Page 92 of Thug

Thirty minutes later, we were at Brisco’s place with a sack of stale 7-Eleven chicken tenders. I pushed the key into the lock and paused.

“The ridges on this key are all the same. They’re cut to maximum height. There are only about six types of lock sets used for houses, so all you have to do is find the right key, insert it in the lock, and…” I bumped the heel of my palm against the key. “Bump it.”

The lock cylinder turned to the side.

“That’s amazing,” she said.

I flipped on the light and stepped inside. “They’re kind of wild-looking, but they’re not mean.”

She followed me inside and looked around. “No alarm?”

“Brisco’s convinced he doesn’t need one,” I said. “That’s part of what makes this so perfect.”

She shook the sack of chicken. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

Ten thousand bucks’ worth of leopard fur came flying around the corner. Upon seeing Gray, the two high-speed felines attempted to stop.

“Ohmygod,” Gray blurted as they slid past her on the hardwood floor. “They’re adorable.” She looked at me. “What are they?”

“Bengals.”

“What’s a Bengal?”

“Hybrid,” I said. “They’re a crossbreed of a leopard and a domestic cat.”

In an instant were in front of her on their hind legs, clawing at the sack like they were starving.

“Can I touch them?” she asked.

“They act nuts, but they’re pretty nice.”

She attempted to pet them, but they were preoccupied with the contents of the bag. After giving them everything we brought, she sat on the floor and held one in her lap. It was purring so loudly that I could hear it from where I stood, ten feet away.

“I had a cat when I was little,” she said, looking up. “It was my best friend. Mister Bunchkins.”

“I had one, too,” I admitted. “From when I was about four until I was nineteen. Kung Fu Kitty. I called him Fu, for short.”

“Kung Fu Kitty. That’s cute.”

“He was a stray. My parents brought him home. He was a kitten when I got him. I guess he was hanging out at the grocery store, eating scraps.”

“Awwe. Mine was a shelter cat. My mom got it for me because I didn’t have any siblings. He ran away. Might have got hit by a car, but in my mind he ran away. I had him for like four or five years. Didn’t have the guts to get another after that. Losing him broke my heart.”

Losing mine broke my heart, too. My aunt’s death that soon followed was the last straw.

“What do you want to do?” I asked.

“Oh, we’re taking them with us.” Cradling the purring cat in her arms, she stood. “He might not get them back.”

* * *

Leaning over the edge of my desk, Panzer pointed at the box of donuts. “You mind?”

“I don’t even know why you ask,” I replied. “Have at it, Brother.”

He fished through the box until he found a Long John. “What’s the deal?”

“What deal?”