Cat on the Case

I poured another drink to steady my paw as I looked out over the city. Ah, the city, she’s like an old house: as full of character as she is cracks and holes for hiding lowlife scum. And me, well I was just another fool Tom who thinks he can make a difference.

I’d spent the last month on the trail of an adorable little sociopath. Oh, the ladies loved him, cute as a button. But they didn’t know. I’d seen him cave in a guy’s face with a cast iron skillet and not bat an eye. Hell, he laughed. You don’t want to know what the little guy’s done with explosives.

The knock on my door took it clean off its hinges. I poured another drink and watched Jerry’s bulldog of an enforcer come sauntering in, as big as he was stupid, both to a superlative degree.

“Gots a message fer ya,” he barked, “Leave the mouse alone.”

“That all, you dog?”

“There’s a bit more to it.” He chuckled and cracked a melody with his knuckles. I answered back a staccato rhythm in the key of .38.

The case had just gotten interesting.

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