Cat on a Cold Tin Roof by Mike Resnick Page A

me.
    â€œYeah, I know,” I replied. “And maybe twelve million. What makes it worth more than a buck and a half?”
    â€œWhen I went to visit him—Velma was off shopping, which is her main occupation these days—he assured me he wasn’t going to rat on his friends. We got to talking, he mentioned that he’d been doing some work for the Bolivians, and had given himself a raise in pay, and was trying to extricate himself from the unhappy situation. I told him that from what I’d heard, these South Americans had absolutely no respect for law and order, and that they might be after him even as we spoke. He told me that at least they’d never get their hands on the money, that he didn’t have a safe, and that if Velma saw more than fifteen or twenty large in the checking account she immediately went out and spent it.”
    â€œI hope you’re not going to tell me he had CDs glued to the inside of the collar,” I said.
    He chuckled. “No, I’m not going to tell you that.” He reached into a coat pocket. “Here,” he said, withdrawing a leather cat collar studded with what looked like ten or twelve gleaming diamonds. “What do you think of this?”
    â€œIs that the collar?”
    â€œNot quite,” he replied with a smile. He pressed it against a water glass and began rubbing it against the surface. Nothing happened.
    â€œRhinestones,” he explained. “Diamonds would have cut through it, or at least left some deep marks. I paid twenty bucks for it this morning. The collar we’re talking about looks pretty much like this one. The only difference is that the stones were twenty-carat diamonds, and they’d have cut the glass.”
    â€œHe admitted it?”
    Sorrentino grinned. “He said the Bolivians would never think to look at a housecat’s collar, and then he laughed his head off.”
    â€œWell, someone thought of it,” I said. “Mrs. Pepperidge had me arrested and jailed when I returned the cat without the collar.”
    He uttered an amused laugh. “Hah! Big Jim didn’t think she knew. That Velma can sniff out money from three states away, let alone half a room.”
    â€œBut she doesn’t have the collar,” I pointed out. “That’s what I was being paid to find, though I didn’t know it at the time.” I paused for a moment, thinking it through. “So the Bolivians must have figured it out, grabbed the collar, and either tossed the cat off the balcony into the snow, or closed the sliding door and locked him outside, after which he jumped.”
    Sorrentino shook his head. “Uh-uh.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œThey’re still in town, three of them—and they took a shot at me last night. Someone else has the collar.”
    â€œWho?”
    He shrugged. “Could be someone else knew about it. Could be someone saw it on the cat when it was locked outside and figured out what it was worth. Could be some kid fell in love with the cat, brought it inside, his mama said no, and he kept the collar as a keepsake. You’re a detective; that’s why I’m telling you this, and that’s why we’re gonna be partners.”
    I stared at him for a long minute, then finally shook my head, “I don’t think so,” I said.
    â€œWhy the hell not?”
    â€œI don’t want a bunch of Bolivian killers after me if we find it—and if we do find it, they’ll know it the instant I catch up on my bills and you go back to Chicago.”
    â€œSo you’re just gonna leave it for them to find?”
    â€œNo, I’ll search for it.”
    He frowned. “Half isn’t enough for you?”
    â€œCalm down,” I said. “Ten percent is enough for me.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œI don’t want any part of hot diamonds, either unloading them on the black market or keeping one step ahead of the