What’s New Pussycat(60)

But the walls were thin here. She knew that from experience. Very thin. Maybe, if the guy next door heard her before Escobar stuffed a sock in her mouth, he’d wonder what all the fuss was about and come knocking.

For now, it was the only plan she had.

“Martine!” he warned, his thick lips turning to a fine line of anger. “I don’t have a moment to spare. I can’t think when you howl like that!”

Good to know. So she meowed harder. “Meeeeeeeooooowwwww!”

Escobar’s face turned red with anger, his eyes bulging, his thick hands swatting at the cage.

Somewhere she’d read that if you were confronted with someone who was just a sock shy of a pair, be the other sock.

In other words, always be the craziest bitch in the land.

That in mind, Martine began to thrash her body against the chicken wire, throwing herself into it time after time, running up and down the length of the pole leading to her kitty condo, flopping on the padded perch like a fish out of water until Escobar screamed his frustration.

“Shut up!” he bellowed, his head swiveling around toward the door. “You’ll draw unwanted attention!”

“Meeeooooowwwwwww!”

Ding-dong. As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

Escobar’s face turned crimson, his rounded cheeks puffing up, his eyes full of hot anger.

Now she howled for all she was worth, long, pathetic, screeching howls in a desperate cry for help—which resulted in loud banging on the door.

“Hey, man—shut that fucking thing up! Christ, can a guy get some sleep?” the voice just beyond the door yelled.

Martine let out another war cry, paying close attention to the vibrato in her voice, making it tremble on its way out.

Escobar whipped around, pointed his finger at her and hissed, “Silence thee, mine ears be free!”

Fuck.

Instantly, Martine felt the spell, her throat tightening, her vocal chords effectively squashed.

But the guy from next door clearly wasn’t going to let the disruption in his afternoon go without a good tongue-lashing. He pounded on the door again. “Open the goddamn door before I report you to the landlord! There’s a no-pet policy in this building, you asshole! What the hell are you doing in there?”

She stilled as Escobar turned to stomp a path to the door, popping it open to find an angry, equally red-faced man behind it.

His eyes assessed the warlock with disdain. “What the hell is going on? Jesus Christ, man, it sounds like you’re skinning the damn thing alive! I’m reporting you, jackass. Not just to the landlord but to animal control…”

As the man ranted, and with Escobar caught off guard, she made her move, pushing her way through the hole, making herself as small as she possibly could.

The sharp wire tore at her side, and in that moment, she was grateful Escobar had silenced her so she didn’t cry out in pain.

Hot blood dripped down her fur, coating her paw as she wiggled the rest of the way out and fell to the floor while the two men argued, their hands flying in each other’s faces.

Slipping along the wall, she made her way around the catio and snuck behind the couch Escobar had in the middle of the living room, giving her a straight shot to the open door.

Martine flexed her front paws, stretching her neck and ignoring the sharp tug of her wound.

It was now or never.

Falling back on her haunches, she sprang forward, hurling herself across the tile floor and skidding smack into Escobar’s sandaled foot.

The next-door neighbor’s eyes went wide when Escobar reached a hand down to grab at her, shouting angry words.

But this time she was ready. Claws out, teeth barred, she began to scratch at him, clawing and digging until he screamed, “You stupid, stupid bitch!” Shaking her off, he flung her against the wall in the hallway, knocking the wind out of her.

The next-door neighbor rushed to her side, kneeling down and yelling over his shoulder, “What the hell kind of jackhole are you, throwing a defenseless cat? I’m calling animal control and the police, you freak!” He drove a hand under her body in order to scoop her up, but she twisted out of his grip, grazing his hand with her claws.

She did her best to give him a brief look of apology before she took off. No way was she going to get caught up with Animal Control.

Flying down the stairs, she ran as though the devil himself were behind her, trying to remember the way they’d come in. Confusion warred with the ache of her throbbing head and the gash in her side.

When she came to a landing, she stopped short. Left? Had it been left or right on the way up?

Shit!

The heavy thud of footsteps coming from upstairs forced her to make a choice. She tore down the stairs to the left, almost losing her footing on the slick surface.