by Cliff Burns
that Marvin’s apartment building was primed for serious aggression--and if you needed evidence, there was a partially fused body of a grey cat lying about ten feet from its front doors. The warning had been repeated in seventeen different languages and dialects but the cat still refused to identify itself.
Electric eyes crawled all over me as I gave my name to the building’s security system.
About two minutes later I was in an elevator, going up, preparing myself for yet another brain-boggling encounter with today's disaffected youth. But even so, it was a good sign that he was still willing to see me, circumstances being what they were. Marvin knew which way the wind blew. If my karmic credit hadn't been good I would've been given a scant thirty seconds to clear off the premises--the charred remains of Tittles the terminated tabby serving as a reminder of what the consequences would be if I likewise chose to ignore that explicit directive.