“And I’ll tell you another thing,” he said, still in that same undertone. “Dana’s gone and gotten herself mixed up in some really weird stuff. And I think it’s up to her friends to get her out of it.”
I winced. Had Brutus just called me his friend? As I said, it had been a long night and I was tired, so perhaps I hadn’t heard him right. “You mean…”
He nodded emphatically.“You and me, buddy. We’ve got to get from under that nasty Southridge spell. Dana’s a Brookridge girl, and I’ll be damned if I’ll allow those monsters to possess her.”
“Possess her?”
“Sure. I haven’t figured out exactly how they do it, but somehow they’ve managed to take over her mind. Dana’s a sweet girl. Not too bright. And those are usually the first victims. Then, knowing I’d never stand for it, they’ve started directing their mind altering techniques on me. That’s why I’ve been having these napmares, see? All part of their plan.”
“Which is?”
He moved closer and I now found myself face to face with my former nemesis. It was not an agreeable experience. For one thing, the cat’s eyes were positively burning with a strange fire. “Which is to lay claim to all of Brookridge’s natural resources. Starting, of course, with our queens.”
“You don’t say.”
“I just did. And I’ll say more. I’m certain those three bald uglies are only the vanguard. The worst is yet to come.”
21
An Unexpected Partnership
Brutus suddenly thrust out a paw. I stared at it blankly.
“Tap it,” he urged. I tapped it. Reluctantly, for I’ve never been fond of physical contact with the brute.
“It’s imperative that we join forces, my friend,” he now said. “United we stand. Divided we fall. And all that jazz.”
When cats of Brutus’s ilk start using ten-dollar words like imperative, something’s definitely off. “Right,” I mumbled, and started to inch my way towards the hedge dividing our gardens once again.
He cut off my retreat by slinging an arm around my neck and dragging me along towards a small but hideous fountain neighbor Moppett has erected in the center of his garden. I’d seen Brutus hovering near the thing before. He’s one of those cats that like water, and he enjoys the spray of the fountain on his coat. Now, I also like water, but not in the company of my least favorite cat in the world.
He invited me to take a seat on top of the stone bench Moppett has placed next to the fountain by giving me a hard shove in the rear.
“Hop it,” he said curtly, when I displayed a certain hesitation.
I hopped it, and now found myself staring out at two fat little limestone angels spewing water into a limestone bowl and onto the two of us.
“We need to devise a strategy,” said Brutus, making himself comfortable and lifting his face to enjoy the droplets falling on his fur and whiskers. “Ah, that’s the life,” he murmured, then shook himself with relish. “I can’t tell you how horrible those dreams have been. There’s thatwoman, completely drenched, and she keeps staring at me, pointing an accusing finger, and saying ‘You should have saved me, little one. You should have saved me when you had the chance.’ Pretty scary stuff.”
His story had shaken me profoundly. This was the exact same thing that had happened to me, right down to the phrasing. Was Lucy Knicx still at it? And why would she appear to Brutus? He hadn’t been there when she was murdered. Why would she blame him of all cats of what had happened?
“When was the last time you… saw her?” I said.
“Oh, just now,” he said. “I was having a nap when I suddenly woke up and saw you trespassing—I mean, passing through. And good thing you did, because I was having a doozy.” He shivered. “The ghost lady was at it again, as usual, but this time there was some guy in the picture as well. Standing behind her with a big, shiny knife in his hand. And it looked like he meant business.”
I sat up a little straighter.“A guy? What did he look like?”
Brutus eyed me strangely.“What does it matter what he looked like? Some human, you know. They all look alike to me.”
“Did he have…” I hesitated, wondering how I was going to explain this.
“Did he have what?” said Brutus, some of his old peeve returning.
“Did he have a big, fat pimple right on the tip of his nose?” I said, taking the plunge.
“So you have been having the same dreams!” he exclaimed, giving me a clap on the back that almost landed me right in the middle of the fountain.
Teetering on the edge of the bench for a moment, I managed to retain my balance and grinned at my newest friend.“Yep, same dreams.”
He frowned at the memory of the dreams he’d been sharing with yours truly. “Ugly-looking brute,” he growled. “Even without that fat pimple. Though he does remind me of someone I know.”
I pricked up my ears. This was news.“Oh?”
“Yeah. Some fellow who’s been hanging around the park these last couple months. Though this one didn’t have a pimple now that I come to think of it.”
“Pimples come and go,” I said.
“They do, don’t they?” he agreed. “I remember Royce once had a pimple the size of the Atomium on his schnoz. He tried everything to get rid of the thing, since Rose wouldn’t allow him out of the house until it was gone.” He cackled with delight at the memory. “It finally subsided after one week, just in time for the annual neighborhood barbecue.”
Rose Moppett, I have to explain, is very particular about appearances, and likes both herself and her husband to appear their very best when stepping out, a policy she unfortunately also extends to Brutus, for the foul brute invariably looks like he just stepped off the front cover of The Cat Times. He was licking his belly, still chuckling fruitily about Royce’s pimple, when I interrupted him. “That pimpled fellow is the ghost woman’s murderer,” I said, returning his attention to the matter at hand.
He looked up, interested.“I thought as much,” he said keenly, “when I saw him wielding that big knife behind her back.”
“And it’s my belief,” I continued, “that only when we figure out who the murderer is, and bring him to justice, these napmares will stop.”
“You do, do you?” he said, swatting at a fly with his tail. He nodded thoughtfully. “I see your point. We revenge her murder so she can rest in peace. Very clever, fathead—I mean, Tom. Did you think of this yourself?”
“All by myself,” I said with understandable pride.
He let his eye wander over me as if seeing me in an entirely new light. He must have liked what he saw, for at the end of this inspection, he grinned. A ghastly sight.“All right, then. I guess that makes us partners.”
I started violently.“P-p-partners?” I said, shaken.
“Of course. I’ll admit you’ve got brains, meatb— I mean, Tom, but I’ve got the brawn. Together we’ll solve this murder in no time. You’ll figure out the identity of the pimpled killer, and I’ll take him out.”
“Take him out?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Cats don’t take out humans. It’s simply not done. Furthermore, I was now an FSA agent, and sworn to protect humans, not harm them, even if they did prove to be cold-blooded killers. “But we can’t take the law into our own paws,”I said.
“Why not? Easy as chicken pie. You just find out who this knife-wielding maniac is, and I’ll do the rest…” He punched me lightly on the shoulder. “Partner.”
“But—”
He yawned cavernously.“I’m off. Got a hot date with a pillow. Just let me know when you’ve got the fellow in your sights and I’ll be there.” And sliding gracefully from the bench, he left me to ruminate on the consequences of this new alliance.