The Nine Lives of Catseye Gomez

by Simon Hawke

"Well, she was all business," Christy replied. "Or just about all business, anyway. We'd go out on occasion, just us girls, you know. We'd come here a lot and hang out and just talk, but Susan wasn't really what you'd call a social butterfly."

  "Well, there was Mark," said Dana.

  "Mmmm," said Christy. "There certainly was."

  "Christy!" said Dana, giving her friend an astonished look.

  "Sorry," Christy said, recalling herself and what the discussion was really all about. "It's just that she had him wrapped around her little finger, this really great guy, and she wasn't doing anything about it."

  "You're talking about Mark Michaels?" Leventhal asked. "The general manager at her station?"

  "Yes," said Christy. "You've met him?"

  Leventhal nodded and indicated for her to proceed.

  "He was head over heels in love with her," Christy continued. "And I guess she was in love with him, too, only he wanted to get married and Susan wasn't ready for that."

  Leventhal nodded. "Yes, that's what he said."

  "She saw marriage as a trap," said Dana. "She said she didn't want to have children, and her career was very important to her. She thought that maybe she'd consider marriage at some future point, when she'd realized some of her political ambitions-"

  "She had political ambitions?" Leventhal asked.

  "Oh, yeah, absolutely," Dana said. "She had it all planned out. She was going to work her way up at the station, then use that as a springboard to run for office."

  "What sort of office?" Leventhal asked.

  "She planned to run for Congress eventually," Christy said.

  "Really?"

  "Oh, she was a real political activist," said Dana. "She was always involved in something-campaigns, working for candidates-and then there was the ERA thing...."

  "Tell me a little more about that," said Leventhal. "I understand she pretty much started the whole thing. How'd that come about?"

  "She said her cat gave her the idea," Christy said.

  "Princess?" I said, glancing up from the empty saucer.

  "Yeah," said Dana. She grinned at me. "You'll appreciate this. She hated for anyone to refer to Princess as her cat. She said it implied possession."

  "So how were they supposed to refer to her?" I asked.

  "As her feline friend," said Dana, with a faintly mocking smile. "I mean, she goes out and buys Princess at a thaumagene shop, picks her out and everything, and then she's not her cat, but her 'feline friend.' And she'd get really bent out of shape if anybody teased her about it. She'd give 'em the whole lecture on animal rights...." Dana sighed and her eyes got all misty again. "Oh, God, Susie, you were such a flake," she said, with a catch in her voice. "I'll really miss you."

  She swallowed hard and the tears started. Christy put her arm around her friend, sympathetically.

  Leventhal said nothing, but merely waited for a moment.

  "I'm sorry," said Dana. "I'll be all right in a minute."

  "It's okay," said Leventhal. "I understand."

  "It's like I told your partners, we were really very close," said Dana.

  Leventhal stiffened. "My partners?"

  "Those other two detectives," Dana said. "Oh, what were their names?"

  "Chavez and McVickers?" Leventhal asked tensely.

  "Yes, that was them. They came by to ask some questions, too."

  "I see," said Leventhal, his tone flat. "Just a few more questions. Did Ms. Jacobs get you two involved in this ERA proposal?"

  "Oh, well, she tried," said Christy, "but I was just too busy with work and all, you know. But I did sign her petition. I just didn't have the tune to do any volunteer work, you know, like lobbying for support."

  "I helped a little," Dana said. "I mean, at first I didn't really take it seriously, you understand-" She glanced at me apologetically. "No offense, but it did kind of sound like a weird idea at first."

  "None taken," I replied.

  "Anyway, the more I thought about it... well, actually, the more I listened to Susan, the more sense it made. Well, Susan always could put up a good argument, I mean, she was a communicator, after all, and she was real good at it, but the thing was, it didn't actually take much to make me see that what she was proposing really made a lot of sense."

  "I'd be curious to hear her arguments," I said.

  "Well," Dana replied, "I don't think I can put it quite as well as she did, but the way she explained it was that what had gotten us into trouble in the first place-into the Collapse, that is-was this whole idea that we could be the masters of nature, as opposed to being its stewards. And throughout humanity's existence, animals have always gotten the short end of the stick. She wasn't a vegetarian, you understand, so she wasn't one of those people who don't believe in eating animals for food or wearing leather or anything like that, she always said that was a part of the balance of nature, but that we'd upset that balance, that through our carelessness and sheer selfishness, we had been responsible for the wanton killing of millions of animals as a result of pollution and development and things like that, and that we'd been responsible for the extinction of entire species. Only now that magic had given us the capability to create new forms of animals, intelligent and reasoning animals, we had a chance to make up for a lot of the damage that we'd caused, but we weren't taking the proper attitude. We were trying to act like the masters of nature again, that same attitude that had gotten us all in trouble in the first place. We had created thaumagenes who were in many cases our equals in terms of intelligence, but we were still treating them like dumb beasts and like possessions, there simply for our amusement."

  "She drew a parallel with slavery," Christy interjected. "I mean, the way she put it, it did sort of make sense. Thaumagenes are thinking, reasoning, feeling beings, and we are treating them like... well, like animals."

  "And she said it wasn't right for intelligent, reasoning beings not to have a voice in their own welfare," Dana said.

  "We'd spelled out civil rights for people, why not for thaumagenes, as well?"

  "And I take it she was pretty vocal about this," Leventhal said. "That is, she was a real activist, as you put it."

  "Oh, yes," said Dana. "She saw it as a real cause celebre."

  "And something that might get her a lot of attention in the media," I put in, "which couldn't hurt if she was planning to run for office."

  "Well, there was that," Christy replied, "but the danger was, of course, that it would be the wrong kind of attention. A lot of people thought it was a screwball idea at first, but if Susan had a chance to put her point of view across, they generally started to at least think about it seriously."

  "Can you think of anyone offhand who may have been extremely hostile to the idea?" Leventhal asked.

  "Well.. . extremely hostile? No, I wouldn't really say so," Dana replied. "Some people just laughed it off and said that it was crazy, but I can't think of anyone who reacted with what I'd call extreme hostility. Certainly not anyone who'd want to... to kill her for it."

  "I see," said Leventhal. "Well, thank you, ladies, I guess that's about all for now." He reached into his wallet and took out a couple of cards, then passed them across the table to them. "I may be in touch again, but if you happen to think of something, anything, that you think might have some relevance to the investigation, I'd appreciate it if you gave me a call at that number."

  "Of course," said Christy. "We'll do anything we can to help."

  "Thanks," said Leventhal. "And don't worry about the coffee, I've got it."

  "Thank you," said Dana. "God, I hope you catch whoever did this awful thing."

  "I'll do my best," said Leventhal. He slumped down in his seat after they left and exhaled heavily. "Well, that wasn't terribly productive, was it?"

  "At least we know that she was planning to run for office," I said. "That could have made her some enemies."

  "Those kind of enemies generally assassinate you politically, not literally," said Leventhal. "Nah, I just don't
buy that as a motive."

  "Do you buy religious fanaticism?" The voice sounded familiar, but I didn't recognize the face of the dark-haired, husky man who slid into the booth. And then his next words gave me the answer. "You're Leventhal, right? The guy at the door pointed you out. I'm Sean Prescott. I would've come up earlier, but I saw you were busy."

  "Pleased to meet you," said Leventhal, shaking Prescott's hand across the table. He indicated me. "My partner, Catseye Gomez."

  Prescott raised his eyebrows. "Your partner!"

  "Yeah, you got a problem with that?"

  "Not me. I was just wondering where he keeps his rod."

  "You'd be surprised," I answered, giving him a brief sparkle with ole Betsy.

  Prescott raised his eyebrows. "An enchanted stone, huh? And they say if looks could kill. I never met a loaded cat before. What do I call you ... Officer Gomez?"

  "Just Gomez will do," I said. "I'm not a cop."

  "He's sort of unofficial," Leventhal explained. "But he's kinda helping me out."

  "ERA all the way," said Prescott, giving me a thumbs-up sign.

  "You a supporter?" I asked.

  "Hell, yes," said Prescott. "Susan got me on the bandwagon early on. I think it's a great idea. We were supposed to do a program about it together. It's a damned shame about what happened. I take it that's what you wanted to talk to me about."

  "That's right," said Leventhal. "Just some routine questions."

  "Shoot," said Prescott. "Only don't take that literally," he added, gazing at the bulge of Leventhal's shoulder holster.

  "Cute," said Leventhal. "You'll pardon me for saying this, but you don't seem too broken up about Ms. Jacobs's death."

  "What do you want me to do, break down in tears?" said Prescott. "Susan was a friend of mine, all right? We worked together and I liked her, just ask anybody. I'm really sorry that she's dead, but I'm just not that emotional a guy. In my line of work, that tends to be a handicap. And if you want an alibi for when it happened, I can provide that, too. I was home in bed and I got two ladies who can testify to that."

  "Two, huh?" Leventhal said. "You're an energetic guy, Sean."

  "Hey, if I get tired, I can always take a break and watch," Prescott replied. "You want their names?"

  Leventhal took out his notepad. "Sure. Why not?"

  "Bambi and Debbie," Prescott said. "I don't happen to recall their last names, but I got their phone numbers written down here. I thought you might want some corroboration." He passed Leventhal a folded slip of paper. Leventhal opened it and gave it a quick glance. "Tell 'em Sean sent you," Prescott added. "They'll probably go for you."

  Leventhal grimaced. "I'm sure they're reliable witnesses," he said wryly.

  "You could check with my building security, too," said Prescott. "They've got a guard on duty twenty-four hours a day. I got off the air at two a.m. and we went back straight to my place. The limo dropped us off at the front door, so I know the guy saw me."

  "Limo, huh?" said Leventhal.

  "One of the perks of the job," said Prescott. "I got the number one rated program in town, and Michaels pays to keep me happy."

  "He must pay pretty nice," said Leventhal.

  "Nice enough. But it's not my salary you wanted to discuss, right?"

  "Right," said Leventhal. "How well did you know Ms. Jacobs? You said you were friends. Close friends?"

  "You mean did I fuck her? No. You mean did we hang out together and tell each other the stories of our lives? No. You mean did we do lunch? Occasionally. You mean did we have a warm and cordial working relationship? Yes, we did. But you gotta understand something about Susan. She was all business. Career, career, career. I don't know what the hell she did with those two bimbos you were sitting with before, Chrissy and Prissy or whatever their names are, I'd seen 'em around before, they'd show up and take her out to lunch a couple times a week, but you'll notice they weren't exactly nuclear scientists, you know what I mean?"

  "Unlike Bambi and Debbie, I suppose," I said.

  "Whoa, the cat's got some claws," said Prescott, with a grin. "Look, I get off the air, I like to let my hair down. I take a lady back to my place, we're not gonna play chess or discuss philosophy, all right? I got other friends for that sort of thing. But Susan, man, all she ever wanted to talk about was business, issues, ratings, politics ... it's like, if she had a personal life beyond that, maybe she spoke about it with Michaels, I don't know, but that sap was so in love with her, he would've listened to her babble on about anything. And he's not exactly the world's most well-rounded individual, either."

  "What makes you say that?" asked Leventhal.

  "You met him, right? Did he strike you as Mr. Charisma? That guy only cares about two things... well, cared about two things, I should say. Susan and that radio station. He's one of the owners, as well as general manager. I'd say that if the two of them had anything in common, it was that they both lived for their work, only in Susan's case, her ambition was much greater. To her, broadcasting was only a step up on the ladder. The lady had her eye on a political career."

  "That's what I heard," said Leventhal. "She was planning to run for Congress?"

  "She would've made it, too," said Prescott. "She was getting a really solid reputation in this town. My money would've been on her."

  "Speaking of money," I said, "running for office would take quite a lot of it, wouldn't it?"

  "Money's never a problem, if you've got the right connections," Prescott said, "and Susan was making all the right moves. Michaels isn't exactly a pauper, either, and he's got influential friends in this town. Like I said, she was making all the right moves. And as far as I know, she was clean as a whistle. If there were any skeletons in that lady's closet, I'd sure as hell be surprised. She simply didn't fit the profile. She was all business, she had one steady guy who's a prominent, respectable figure in the community, and she didn't play around. She was sharp, good-looking, stylish, and articulate. She'd have made one hell of an attractive candidate for the right people to back."

  "Even with something as off-the-wall as ERA?" asked Leventhal.

  "Think about it and you'll see it's not so off-the-wall," said Prescott. "It was shrewd political planning, as well as being basically a good idea. Hell, thaumagenes are smart. Smart enough to work in places like this, like that rucking reptile over by the door, smart enough to take care of people's kids while they're at work, smart enough to help them in their businesses in many cases... smart enough to assist on police investigations," he added, with a glance at me. "It's a good idea to have their rights spelled out somehow, their legal situation more clearly defined. I'm not saying they need to have absolutely equal rights with people in all cases, but that's the land of stuff that gets hammered out in subcommittees. The point is, it's a fascinating issue. It's interesting, it's controversial, and it's just the sort of thing the media can really have a ball with. And Susan was smart enough to realize that and get in on the ground floor. It would've got her a lot of publicity." He grimaced. "Hell, even dead, she's the most talked about name in town right now. And the ERA's the number one topic on everybody's minds."

  "Only the key phrase is that she's dead," I pointed out.

  "Yeah," said Prescott grimly. "Ain't that a bitch? But who would've figured anybody would be crazy enough to kill her over something like this?"

  "We still don't know that's the reason she was murdered," Leventhal said.

  "Well, if she had any enemies, I sure as hell didn't know about it," Prescott replied, "and I knew her about as well as anybody, except for Michaels, of course. She wasn't the type to excite a lot of passion in anyone, except someone like Michaels. Hell, when the two of them looked at each other, they probably saw themselves. I wouldn't be surprised if they took the newspapers to bed with them. Basically nice folks, you understand, but not the sort of people who'd provoke the kind of reactions somebody like me would."

  "She provoked somebody," I said.

  "Yeah," said Prescott, "or
the ERA did. And if you ask me, it was those Tabernacle freaks, or somebody who buys into their kind of bullshit."

  "I heard the tape of that show you did with them," said Leventhal. He shrugged. "It sounded pretty innocuous to me."

  "Yeah, well, you weren't sitting there in the studio with 'em," Prescott replied. "They knew what to expect from me, they'd heard my show. They came expecting hostility, they came expecting to be baited, and they were ready for it. All things considered, I'd say they kept their cool pretty well, but then, you didn't see their faces."

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "Oh, they kept their voices nice and calm throughout most of the program," Prescott said, "but when some of those callers started getting heavy with them, and I kind of egged them on, what came out of their mouths and what came out of their eyes were two very different things. Especially when the ERA came up. It was like that tricky little magic eyeball of yours. If you'd have been there in my place, and if looks could kill, you would've used up every one of your nine lives."

  Ten

  MOMENTS after Sean Prescott left, Bobbie Joe approached our booth. She slipped off her jacket and tossed it on the bench seat.

  "I saw you sitting with the Late Shit and I figured I'd wait till he split," she said.

  "Not one of his fans?" I asked.

  "Prescott?" She snorted with derision.” Are you kidding? The guy gives me the creeps. I did a piece on him for Westwind about a year ago and, ever since, he's been badmouthing the paper on the air every chance he gets. I'm not exactly one of his favorite people."

  "It wasn't exactly a flattering piece," Leventhal said.

  "Hey, I just told the truth," Bobbie Joe replied. "I held up a mirror and I guess Prescott didn't like what he saw."

  "I find that hard to believe," I said.

  She grinned.

  "Whatcha got for me, B.J.?" asked Leventhal.

  "Bobbie Joe," she said wryly, as if reciting a tired, age old litany. She opened her shoulder bag and took out a large manila envelope.

  "Yeah, right, whatever." He took the envelope from her and opened it.

  "My notes on the ERA piece I was preparing," she replied. "You can keep those, they're photocopies. I'm still going through with the piece, only now that a murder's tied into it, I'm going to hold off awhile until I get some more information. So, have you got some information to trade?"