Coyote Ugly Read online

  “I’ll have to go by later to see what she’s cooking up.”

  I had eaten some of the weirdest stuff by the back door of Ling-Ling’s big, industrial kitchen, which was out in the business ring of the station. The kiosk had only a tiny prep kitchen to finish cooking food that had been assembled at the main kitchen. All the catering jobs ran out of there as well.

  I watched Hosehead finish the last of my fish trimmings. Ling2 came to pick up the empty dish, pushing a strand of black hair behind her ear before bending down. She wore a high-necked, long-sleeved top and trousers made of jade-green silk, and smelled like sandalwood.

  Hosehead sniffed eagerly at her hands until he figured out she wasn’t carrying anything edible, whereupon he waddled off without so much as a thank-you. Ling2 glanced at me with a rueful smile that told me she knew exactly what had transpired, and reached out to stroke my head.

  “Nice kitty Tux.”

  I gave her a purr. I liked Ling2 better than her boss.

  Ling-Ling was too busy for friendly gestures most of the time. She was a tough businesswoman. Not only did she run the most popular food kiosk on station, but she catered out a lot. Anything from kid’s birthday parties to elaborate fusion banquets with exotic dishes from all over the galaxy.

  That was why she’d had herself cloned. It was too much work for one, and Ling2 was the perfect stand-in when she had to be in two places at once.

  I felt sorry for Ling2 sometimes, even though I knew she was as well-paid as anyone in the restaurant biz. Technically she was family, but I’d never seen any sign of affection between her and Ling-Ling. Must be tough to know you were alive only because the boss needed extra help.

  Well, that was sort of my situation as well, come to think of it.

  I gave Ling2 a big, wide, golden-eyed gosh-you’re-swell look and another purr while she scratched my ruff. Then I stood up and stretched, and she turned back to her customers.

  Wash your hands, kid, I thought as I stepped out into the rotunda. You don’t want to know what I’ve been rolling in.

  ~

  I headed across the rotunda for the port. Most people had seen the sedonai story by now and were moving on. I threaded my way among the legs of locals hurrying to their jobs.

  Just before I reached the tunnel, I heard a “Psst” from between two kiosks. Devin, my human partner, was staring at me from between a rack of leather coats and a shelf of icerock bookends from Ganymede.

  He turned away and walked down the service corridor. I rubbed my jaw against the coat rack and glanced around to make sure no one was watching before I casually followed him back to a storeroom full of unopened cargo tubs.

  Devin closed the door after I slipped in. He sat on one of the tubs and I jumped up on top of two that were stacked, bringing me eye to eye with him.

  “You look like hell,” I told him. “Party too hard last night?”

  Devin rubbed his unshaven jaw. He was dressed in a null-suit that looked like he’d already worn it a week. I keep telling the guy he needs a wife. At least she could dress him so he resembled a member of the human race.

  “No,” he said, and coughed to clear his throat. “For your information, you have me to thank that you weren’t dragged out of bed four hours ago.”

  I rolled my ears forward. “Oh-five-hundred? What got you up at that hour?”

  “That’s when those damn birds got nipped. The boss called us all in the minute the news arrived. I told him you’d had a hard day yesterday with that fish oil incident.”

  “Oh.”

  I was touched by his thoughtfulness, and licked my chest a few times to hide my emotion. Devin might look like a deep-sleaze, but he was actually a decent guy. I was lucky to have him for a partner.

  “Well, thanks,” I said, sitting up straighter and meeting his slightly bloodshot gaze. “So what’s the word?”

  Devin reached in his pocket and pulled out his hand-held holopad. It wasn’t cutting edge, but it was a lot better than the cheap set at Ling-Ling’s. He set it in front of me.

  “Play file 2birds.”

  The pad threw up the same image of the sedonai that had been on the news, but a much better copy. It must have come straight from the aviary, because it was longer and more detailed than what had been on the news.

  I leaned forward, mouth open and inhaling intently, memorizing every detail. The birds’ scent was unlike that of any avian I had ever encountered. They smelled delicious, to be blunt about it. Kind of spicy, with tangy overtones.

  After one full rotation, the still image broke into motion. I reacted instinctively, putting out a paw to snag the smaller, less flashy female. The ghost feathers brushed under my pads, a silky tease. It was that good a holo.

  The two birds flittered around each other and gave a few little mournful “towoos,” then the file ended and they vanished. I sat back and gave my chin a lick.

  “Central thinks there’s a good chance they’ll come through here,” Devin said. “We’re supposed to keep a close watch on all the incoming traffic.”

  He started to put the holopad back in his pocket, then hesitated. “You got the scent down, Leon? Want another review?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’ll remember it, unless it’s heavily masked.”

  “There’s this, too.”

  Devin stashed the holopad and pulled out a small, transparent vac pouch. Inside it were a few red and blue feathers. I pricked my ears forward.

  “They let those out of their hands? Jeez, aren’t they worth a fortune?”

  Devin shook his head and scattered the feathers onto his palm, where they lay shimmering. “These are mockups from Cysgee Four’s natural history museum. Pretty good, eh?”

  I leaned forward, sniffing, then drew back at the stench. “They look great, but they smell like horse glue.”

  “Yeah, well, usually they’re behind plex.”

  “Can I have one?”

  “Sure. Take ‘em all, if you want. Everyone else has seen them.”

  I reached out and gathered the feathers up, careful not to stick a claw into Dev’s hand. My thumbs—fully opposable—are another perk of genetic modification, and really, I can’t imagine living without them.

  I fanned the half-dozen feathers in my paw like a poker hand, then flicked them shut and stashed them in the pouch I wear under one shoulder like a holster. One of the feather ends poked me in the ribs, and I had to adjust it.

  “I’ll show them to my buds. Never hurts to have extra eyes watching.”

  Devin shrugged. He tended to get deaf whenever I brought up the subject of my feline friends.

  Teammates, really. They helped me out with certain chores, and I repaid them with choice bits from Ling-Ling’s and some of the other goodies that came my way. I’d been trying to talk Devin into getting them official status with Gamma security, but he wasn’t interested in non-modified quadrupeds.

  He didn’t offer to lend me the holopad so I could play the file for my pals, and I didn’t bother to ask. It was too big for me to carry comfortably anyway, unless I held it in my mouth, and I hate the taste of plastic.

  “Any clues about who we might be looking for?”

  Devin shrugged. “Whoever it is had access to the aviary. No forced entry, and no alarms tripped. The dogs came up with zilch, which means the perps covered their scent.”

  I repressed the urge to sniff. Dogs have their talents—some dogs, not Hosehead—but for anything requiring brain power, they’re useless.

  “So you might not smell anything,” Dev went on, “but keep watch anyway, OK?”

  “Roger.”

  “Time to hit the beat.” Devin got up from the storage tub. “Give me a minute to get to Molly’s. I’ll see you at the customs gate.”

  “Right.”

  I jumped down and did a quick inspection of the storeroom’s less accessible corners while I waited for Dev to get clear. No mice. Good for Gamma, tough luck for me.

  ~

  I strolled out an
d gave the leather kiosk a once-around, rubbing up on all the racks. Along the curve of the rotunda I saw Devin leaning against the counter at Molly’s Bar & Grill, talking up the morning girl.

  For a smart guy, he showed a pretty undiscriminating taste in females. I flicked my tail in disgust and turned away to head up the tunnel toward customs.

  A few doors down was Tammy’s Tea Shoppe, a fancy name for one of the lounges where layover passengers could relax for an hour or so. Tammy also ran Steadly’s Smoking Room next door, for those customers (usually male) who couldn’t face the Victorian bric-a-brac at the tea shoppe. They both served the same basic menu: sturdy sandwiches, meat pies, and soups, plus a selection of frilly pastries over on the ladies’ side.

  I poked my head into Steadly’s looking for Butch, one of my unofficial operatives. He wasn’t there, so I figured Tammy had roped him into hanging out in the tea shoppe.

  She kept a special stand in the parlor that held a cat bed done up in red velvet cushions. The stand stood about a meter high, had long gold fringe around the edges and a sign that said “Cuddles” in curly script dangling from a little gold chain. Butch hated it.

  He was there, though, when I prowled in looking for him. He lay curled up on the red cushions, looking morose. Next to him was an ornate empty bird cage hanging from its own stand of curley-cued wrought iron. Tammy’s sick idea of a joke, maybe.

  “Psst. Butch.”

  Butch’s head snapped up and he looked at me, then glanced toward the back of the parlor, where three females of different bipedal species, all in snappy travel outfits, were chattering over their tea and scones. Tammy was nowhere in sight.

  Butch leaped down from the stand and hurried toward me, a sight that would easily intimidate someone who didn’t know him. Butch was a classic orange tabby, your basic alley cat. He looked round and soft at first sight, especially lying curled up on that red velvet stuff, but he was rock solid. His gait might not be graceful, but the power in his forelimbs was obvious.

  “Hey, Leon! Any action?” His eyes were bright green with hope.

  “Could be. Let’s find a quiet place to talk.”

  “Not in the smoking room. Tammy chased me out of there with a broom earlier.”

  “Down by the trash chute, then?”

  Butch nodded his massive head, and we made for the service corridor where the nearby kiosks disposed of their garbage. Butch sniffed the floor around the hatch to make sure nothing interesting had been dropped, then sat down and invited me to join him.

  “I heard about that thing with the birds,” he said. “Tammy had the news on in the kitchen.”

  I nodded. “Good. Did you get a whiff of them?”

  “Uh—yeah, sort of.”

  “Would you remember if you smelled it again?”

  Butch licked his paw and thought about it. “Not sure.”

  “Well, see if you can catch the story again, and pay attention. The boss thinks those birds might come through here.”

  “No kidding?” Butch licked his chops.

  “And they’re worth a bundle,” I said, frowning, “so whoever recovers them in good condition stands to be amply rewarded.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right.”

  I reached into my shoulder pouch and took out the faked-up sedonai feathers. Fanning them out, I showed them to Butch.

  “This is what the plumage looks like. These are mockups, so the smell is wrong.”

  “I’ll say.”

  Butch frowned and wrinkled his nose, then batted at my feathers, knocking one out of my paw. He pushed it around, trying to turn it over. I put the others away and flipped it for him, exposing the rusty, coppery top surface. The underside was blue-green.

  “Pretty flashy,” Butch said.

  “Yeah. If you spot the birds, don’t try to grab ‘em. Just come get me. The boss and I will handle it.”

  Butch gave a last, wistful bat at the feather. “Okay.”

  I scooped it up and put it back in my pouch. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Butch with it, but he was the sort of tom who might forget and leave it lying around someplace where it might be spotted. I didn’t want the perps, if they did come through Gamma, to spot fake sedonai feathers on that red velvet stand, say. They’d get suspicious, and I’d get in dutch with Devin.

  “Seen Leila this morning?” I asked Butch as we started back.

  He gave a snort. “I wish. You know she don’t mix with the masses much.”

  “Yeah, I know. Her human brings her to Tammy’s now and then though, doesn’t she?”

  He shrugged. “It’s been a while.”

  “Well, if you see her, give her the scoop. I want everyone keeping an eye out.”

  “Okay.”

  We arrived back in front of Tammy’s and Steadly’s. Butch cast a wistful glance at the smoking room, where a holographic fire flickered invitingly on the hearth between two leather chairs. Then he turned toward the tea shoppe. I watched him slink back toward the red velvet pillory.

  “Take it easy, Butch.”

  “Sure,” he growled over his shoulder.

  One powerful thrust of his hindquarters propelled him onto the stand. He turned around a couple of times and settled in for the long haul.

  Tammy’s honey-coated voice wafted out from the back of the tea shoppe. I didn’t want her to invite me to join Butch on display, so I made myself scarce. It was nearly time for the first shuttle anyway.

  ~

  When I got to the tunnel the yellow light on the gate was flashing, warning of an imminent incoming FTL. Futtle-shuttles, the locals called them. The passengers getting off of them always looked a bit shell-shocked.

  I trotted up the ramp and greeted the customs inspectors as I passed through into the waiting area. Huey grinned and beckoned me over with a whistle and a wave of his hand.

  Huey was a big, friendly galumph with slick dark hair and a face that was an open book. As a customs inspector he was average, too good-natured to be really tough. Most days he was good for a bite of nutribar or equivalent. I strolled on over to collect.

  He tossed me a scrap of bagel. Onion—not my favorite. I was tempted just to lick off the cream cheese, but I believe in oiling the wheels so I gulped it down, gave him a cute look, and rubbed against his leg before moving on.

  Beyond the gate the ceiling was low and the walls bland, industrial. Everything port-side was geared toward moving passengers into the station as fast as possible. No distracting artwork or advertising, and the few seats were designed to be uncomfortable.

  I eased over to a wall to sniff the floor seam, but the cleaning crew had been here too. No amusing smells.

  Disappointed, I chased my tail for a couple of turns, then collapsed to wait for the incoming passengers. It would be a while before they showed up. The gate lights were still flashing yellow—they had to go to orange and then red before the shuttle would spill its load.

  I glanced around, wondering if Devin would be here in time or if he’d gotten distracted by the chica at Molly’s. No sign of him so far, so I stretched out my forelegs and laid my head on my paws. I was just dozing off when I heard a plaintive mew.

  “Leon! Daaarling!”

  I raised my head and looked back toward the gate. The last creature I expected to see here was Leila, but there she was, peeking out of a jewel-encrusted tote bag over her human’s arm. I got up and ambled back through the gate to talk to her.

  Leila’s a Burmese, with dark fur and the dainty countenance of the purebred rich. Her human, Elsa Grippe, works high up in station management, and is as sleek as Leila in a blonde, bipedal sort of way.

  “What are you two doing here?” I asked.

  Leila rolled her large, green-gold eyes. “Mamzelle is meeting a friend coming in from Ross something-or-other.”

  “154,” I supplied.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Do you like riding in that thing? I mean, it looks uncomfortable.”

  “It is, cher, but it’s so chic.”
r />   Elsa looked down at me at that point, and gave me a nudge with an alligator-clad toe. “Shoo!”

  I flashed her a hurt look and moved around behind her, pretending to shove off. A second later, when Elsa had turned to talk to Huey, I slipped in close again to whisper to Leila.

  “Did you see the news this morning? Catch the story about the stolen Cygnius sedonai from Cygsee Four?”

  Leila nodded, breaking into a purr. “Oh, yes! Such pretty birds!”

  “Keep your eye out. Central thinks the thief may try to bring them through here.”

  She gave a wide-eyed blink. “Ooh!”

  Elsa was still chatting with the customs inspector. I glanced around to make sure no one else was watching, then palmed one of the fake feathers from my shoulder pouch and quickly took it in my mouth. It tasted as bad as it smelled.

  “Hewe,” I said, and reared up to spit the feather into Leila’s jeweled carrier. It caught on the fluffy trim around the top of the bag. Leila reached a tentative paw toward it.

  “That’s just for reference,” I told her. “It’s not the real thing, but that’s what the plumage looks like.”

  “Pretty! But the birds on the news holo didn’t smell like this.”

  “I know. Like I said, it’s a fake. Keep it out of sight, okay?”

  Leila tilted her head, blinked at me, then with a swift swipe of her paw knocked the feather into the bag. Elsa looked up and reached around to rub Leila’s head, then went back to her conversation.

  A loud buzzer went off and the gate lights went from yellow to orange. I looked up at Leila.

  “I’ve got to get back to work. You let me know if you get a whiff of those birds, all right?”

  Leila groomed her left ear. “Yes, yes, cher. I will, assuming I am not still in this bag. It is very hard to climb out when Elsa has the straps over her shoulder.”

  I gave her a deadpan look. “The birds are extremely valuable. There could be a substantial reward involved.”

  Leila edged one ear further forward. “How lovely. I will keep watch for them.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or sarcastic. It wasn’t as though Elsa didn’t have enough money to keep Leila in obscene luxury. On the other hand, most of the people I know who can’t seem to get enough money are the ones who already have too much.