“Where is he?” the cop asked the night clerk, dangling a sketch of the stranger.
“Room number ten at the end.”
The cop and his partner conferred briefly in the parking lot, then marched up the way to room ten.
“Back me up.” And the first cop, gun drawn, tried the door and when it wouldn’t yield, forced it open. The room was dark, and he hit the light switch. The place was empty. The bedsheets were torn back, indeed were still warm, but the room was empty.
He tried the bathroom. Nothing. The closets. Same. And rejoined his partner. Shook his head.
As the cops called in their report, the stranger and his newfound mistress, having scrambled out of that place just in the nick of time, watched from the cab of his truck across the road.
“What do they want?”
“What they can’t have. We all want what we can’t have. George Lesslie wants you, if he’s human and was touched by the contents of that letter. But he can’t have you.”
“I don’t want any part of this.”
“But you do want money, because money makes the world go round.” He flashed his billfold.
“The price just went up.”
“Another five, that’s all you’ll get.”
“And if that’s not enough?”
The stranger flashed a gun. “I’ll see you here tomorrow at five o’clock. Be prepared.”
A Boy Scout’s motto, and one the Big Katt wished her husband would heed, but he was anything but prepared for her now. He was fast asleep. This poor fellow, who had obviously bitten off more than he could chew marrying the Big Katt in the first place. Who had stood at the altar and said “I do,” never suspecting that “I can’t,” “I won’t,” and “I’m out of gas” would also soon become part of his lexicon, having underestimated the Big Katt’s sex drive and determination.
Poor Spud, she thought, because she truly loved theez man, as she had once loved another man, her ex-husband, whose attempts to disrupt her life had now become more than simple annoyance. Her jungle instincts were on the rise, and she knew deep down, felt it in her heart of hearts, that sooner or later it must be she, Katt Hall, with her ferocious jungle appetite, who would take matters into her own hands. It would be she who must hunt this monster down, and force him to ground. She couldn’t live under the shadow of this maniac much longer. She was growing weary of this little game. She partly blamed herself for having created this monster -- and now, like Dr. Frankenstein, she would have to destroy him. She longed for peace and contentment in her life, and she would have it. She turned over and gazed fondly at Spud. “You sleep, baby, you sleep.”
Spud was murmuring: “On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me -- three shots of Jack Daniels, two fifths of Wild Turkey, one Scotch and soda -- and a partridge in a pear tree.”