Inspector Cat was comfortably sleeping in his office chair when the weeping broad bust right in. He jumped up; frightened by such a rude entrance and all his fluffy white cat fur became ruffled beneath his cute little cat tuxedo and his expensive little kitty-cat-top-hat tumbled to the floor. He was not amused.
Her makeup was running and her stylish coat was no match for the heavy rain outside. She was a heaping wet mess. And the only thing that Inspector Cat hated more than some frantic broad bursting into his office was water.
“Are you that detective. The uh, Cat-detective?
“INSPECTOR, lady, not ‘detective’ you know the difference? Shut up, don’t answer, just make this fast. A got a big case load and date with a pretty little mouse tonight.”
She wiped her tears away and took a deep breath. And Jesus, this broad wore a lot of makeup. Beneath her eyes there were still these black-weeping rivers.
“I need your help. I think you’re the only one I can trust. That’s what they say about you right? You don’t take sides. You don't give two damns ‘bout no mob boss or no police chief. ”
“Yea I’m a free agent. As long as I get my payment, I’m the best friend you’ll ever have.”
“That’s good. Real good. This should be a walk in the park for you. I owe some one some money, you see, a lot of money, and well, I a wondering if you could, you know, dig up some dirt on this guy.”
“So you’d rather pay me than pay your debts, huh? Listen lady I only dig up dirt after I’ve taken a crap. Is that what your asking me to do? Just go out there and take a crap on some guy?”
“Well that’s the other reason I came to you. I also hear you know this guy. Yea, I hear you’re real old pals.”
“What are you getting at lady spit it out!”
“Eddie 8-Ball. Sound familiar?”
Eddie 8-Ball. I hadn’t heard that name in years. Eddie 8-Ball. God damnit I thought finally forgot about him. Last time I saw Eddie 8-Ball there was a gun pointed at my head and he was smiling at me though the broken window in my mustang. “Tuff luck you cute little kitty cat” he said, that patronizing ass, as he drove off into the sunset with my car, my gal, and all my fucking salmon.
“where is this son of a dog” Inspector Cat was yelling, “I’ll claw his throat out!”
Eddie 8-Ball vanished, even to Inspector Cat’s expert tracking skills. He’d do anything to get back at ol’ Eddie 8-Ball.
“last I heard he set up shop down by 48th and marine, you know, the fish market.”
The fish market, of course.
Inspector Cat’s rage was beginning to subside and he started thinking clearly again.
The fish market. This has to be a set up.
“Alright lady lets get something straight first. How exactly do you know this scum bag?”
Inspector Cat could see the flicker in her eyes. Even beneath all that damn eyeliner he could see the lie before she told it.
“Oh, uh, I met him in Vegas. At a high roller table.”
“Vegas huh? Yea I’m sure. Well tell ya what, you pay me fifty head-scratches and twenty cans of pure Norwegian salmon and I’ll figure out a way to have ol’ Eddie 8-Ball squeaking like a little cat toy for ya.”
And she smiled in a way that seemed almost sincere. And for a moment Inspector Cat considered actually helping her, if only to screw his old pal over. But he would worry about that later he decided, as he laid his little fluffy cat head down and went back to sleep.