Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) (3 page)

We
headed towards the house, an impressive, turreted, stone edifice with fine
mullioned windows and ivy draped around the porch, where a sign directed us
inside to the main office. Going inside was almost like stepping into a cave,
the coolness coming as a blessed relief, the shade delightful. The problem was my
eyes, taking a few moments to recover from the glare, failed to spot the sign
advising visitors to mind the step.

I
didn’t mind it. Stumbling down, struggling to regain my balance, I might have
succeeded had it not been for the rug slipping beneath my feet. My legs began a
desperate race, trying to keep up as my upper body lurched headfirst towards a
door that was, fortunately, ajar. Bursting through, sprawling full length,
skidding across the marble floor on my belly, I came to rest a few centimetres
from a pair of elegant ladies’ shoes. On pushing myself to my knees, I couldn’t
fail to notice the equally elegant pair of legs, clad in sheer black nylon. An
intoxicating, powerful perfume filled the air.

I’d
never had much luck when meeting attractive women, somehow never appearing at
my best, as if cursed to be a buffoon, a klutz. Yet, as I looked up, the smile
on her face suggested amused sympathy, rather than the horrified contempt I’d
expected.

‘Are
you alright?’ she asked, her voice soft and gentle with rather a posh accent,
suiting her look of quiet sophistication. She wore a black skirt and a pale-green
silk blouse, which clung around her. My eyes, briefly meeting hers, stared at
the carpet, yet I retained an image of full red lips, sleek, dark hair
surrounding a face suggestive of Mediterranean ancestry, eyes flashing green
like northern seas in the sunlight, beneath fine quizzical eyebrows, and …

‘Andy?’
Hobbes arrived in a more conventional manner, his voice bursting into my
reverie like a hippo into a paddling pool. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘Umm
… er …’

‘Do
you think we should call an ambulance?’ asked the woman, sounding concerned. ‘He
might have hit his head.’

A
great muscular paw dragged me to my feet. An electric fan whirred, blowing cool
air into my back.

‘He
probably should get his head examined,’ said Hobbes, ‘but I don’t think he’s
hurt himself.’ He sniffed, rubbing his nose.

‘I’m
alright,’ I said. ‘I … umm … fell.’

When
the woman smiled at me, my knees came close to giving way.

Another
woman spoke. ‘Can I help you?’

An
older woman, flecks of grey in her short, gingery hair, wearing round,
red-rimmed spectacles, sat behind a desk. I had found the main office.

‘Forgive
me,’ said Hobbes in his official voice, showing his ID, ‘I’m Inspector Hobbes
and this young oaf,’ he patted my back, ‘is Andy.’ He sneezed. ‘Excuse me.’

I
flinched, but not from the suddenness of the sneeze. Being labelled an oaf in
front of such a beautiful woman was not good for the ego, especially when the
accolade was well deserved. Yet, she smiled again before turning to the other
woman.

‘Thanks,
Ellen,’ she said. ‘I can see you’ll be busy with these two gentlemen so I’ll
come back later.’ She walked away, with an elegant swing of the hips.

‘Good
afternoon, Inspector,’ said the older woman, rising from her chair, ‘I’m Ellen
Bloom, Mr Catt’s secretary. How can I help you?’

She
smiled at him; I still wondered how he managed to conceal his otherness behind his
policeman’s façade.

‘It’s
merely a routine enquiry. I wondered whether you might have lost any big cats
recently?’

‘I
wouldn’t have thought so. We are not in the habit of losing animals, especially
big ones.’

‘No,
I thought not,’ said Hobbes, nodding. ‘However, I needed to check. I wonder if
I might have a word with your boss?’

‘Mr
Catt is not in his office. I’ll find him.’ Sitting back in her chair, picking
up a walkie-talkie, she pressed a button and spoke. ‘Mr Catt? It’s Ellen.’

The
walkie-talkie crackled and buzzed in response but Mrs Bloom seemed to
understand it.

‘I
have an Inspector Hobbes here, who wants to talk about big cats … OK, I’ll tell
him … goodbye.’ She released the button, looking up at Hobbes. ‘Mr Catt is in
the reptile house attending to the crocodiles. Go out the front door, turn left
and left again. You can’t miss it.’

‘Thank
you,’ said Hobbes as we left.

‘Wasn’t
she gorgeous?’ I murmured.

‘Mrs
Bloom?’

‘No,
the other lady. I wonder what she’s called?’

He
grinned. ‘It’s like that is it? And there was I thinking you’d thrown yourself
at her feet by accident.’

‘I
did … D’you think I made a fool of myself?’

‘No,’
he said with a chuckle, ‘almost certainly not.’ Pulling a handkerchief from his
pocket, he blew his nose like a foghorn. ‘I think the rug you slid on must be
made of camel hair. It’s good to get some fresh air.’

I
nodded, unable to take my mind from the woman, who, though she must have seen
me as a clumsy oaf, had smiled at me. It had been a smile of sympathy but it
had shown off her perfect white teeth, lovely lips, the way her eyes crinkled
at the corners …

‘Where’s
Dregs got to?’ asked Hobbes, looking around.

He’d
definitely been with us when we’d entered the house but I couldn’t recall
seeing him since. There was no sign of him.

‘We’d
better find him,’ said Hobbes, ‘and quickly. Otherwise he’ll end up in the lion’s
den – or worse.’

He
loped away in a crouch, his hairy hands nearly brushing the dusty concrete and,
though he looked awkward, I had to jog to keep up. At least I could keep up for
a short while. When I’d first met him, I wouldn’t have stood a chance, but Mrs
Goodfellow’s good food, combined with running after him and Dregs, had lifted
me to a level of fitness that was still a novelty. Nevertheless, I was puffing
and sweating like a Turkish wrestler when we found the dog, cowering under the
car, trembling, showing the whites of his eyes, licking his lips. He seemed
pleased that we were there and crawled out, whining like a frightened puppy. I’d
never seen him like it before and it came as a shock, for I wouldn’t have
believed anything could scare him.

‘What’s
up with him?’ I asked, stroking his hairy head.

‘I
don’t know but something’s obviously given him a fright.’

‘Perhaps
it’s the scent of all the animals round here?’

‘I
doubt it. He normally likes that sort of thing.’

‘I
suppose so. Perhaps my fall upset him?’ Even I was sceptical about this theory
for, judging by past experience, Dregs regarded any trip or pratfall with
great, tail-wagging amusement.

‘Who
knows, but whatever was up with him, he’s better now.’

It
was true, for Dregs’s whiplash tail was working overtime and he was now bouncing
around us as if nothing had happened.

Hobbes
shrugged. ‘Oh well, let’s find Mr Catt.’

As
we headed towards a long, low-slung building, my stomach started turning
somersaults because I’d always had a thing about reptiles, and particularly snakes,
even the little ones. I had a moment of hope on spotting a sign saying the
reptile house was temporarily closed to the public, but it didn’t deter Hobbes or
Dregs who plunged inside, while I dithered, scared to enter, yet unwilling to
miss out on whatever transpired. At length, screwing up my courage, I ran after
them. It was bad, as bad as I’d feared. There was a boa constrictor slithering
in my direction in the first tank and a pair of anacondas, sleeping but
sinister in the second. Then came smaller tanks, writhing with all sorts of venomous
serpents but the worst was a massive reticulated python, its belly swollen to
the size and shape of a small pig. I shivered, avoiding eye contact, trying to
hurry past, while Hobbes peered at it, obviously fascinated, and Dregs bounced,
barking in excitement.

‘This
fellow’s enjoyed a good lunch and no mistake,’ said Hobbes, ‘and it’s obviously
not the snakes that frightened Dregs.’

‘C’mon,’
I urged, ‘let’s find Mr Catt.’

‘There’s
no hurry,’ said Hobbes, putting his great, hairy paw up to the glass and waving.
‘Hello, Mr Python, curling round a tree.’

The
snake, responding, slithered towards us, making me feel sick and wobbly,
scarcely able to breathe, as its unblinking gaze locked onto me, following my
every movement. Though my rational mind knew it was safely behind the thick
glass, I couldn’t help myself wondering what would happen if the glass broke,
or if some careless keeper had left the door open.

‘Can
we go now?’ I asked, backing away.

‘I
think she’s got a crush on you,’ said Hobbes with an evil grin.

Turning,
I fled towards a walled pen at the rear, where a pair of crocodiles lurked.
Hobbes followed, chuckling.

The
larger of the crocodiles raised his head as we drew close. ‘Ah,’ it said, ‘you
must be Inspector Hobbes. I’ll be with you in a moment.’

I
was so startled that, forgetting my panic, I stood still as a statue, gaping
like an idiot, until a chubby, little man, red-faced, dressed in a dishevelled
safari suit, stood up abruptly from behind the wall, seized the smaller croc by
the tail and plunged a syringe into it. The beast thrashed and snapped but the
man had moved on.

Sauntering
away, he climbed back over the wall, dropping the syringe into a yellow plastic
box. ‘A jab well done,’ he said, rubbing his hands together, chuckling at his
own joke. ‘I’m Francis Catt, the director. How may I help you?’

‘I’m
sorry to disturb you, sir,’ said Hobbes, ‘but have you lost any cats?’

‘Felines,
nothing more than felines,’ Mr Catt sang in a wavering tenor and grinned. ‘No,
we haven’t lost any. Have you found some?’

‘Possibly,’
said Hobbes, ‘according to Mr Nibblet.’

‘Would
that be “Skeleton” Bob Nibblet?’

‘Yes,’
said Hobbes. ‘I take it that you know him?’

‘Oh
yes. He’s turned up here several times recently, fretting that we’d lost a
black panther. We haven’t of course. The only thing we’ve ever lost is a grass
snake.’

I
couldn’t stop myself from looking around, preparing to run. Grass snakes, I
knew, were mostly harmless, but they were still snakes.

‘Do
you think,’ asked Hobbes, ‘that he was making it up?’

Mr
Catt thought for a moment. ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that but he always
seems to run across big cats on Friday nights and Ellen – you’ve met my
secretary? – she lives not far from him and says he’s usually rolling drunk on
Friday evenings.’

‘I
see,’ said Hobbes.

Mr
Catt continued. ‘I’m not saying he’s lying deliberately but I wouldn’t rely on
him. He’s not so bright at the best of times and with a skinful of beer, well,
I think it’s likely that he’s just seen a normal black moggy and blown it up out
of all proportion.’

‘That
would seem likely,’ said Hobbes, nodding. ‘Still, while we’re here, would you
mind if we take a look at your big cats. What have you got?’

Mr
Catt, escorting us from the reptile house, took us along a dusty path, past
groups of happy visitors, heading for the cats. ‘We’ve got lions,’ he said. ‘Tony,
the lonesome tiger, and a pair of leopards – you might find them interesting.
Zoologically speaking they are synonymous with panthers, the so-called black
panthers, merely being melanistic variants. We have a couple of fine specimens
but they’re safe in their pen. Anyway, even if they did escape, they wouldn’t
get far; leopards are always spotted.’ He sniggered like a schoolboy. ‘By the
way, did you know lions are so called because they’re always lion around?’

‘Huh!’
I said and, to distract him, pointed towards a pen where some white birds with
long beaks were standing round a pond. ‘Are those storks?’

‘No,
they’re Egrets. Egrets, I’ve had a few, but then again too few to mention.’

I
sighed. We were passing the rhino enclosure when Hobbes stopped walking. I continued,
chatting to Mr Catt.

‘What’s
a melanistic variant?’ I asked, more as an attempt to halt his little ‘jokes’
than because of a thirst for knowledge.

‘It’s
merely an animal that possesses an increased amount of black, or dark,
pigmentation. Interestingly enough it can occur in many felines and, it’s not
generally known but …’

‘How
dangerous are rhinoceroses?’ asked Hobbes, frowning.

Mr
Catt looked puzzled. ‘The rhinos? They’re not really dangerous at all, so long
as they’re confined to their enclosure and we’re safely out here. Why do you
ask?’

‘I
wondered if that little girl was safe,’ said Hobbes.

‘What?
Oh hell!’ Mr Catt groaned.

The
child was running through the enclosure, presumably having squeezed under the
wire and clambered across a ditch. She was heading for her sunhat which must
have blown off. One of the rhinos raised its head, staring, ears twitching,
ambling towards her. The other, looking up, trotted after it.