don’t see Harriet.”
“Neither do I, Dooley. She must be inside.”
And we were stealthily moving towards the house when suddenly a familiar cat blocked our access. It was Diego, and if possible he looked even more obnoxious than usual.
“No pasarán, dudes,” he was saying.
“We’re not here for the pasaran,” Dooley said. “We’re here to find Harriet.”
“Though while we’re here we might sample some of your pasaran,” I said. I rubbed my tummy. “I’m feeling a little peckish.”
Diego grinned. “I should have remembered you two have the mental capacity of a common housefly. What I meant to say was: you shall not pass!”
“Ooh! I’ve seen that movie!” Dooley said excitedly. “Um… It’s on the tip of my tongue. I want to say… The Goonies? No! Gremlins! It’s Gremlins, right?! I like Gremlins.”
A scowl marred Diego’s features at this demonstration of Game of Fortune. “Idiots! What I’m trying to get through your thick skulls is that you can’t go in!”
“Why? Is something burning?” I asked, genuinely surprised by this cat’s insistence.
“I’m in charge here now!” he cried. “And I don’t want you here! Capeesh?”
“Oh.” I finally saw what he meant now.
“You’re in charge now?” asked Dooley. “Charlie must like you a lot, Diego, to put you in charge of his house.”
“Not in charge of the house, you dimwit,” he snarled. “In charge of the Dieber Babes. And I’m forbidding you access to the house. So you better get lost or else.”
“Or else what?” asked Dooley, genuinely interested.
Diego held up a menacing paw, extending his nails. The scene reminded me of Nightmare on Elm Street, a movie I’d wanted to unsee ever since I watched it with Odelia. For some strange reason she loves horror movies. I most emphatically do not.
I gulped, and so did Dooley. Not only was there no pasaran in this house, there was no neighborliness either.
But just then, a second cat materialized from the relative obscurity inside and drew up next to Diego. It was Clarice. “Oh, why don’t you get lost, Diego?” she asked irritably.
“You get lost,” Diego growled, harping on his favorite theme. “Or I’ll cut you.”
It was not something anyone had ever said to Clarice, I imagined, and I could see her expression darken into a vicious scowl. The next moment, a regular catfight ensued, and soon fur was flying and shrieks of pain were sounding. Within seconds, Diego bolted off in the direction of the garden, leaving a few drops of blood and a nice pile of orange fur on the floor. Clarice, who sat casually licking her paws, said, “There’s something you need to see.”
“Oh, we saw it,” I said, suddenly overwhelmed by an irrepressible sensation of unbridled joy and affection for this inimitable cat. “And we liked it. Didn’t we, Dooley?”
“I saw—I liked,” Dooley confirmed, a look of admiration on his furry face.
“Not that. Something else,” Clarice said with a frown. “Come.”
And come we did—into the house that was hitherto forbidden territory, and then up the stairs and down a long corridor.
“I thought you said you were through dealing with Diego?” I said.
“That was before he started throwing his weight around,” Clarice said as she sashayed across a nice white high-pile carpet. I had to resist the powerful urge to dig my claws in and start kneading. We were on a mission to save Harriet. Base urges had to wait.
“Is he really in charge of the Dieber Babes now?” asked Dooley.
“Of course he isn’t. He just wishes he was. That cat has the biggest Napoleon complex I’ve ever seen in any living being. It’s pathetic, actually, and a little sad.”
“Um, what’s a Napoleon complex?” asked Dooley.
“You may have noticed that Diego is a pretty short cat. To compensate he likes to act tough and whip other cats into submission. But not me. Uh-uh. If he tries that crap again, I swear I’ll slice him up so bad his own mother won’t recognize him. Oh, here we are.”
I gulped, and so did Dooley. I’d seen Clarice gobble up vicious rats whole without batting an eye. I did not want to be on her bad side. If Diego kept this up, he was a dead cat.
We’d arrived at one of the guest rooms, and Clarice jumped and grabbed the door handle with both paws. The handle twisted down under her weight and the door opened.
“Hey, that’s a neat trick,” said Dooley.
“Stick with me. I can teach you stuff,” said Clarice, pushing the door open further.
The room was smaller than I would have imagined in a house this size, and pretty messy. Magazines were strewn around, and when I checked the titles I saw they were all either gun-or baseball-related. A large poster of Alex Rodriguez adorned the wall over the bed, and a sizable banner of the New York Yankees covered the opposite wall.
“Looks like whoever lives here likes baseball,” I said. “And guns.”
“Over here,” said Clarice, and moved into a bathroom the size of a cubicle. Over the sink, the mirror was bedecked with pictures, and when I looked closer, I saw they all featured the same woman.
“She’s one of Dieber’s bodyguards,” Clarice said. “Her name is Regan Lightbody.”
“Looks like this guy is pretty obsessed with her,” I said. And then my eye fell on a few more disturbing details. The pictures of two guys had been marked with big red Xs over their faces.