Timmy Perkins
and the Pussycat Extravaganza
by Joseph M. Isenberg
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3, 4 |
part 3
Clarissa disliked the change. I hedged my bets by telling her part of the truth. I officially was posted to the Bureau of Personnel and tasked with a public relations stunt. She just about accepted that. I also pointed out that I would be spending more time with her and Billy. We would all go to the cat show on New Cornwall.
She and Billy could go from there to visit her folks on Halcon V, while I sold tractors for a week or two then followed on. We didn’t have to leave at once. After the show finished, I would request to go back on active duty as soon as possible.
The first thread to pull was Dronkenoff. I tailed him a bit. He was a creature of habit. Every day, he left the Comrades’ embassy, just before noon, empty-handed. He walked to Cafe Novybeloozero, where he had tea and blinii.
The Cafe was on the ground floor of an older, four-story building, with apartments above. After lunch, Dronkenoff ducked into the apartments. It was a fast trip, only a quick in and out, with no chance of an assignation. Leaving, Dronkenoff carried two animal cages.
He walked to Sage’s clinic. I found a little park, where I watched. Dronkenoff stayed, having all sort of things adjusted, no doubt. He left with no boxes. The mystery clarified when Sage and Haldane emerged, carrying one box each. They walked off in different directions. Barleywater slipped away with Haldane.
If I was right, only the receptionist was left. I wanted to talk to her specially. I rang the bell.
A voice answered, “Yes?”
“I want an appointment to see Dr. Sage. I’ve been referred.”
The door clicked open. I went in.
“Hello, Honoria,” I said.
“Timmy! What are you doing here?”
“Just what I said. I want to see Dr. Sage. He’s highly recommended.”
She eyed me suspiciously. “And?”
“And, Ma, Pa and the rest of us worry about you, Sis. When you disappeared, we went out of our minds.”
“Timmy, I had to get away from Planet Stratford. There was nothing for me there. What could I do? Be a pole dancer? In the trade?”
“I hear that. I don’t disagree. But it shocked everyone.” Those were the lucrative occupations on Stratford. Both were closed to me, and my choices were worse. I escaped via probation to the Fleet. Honoria, two years older than me, left home a couple of months later. I could do nothing but commiserate from a distance. “If you want me to keep your secret, I will. But let me say you’re fine. Pa feels poorly and worries. It isn’t good for him.”
Honoria nodded. “Tell them I’ve found a good job. Dr. Sage does charitable work, with ‘Cats for Celebrities.’ I’ve learned about being a veterinary assistant. The patients are nice. Mr. Dmitrii, talks about running away with me. Mr. Haldane is someone important in something. He helps and takes care of me in little ways.”
I bet he did.
“Do you know what either of them does, Honoria?”
“Not really. Mr. Dmitrii says he’s in import-export work. Mr. Haldane works for the government, I think. They’re Dr. Sage’s biggest supporters. They bring in lots of cash and are decent, kind, souls. Both love a good party, though.”
I said, simply, “I think you should be careful of both, Sis.” I was about to tell Honoria that one of her benefactors was the enemy of everything holy, sacred and humane. The other was a foreign agent. But we were interrupted.
The door flew open. A man with a gun burst in. “Where’s Gertrude?” He yelled.
My sister and I were Stratford Slum Rats. We’d faced down tougher customers than this.
“Gertrude?” Honoria echoed.
“Yes, Gertrude. Gertrude Milford. She works here, doesn’t she?”
“She most assuredly does not,” Honoria said.
“I’ll decide that.” He started into Doctor Sage’s surgery. “You have some odd equipment for a lawyer’s office.”
“That’s because this is a veterinary clinic,” I pointed out.
I followed him into the doctor’s room. He was right. A chart showed the anatomy of the basic house cat. I guessed this was a standard reference for common kitty complaints. A variety of surgical implements stood ready, together with some small, square devices, which looked like tiny microphones and transmitters. There were some long thin wires, cut to standard lengths. While he was distracted, I palmed some of these.
“This isn’t Seventy-five Altair Court?” He lowered his gun and came back out.
“This is Seventy-three Altair Court. Seventy-five is the office to the north,” Honoria said. “There may be a Gertrude there, as I think on it.”
“Don’t rush off, friend,” I said. “Do you have a license for this, or do you barge into places randomly?”
“Name’s Arlo Phillips,” he replied. “I’m an investigator.” He showed me his license and handed me a business card.
I passed it to Honoria and said “I’ll take another, if I may.” He complied. I put the second card in my pocket. “I’ll let Miss Perkins decide how much she needs to fix the office door. Nothing to do with me. You pay that, and toodle along like a good lad. I won’t call the constabulary. I may need someone in your field someday.”
Arlo had the decency to look embarrassed. “I could have sworn—”
“Happens to everyone,” I said.
He put cash down on Honoria’s desk. She nodded. Arlo Phillips saw himself out through the hole he’d made.
“Honoria, I need to have my pets examined, a dog and a cat. Can I bring them by?”
“We don’t usually add new patients. But, seeing you’re kinfolk, I imagine Dr. Sage will make an exception. He’ll help you. Would tomorrow at noon work?”
I planned to be busy. I said, “I’m married now. I can send Clarissa, my wife. I think you’ll get on with her.” Clarissa had many nice unmarried male relatives, any one of whom might be a match for Honoria.
“That’ll be great, Timmy. I’d love to meet all of them, your wife and your pets. I’ll book the appointment.”
I gave Honoria the details and went off.
* * *
Dinner that evening was joyous. Reggie made himself at home. It was an absolute love-fest. He adored Clarissa, adored my son Billy and, after a bit of mutual sniffing, decided that Froofi was a helluva fine fellow, perfect for extended naps together.
Reggie still loathed me. He made it clear he wanted to kill and eat me, and that only size kept him from doing so. To prove his point, he sank his teeth deep into my hand and clawed me for good measure.
Billy learned new words. He already had “Mama” and “Papa.” He added “Kitty!” that night, “Fwuffy” and “Red!” “Papa Red!” was a favorite, at least for him.
The next day, Clarissa and I rode to the planet’s surface together. We used Froofi to pull a little cart, which held Billy. There was space to add the box, so Reggie rode along, purring.
One thing puzzled me. “Clarissa, carissima maxima. We live in an space station, twenty thousand miles above Planet Home. Access is controlled. Unwanted bugs and pests are hunted out.”
“Yes, Timmy. So what?”
“So how did Reggie manage to put a dead bird in my coat pocket this morning? And where’s its head?”
“I don’t know. I’ll keep a look-out. I’ll go on to the clinic. When I’ve done, I’ll call; send a taxi for me. We can have dinner.”
We parted. I had errands of my own. I paused at the Comrades’ embassy. Dronkenoff came out and went on his route. Today, he was tailed by a short, balding man and a tall, dark woman who might become fashionable, if we ever make clothing from burlap.
I kept all three in sight at a distance. Dronkenoff ended up at the cafe and the apartment. I watched the other two watching him.
He went on to Sage’s.
I crept into the alley. There was a fire escape. I crawled up and went in through a window.
I checked the mailboxes. “Dmitrii, Import-Export, 2nd Floor, Back,” seemed promising. The locks were old-fashioned. I slipped in.
I closed the door and put on a light. I beheld a scene from “Crazy Cat Lady Quarterly.” There were at least thirty fluffy white cats, all of which were twins of Reggie. Most ignored me. Those that didn’t, hissed, spat, or flopped over to lick themselves, while keeping an expression of profound contempt. It was just like home.
I checked the next room. I found two windows over the alleyway. I opened one and looked down. There was an open dumpster with trash. I could jump for it.
I went back to the cats. Some were shaved and had small surgical scars, by their ears or tails. Otherwise, they were cared for and fit.
One of the cats batted down papers. I gathered them up and looked. There was a registration form for the “New Cornwall Pussy Extravaganza” and tickets for the journey. I made notes and put these back. There was a data slug, stamped with the departmental crest for the Comrades’ Space Fleet. I was tempted to palm it, but realized it would be missed. I left it alone.
There was also a list: “Cats for Celebrities.” It was a rogues’ gallery. Videocast stars, musicians, artists and other inane people, plus politicians, generals and admirals. A few old dowagers figured prominently. Some names were checked off. Arrows marked others. I turned the desk lamp on and began to take pictures with my commo-disc. The cat knocked the papers back to the floor.
Another cat hopped onto a machine, set to record audio. There was a pile of little data slugs, with names marked on them. I took a picture.
My prowling was interrupted. The door flew open with a crash.
“I know Gertrude’s in here. Where is she?”
Cats scattered.
“Arlo, you bedamned fool. We’ve got to stop meeting like this. People will talk.”
“You’re going to tell me Gertrude isn’t here, either.”
“Look for yourself,” I said.
He looked. No Gertrude.
“Who are you, anyway?” Before I could answer, I was proved right. People had talked, starting with the constabulary. I heard a siren coming up fast.
“Arlo, you idiot. Don’t tell me you came in through the front door.”
“Of course. How did you do it?”
“Professional secret.” I grabbed the data slug with the Comrades’ markings. Arlo could take the blame. I bolted. I looked out the window again. My coast was clear. As the police came in the front door, I leapt out the window. I landed in nice, soft, filth. I crouched down and pulled the lid over me. I kept it cracked enough to peer out and listen.
I could hear conversation above. The constables knew Arlo. It turned out he was working on a divorce case. Bursting in was part of the service. Arlo talked his way clear. The constables called him bad names, told him to stop being a fool and left. I clambered out and made my way to the front. Arlo waited for me.
“Now, who are you again?” He was quite insistent.
“Name’s Tim Perkins. You need to know the following things, Arlo, and you need to take them to heart. I’m a Senior Lieutenant in the Imperial Fleet. Right now, I’m filthy, I’m angry but, most important, I’m working a case for IFFI. I’m minded to run you in to my Boss Man for a chat about the Imperial Defense of the Realm Act and how you’re going to be in deep space chopping ice on a prison asteroid somewhere, if you keep interfering.”
* * *
I walked away. No respectable taxi stopped. I trudged towards the Fleet Club. I could rent a visiting officer’s room and get cleaned up. I could have my clothing laundered. I could cadge a General Board dispatch box and send my data slug and materials to IFFI. After that, I would have a taxi fetch Clarissa, and we would have dinner on the terrace. The Club welcomed Froofi in the past, and Reggie wasn’t awful in his manners with others. Clarissa would think she was being pampered. She would be right, but it would be a case of “also, but not only.”
Hargreaves was as good as his word about the trip to New Cornwall. IFFI met our expenses. We travelled in style. For an entire week, Clarissa and I swanked it in a first-class suite. We put down an eye-popping deposit, courtesy of IFFI, so Froofi and Reggie could be family, not livestock.
Sage, Haldane and Dronkenoff were on the same ship. Sage, so nice, even brought Honoria.
His generosity had limits. Honoria wound up in third-class. I proposed that, “to maintain my cover as a prosperous businessman,” IFFI hire a nanny. Hargreaves agreed. I named Honoria as our servant. She moved to the spare cabin of our suite. IFFI paid cash for her salary and ticket upgrade.
I liked the situation, but I didn’t want it to become permanent. I formulated a plan to get back on active duty. Ideally, I would do my task well enough to be approved, but not well enough to be called again. I saw three key points.
First, I had to turn the problem of Sage, Haldane and Dronkenoff over to some authority. That authority needed power to interfere with heavy hitters. At the same time, I had to make sure my sister did not attract attention.
Second, I had to spend as little time as possible with Reggie. We reached a mutual understanding. I didn’t go near him. As long as I stayed out of easy reach, he made no effort to kill me. I intended this should continue.
Finally, using the free time gained by not doing anything about the investigation or the cat show, I would become “Tim Perkins, mild-mannered tractor seller.” The tractor company’s local office knew of me. They were eager patriots. I had brochures, pamphlets and catalogues. I received a list of prospects. I was to contact as many as I could while on New Cornwall. I was motivated. Any sales commission I made, I could keep, they repeated.
If everything worked well, I would never go on a mission for IFFI again. If everything worked perfectly, and I made sales, it might take time for the tractor factory to realize I wasn’t on staff. If I really busted myself, by the time they did realize, they might not care.
We all went to bed as usual on the third night out. Honoria bundled Billy into his crib with Reggie as a warm, fuzzy cuddle toy. Froofi hopped up on the bed between Clarissa and me. Honoria put out the light and went into her cabin. I didn’t expect she would stay there. She was sizing up one of the junior navigation officers. I liked him and didn’t mind if Honoria liked him. He was a better choice than any lout she could find back home. For the moment, we were all settled.
* * *
Copyright © 2025 by Joseph M. Isenberg
