The Nine Lives of Catseye Gomez

by Simon Hawke

  Okay, I thought, here goes. Not too hard, now. I sure hoped the guy knew what he was doing. But then... so far, he'd displayed ample evidence of that. I stared at his upraised knife and cut loose with ole Betsy.

  A pencil-thin beam of thaumaturgic force shot out from Betsy like a blue laser and struck the knife. It flared, its aura growing even brighter than before, and the Mystic jerked violently, as if struck, and used the knife blade to deflect the beam down to the crystal ball on the desk before him.

  Hell, I'd never seen anything like that before. I didn't even know that it was possible to deflect the force like that. I watched with fascination as the crystal flared with bright blue light that seemed contained inside it, as if a fire were raging in its core. The Mystic then put down the knife and sat down in his chair, placing his hands over the ball. Slowly, the glow subsided, as if he were absorbing it from the ball into himself. He took his hands away and the ball was left with a faint glow, like bright blue eddies swirling around in there. It felt very warm and close within the circle. I glanced at Leventhal and saw that perspiration stood out on his forehead and his upper lip. The Baghwan was sweating freely, still sitting there with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his lips trembling.

  The Mystic picked up the piece of bomb debris from where it was lying on the pentacle and held it in his left hand. His right hand, he placed gently along the side of the crystal ball as he stared into it intently. I could see the reflection of the swirling eddies in the ball on the lenses of his glasses. I saw his eyes glaze over as he started entering a trance state. A moment later, he started speaking...

  And even before he was finished, I knew who had killed Susan Jacobs.

  Eleven

  FOR the first few miles of the return trip, it was all Leventhal could do to get the Baghwan to relax. He didn't see any reason not to talk now, but the Baghwan resolutely kept his mouth shut all the way back to Denver- that is, when he wasn't filling it with the entire contents of the limo bar. And every time Leventhal opened his mouth, the Baghwan had a nervous fit, so Leventhal, though he was clearly anxious to talk, gave up and settled back to listen to the headphones and think. I settled back to think, as well, only not exactly to myself.

  Our chauffeur, though the others didn't know it, was the Mystic. He must have been our driver on the way up, too, which would explain the rule about keeping silent. When people are sitting quietly, drinking or reading or just listening to music, their minds are easier to probe. It also added to the dramatic tension, and the Mystic certainly understood about drama. As we drove back, we had quite a conversation, the Mystic and 1, only it wasn't happening out loud. And it was very interesting. Very interesting, indeed.

  Once we got back to Mudd's and were deposited on the curb outside, the Baghwan opened up with a vengeance. Having kept his mouth shut... and his eyes... throughout most of our visit with the Mystic, now he could hardly shut up. It all came spilling out of him, the nervousness and the anxiety, like a torrential verbal flow released suddenly by a stress valve.

  "Okay, so we got out of there in one piece, but I swear, Leventhal, no way are you ever going to get me to go back again, so don't even ask, all right? No way, no way, José! That's it! Finished! Finito!"

  "Will you calm down, for cryin' out loud?" said Leventhal, with exasperation. "You're okay! Nothing happened! Nobody turned you into a toadstool or a frog, all right? The guy wasn't even all that scary."

  "Well, he scared me plenty!"

  "He was polite, and he was civil, and he gave us what we needed," Leventhal replied. "Now shut the hell up and let me think about how we're going to prove it."

  "That's not my problem," said the Baghwan. "From now on, I'm out of it, you understand? I don't want to know. I don't even want to talk about it."

  "Fine! So shut up already!" Leventhal snapped. "Just remember that you owe me for this one," said the Baghwan. "You owe me big!"

  "Okay, I owe you! Now get lost!"

  He turned to me after the Baghwan had stalked off in a huff. "You knew right away, didn't you? I could tell."

  "Not right away," I said. "But it didn't take long."

  "I've never seen a divination performed that way before," said Leventhal. "It was certainly impressive. I got to hand it to the guy, he sure is a showman. It was like ... he picked up that piece of the bomb and got right into the killer's mind. Putting it together, thinking about how he was going to do it, and what the effect would be..."

  "When he started taking us through it, step by step, actually going down the stairs to the garage, I began to suspect," I said. "And then, while he was going through planting the bomb, and wiping his hands on the black sweatshirt, that's when I knew it was Rick."

  "I should've figured it," said Leventhal. "Now that we know, of course, it all falls into place. Or almost all of it, at any rate. There are still a few loose ends. The question is, how do we prove it in a way that'll stand up in court?"

  "If your lab team found some kind of traces in the garage that would indicate the bomb was planted there, you could get a warrant to search Rick's apartment."

  "Maybe," Leventhal replied, "but it would be a little shaky. It's not really enough grounds to get a warrant. Besides, there's no guarantee that we'll find anything in there, unless he's really stupid, which he doesn't seem to be. He's pulled this whole thing off without missing a step."

  "And it still doesn't tell us who hired him to pull it off," I said.

  "My money's on those Tabernacle people," Leventhal replied. "He must've been part of their crowd all along. They got him to get next to Susan Jacobs and pretend to support the ERA, then boom. The vengeance of the Lord."

  "I don't know, Dan," I said. "Somehow, I just don't buy it. He seemed pretty sincere about the ERA."

  "All part of the act," said Leventhal. "We lean on him, he'll roll over and give us the rest of it. You watch."

  "You're going to confront him?" I said. "What if he calls your bluff?"

  Leventhal shook his head. "My instinct says he won't. He's not a hardened pro. Right now, he's probably all balled up, tense, hair-trigger, wondering if maybe he slipped up somewhere and if we're onto him. He's dying to get the hell out of there, but he's got to sit tight in order to make it look good, and the longer he sits, the more wound up he's going to get. I'm betting that if we hit him with it hard and fast, he'll break."

  "What if he won't?" I asked, playing devil's advocate.

  "Then that just increases the pressure on him," Leventhal replied. "He'll know we know, and he'll know we're looking for a way to prove it so we can tie him in all nice and legal, that we're just waiting for him to make one fucking mistake, and you can bet your ass he'll make it. Or he'll run, which'll be just as good."

  We walked over to his car and got inside. Leventhal started it up and we pulled off. He was so keyed up that he didn't even bother with his intemal-combustion-engine sound effects. He was thinking out loud, playing it all out in advance and trying out the angles to see how they'd come together.

  "We'll touch base with Sharp first, and see if she's heard anything from Eggleston. If they can prove that bomb was planted in the garage, that's one more thing we can hit him with. And even if we can't prove it, we'll bluff him with it."

  "Let's hope he bluffs easy," I said.

  "Hell, he'll fold," Leventhal replied. "Faced with taking the fall for it all by himself, he'll want to deal."

  "Maybe not, if he's a religious fanatic," I said. "What happens if he's got a martyr complex?"

  "Then I'll fucking beat it out of him, if I have to."

  "Chief Moran will love that," I said.

  "Moran," said Leventhal contemptuously. "That's the other thing. I want to know what the hell those two bastards, Chavez and McVickers, have been doing mucking around in my case. Those assholes are liable to screw everything up. So much for your friend Solo's promise to keep them off my back."

  "Maybe Solo didn't know anything about it," I replied.

  Leventhal's face grew
grim. "Yeah, maybe. That would figure. Moran knows that if I solve this one, then I'm the fair-haired boy and I'm back on Homicide for keeps and he's behind the eight ball. But if Chavez and McVickers take the credit, then that means Leventhal screwed up again and I'm back to chasing hookers and bunco artists. Well, that's not going to happen, Cat. This one's mine and if Moran doesn't like it, he can shove it up his ass."

  We drove straight to Karen's place, in an apartment complex overlooking Washington Park. The buildings loomed over the surrounding real estate, affording a good view from their balconies of the park and the mountains in the distance. Leventhal parked the car and we got out. It was a quiet night. The park was closed and the streets were deserted.

  "It's kinda late, isn't it?" I said.

  Leventhal glanced at his watch. "It's almost four a.m.," he said.

  "She'll probably be asleep."

  "So I'll apologize for waking her up," said Leventhal, as he hit the buzzer for her apartment. "Hell, she's a cop, she knows what-"

  "Who is it?" Her voice over the intercom sounded alert, and not at all sleepy.

  "Leventhal."

  "Christ, where the hell have you been? " she replied. "Get your ass up here!" She buzzed open the front door.

  Leventhal glanced at me and grinned as we went inside. "Think maybe she missed me?" he said.

  "No, I think it's more like you missed something," I replied.

  The elevator doors opened. "Floor, please."

  "Nine," said Leventhal.

  "Thank you," said the elevator. "Kindly extinguish your cigarette in the receptacle by the doors."

  "Oh, fuck off," said Leventhal.

  "There is no smoking in this elevator. Kindly extinguish your cigarette in the receptacle by the doors."

  "Right," said Leventhal, leaning out the doors toward the ashtray. "All right? Ninth floor."

  The elevator doors slid shut and it started to ascend. With a schoolboy grin, Leventhal produced the cigarette he had palmed. There was a loud beeping sound and the elevator came to a sudden stop between floors.

  "Nice going, Ace," I said.

  "All right, all right," said Leventhal, dropping the cigarette to the floor and stepping on it.

  The beeping stopped and the elevator resumed its ascent. When we reached the ninth floor, the elevator stopped, but the doors remained closed.

  "Well?" said Leventhal impatiently.

  "In consideration of the other tenants, please keep this elevator clean," the elevator said.

  "Oh, for cryin'out loud..." said Leventhal, and he bent down to pick up the cigarette butt.

  The doors slid open. "Thank you. Have a nice day."

  "I hope your cable snaps," said Leventhal.

  Karen was already looking out for us from the open door of her apartment. "Where have you been all day?" she demanded. "You were supposed to keep in touch!"

  "Well, like, excuse me, sarge," said Leventhal, "but there was a little matter of a murder investigation to attend to. And wait till you hear the news-"

  "Wait till you hear the news," she said, as we entered her apartment. She was wearing an orange and blue football jersey that hung about halfway down her thighs, and she quite obviously had nothing on underneath it. It was a considerable improvement over her police uniform and gun belt.

  "Very nice," said Leventhal, giving her an appreciative once-over. "Who gets to take the snap?"

  "Chavez and McVickers," she replied wryly. "They've arrested Rick Daniels. They've got him down at headquarters right now."

  "What?" said Leventhal, his jaw dropping open.

  "If you'd been keeping in touch with me like you were supposed to," Karen said, "I could've told you that forensics found small traces of plastique and wire insulation shavings in the garage, right on the spot where Susan Jacobs parked her car. And they were able to come up with a decent, enhanced voice-print off those answering-machine tapes, as well. And guess who was Johnny-on-the-spot when that came down?"

  "Son of a bitch!" said Leventhal. "I don't believe it!"

  Princess came out from a back bedroom, looking sleepy and trailed by two, furry, wriggly little snats. "I heard voices," she said, pausing to stretch languidly. "What's going on?"

  "Looks like they've got the murderer," I said. "They've arrested Rick."

  "Rick!" said Princess. "No! I can't believe it!"

  The two little snats squirmed over my way, sniffing around. "Hello," one of them said, in a voice that sounded like a cross between a purr and somebody gargling with mouthwash. "You want to play?"

  I hissed at them and they both curled up into little balls. I never did like snats. Nothing looks sillier than a cat with no legs, crawling across the floor like a damned inchworm, and those stupid, slimy-looking antennae give me the creeps.

  "I can't believe those bastards beat me to the punch!" said Leventhal. "When did it go down?"

  "About four hours ago, maybe a little more," said Karen. "They were thoughtful enough to call and let me know, so I could tell you when you checked in. So, hotshot, you want a towel to wipe that egg off your face?"

  "Son of a fuckin' bitch!" said Leventhal, smashing a fist into his palm. "Come on, Cat, we're taking a ride down to headquarters."

  I had to run to catch up with him as he stormed out of the apartment and back down the hall, to the elevator. He stabbed at the call button furiously.

  "That bastard Moran's behind this," Leventhal said through gritted teeth. "What do you want to bet Eggleston came up with more than he gave me, but held back on Moran's orders?"

  "Maybe," I said. "On the other hand, you did neglect to check back in with him."

  "I was going to do it first thing in the morning," Leventhal said. "Of course, I didn't know until tonight that Moran had Chavez and McVickers working the same side of the street. Damn him! Come on, you stupid box!"

  The chime rang and the little red arrow above the doors lit up. The doors slid open and the elevator said, "Floor, please," as we got in.

  "Lobby," Leventhal snarled.

  "Thank you."

  The doors slid shut and the elevator started to descend. Suddenly, it dropped with alarming speed and then jerked hard to an abrupt stop, knocking Leventhal right off his feet onto the floor. I barely kept my own balance.

  "What the hell-?" said Leventhal.

  "Sorry. The cable must have slipped," the elevator said.

  Leventhal took out his huge gun and aimed it at the speaker.

  "Dan..." I said, as he thumbed off the safety.

  "The problem seems to be under control now," the elevator replied, and started a smooth descent again. Leventhal bolstered the gun and we reached the lobby floor without further incident. The doors slid open and we went out into the lobby.

  "Thank you. Have a nice day."

  Leventhal's lip dropped in a sneer and he turned back toward the elevator again, reaching for his gun, but I caught his pants leg with my claws.

  "Dan.... Headquarters?"

  He drove like a madman all the way to Cherokee Street, and I had to run to keep up with him all the way to the squad room of the Homicide Division. He came bursting into the interrogation room, where two well-dressed but tired-looking detectives stood over Rick Daniels, who was seated at a table, smoking a cigarette. The tall, dark, Hispanic-looking one had to be Chavez, and the big blond guy built like a pro athlete was obviously McVickers. The two detectives looked a little haggard. So did Rick Daniels. He also looked tense, and anxious, but he didn't look very scared. He glanced up as we came in, noticed me, and looked a little surprised.

  "You scumbags," Leventhal said.

  "Leventhal! What the hell are you doing here?" said Chavez.

  "Like you didn't know," snapped Leventhal. "Like you didn't call to rub my nose in it! This was supposed to be my case, you son of a bitch!"

  "Watch your damned mouth," said Chavez. "And since when do you decide who does what around here? Just because you brown-nosed your way back onto Homicide, don't think you-"r />
  He never got any further, because Leventhal hauled off and decked him. Chavez went back against the wall, blood spurting from a broken nose, and collapsed onto the floor. McVickers was on him in a second, grabbing him and pulling him back, but Leventhal broke free and shoved him away.

  "Are you nuts?" shouted McVickers.

  "Come on!" Leventhal shouted back. "Come on, McVickers, you want a piece of me? Come on!"

  "You stupid son of a bitch," McVickers said. "You really blew it this time, Leventhal. Get the hell out of here!"

  "Bastard broke my nose," said Chavez, getting to his feet and trying to staunch the flow of blood with his handkerchief.

  "You'll be lucky if you're writing parking tickets after this," McVickers said. "You stupid jerk, you just flushed your shield right down the toilet!"

  A couple of other detectives carne in, having heard the ruckus, and McVickers said, "Get this dumb fuck out of here!"

  They grabbed him, but he shook them off furiously and left, with a baleful stare at McVickers. I followed him out the door.

  "You'll get yours, Leventhal!" Chavez shouted after him. "Your hear me, you bastard? You're going to get yours!"

  Leventhal knew he'd gone too far. He walked out of the squad room without a word as the others on the night shift just stared after him. As we went out the door, somebody behind us mumbled, "What a jerk."

  Leventhal didn't even bother with the elevator this time. He took the stairs and I followed him. He stopped on the second floor and simply sat down on the landing, his feet on the first step down. Silently, he flipped out his pack of cigarettes and lit up a smoke. The snick of the Zippo sounded loud on the landing. He inhaled deeply and let the smoke out in a heavy sigh.

  "He was right," he said, finally. "I am a jerk."

  "Well, I don't know about that," I said, sitting down next to him. "A little temperamental, maybe..."

  He snorted and shook his head. "Yeah. I really lost it back there, didn't I? Oh, man. I guess I really did it this time. I just handed Moran my badge on a fuckin' platter." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. "What the hell. I was getting tired of this gig anyway."