intimate details, she smiled knowingly. “Some progress then, huh?”
“A little, but not enough. The bottom line here is that I have less than three days. Any clues on how I can speed this along?”
She looked down at his crotch, then over to her tray of tiny earring loops.
“Forget it!”
He was already headed for the door, ignoring her chuckles, when she added, “I don’t suppose you’d like to give your wife a cat? Gargoyle’s gettin’ bored with me . . . seems to be lookin’ for a new home.”
“No way! Absolutely not! Never!” He looked back at the feline parked on her lap, a tabby the size of a small automobile, and shivered. It was licking its chops and gazing at him with a condescending I-know-something-you-don’t cat grin, probably thinking, “What a chump!”
Nick’s upper lip curled with distaste. “I hate cats.”
“I know.”
“Huh?”
“Maybe you should learn to conquer your fears.”
“Maybe you should stick to hair plucking and crystal fish bowls. I will never, ever have a cat for a pet.”
He turned toward the door again.
“Not even if it could help you get your wife back?”
“Not even if my life depended on it.” He slammed the door resoundingly and leaned against the doorframe, wheezing. The mere thought of living with a cat revolted him. He felt like upchucking.
He closed his eyes briefly and fought the picture of a five-year-old boy in the projects. Rats. So many rats! And all those cats chasing them. And his poor baby sister, Lita, in her crib, trapped . . . oh, Lord!
Stiffening with resolve, he forced the bad memories aside. No, he didn’t need any damn cat to remind him of all he’d left behind. Not in this lifetime!
When he arrived back at the station house a short time later, he met Skip coming out. Skip stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at him. “What the hell is that giant furball sitting on your front seat?”
“Gargoyle.”
“You mean Garfield.”
“No, I mean Gargoyle.”
“It must weigh fifty pounds. I thought you hated cats.”
Nick said a very foul word and stomped past him up the steps, without answering. He was in a cold sweat from having sat next to a cat for the past fifteen minutes. He wanted to go take a shower, brush his teeth, and spray himself with a film of disinfectant.
“Hey, have you given any more thought to that Indian stripper job I mentioned?”
Nick said two foul words and added a hand gesture.
Chapter Six
He’d been schnookered by an expert schnookerer . . .
BY THE TIME Nick quit work that evening, he was in a really bad mood.
His first mission was to unload the cat. So he headed to Paula’s.
She declined his gift, graciously but firmly. “Nick, I already have Gonzo. What would I want with a cat?”
In the background, the German shepherd was barking and growling like crazy, straining to leap through the barely opened doorway. Gonzo hated cats almost as much as Nick did.
Paula refused to let Nick come inside her apartment, reminding him that they’d agreed last night to stop seeing each other altogether and accept the fact that they’d be divorced in three more days.
Nick wanted to point out that he’d never agreed to any such thing, but he had more important concerns. She’s not gonna take the damn cat! Oh, Lord! Now what? Nick’s cold sweat turned colder, and a visible shudder passed over his body.
“What am I gonna do with a cat?” he complained. He stood in the hallway, shifting from leg to leg, his arms aching from holding the monster cat that was gaining weight by the second.
“Take it back where you got it. And stop buying things for me without asking. I’m sick of you making decisions for me. If I want a cat, I’ll get one myself.”
“Talk about ingratitude!”
She glared at him. “And, Nick . . . don’t come back tonight. I won’t be here.” Her lips trembled and her voice cracked. “Last night was an ending. Give up! I don’t know how much more I can take.”
He
“A little, but not enough. The bottom line here is that I have less than three days. Any clues on how I can speed this along?”
She looked down at his crotch, then over to her tray of tiny earring loops.
“Forget it!”
He was already headed for the door, ignoring her chuckles, when she added, “I don’t suppose you’d like to give your wife a cat? Gargoyle’s gettin’ bored with me . . . seems to be lookin’ for a new home.”
“No way! Absolutely not! Never!” He looked back at the feline parked on her lap, a tabby the size of a small automobile, and shivered. It was licking its chops and gazing at him with a condescending I-know-something-you-don’t cat grin, probably thinking, “What a chump!”
Nick’s upper lip curled with distaste. “I hate cats.”
“I know.”
“Huh?”
“Maybe you should learn to conquer your fears.”
“Maybe you should stick to hair plucking and crystal fish bowls. I will never, ever have a cat for a pet.”
He turned toward the door again.
“Not even if it could help you get your wife back?”
“Not even if my life depended on it.” He slammed the door resoundingly and leaned against the doorframe, wheezing. The mere thought of living with a cat revolted him. He felt like upchucking.
He closed his eyes briefly and fought the picture of a five-year-old boy in the projects. Rats. So many rats! And all those cats chasing them. And his poor baby sister, Lita, in her crib, trapped . . . oh, Lord!
Stiffening with resolve, he forced the bad memories aside. No, he didn’t need any damn cat to remind him of all he’d left behind. Not in this lifetime!
When he arrived back at the station house a short time later, he met Skip coming out. Skip stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at him. “What the hell is that giant furball sitting on your front seat?”
“Gargoyle.”
“You mean Garfield.”
“No, I mean Gargoyle.”
“It must weigh fifty pounds. I thought you hated cats.”
Nick said a very foul word and stomped past him up the steps, without answering. He was in a cold sweat from having sat next to a cat for the past fifteen minutes. He wanted to go take a shower, brush his teeth, and spray himself with a film of disinfectant.
“Hey, have you given any more thought to that Indian stripper job I mentioned?”
Nick said two foul words and added a hand gesture.
Chapter Six
He’d been schnookered by an expert schnookerer . . .
BY THE TIME Nick quit work that evening, he was in a really bad mood.
His first mission was to unload the cat. So he headed to Paula’s.
She declined his gift, graciously but firmly. “Nick, I already have Gonzo. What would I want with a cat?”
In the background, the German shepherd was barking and growling like crazy, straining to leap through the barely opened doorway. Gonzo hated cats almost as much as Nick did.
Paula refused to let Nick come inside her apartment, reminding him that they’d agreed last night to stop seeing each other altogether and accept the fact that they’d be divorced in three more days.
Nick wanted to point out that he’d never agreed to any such thing, but he had more important concerns. She’s not gonna take the damn cat! Oh, Lord! Now what? Nick’s cold sweat turned colder, and a visible shudder passed over his body.
“What am I gonna do with a cat?” he complained. He stood in the hallway, shifting from leg to leg, his arms aching from holding the monster cat that was gaining weight by the second.
“Take it back where you got it. And stop buying things for me without asking. I’m sick of you making decisions for me. If I want a cat, I’ll get one myself.”
“Talk about ingratitude!”
She glared at him. “And, Nick . . . don’t come back tonight. I won’t be here.” Her lips trembled and her voice cracked. “Last night was an ending. Give up! I don’t know how much more I can take.”
He
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