He shook his head censoriously.“They told me you were a blabbermouth. Now get lost.”
“What? No, I want—” I swallowed, blanching under the Peterbald’s penetrating gaze. But still I persisted. “I want some answers,” I said.
“You can ask me one question,” the bald menace snarled.
“Who are you?” I said, before I could think things through. As it was, it was the question foremost in my mind.
He grinned, and worked the fishbone or human skull splinter loose with a yellow, pockmarked tongue, then transferred it to the other side of his maw.“Let’s just say I work for the cat who runs the FSA. And now beat it, Agent Tom. You’ve got your orders. Now carry them out.”
I suppressed a sudden urge to shout,‘Sir, yes, sir!’ but merely nodded—intelligently, I hoped—and took my leave. I still had dozens of questions whirling through my mind, but refrained from voicing them. For one thing, where did this guy get all his information? And how could he be so sure? And, most of all, how could he think Zack—Zack of all people!—was even capable of such a thing?
But now was clearly not the time to go into first causes or sit down for a cozy one-on-one, so I simply ran as fast as my chubby legs could carry me to the Brookridge Market Square, where the town theater is located. I had no idea how to stop what was about to unfold, nor how I would get close to the affair, as cats are not considered valued theatergoers, but I pushed on regardless.
What I did do was send out mental messages to Dana, Stevie and even Brutus, in the hope they would pick up on them and respond with alacrity to my silent cries for urgent assistance. I didn’t know if this was the way to transmit a message, but I seemed to remember Dana saying something about picking up distress signals from other cats. And if she could pick up a signal from any Tom, Mitzi and Felix, she would surely pick one up from her FSA comrade. Or so I silently hoped.
32
At the Theater
Arriving at the theater, I immediately proceeded to the back entrance, hoping to slip in through some crack, grate or open window. And I was just giving the building a once-over, trying to pinpoint its entrance possibilities, when my eyes met an uplifting sight: Dana came tripping down the alley in my direction, a worried expression on her face.
I gave an inward cheer. My mental projection, or whatever it was, had clearly worked. Then a loud bark came from behind her, and I saw that she wasn’t alone: Frank had joined her and now came trotting up, looking a lot more cheerful than he had the last time we’d met. I didn’t have to read his mind to come to the conclusion that Dana had told him the good news.
“What’s going on?” said Dana, slightly out of breath. I now realized she was in fact a pretty pretty cat. Stomping on the thought—she was, after all, with Frank now—I quickly filled the both of them in on the state of affairs.
“Zack?” exclaimed Dana. “But that’s impossible. We caught the killer.”
“Bart locked up Norbert McIlroy this afternoon,” grunted Frank. “Though he denies all charges.”
“There’s one other thing,” I said. “This Peterbald I met said he works for the FSA.”
Dana hesitated, then inclined her head.“He does. From your description it must be Dollo Rosso. He’s the head of Internal Affairs.”
“Internal Affairs?” I said, marveling at the intel. For one thing, I’d almost dismissed the FSA as a hoax of some kind, and now the organization turned out to have an Internal Affairs division. From my extensive research into Hollywood movies and TV shows I knew such a division mainly existedto subject its own members to extensive scrutiny, sniffing out any malfeasance on their part. I swallowed.
“They’re investigating… me?” I said.
Dana shook her head.“No. They are not, at this time, investigating anyone in particular. IA branch reports directly to the FSA Director, who likes to keep a close eye on all of the organization’s operations. For some reason this particular mission must have attracted his attention so he sent in Dollo Rosso and hiscrew.”
“But how can they think Zack would ever…” I didn’t finish the sentence, still thinking it beyond ludicrous they’d see a murderer in my human.
Dana had no answer to that.“All I know is that the Director’s sources are impeccable, so there must be some truth to the matter.”
The notion of hypnosis suddenly sprang to mind. The fact that Norbert, an upstanding citizen and father of two, denied all charges against his person indicated something fishy was going on. Perhaps someone had induced McIlroy to act the part of the murderer?
There have been cases of people committing an act of such atrocity the public cries foul, but later it turns out the perpetrator of such a crime was him-or herself an innocent victim of a third party, using mental or chemical stimulants to force the killer’s hand. Could something like that be the case here? It certainly started to look like it.
I suggested this explanation to Dana and Frank, and they both agreed there might be something in it.
“But, if that’s the case, then Norbert reallyis innocent,” I said, “and the real killer is still on the loose.”
“And now he’s trying to do the same thing to Zack,” said Frank.
“Whatever the explanation,” said Dana, “we have to get in there, and stop your human from…” She swallowed. “…murdering my human.”
In my consternation, I’d totally forgotten the predicament Barbara Vale was in. If Dollo Rosso was right, not one but two cats would lose their humans tonight. It was imperative we get inside and stop this drama from unfolding.
The three of us looked up at the back entrance to the theater. For a moment, I didn’t see a way in. The entire building was painted black, probably out of some artistic consideration, and for a moment gave me the impression of one of those impregnable fortresses of old.
On the ground floor there was one entrance, marked Stage Door, and it featured a gangly youth standing watch. Then there was a garage of sorts, where I guess trucks with costumes and decors could back into, but that was closed now. On the first floor I noticed a window standing ajar, but there was no convenient drainpipe leading up to it and no other way of reaching it, so that was also a bust.
“We have got to get through that door,” said Frank, pointing to the gangly kid. He looked about sixteen, with a dreadlocked goatee, an Evil Dead T-shirt, and iPod buds in his ears. His head was swaying to the rhythm of some beat, and he looked positively goofy to me. I had a feeling I’d seen him somewhere before, and then I remembered. He was one of Terrell McCrady’s younger brothers.
“Isn’t that Terris McCrady?” I said. I can never remember who is who in the McCrady household. There’s four brothers—Terrell, Terrill, Terris and Terrence—and one girl—Terry—and they all look alike to me.
Frank nodded.“That’s Terris all right. And I know just the thing to distract him.” He coughed. “Better not watch this. It’s not gonna be pretty.”
I started.“You’re not going to hurt him, are you?”
Frank grimaced.“Better turn away, Tom. You, too, Dana. Sensitive viewers, beware.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. I liked Terris. He’d once come to babysit me when Zack was away in England on some mission. I didn’t like his choice of music—trance if I’m not mistaken—but no kid should be condemned for having bad taste. I averted my gaze as Frank moved in. The next moment horrible sounds echoed through the alley, and inadvertently I took a peek.
Frank the Poodle was lying on his back, four legs in the air, his tongue lolling, and producing puppy sounds, as Terris was tickling his belly.
“Now!” said Dana, and the both of us scooted out from our hiding place behind a dumpster, and raced to the stage door, which was now unguarded.
I looked back at Frank as I disappeared through the door. He caught my eye and I saluted him for the brave soldier that he was, laying his dignity on the line for the good of the mission.