1. Unsolved
Damn
it, this case wasn’t going as well as I’d hoped.
I
braced myself and inched along the ledge, closer to death.
I
was on familiar terms with Death. Too
familiar. We’d become more than
acquaintances of late and I owed him a drink or two for all the close calls,
near misses and narrow escapes. I’d owe
him another drink if, tonight, I lived.
This
case, the case that had brought me to this precipice, was a case that had
haunted me for years. I’d solved it,
again and again, but it kept coming back for more.
Goddammit.
I
shuffled further along.
Only
cats had nine lives, right?
Just
ahead, my target, a dark shape against the feeble lighting of this sector,
poked out from the corner of the building, and even though its form was only a
silhouette, it gave off an aura of malevolence; the damned thing was almost
certainly directing its evil eye at my fragile body.
I
made the mistake of looking down, beyond my feet, just for a second.
Oh damn…
Most of my life, before and after the vortex
accident, I’d been under the impression I was good with heights, but now, I was
beginning to regret that viewpoint; my head spun, and my balance quivered. I pressed myself back against the wall. Damn it.
Goddammit. I imagined myself
falling to my death, screaming, passing out; I imagined my body, my blood and
viscera, spread across the pavement, roads, several buildings, the latest
artwork of Sector Three. Very avant-garde. I swallowed, a pathetic attempt to rid myself
of the dryness in my throat. Damn
it. I had to regain my composure. Had to.
Or my splattered remains would become the hottest exhibition for the bourgeois
students and crusty haut monde crowd of Space Station Delta.
I pressed
my head back, against the wall behind me and away from certain death below me. I stared out into the gloom.
Sector
Three.
This
case had brought me far from home, from one side of the station to the other; it
was getting out of hand. Any other
client, I would’ve given up a long time ago, but Mrs Lafferty was one of the
richest on my books, and hell knew I needed the credits. Especially after the damned fiasco with
Tribeca Systems last year. Lots of hard
work for a generous pay out all flushed down the toilet by a contractual
loophole. Bastards.
I
needed a goddamned drink. Several. If I survived this fiasco.
I
edged closer to my prey.
I found myself in front of a window
and I prayed to any deity that was listening that whichever uptight arsehole that
lived inside wasn’t watching and judging my desperate endeavour. That was the last thing I needed. And they would certainly call the cops on me. I also prayed that they didn’t open the
window and knock me into the looming abyss below.
But,
if I finally closed this case once and for all, my death might be worth it. Although, I’d rather be alive enough to enjoy
the prize.
I
edged passed the window and reached the corner.
My target was within reach at last.
I just needed to somehow duck down to the damned thing’s level, that would
not be an easy feat while balancing on a narrow ledge, and grab it.
It sauntered
toward me, and its ginger tail flittered, somewhat smugly, almost as if the
creature knew of my dilemma.
This
was closest I’d been to Mrs Lafferty’s elusive goddamned cat in over a year.
I’d
caught it before, more than twice before, but it always escaped, always gave me
the damned run-around.
I
kept my back to the wall, my coat scuffed the brickwork, and eased myself
downwards, squatting; it was the only way to make sure I was balanced. This was dangerous. I could feel the winds from the air
filtration system whip around me and try to knock me off kilter. I had a sinking feeling in my gut that this
wasn’t going to go to plan.
I
glanced to my right; the glowing green eyes of the satanic beast glared back at
me in the moonlight. Evil cat. It mewed pathetically. A scam. I knew its real intentions; it would knock me
from the ledge the first chance it got.
Ah, and now it was happening; the damned thing had chosen its moment to
murder me; it rubbed against my legs.
Bastard. I was suddenly
regretting my choice to scale this death trap of an apartment complex at this
time of night. I pressed myself against
the wall to prevent the cat from tripping me and it purred maniacally. There was no way I was going to fall to my
death because of this foul feline.
I didn’t
know how I was going to grab the damned thing.
And…
get down from this ledge.
I
really hadn’t thought this through enough.
I
tried to reach down and seize the cat by its scruff, but the devious thing just
kept looping in and around my legs. My
thighs, and the surrounding muscles, ached with the tension of squatting. Painful.
I couldn’t stand, not without being knocked off balance by the feral
monster, and I couldn’t sit on the ledge, or I’d squash the biggest payday of
my life. I wasn’t going to be able to
keep this up forever; the longer I stayed in this position, the greater the
chances of terminal velocity.
Goddammit.
The
cat curled up underneath my posterior and settled down.
Fucking
goddammit.
The
flash of blue lights and the echo of a siren trilled below.
God-fucking-dammit.
That’s
all I needed.
The cops.
With
the cat safely immobile beneath me, I pushed against my aching legs and
straightened out; my balance was more stable, but there would be no way I could
grab the damned thing from this position.
Part
of me wished I was still a smoker since now would’ve been the perfect time for a
cigarette, time for me to think, time for me to work out what I needed to do
next. The cop car’s lights still blinked
and flashed below me. They would be on
their way up to me, and I didn’t have enough time to dawdle by thinking up the
best way to capture the cat; I needed to just go for it.
I
took a careful step to the left and over the dozing creature. I hadn’t disturbed it; the cat stayed curled
on the ledge. Bastard thing. Right now, it looked innocent, but
appearances were deceiving. I let out a
sigh of relief. I’d made it; I’d moved
from my precarious position where some of my most valuable assets had been most
at risk from sharpened claws.
I
still needed to figure out how to grab the cursed animal without falling and I
had an inkling that the thing wouldn’t be wholly cooperative, despite its
current serenity.
I
returned to a squat position by pressing my back against the wall and edging
downwards. The cat was still
sleeping. Or at least, it appeared to
be. Damned bastard beast. Its ears turned to my direction; it was
listening, hearing my under-breath curses, waiting for its chance to strike.
I
didn’t want to die with this particular unsolved case written in my obituary.
Cramp
began to set in within my thighs; all this squatting wasn’t good for my
constitution, or for my old leg injury from last year. I shifted my feet, my weight, and some debris
from the ledge crunched and plummeted below.
I didn’t see it hit the ground.
That
could easily have been me.
Damned
cat.
The ache
in my legs was weakening the muscles in my legs and I needed to move into a
more sustainable position; I needed to sit and let my legs dangle from the
edge.
I
glanced at the beast to my left. It was
still there, content as ever, patient as ever, waiting for my demise. Perhaps the creature was, in reality, Death
wearing a disguise ready to collect on my debts. Bastard.
I shimmied
down the wall and kicked out a foot from under myself. My weight shifted onto my bad leg, and I
screamed, a disturbing sound for the residents of the building; the gunshot
wound from last year, that I hadn’t looked after very well, still liked to
remind of that fact from time to time. I
wobbled, dizzy. I caught myself before I
toppled forward and propped myself up with an arm, outstretched hand pressed firmly
on the ledge to my left. Goddammit, I
needed a drink. The memory of my wounded
leg pounded throughout my muscles; I needed to move, or I’d pay the consequences
with my life. One knee in my face, the
other dangling over the edge. I
shifted. Pressure eased from my aching
muscles and hurting thigh. The ledge was
narrow, too narrow for my bum, and my cheeks dug into the corners of the stone. I’d traded discomfort for more discomfort,
but at least I was safer.
The ginger
cat still slept.
Apparently.
It
purred; its ears were still focused on me.
It
was listening.
Waiting.
Comfortably.
Unlike
me. Even my hands were uncomfortable; I
gripped the hard and rough edge, determined not to slip. The cat, my ultimate foe, was curled up, balanced,
unafraid.
I
sighed; I desperately needed a cigarette and a drink.
Goddammit.
Blue
lights still flashed below. The cops
wouldn’t take long to find me, or my remains if I fell; my organs would be
spread across the streets and my bones would leave an impression in the roof of
their autocar, if my aim were true.
I
couldn’t help but survey my surroundings, up here in the dark, cold heights of
Sector Three. I could see most of the sector,
or at least it’s lights. Pinpoints and
streams of white and yellow illuminating one of the most affluent places on
Space Station Delta. Flowers in the
dark. It was beautiful. And a reminder of how shit my home sector was. The social and economic divide was a
permanent fixture, and it was never going to improve, only widen.
Damn,
I was getting too old for this shit.
Something
wet and cold prodded my hand, the nose of the beast; it was awake. It sniffed me, sized me up for its next meal,
with a bejewelled collar that sparkled with demonic intent as it slinked close. I daren’t move; I didn’t want to scare the
damned creature away. Not after what I’d
been through today; I hadn’t climbed onto this ledge for nothing. Its wet nose, damned thing, trailed snot
along my fingers. It licked. Sandpaper.
Moist sandpaper. The bloody thing
was taunting me. And I had no choice but
to let it.
For
now.
I
needed patience. Any sudden move to grab
the cat or to pin it, could lead to either the cat fleeing, me falling or both. If I was fast, if I didn’t think about it too
much, I could lift my hand, suddenly and hastily, and grab the damned beast by
its scruff.
I
looked down at the thing. It stared back,
unmoving. No sniffing anymore, no
licking. I got the feeling it was
reading my thoughts, waiting for me to make a mistake.
It
was now or never.
I
took a deep breath, mentally prepared myself, and lifted my hand, the one
nearest the beast, quickly; I felt a brief tremble as my balance on the ledge
destabilised and my palm careened at the creature’s neck.
I
missed.
My
knuckles grazed with the stone, but that wasn’t the end of it. The cat, the damned monstrous beast, flew at
my stricken hand with claws and teeth. A
furry ball of death and destruction.
Goddammit!
I
reeled back instinctively, and it was the worst possible thing I could’ve done.
I
slipped. My backside slipped from the edge. My spine scraped the stone and the back of my
head echoed against it.
It all happened so fast.
My heart, organs, jumped and I almost felt
my soul, if I had one, leave my body.
I fell.
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