The Unscratchables by Cornelius Kane

Author:Cornelius Kane [Kane, Cornelius]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Scribner
Published: 2009-06-30T04:00:00+00:00

THE NEXT MORNING I said nothing to Lap about the In-Season, and he never asked why I didn’t have Flasha Lightning with me anyway. He was camped in my office—it was like he owned the joint—with more newspapers around him than you’d find on the floor of a kindergarten.

“Look at this,” he said, with his furry little smile.

It was the morning’s Growl. The front page was all about the STUNNING KO at Solidarity Stadium, a series of snaps showing Rocky spinning out of the ring. On pages two and three there was an interview with the humble champion, Zeus Katsopoulos. “I’m just a simple kitty,” he said. “I hope Rocky recovers.” On page four there was another exposé of the Party of the Perpetual Underdog, with one of the leaders secretly recorded saying sympathetic things about the Persians. On page five there was an update on the war itself, with Brewster Goodboy pictured in consultation with General Wolfenson (“Instability in this region poses a grave threat to the globe,” said the prez). Only on page nine was there any mention of the murder at the museum (“Police are still looking for suspects”).

I grunted. “At least the old fox cooperated.”

“Our request had nothing to do with the suppression,” Lap said. “That order would have been issued, or implied, long before our visit. The plot isn’t thickening, exactly—it’s merely running to course.”

“Worked out anything yet?”

“I sense I’m getting close. But now we must advance to a new phase. Might you have the time to join me for a little trip, Detective? No last-minute assignations?”

“No”—I coughed—“why?”

“You’ll need all your wits about you. The cat I intend to visit is exceptional in many ways.”

“Sure,” I said, too embarrassed to ask questions, “then let’s mush.”

But Lap, to my surprise, stopped halfway across the room to examine the prints on my wall.

“Interesting paintings, Detective. Your choice?”

“Dogs not allowed to like art?”

“They can like whatever they choose. But I could not help noticing the marks of previous paintings underneath. May I ask what they were?”

I shrugged. “Old pictures of dogs playing cards, shooting pool—why?”

“So you replaced the original prints with these cat cubists?”

“What of it?”

“So some intruding voice, some sense of fashion, told you not to trust your original preferences?”

“They just seemed…wrong.”

“How fascinating,” Lap said, but in his irritating way he didn’t explain.

Outside we squeezed into his fancy Jaguar. The seats were covered in imitation badger fur. The dashboard had a fancy fish-scale pattern. There was a tinkle toy hanging from the mirror and harp music playing in the tape box. The smell of mint and sandalwood was almost sickening. I would’ve stuck my head out the window but I couldn’t work out how to wind the thing down.

“The vehicle itself runs on camel urine and cod-liver oil,” Lap said. “Very environmentally friendly.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“You seem angry, Detective.”

“I’m always angry.”

“But especially irritable. Is something bothering you?”

“You wanna tell me where we’re taking me to?” I asked—we seemed to be heading for the rump end of town.

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