by Simon Hawke
"Gomez.. .please'."
"Go ahead, Princess," I said. "Go ahead and drop it. Makes no difference to me. On the other hand, I kind of like Karen, and I'd hate to see her upset. So I'll make you a promise. If you do drop that snat, I'll take every one of your nine lives. Or maybe I'll just leave you half a one. Half a life. Just barely kicking."
I kept moving closer.
"You'll look like you got center-punched by a Pontiac. Your legs will be broken, your tail will be chewed off, your pretty face will be clawed to pieces, and by the time I'm done, you'll be begging me to take that last little half a life I've left you, only I won't. I'll just leave you lying there, squirming on the floor and leaving a trail of blood and guts behind you. So go ahead, Princess. Drop the snat. Give me a reason. Make my day."
The first gray light of dawn was showing in the sky, and the birds were starting to sing. It was a brand-new day, but Princess had run out of time and she knew it. She let go the snat and let it drop back down to the balcony, where it immediately curled up into a quaking little ball. Behind me, I heard Karen sigh with relief. I stood looking up at Princess, trembling there on the ledge.
"Don't come any closer, Gomez," Princess said. "I'll jump."
"No, you won't," I said. "You haven't got the nerve. Now get your tail down here before I get really mad."
For a second, she actually considered it, but I knew she didn't have it in her. Pampered. Spoiled rotten. Always had it easy. Too damned easy. With a pathetic little whimper, she obediently got down off the ledge.
"That's better," I said. "Karen, why don't you give Leventhal a call?" And with a grin, figuring that he could use some motivation, I added, "Ask him if he'd like to come and get a little pussy."
Twelve
SOLO came in and tossed a paper down on the coffee table. "You're getting to be famous," he said. "Not bad after less than a week in town."
I glanced at the cover of Westwind. It featured a large, close-up photograph of me on the cover, and the prominent headline, "Catseye, P.I." Byline, Bobbie Joe Jacklin. She'd wound up the whole story of Susan Jacobs and the ERA, the murder, and the solution of the case, with me cast as the hero. Somewhere in there, Leventhal was mentioned once or twice.
"Leventhal's going to love this," I said wryly.
"He's lucky he's still on the force," said Solo. "If it wasn't for you saving his bacon by breaking the case, he'd have been out on his ear. As it is, Moran will be gunning for him. One mistake-he so much as spits on the sidewalk- and he's out."
"Come on, Solo, he did most of the work on this one and you know it," I said. "If wasn't for Dan, we'd never have wrapped the thing up so fast."
"You mean if it wasn't for you," said Solo. "Leventhal was on the right track, but you're the one who put it all together. You're a good detective, Gomez. I ought to offer you a position on the force."
"I'm sure that would make Chief Moran real pleased," I replied.
Solo grinned. "You mean you'd consider it?"
"I dunno. Blue's not exactly my favorite color. Besides, where would I carry my badge?"
"Oh, I'm sure we could have a special one made up," said Solo jokingly. Or at least I hoped he was joking. "Maybe a small one, like a medallion, hanging from a nice black leather collar."
"You try to hang a collar around my neck and I'll scratch your eyes out," I warned him.
There was a knock at the door and Solo went to answer it. "You expecting company?" he asked me.
"Karen and I are going out to dinner at Mudd's," I said. "Leventhal's supposed to meet us there. Although after this article, I'm not sure if I want to go."
Solo opened the door and Karen came in, wearing civvies. "Good evening, Commissioner," she said.
I noticed Solo casting an appreciative eye over her tight breeches. "Evening, Officer Sharp," he said.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you. I came to pick up Gomez. We're going down to Mudd's."
"Well, you kids have fun," said Solo, with a faintly mocking tone. "Don't stay out too late, now."
She grinned. "Gomez, have you seen..." and then her gaze fell on the paper lying on the coffee table. "Oh," she said, sounding slightly disappointed. "You've already seen it."
"Yeah," I replied, with a grimace. "Just what I need. My puss plastered all over town. I'll probably get quite a ribbing down at Mudd's. And I was just beginning to like Bobbie Joe. 'Catseye, P.I.,' for crying out loud."
"What's so bad about that?" asked Karen. "You know, maybe it's not such a bad idea."
"What?"
"Being a private investigator," she replied. "You've already proved that you're a good detective, and the publicity you've gotten would certainly get you clients. If the ERA goes through, you could get a license. And you seem to have some pretty good references," she added, with an amused glance toward Solo.
"A feline private eye," said Solo. He chuckled. "That would really take the cake."
"You know," I said, "maybe I'll think about it."
"Are you serious?" said Solo.
"Why not? The way Leventhal's going, who knows how long he'll remain on the force? He'll probably need a job before too long. And he's really not all that bad a partner, you know. Maybe I'll even get Karen to quit her job and be my secretary."
"That all depends," she said. "How much are you going to pay?"
"You guys are joking, aren't you?" Solo said, uncertainly.
"Oh, I don't know," I replied. "I've always thought it would be a blast to be a private eye, just like Mike Hammer. Hell, why not?"
"What about Santa Fe?" asked Solo.
"It'll still be there," I said. "Denver's actually not that bad a town, once you get used to it. And I've got some friends here, now. Think maybe I'll stick around awhile."
The phone rang and Solo picked it up. He listened for a moment, then rolled his eyes and turned to me. "It's Channel 7," he said. "They're interested in doing a feature on you."
"Hell, tell 'em I just left," I said.
"I'm afraid he must have stepped out for a while," said Solo, into the phone, "but I'll be sure to give him the message."
He hung up. "You know, maybe you're going to need a secretary," he said irritably.
Yeah, maybe, I thought. I thought of Mike Hammer's lovely secretary, Velda. Karen would fit a role like that real well. And, of course, if she wasn't a cop anymore, then there'd be no problem if Solo decided to take her out to dinner sometime .... Whoa, I thought. Let's not go putting the cart before the horse. Take things one step at a time.
"So, you ready to go?" asked Karen.
I gave her a sparkle with ole Betsy. "Sure, kid. Let's go out and do some yowling."
