That Devil Woman

XVIII - Whatever It Takes

"So, to clarify, you, Miss de Vil, were at your studio in Suffolk, and you, Mr. de Vil, were at home when the puppies went missing. And neither of you had heard of the puppies being stolen until now," the policeman asked with a serious, stoic expression. Claude was standing beside Cruella's bed like a regimental soldier, paying the utmost respect to the police. He was an especially sickly man now, with grey skin and brittle bones. Cruella sat calmly on the edge of her bed. She wore a long black velvet nightgown, accented around her neck and wrists with her signature thick fur and a prominent pink bow on her chest. She wove her black and white hair around hair rollers. Even in her private state, she was still eye-catchingly glamorous. She impatiently smoked her cigarette.

"Why, we haven't heard a word about it," Cruella answered.

"Well, that's certainly interesting," the policeman replied with his hand on his chin pensively. "Mr. Radcliffe seemed positive you had something to do with it, Miss de Vil."

"Oh, that awful little man," Cruella hissed under her breath, before standing and turning her attention back to the policeman. "Well, we'll be sure to let you know if we see or hear of anything."

"Indeed," Claude agreed. "Here, I'll show you out," he offered, escorting the policeman downstairs.

Cruella followed them up until they reached the doorframe. Then she grinned and let out a laugh. She returned to her bed, laughing quietly to herself. She picked up some newspapers that the policeman had brought with him and lay down beneath her pink bedsheets.

"'Dognapping'..." she read, tutting. "Can you imagine such a thing?" she sifted through the papers another headline.

"'Fifteen puppies stolen'..." she smirked. "They are darling things," she added with a lingering puff from her cigarette that engulfed the page. She looked at an attached photograph of the Radcliffes looking somberly at their empty dog bed.

"Anita and her..." she let out an unrestrained cackle, "...her bashful Beethoven!" She laughed at the thought of Roger trying to stop her. How pathetic he was. "Pipe and all! Oh, Roger, you are a fool!" What Roger thought of her now, however, was irrelevant. Her plan was already in motion. Before long, she would have her cosy puppy coat. She would finally be in the spotlight she long desired once again. She had already planned what she would say to her adoring fans to cover her tracks. Everyone in London was invested in the case of the stolen puppies; her coat would simply look like Dalmatian fur to show her support for her beloved schoolmate's puppies.

Soon after, her red telephone adorned with a satanic emblem rang. She scowled at it, wondering who it could possibly be. She hoped it was not Anita; or worse, Roger. Still, if it was one of them, she figured she should put on her sweetest voice. She lifted the telephone to her ear.

"Hello?" she said, before pausing. She suddenly became alarmed and her sweetness faded. "Jasper! Jasper, you idiot! How dare you call here?"

"But we don't want no more of this here!" Jasper's voice replied through the telephone. "We want our boodle!"

"We'll settle for half," Cruella heard Horace chime in from nearby, which Jasper reiterated. Cruella was delighted that her plan had worked, but she knew now was not the time to dwell on this bureaucratic business.

"Not one shilling 'til the job's done," she flatly responded. "Understand?"

"But it's here in the blinkin' papers," Jasper argued, "pictures and all!"

"Hang the papers. It'll be forgotten tomorrow," Cruella said. She was not convinced herself, but she knew she had to end this call as soon as possible, whilst still keeping Jasper and Horace on her side. After all, what choice did they have? They were at her mercy.