Nine Lives Last Forever

Table of Contents

 

 

 

 

 

In the rearview mirror, I saw the top half of the driver’s face as he glanced back to the carriage. The driver’s hat was pulled down low over his forehead, nearly obscuring his eyes, but the reflected image struck me cold.

I’d seen those eyes before—on a face that wore a feathery red mustache.

“Monty!” I called out, trying to warn him, but the sound of the bus’s roaring engine drowned out my voice.

Thirty seconds later, midway down the next block, the bus lurched to a sudden stop, throwing me chin-first against the back of the bench in front of me.

Rubbing my jaw, I looked out toward the windshield on the front of the bus. The road in front of us suddenly dropped off, rolling down toward the flatlands of the Mission. We were at the top of 22nd Street, at the crest of one of the steepest hills in the city.

I watched in horror as Monty staggered forward and reached out to tap the driver on his shoulder. Just as Monty’s arm swung out, the driver cut the engine, yanked out the key and leapt up from his seat. Monty stood, stunned, as the driver hurled himself down the steps and out the front door.

Frank Napis glanced back at the bus, a smirking sneer on his flat face, before he scuttled away down a side street. As Monty and I stared at his fleeing figure, the bus began to roll, driverless, down the hill . . .

HOW TO WASH A CAT
NINE LIVES LAST FOREVER

Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

 

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

NINE LIVES LAST FOREVER

 

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

 

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / July 2010

Copyright © 2010 by Rebecca M. Hale.

 

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-18818-7

 

BERKLEY
^®
PRIME CRIME

Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

BERKLEY
^®
PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

 

 

One of the striking differences between a cat and a lie is that a cat has only nine lives.

—MARK TWAIN, 1894

RUPERT’S FUZZY WHITE
body meandered sleepily across the Green Vase showroom. With each step, the soft padding on the soles of his feet squished against the creaky wood flooring.

He squeaked across to the far side of the room, taking care to rub his neck and shoulder against the corner of a bookcase he passed along the way.

The first rays of early morning light were beginning to pierce the predawn fog and shine through the wall of windows that lined the storefront, causing the green vase icon inlaid into each square pane of glass to gleam brightly.

Rupert stepped gingerly through the shadows, carefully avoiding the beams of light that stretched across the floor until he stopped in front of a particularly wide swath of sunlight. His chunky white feet kneaded a loose floorboard as he considered his selection.

This was it—the perfect spot. Rupert prepared himself to take the plunge.

He shook his head, setting off a violent vibration that spread throughout his entire body. A snowstorm of loose hair floated up into the air before drifting down onto the surrounding surfaces. Now suitably fluffed, Rupert smacked his lips together and stretched his mouth open to its widest yawn.

Still standing on the shadow’s edge, he pulled all four feet in under his pillowy stomach and prepared to launch. His long fluffy tail waved back and forth as he focused on the selected beam of light.

At long last, Rupert lunged forward onto the sunlit floorboard. In a single smooth motion, he rolled over onto his left shoulder and flipped a right paw up and over his head—perfectly beaching his pudgy form so that the brightest section of sunlight baked the paunch of his upturned stomach.

Rupert heaved out a deep, satisfied sigh, the pouches of skin above his mouth whiffling gently as he expelled the air. A look of intense satisfaction spread across his furry face as his eyelids narrowed into slits.

It takes a great deal of skill and training to achieve such an immediate state of complete relaxation.

Rupert’s soft, whistling snores mingled with the comforting rush of piped water flowing from a shower in the upstairs apartment. The seconds ticked slowly by as Rupert slipped deeper and deeper into his early morning slumber, rotating slightly to maintain optimal solar absorption. His thoughts drifted peacefully in and out of his favorite images: a freshly poured litter box, a set of warm bedsheets pulled out of a hot dryer, an unattended plate of leftover fried chicken . . .

But just then, the sonar of his sleeping senses picked up on a disturbance—an unexplained movement on the opposite side of the room. The orange triangle of Rupert’s right ear rotated in the direction of the sound.

A slight, splatting
plunk
thudded against the floorboards near the bottom of the stairs.

With a disgruntled half snort, Rupert’s head jerked up. His eyes glazed with sleep, he rolled up onto his stomach and glanced around the room.

Rupert’s claws dug instinctively into the soft wood surface of the floor. His shoulders stiffened as his body tensed into a stalking lion stance. His eyes and ears widened, searching for the creature who had made such a curious noise.

This time, he matched a movement with the sound. There was something small and springy in the shadows at the back of the room—something staring back at him with googly, round alien-eyes.