Cat Breaking Free

by Shirley Rousseau Murphy

  "I couldn't see the plate for bushes. I didn't want to get out and be seen from the house. I drove on past."

  "Good. We'll take a look. Don't go back there, for any reason."

  When they'd hung up, he called for two cars to meet him several blocks away from where the truck was parked. As he headed out, Dallas met him by the front desk.

  Joe and Dulcie crouched beside the metal cage describing for the three captives how Charlie had freed the brindled tom from the humane trap. "That's Stone Eye," Coyote said, narrowing his ringed eyes and flattening his long, tufted ears. "Stone Eye, our self-appointed leader. Your friend should have let him rot. How did he get himself caught?"

  "Hitler with claws," Cotton said, hissing. Both the white tom, and the dark, striped tom lashed their tails and kneaded their claws, crouched as if for battle.

  But the bleached calico female clung in the corner of the cage looking as fearful as if she faced Stone Eye himself. "Brute," Willow hissed. "His henchmen are just as bad. I'm not going back there. If… if we get out," she said, with a frightened mewl.

  "We'll get you out," Dulcie whispered, pressing against the bars to nuzzle Willow. "But if Hernando's dead, why are they keeping you?" Dulcie's green eyes widened. "Do they know he's dead? Or do they think he's coming back?"

  "They know," Cotton said. "They saw it in the paper. They haven't told Maria and the old lady-not that there's any love lost."

  "Then why are they keeping you here?" Dulcie repeated, frowning.

  "Hernando talked wild," Coyote said. "His brothers believed him. Foolish talk about performing cats on TV and in the movies, about Hollywood and big houses and expensive cars. Tons of money, like in the newspapers and on TV we hear through people's windows. He could never make us do those things; no cat I know would want to live like that." Coyote licked his striped shoulder, his circled eyes narrowed with rage.

  "He might make you do those things," Joe said.

  "What, torture us?" Cotton hissed. "What kind of performers would he have, if we were half dead?"

  Dulcie said, "Maybe he thought that soft beds and servants and gourmet food…"

  "He wouldn't ply me with such things," Willow mewed. She had a small little voice that didn't seem to match her elegant stature and markings. "I would not be slave to some hoodlum!"

  "Luis has to know that's a foolish dream," Joe said.

  "There's more to it," Cotton said, licking his silky white paw. "Hernando thought we knew something about them stealing cars and about two old murders, in L.A., wherever that is."

  "We don't know anything," Willow said, growing bolder and coming to press against the bars. "We couldn't make much of what we heard. And what would we do about it? Go to the police?"

  Dulcie and Joe exchanged a glance; they said nothing.

  Cotton's blue eyes were filled with disgust. "They have wild ideas about us. But the truth is, we are different. Given their greed, and their superstitious fears that we could tell what they've done, they have no intention of letting us go."

  Coyote flicked his tall, canine-like ears at a sound from the front of the house. They all listened. A car was pulling up the drive. Dulcie glanced toward the window, but Joe headed for the shadowed hall. Dulcie pressed close to him as he made for the front bedroom.

  The unoccupied room stunk of male human and stale cigarette smoke. With its little damask chair and delicately carved dresser and vanity, clearly this room belonged to the old lady. Looked as if the men had evicted her, taken it for their own. Smelling fresh cigarette smoke from outside the open window, they slipped up onto the sill.

  A blue Camry stood in the drive behind an old brown Toyota truck that was pulled off into the bushes. The windows of the Camry were open; cigarette smoke drifted out, and in through the bedroom window. Luis and Tommie sat in the front seat, their voices sharp and angry.

  "Those dummies," Tommie said almost in a whisper. "Bringing the truck back here, parking it in plain sight! If the cops made that truck…"

  "They didn't make the truck. No one saw the truck!" Luis snapped. "Dumb bastards. What was Anselmo thinking. Get over here and drive!"

  "But if we can get it in the garage…"

  "No damn room in the garage, old woman has junk in there up the wazoo."

  "If I shove everything over, I can squeeze it in. Ought to set a match to that stuff."

  "Shut up, Tommie. Go on, back the car out! Meet me over there!" Luis swung out of the car and into the truck, leaning down, apparently to fish the keys from under the seat. Tommie backed down the drive, hit the brakes, and squealed off down the street. Luis started the truck, swung a sharp U-turn in the drive, plowing down three rosebushes, and took off after him.

  From the windowsill, the cats glanced down the hall in case Maria stopped clattering dishes and came out of the kitchen. "They were the ones," Dulcie said with satisfaction. "How many more men are there? Harper needs to know where they are."

  "Let's see how much more we can pick up," Joe said, "before we call the station." And he dropped to the floor, to search the room.

  The men were gone maybe ten minutes. When the blue car came scorching back and Luis and Tommie headed in the house, the cats were under the Victorian dresser, crouching at the back among the cobwebby shadows.

  Luis hated that drive down from San Francisco. Too many damn trucks. They'd been up all night and he needed sleep. This stupidity with Anselmo and the truck didn't help his mood. Stepping out of the car, he hustled on into the house, Tommie behind him. He'd told Anselmo to keep the damn truck out of sight. Just because Anselmo's landlady came snooping was no excuse. Well, he'd knocked Anselmo around before, it was good for morale, let them know who was boss.

  "Four men crammed in one room," Tommie said, "they were bound to get edgy."

  "Edgy's not all they'll get." Luis wanted his breakfast. Shouldering down the hall, he yelled for Maria, then saw the light on in the kitchen, saw the dirty plates in the sink. He picked up the coffeepot and shook it. Still hot but nearly empty. Damn woman, lounging around in the kitchen when he was out, but never there when he wanted her. Shouting again for her, he sat down at the table and pulled a roll of bills from his pocket. Tommie had gone to wash, always had to wash when he got home, said staying up all night made him feel skuzzy. Said his hair itched. Well, red hair wasn't healthy, he ought to know that. Tommy'd said he didn't want a spicy Mexican breakfast. But he had no say in the matter. It was his choice to run with them, not theirs. If he didn't like it, he could cut out.

  "Maria! Get your tail out here! Get us some breakfast." Man was up all night, driving half the night, he needed to eat. Why didn't she think of that!

  Maria came into the kitchen sullenly, scowling at him. She jerked open the refrigerator, pulled out a box of eggs, a package of chorizo, pepper sauce, tortillas. As the frying pan heated and the kitchen filled with the spicy smell of frying chorizo, Luis counted the money.

  On the floor beside the dresser under which the cats crouched was an overflowing wastebasket. Stuffed inside, among the crumpled candy and cigarette packs, was a wad of crocheted doilies that must have covered the dresser and vanity and chair arms. The cats pawed through these and through the trash but found no gas receipts, no receipts or bills of any kind. In the closet, jeans and shirts were tossed on the floor with a tangle of men's shoes. The twin beds were unmade, the blankets half on the floor. Dulcie imagined the room as it must once have been, with the care that Maria's abuela would have given it.

  She had seen in Maria's room photographs of several generations, from Abuela down to babies and small children. She imagined this house full of children and grandchildren. Maybe little Luis and his two brothers before they grew big and mean, and the child Maria still innocent. She imagined them growing up and drifting away. It seemed strange for a good Latino family to wander apart. Dulcie preferred the loud, quarreling, close and happy Latino families who lived around Molena Point. From beneath the dresser, the cats could see straight down the hall, the
kitchen table in their direct line of sight.

  Dulcie's eyes widened as Luis removed a large bundle of greenbacks from his jacket pocket. "That's some bundle," she whispered to Joe. "How much has he got? There was no cash taken during the burglary."

  "You want a closer look? Ask him a few questions?" Joe whispered back dryly.

  Maria stood at the stove cooking breakfast; the house was redolent of frying chorizo. She glanced at Luis several times, her eyes wide at the stash of money. As if she, too, was wondering.

  "Fence," Joe said softly. "I'll bet he fenced the jewels. Maybe he just got home."

  Tommie emerged from the bathroom and went on down the hall to the kitchen. He looked unhappily at his plate of eggs and chorizo, ignored the tortillas, and took a slice of white bread from the package Maria handed him. Luis and Maria began to argue in Spanish. The cats knew only a few words, not enough to make sense of it. Tommie replied to Luis in Spanish; but he spoke the language without grace, with a flat American accent.

  Dulcie didn't like being in the house with these men. She didn't see how they were going to get the key when it was in Luis's pocket and then under his pillow. But they had to try, they had to free the caged cats. Luis was complaining about being up all night, so maybe they had been to a fence, maybe in the city. Maybe, tired and full of breakfast, they'd sleep.

  And, yes! The next minute, when Maria asked Luis if he wanted more eggs, he snapped at her and rose, shoving back his chair. "I'm going to bed! Keep the damned house quiet." Dulcie glanced at Joe, excited because they could get on with searching. But scared out of her paws to try for the key. When Luis went to bed, would he take his pants off? In the daytime?

  No cat would be fool enough to slip a paw into Luis's pocket when Luis was still in the pants.

  Or would he? She looked at Joe, and wasn't so sure.

  They drew deeper under the dresser as Luis headed down the hall-and as another car pulled up the drive. They heard its door open, and then the click of high heels. The front door opened. A woman called out: "Luis? Maria? You home?" Chichi's voice. The cats listened to her strident, whisker-wilting giggle as her high heels clicked across the entry. Luis, coming down the hall, quickly stuffed the roll of bills in his pocket and pulled his shirt out to hang loose. The implications of the blonde's easy, familiar entrance, the affirmation that she was tight with this family-but not totally so-held Joe and Dulcie tense with interest.

  26

  "The list is shaping up," Chichi sang out, waving a notebook at Luis and taking his arm to turn him back toward the kitchen. They sat down at the table across from Tommie; she dropped her purse on an empty chair. Silently Maria set a cup of coffee before her, then returned to shoving dishes into the ancient dishwasher. Their voices lowered, as if not wanting Abuela to hear, Luis and Tommie studied the notebook.

  Listening, Joe slipped out from under the dresser, heading for the hall. Dulcie grabbed the skin of his rump in her teeth. "Let me," she said through jaws clenched firmly onto his hide. "I don't have white markings, I can fade into the carpet. And Chichi's seen you. I could be any stray that wandered in."

  Joe looked at her doubtfully, but he drew back. His look said clearly that if anyone laid a hand on her, he'd skin them with his bare claws.

  Creeping down the hall, Dulcie hugged the baseboard, her belly sliding along the faded runner. Just outside the kitchen she melted into the shadow cast by the partially closed door. The room smelled of chorizo and sour dishes. Luis sat with his elbows on the table where he had spread out a large sheet of paper that must be the map. As Chichi read off her notes, he repeated the names of several village streets and shops, which she helped him find. Dulcie peered up at the tall refrigerator, longing for a higher perch from which she could see.

  Was this woman the brains of their burglaries, or only the messenger gathering information? Listening to Chichi's detailed rundown of the times that the jewelry stores and other shops opened, of how many employees were there to both start and end the day, whether male or female and approximate age, Dulcie was soon so wired she could hardly be still. They were taking great care with their plans.

  Chichi had run her surveillance both morning and evening, as if the thieves had not yet decided the best times for the burglaries. Were they planning multiple burglaries all at one time? They were smug indeed to think they'd get away with that. With the information Dallas and Harper now had, and would soon have, these hoods would be in jail before they broke the first window.

  "People will be coming in all week," Chichi said. "Cluttering up the streets. And a jazz parade on Saturday. I don't think…"

  "Cops'll be up to their ears," Luis said, smiling with satisfaction. "Snarled traffic, a real mess. Their minds'll be on tourists and crowd control."

  "You want traffic and crowds, why not wait until the big antique car show instead of this local yokel jazz festival. I don't see…"

  "That's months away. I've got twenty idle guys about to go nuts. You think they're going to wait all summer?"

  "Give them something else to do. Take them up the coast, hit a few beach resorts."

  "You want to pay their gas and rent and food bills? Twenty guys? And that antique car show, they'll bring in every cop on the coast and the whole damn CHP. Those cars are worth a mint. Cops cluttering the streets everywhere. That's the trouble, working with a woman!"

  "I got the information, didn't I? And I'll tell you this, Luis," she said sullenly. "You're going to use the jazz festival, you better look at the early evening closings, when the town's jammed. Some of those stores'll stay open, but the jewelry stores won't. And your cover's no good, first thing in the morning. No one'll be on the streets in the morning. All the mornings I've wasted getting up early…"

  "This stuff's none of your business anyway. You do what you're told, you don't tell me what to do. It was different in L.A." He looked her up and down, taking in her tight pink sweater that offered plenty of cleavage, her skintight black jeans. "Half of these, you got no closing time. I said to…"

  "I got closing times on the jewelry stores. I'm not finished." She flipped the notebook page. "Here's the frigging closings." But, confronted with Luis's rising rage, she seemed to draw back, turning suddenly as docile as Maria.

  When Luis finished marking his map, Chichi tore out the pages, handed them to him, and put the empty notebook in her purse. Where had her spunk gone, all of a sudden? The woman's brassy nerve seemed just to have vanished.

  Did Luis beat her? Dulcie could see no marks on her, but that didn't prove anything. The puzzled tabby cat remained crouched on the faded hall runner until the men began yawning again and started to rise; then she streaked for the bedroom.

  Their shoes scuffed down the hall as she fled under the dresser, ramming into Joe. She was barely hidden when they came in. Luis sat down on the unmade bed nearest the door and pulled off his shoes, dropping them on the floor on a tangle of blanket. His feet smelled awful. How often did he wash those socks? Was he going to take off his pants and shove them under his pillow, or keep them on? The cats grew so nervous, waiting, that they could hardly breathe. From the kitchen they could hear Chichi and Maria talking softly among the clicking sounds of cutlery and plates and running water.

  What would they be talking about, dumpy little Maria who looked so browbeaten, and brazen Chichi Barbi with her carefully collected hit list-brazen until a few minutes ago? Yet the two women seemed close; there was a gentle sympathy in their voices, which intrigued Dulcie.

  Joe laid his ears back in annoyance when Luis lay down on the bed fully clothed, tucking his feet under a lump of the blanket. Well, Dulcie thought, so much for that. How comfortable could it be to sleep with one's pants on? That was another plus to being a cat: no confining pants and shoes. Tommie pulled down the yellowed blinds under the lace curtains, stripped down to his shorts, and dropped his clothes on the floor, grumbling as he pulled up the tangle of covers and crawled underneath. The cats waited some time before both men were snor
ing. Then they slipped out from under the dresser and, despite any fear Dulcie might harbor, Joe reared up against Luis's bed, looking.

  He was just reaching out a paw when Chichi came down the hall.

  Quick as a pair of terrified mice the cats were under the dresser again, crouching in the dusty dark peering out at her. She stood in the doorway observing the sleeping men.

  When she was satisfied that their snores were indeed real, she came on in and began to toss the room. The cats looked at each other, fascinated and amazed. What was coming down, here?

  Chichi was as methodical as a cat herself as she searched in and under every piece of furniture. When she approached the dresser, they nearly smothered each other, pressing back into the darkest corner. She slid open the drawers above them almost soundlessly, and rifled through. Then, in the closet, she investigated every garment, felt into every pocket. She didn't approach Luis, but she went hastily through Tommie's pockets, lifting his heaped clothes with distaste.

  Only then, dropping Tommie's wrinkled shirt back atop his pants, she approached Luis's sleeping form.

  When she was two feet from him, Luis snorted. She jerked her hand back. She waited, then stepped near again. She wouldn't be looking for the key. Did she mean to take the money? He muttered and turned over, throwing out his arm, and she was gone, backing out of the room, apparently losing her nerve. She was halfway down the hall when Luis opened his eyes blearily. But then he only grunted and turned over, and was soon snoring once more.

  Chichi did not return.

  Dulcie had thought Chichi Barbi was a nervy, brazen young woman who wasn't afraid of much. Who maybe hadn't the sensibilities to be afraid. Now, she wasn't sure. She didn't know what to make of Chichi-brassy and confrontational one minute, cowed and uncertain the next.

  But whatever the truth, Chichi was conspiring with these crooks, was diligently helping them. Dulcie watched warily as Joe approached Luis again, his paw reaching; and she moved close behind him. If Luis woke and snatched Joe, the more teeth and claws the better.