Black

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

The following Monday morning, Roxie looked up from her screen as Black entered the office. Mugsy was in her lap, purring contentedly, his plump face transfixed with a look of bliss as she stroked him. Black had a momentary vision of himself exchanging places with the cat, and then shook it off.

"Isn't that sweet. How was your weekend?" Black asked.

"Not bad, other than our only client getting gunned down on his front porch on Saturday. Kind of puts a damper on things, doesn't it?"

"Sure does. Especially since I never got my final payment from him."

"Bummer. Does that mean I have to go back to hooking for a living?"

Black raised one eyebrow.

"A joke," Roxie said.

"I got it. I have a richly evolved sense of humor, you know."

"I know. I see your outfits every day, remember?"

"Why all the grief over my fashion choices, Roxie?"

"Um, because they make you look kind of like a retard. And nobody's going to hire the retard PI. Which has me back on the street turning tricks with a pimp named Huggy backhanding me whenever I get out of line."

"You've been watching reruns again, haven't you?"

"Damned Seventies Channel. Curse you, Seventies Channel!" Roxie said, shaking her fist theatrically.

"How bad is the chair?"

"Don't freak out. It's only a material possession."

"Very enlightened of you, Roxie. But why is it always my material possessions that get trashed by that fat bastard?" he asked as he moved past her desk, throwing a wholly ignored black glare at Mugsy.

"Maybe it's because he hears you ragging on him. So he acts out."

"Roxie. He's a cat. He has no idea what I'm saying."

"How do you know?"

"That he's a cat? Let's just say I'm confident on that one. I've seen photos on the web."

"No, that he doesn't understand you."

"Animals can't speak English."

"Neither can half of Los Angeles. That doesn't prove anything."

"Fair point. But let's just say that the overwhelming proof is that cats don't understand English, either. There. Happy with the clarification?"

"You're wrong. I think they do. And that explains everything. Why he's always hurt and afraid of you. He's heard us discussing your rage issues, and how fat you think he is."

"I don't think he's fat. Fat would be a goal for him to slim down to. I think he's obese. Morbidly obese. Because he's lazy and shiftless and eats way too much."

"See? That's what I'm talking about."

"And 'we' don't discuss my rage issues. You do. I haven't said a word about them. Assuming I had any. Which I don't."

"Well, this is productive. Remind me about how you don't have anger problems after you see your chair." Roxie smiled sweetly and then returned to Mugsy, dismissing Black.

Black entered his office, steeled for virtually anything, and studied his seat cushion, which had been torn open, with some of the foam padding shredded. He sighed and returned to Roxie's desk.

"See? No rage. Come on. Let's see if Mugsy will fit in the microwave."

"That's such bad karma. I can't believe you would even say that."