Pet Noir

by Pati Nagle

  My head jerked upward with realization. “Holy crap! Butch!”

  I dashed for the warehouse door. There was no time to lose. Roy would just have to have a hallucination.

  He didn’t even look up as I darted past the desk and jumped for the access pad, hitting it square on so hard I bounced back a bit and had to stretch to catch hold of the wall. The door opened and I heard a startled “Huh?” behind me, then I was bouncing down the corridor toward the lifts.

  I scrambled out into the rotunda and made a beeline for Tammy’s Tea Shoppe. Brushed past the legs of a nice old lady on her way out, and came to a stop in front of the red velvet stand where Butch lay curled in a ball, eyes closed.

  “Butch!”

  His head shot up. “Wha, wha—?”

  “Oh, thank God.” I stood in front of him, panting, icy relief pouring through my veins.

  He got up, stretched, then jumped down beside me. “What’s the matter?”

  “Not here.”

  I glanced over at Steadly’s, saw that it was empty, and gave Butch a nod indicating he should follow me there. Tammy was busy with customers, and we slipped unhindered into the cozy dark of the smoking room. I stopped behind a leather sofa and groomed my ruffled fur. Butch crouched down beside me.

  “What’s up, Leon? You look like you seen a ghost.”

  I grimaced. “Sort of.”

  I told him about finding Spats and about the poisoner who was loose on the station. Butch was as mad as I was about poor Spats.

  “I let him have the Gardens while I cruised Steakmeister,” he said, “cause I knew he was a sucker for fish. There was a big, fat pile of scraps in a half-open carton by the kitchen’s back door. He was already into it when I left, poor bastard.”

  I frowned. “I’m pretty sure that fish was meant for me.”

  “Yeah? Well, when you find whoever put it out, let me know,” Butch growled. “My claws could use a workout.”

  “I’ll let you know. In the meantime Imperial Gardens is off limits. Ling-Ling’s too. Pass the word.”

  “Will do.”

  I sighed. Things were going from bad to worse. I couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for going back to Roy’s warehouse. I decided I’d better tell the chief about the latest development and see if he’d arrange for a decent disposal of Spats’s remains.

  I said goodbye to Butch and promised to come by later in the day. Prowling through the rotunda on the way to Security, I found myself looking suspiciously at everyone in the crowd.

  I was angry about Spats. I wanted to do something.

  The chief had a couple of civilians in his office, suits from Station Management. I slunk around the outer wall and under the desk where I curled up by the chief’s feet to wait. The suits were worried about the poisonings. Apparently word had gotten around.

  “We can’t have this!” one of the suits complained. “It’ll hurt the tourist business!”

  Tourism was about 97th on Gamma’s active trade list, but never mind. We did get visitors from nearby settlements now and then, and most of them came for the restaurants in the rotunda.

  “We have every reason to believe these attacks are targeted, not random,” the chief said. “Don’t worry, we’re following strong leads. We should have the killer in custody very soon.”

  With a few more reassuring words he ushered the suits out and closed the door. He came over to the desk to get his coffee mug and carried it to the wet bar. I followed him.

  “Hello, Leon. How’s it going?”

  “Not great.”

  “No luck with Roy?”

  “Roy can wait.”

  I gave him the no-frills version about Spats. He sat down with his coffee and frowned as he listened.

  “I’m sorry about your friend, Leon. You did right to come and tell me.”

  “Could you maybe send someone to collect him?” I asked. “I’d like him to have a space burial, not just get tossed in the recycler.”

  “Of course.”

  He made a call to Mainteance, then at my request he called Elsa and told her to keep away from the Gardens and Ling-Ling’s for the present. Leila had been involved in the sedonai mess and I just wanted to make sure no one tried to poison her, too. She was probably safe, since Elsa didn’t let her out of the apartment unsupervised, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

  The chief swivelled in his chair to look at me. “You think the killer was trying to get you?”

  “Why else put out poisoned fish scraps?”

  “Maybe it was just waste. Fugu scraps from the sushi bar.”

  I shook my head. “They keep close track of the deadly bits. It’s priority waste, has to go straight into a sealed recycle container.”

  His frown deepened. “Until we catch this killer, you’re not to eat anything that doesn’t come from my hand,” he said.

  “Fine with me. By the way, you ready for lunch?”

  He glanced at his clock and sighed. “I suppose so. I haven’t had any luck contacting Ling2. It’s like she disappeared.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment.

  “Blast,” he said, getting up from the desk.

  I trotted to the door ahead of him. “Going to her apartment?”

  “Yes. I went by earlier and no one answered.”

  “So either she’s not there, or she’s there and dead. Gonna arrest her if you find her breathing?”

  “I just might,” he said as the door opened.

  ~

  Ling2’s place was a lot more modest than the Starview Terrace condo where she’d lived with Ling-Ling. After Ling-Ling went to jail Ling2 had sold the condo and taken an apartment on one of the lower tiers. It was still a starview apartment, but much smaller and more reasonable. Ling2 was frugal, or maybe she just wasn’t comfortable yet with her newfound wealth.

  I accompanied the chief and waited while he rang the doorbell and then pounded on the door. No good, so he thumbed the access pad and punched in the Security override. The door slid open and we went in.

  Lights came on to dim as we entered. The starview wall was opaqued. I started sniffing along the floorboards while the chief stepped into the living room.

  “Ling2? It’s Chief Wright, from Security,”

  A muffled cry came from farther back in the apartment. The Chief headed for an open door.

  It led to a bedroom decorated in bright colors, so bright I held back, blinking, in the doorway. Summer greens and yellows and cantaloupe covered every surface. Splashy flower prints hung on the melon-hued walls above a large bed. Lying across the striped green and yellow bedspread was Ling2, bound and gagged.

  The chief went to her and helped her up to a sitting position. She was wearing a gray nullsuit and her hair was tangled. He pulled off the gag.

  “She tied me up!” said Ling2. “She’s g-going to kill me!”

  The chief started working on the cords tying her wrists behind her back. “Who is? Who did this?”

  “L-Ling-Ling!”

  “Ling-Ling’s in jail.”

  Even as he said it I saw a slim, dark-haired woman step out of the bathroom. Ling-Ling or Ling2, there was no telling the difference. She was wearing one of Ling2’s nice dresses, a scarlet silk that screamed at the other colors in the room.

  “That’s Ling-Ling,” the woman in the dress said to the chief. “Don’t untie her! She broke in here and tried to steal from me. I was just about to call you.”

  “That’s a lie!” cried the woman on the bed, Ling-Ling or Ling2, whichever it was. “She showed up here three days ago!” she said, turning pleading eyes to the chief. “She’s been holding me prisoner in my own apartment!”

  “Nice try,” said the Ling in red. “Look at that bracelet she’s wearing.”

  The chief looked at it, a thin strip of opaque film with registration marks and text printed on it. “Work-release,” he read. He looked from one Ling to the other with narrowed eyes.

  “She put that on me!” cried the Ling on the bed.
“And these clothes!”

  The other Ling laughed. “Oh, come on!”

  The chief stood up. “I think you’d both better come to Security with me and we’ll get this sorted out.”

  “But she—”

  “You’re right,” said the Ling in the red dress. “That’s the right thing to do. Thank you, Chief Wright. I’m so glad you came.”

  She stepped toward him, and as she passed the doorway I saw she had a hand behind her back. In it was a hypodermic needle.

  I did the only thing I could do. I pounced, hoping to heck I wouldn’t get scratched by that needle.

  Ling-whoever screamed as my claws raked her forearm. The needle dropped from her hand as I landed. It bounced once and stuck itself into the carpet a coupled of centimeters from my hind foot.

  I snatched it up in my right fore and pointed it at Ling, who had whirled around and was glaring at me with murder in her eyes. Bright beads of blood welled up on her arm, matching the brilliant red of her dress.

  She made a grab for the needle but I dodged and then threatened her with it, jabbing it toward her. Her lips drew back in a snarl.

  “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  Cold anger flooded me and it was all I could do not to stab her with that needle full of poison. Behind her, I saw the chief pull a stunner out of his pocket.

  “Don’t move, Ling-Ling. It’s over.”

  She turned her head to glance at him, stark and proud, full of fury. “That’s what you think,” she said, then lunged toward me.

  I had the needle in my paw, thumb locked around the syringe in a fear-fueled grip. Instinctively I flinched away, even as I heard the buzz of the chief’s stunner. Ling-Ling’s eyes went wide as she fell forward onto her knees, then she reached toward me again and thrust her palm onto the needle.

  The chief was on his com at once, calling for medics. I pulled the needle away but I could see it was too late—the force of her grabbing it had depressed the plunger enough to release the poison. Going straight into her bloodstream, it took effect at once. She fell onto the carpeted floor, limbs convulsing, those angry dark eyes rolling upward.

  I felt appalled, horrified, and in a way I understood why she’d done it. Someone as strong as Ling-Ling had to win it all or take nothing. She’d rather die than spend the rest of her life in prison. I could sympathize.

  ~

  Turned out Security had received an alert that Ling-Ling had escaped from work-release, but it didn’t have a priority status and it was sitting in the queue of items to be dealt with. Her name hadn’t been on the list of released criminals because she hadn’t finished her sentence.

  Poor old Roy was completely innocent. I should have known he didn’t have the subtlety for the fugu poisonings.

  True to his word, the chief got hold of a small space-burial pod for Spats and even took me to watch the release. I invited Butch, but he declined. Butch isn’t much into goodbyes and I could see that he didn’t get the point. He did say he was sorry he hadn’t gotten in a swipe at Ling-Ling, but the whole funeral idea was beyond him. It really is a human thing.

  That, I realized as we watched Spats’s silver pod drift away into space, was a big part of my problem. The modifications that had enabled me to comprehend and execute human speech had necessarily altered my thought patterns as well. In a lot of ways, my mind was more human than feline. I had friends among both species, but I didn’t truly belong with either.

  The burial pod self-destructed once it was out past Gamma’s safety zone. Watching the brilliant flash of light that incinerated the pod and its contents, I wondered if the whole “heaven” thing was real or if it was something humans made up to make themselves feel better. If it was real, then I figured Spats was up there, feasting on all the fish he could eat, with no danger in any of them.

  “There’s some good news, Leon,” the chief said as we walked away from the viewing port. “Devin’s regained consciousness. Want to go see him?”

  “Yeah. Let’s take some donuts or something. We should be celebrating, right?”

  The celebration was pretty subdued. We’d taken a lot of hits, and since Ling-Ling had, in a way, escaped justice, it didn’t feel like much of a win. To lighten things up a little I invited Butch to join us, and both Ling2 and Janine came along as well.

  The chief picked up a box of donuts and some hot chicken poppers from Mex-Sector. For some reason none of us were in the mood for seafood.

  We all crammed into Devin’s room and before long the humans were exchanging tasteless jokes about Ling-Ling and fish poison. Ling2 was a little quiet, but even she joined in the deconstruction of exactly what had happened. Ling-Ling had indeed been holding her prisoner, and had been impersonating her as well.

  “So it was Ling-Ling who gave you the poisoned fortune cookie,” the chief said to Devin.

  Devin, sitting up in bed, grimaced. “No wonder she seemed cold. She had no idea Ling2 and I were … friends.”

  An awkward silence fell as Devin, Ling2, and Janine all looked at each other. It was broken by a bleep from someone’s portable com.

  The chief reached into his pocket and glanced at his com. He stepped away and murmured into it, then came back to Devin’s bed. “May I put this call up on your screen?”

  “Sure,” Devin said, reaching for another donut.

  The image that lit up the screen mounted on the wall across from Devin’s bed surprised all of us. It was a female tabby cat, nestled in a fiberfoam box with a half dozen kittens.

  “Ma!” I said in surprise. I jumped up on Devin’s bed to get a better view.

  Jill’s face came into the image. She was grinning.

  “Just wanted to wish Leon a happy birthday,” she said. “You’ve got a bunch of little sisters and brothers, buddy.”

  “Wow,” I said softly.

  Jill reached into the box to scritch Ma’s head. Ma glanced up sharply, then relaxed and purred. Her golden eyes locked on the com for a moment, and I felt a weird, primal urge to groom.

  Butch jumped up next to me. “That someone you know?”

  “My mother,” I answered in cat-talk.

  “Hm. Nice-looking. She’s kinda petite, though. Your dad must have been huge.”

  I couldn’t help laughing a little. “Yeah.”

  “How cute!” said Janine. “Are any of those kittens going to be up for adoption? I’d love to have one!”

  “Me too,” said Ling2. “I like the little gray one.”

  Jill quirked an eyebrow at Ma and the kittens. “Well… yeah, maybe. The brown tabby is spoken for, but the rest are up for grabs.”

  The chief sidled over next to the bed and spoke softly to me while the girls argued about which of my half-siblings was cutest. “Still want to go back to see your mother?” he asked quietly. “I could arrange it.”

  I glanced up at him in surprise. He reached out as if to pet me, then his hand dropped to the bedcovers.

  “You saved my life,” he murmured. “I owe you.”

  I looked up at the screen. Ma was grooming one of the kittens, holding it down with her forepaw while she cleaned its ears. It let out a tiny, piercing, pitiful mew.

  “Nah,” I said, standing up and nudging the chief’s hand with my head. He stroked me, very gently, and I purred.

  It was nice of him to offer, but I knew now it wouldn’t be good to go back. Ma had a new litter to deal with, and I had a sneaking suspicion I wouldn’t fit in very well back at the lab. If I belonged anywhere, it was here on Gamma, doing my part to clean up the sleazoids and help keep down the volume of kitchen scraps.

  Besides, I had unfinished business with a certain lovely Burmese. I looked up at the screen again, watching my mom and her kittens, thinking Leila would make a good mother, wondering if the kits would have thumbs.

  About the Author

  Pati Nagle was born and raised in the mountains of northern New Mexico. An avid student of music, history, and humans in general, she loves the outdoors but hides from t
he sun.

  She writes in a variety of genres, but is most often drawn to fantasy or (as P.G. Nagle) historical fiction. Her stories have appeared in Asimov’s Science Fiction, the Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, and in various other magazines and anthologies, including Elf Magic, which featured “Kind Hunter,” the story that sparked the ælven world. Her Blood of the Kindred fantasy series is the ancient history of the ælven.

  Pati Nagle lives in the New Mexico mountains with her husband and feline muse. She loves to walk in the woods and look up at the stars.

  Pati Nagle’s websites:

  patinagle.com

  pgnagle.com

  Other Books

  by Pati Nagle

  Coyote Ugly

  Short Story Collection

  Immortal

  Urban Fantasy

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