Part XXXVII: Dinah And Imaginary Troy's Car

Harry Guakomoli left Miss Yvonne's Psychic Readings to find Dinah waiting for him. She was leaning against the passenger's side of a gun metal black '85 Chevy Monte Carlo with her ankles crossed. She wore the same black boots and rubber jacket as the night before. The skirt and nylons were replaced with a pair of crimson crushed velvet pants. Her long black hair, which previously was loose and hid much of her pale face, was tied into a pair of braids. Large white cat eye with dark, nearly opaque, sunglasses covered her eyes.

"Howdy, stranger," Dinah said before taking a drag off her vanilla-flavored cigarette. It was then our hero noticed the lady's lips and nails were painted the same shade as the car.

"I thought you were going to wait for me to come to you."

"I couldn't resist your manliness" she replied. "You make me sooo hard."

The Guak grunted.

"Do you need a ride somewhere?" the lady asked.

"How did you find me?" our hero replied with a question of his own.

"We're everywhere, The Guak," Dinah responded. "There's no hiding from us."

"You're tracking my phone."

Dinah smiled and shrugged.

"Which reminds me," The Guak continued. "What the fuck's up with that number?"
 
"What? We thought you would like it."

"The '666' area code is mighty cool," our hero admitted. "But I'm told that Yvonne chick would freak out if she sees the Sign of The Beast."

"We use '666' because it's no longer in use and never will be again," Dinah explained. "And the last seven digits? Do you like them?"

"I can't even remember them," said The Guak. "8-4-something."
 
"8-4-3-4-8-2-5. It spells 'The Guak.'"

"Okay, '666-TheGuak' is really fucking cool."

"I know," said Dinah after taking another drag off her smoke. “Now get in. I want to talk to you but not out here. The sun is a meanie to my skin."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Call me 'ma'am' again, and I'll make you a eunuch."

"Understood."

Dinah pushed herself off the side of the car and walked around to the driver's door. The Guak sat in the passenger's seat and rested his box of possessions on the floorboard between his legs. A pair of fuzzy red dice hung from the rear view mirror. A plastic hula girl stuck to the top of the dash. Dinah inserted the key into the ignition and turned the it. The car roared to life. And it was loud. Really fucking loud.

"This isn't what I expected you to drive," The Guak said.

"Isn't it AMAZING?“ said the raven-haired cutie. “I imagine the previous owner was some good ol' boy from the South. Jacksonville or something real redneck-y like that. His name's Troy and has a dirty blond mullet and moustache. Troy's addicted to meth and Mountain Dew and lives in a trailer park with his very large invalid mother and white trash stripper girlfriend."

"You've put a lot of thought into this," our hero observed.

"I have a lot of free time and bore easily."
 
Dinah threw the car in drive and sped away.

"Did you discover anything useful?" she asked The Guak.

 

"Not much. Yvonne told me she bought me from some woman when I was a baby, and then she freaked out when I mentioned my mother. Really freaked out. Crazy Linda Blair Exorcist shit."

"Interesting. We believe she's the one who dumped you at St. Hedwig's all those years ago and has a connection to your mother."

"What's her deal?" The Guak asked.

"Yvonne's a clairvoyant and a former voodoo mamba," answered Dinah.

"Bullshit," said our hero. "I've been told, and exposed to, a lot of fucked up shit lately, but if you expect me to believe she was once a snake you're shit out of luck."

"No, no," corrected Dinah with a giggle. "A mamba is a voodoo priestess. We think that's how she knows your mother."

"And Yvette?"

"Well, there's a theory the two aren't even related. But I don't know much about her other than she's a hottie and a charlatan."

"You're at least right about one of those things," commented our hero.

"I know of your weakness for non-white flesh."

The Guak said nothing.

"You're no fun, The Guak," said Dinah.

Dinah continued to drive. The lady flicked her cigarette butt out the window before immediately reaching into her jacket pocket and pulling out a tin-plated cigarette case. She removed another vanilla-flavored butt and placed it between her gun metal black lips.

"Those things will kill you," lectured our hero.

"That's okay. I've died four times already."

Before The Guak was given a chance to ask Dinah to elaborate gunfire shot out the back window of the Monte Carlo.

Part XXXVI: To Skin A Cat

Harry Guakomoli was away delving into the secrets of his past when La Diabla commanded her men to kill The World's Smartest Cat. Oslo looked around the room. Four of Las Pollos Pocos remained, all with murderous intent. He scanned his surroundings for an exit strategy. The bedroom door was still open, and the apartment didn't even have a fucking front door. Not anymore. It was the obvious escape route, but also the one that made the most sense.

Oslo made a mad dash for the living room. His dash didn't last long; one of the vatos managed to grab a hold of his tail.

"Guess again, fucko!" The World's Smartest Cat yelled before he bit into the man's hand.

The gangbanger screamed and released his grip. But his action provided two of his cohorts the opportunity to wrap their hands around Oslo. He was pinned down on the bed, and no matter how much he struggled, Oslo lacked sufficient leverage to defend himself.

The fourth thug reached behind his back under his black and white flannel shirt and withdrew the knife that was fastened securely in its sheath. Its blade was long and thick and looked freshly polished. It glistened when struck by the early morning sun.

"Little fucker," the vato said as a malicious grin grew upon his countenance. "I'm gonna have fun skinnin' you alive. I might even make a hat outta your hide. A pussy skin cap."

"I dunno, man," said one of the gangbangers holding Oslo down. "Let's just shoot 'im and move on."

"Si," agreed the other thug on the bed. "We've got a puta caliente to play with. And skinnin' a gato alive is fucked up, ese."

The sound of one of the bedroom windows breaking ended the debate. Oslo arched his neck to find the source, but one of his captors blocked his view. That was until the gangbanger suddenly let go of The World's Smartest Cat and fell down face first on the bed, a pair of throwing stars embedded in the back of his neck. A short figure, no more than 5' 4", perched upon the window sill. The stranger's attire was all black: baggy hooded sweatshirt, fingerless gloves, sneakers, and...yoga pants? The hood, coupled with a bandana tied around the head like one worn by a Wild West bank robber, obscured the visitor's face save for a pair of big brown eyes.

The man whom Oslo had assaulted just a moment before charged toward the buttinski. Said buttinski hopped off the sill into the room. The gangbanger lunged at the stranger, who, at the last second, performed a split and followed up with a punch to the junk. He doubled over, and as he did the figure grabbed his hair and executed a monkey flip. The man was sent through the broken window, and he landed hard on the metal landing of the fire escape.

The stranger in black was back on his, her?, feet only to be met by the man with the knife. He attempted to slash the interloper, but Oslo's mystery savior sidestepped the attack and countered with a quick chop to the base of his neck. Pain shot throughout the man's body causing him to drop the blade. In one fluid motion the stranger, small in stature yet big in badass-ness, caught the weapon in mid-fall by its handle and sliced the man's neck with it. Blood immediately sprayed from the gash. The vato fell to see his knees. The enigmatic warrior threw the knife at the gangbanger holding down The World"s Smartest Cat. The blade landed between the man's eyes burying itself to the hilt.

"Oh my fuckness!" a relieved and confused Oslo exclaimed. "How did you do that shit?"

"No time to talk," a woman's voice, muffled and sounding vaguely familiar to The World's Smartest Cat, answered from behind the black bandana. "We need to leave."

Oslo squinted at the dark figure covered in gangbanger blood caused by arterial spray. Those chocolate eyes. Why couldn't he place those eyes? Or that voice?

"I know you. Why can't I place it?"

"Because you're an idiot," she replied. "We need to leave. Now."

“Okay,“ replied Oslo with a shrug before hopping off the bed and walking toward the empty space once occupied by the apartment door.

“Not that way. The building is surrounded by La Diabla's goons. We go up and travel by rooftop.“
“Um...“ The World's Smartest Cat's voice trailed off.

“Don't worry,“ said Oslo's unknown-but-shouldn't-be savior. I will help your misogynistic ass. Again.“
Oslo's eyes widen.

“Behind you!“

The lady of mystery spun around. The last surviving gangbanger was crawling back in through the window. He reached for the pistol held close to his abdomen by the waistband of his jeans. She beat him to the gun and snatched it from his pants. Yo-Yo (as if you needed any help figuring that one out) cocked back the hammer, pointed the firearm at the vato's head, and squeezed the trigger. The faceless corpse slumped to the ground.

“Let's go,“ Oslo's heroine ordered.

Yo-Yo grabbed The World's Smartest Cat by the scruff of his neck and stepped out onto the fire escape. With cat-like agility and grace she scaled a drainage pipe to the building's roof in an attempt to find safety.

Part XXXV: Oslo's Univited Guests

Harry Guakomoli was alive and a number of questions ran through Oslo's head. Did The Guak fake his death? Or is he back from the dead? Are we still friends?

The first thing The World's Smartest Cat did after The Guak left the apartment was tell Yo-Yo to take a hike. La cucharacha was no longer welcome in his apartment. In his building.

Yo-Yo begged Oslo to let her stay. She had nowhere to go. She had no money. All of her mierda was there. Oslo told her she could collect all of her shit the next day, but she needed to get the fuck out until then. So the lovely Latina, with just her purse and the clothes on her back, left with tears in her eyes.

That's the last time a bitch comes between me and the boss, Oslo thought to himself as he watched Yo-Yo step over the door our hero had knocked off its hinges less than an hour earlier. He was already missing her sweet sweet can.

The World's Smartest Cat was exhausted, but his brain was flooded with thoughts. About The Guak's return. About if things will ever be the same between hero and (former?) sidekick. About an uncertain future. Oslo needed sleep, but he wasn't going to get it naturally. So he popped sleeping pills. He had scored a bunch of them from one of those gangbanger bitches that guarded the building around the clock. Oslo bought them in case the dark thoughts in his head became too much for him to bear. Swallowing a bottle of them with an Ice 101 chaser would see that the thoughts came to an end.

Sleep finally came to Oslo. Better living through chemistry. But something stirred him. Someone coming up the stairs. Lots of someones. Oslo was groggy. He was finally able to open an eye, and he realized he wasn't alone in the bedroom. A half dozen of those Los Pollos Pocos fucks surrounded him. Guns drawn.

"What do you want?" a half-conscious Oslo mumbled.

"It's not what I want, cat," a woman's voice called out. "It's who I want."

The World's Smartest Cat looked toward the voice. Standing in the doorway between bedroom and living room was La Diabla, leader of Los Pollos Pocos. Her straight scarlet hair falling way past the shoulders of her black leather biker jacket and ending nearly at her waist. The jacket was unzipped and a tight black t-shirt revealed a hint of the toned abdomen underneath. Her torn faded jeans were tucked into a pair of dirty jackboots. Although only five and a half feet tall La Diabla seemed much taller. And she most definitely looked like she was not to be fucked with.

Oslo's mind briefly wandered to imagining La Diabla and Yo-Yo going at it, engaging in some sweaty steamy Sapphic sex, before coming to the conclusion that the time for such a fantasy was less than appropriate.

"Fuck," Oslo uttered as he stared at the most powerful and ruthless person in the barrio. And her killer rack.

"'Fuck' is right, cat," La Diabla stated coldly. "I was at home breaking in a new boy when I was interrupted with news that someone's been spotted. Someone long thought dead. And while Miguel can learn a valuable lesson by being naked and hogtied to a sawhorse in my basement for an hour or two, I was rather enjoying myself. I'm eager to get back to work. So, as you can guess, cat, I have little patience. Tell me where he is."

The return of The Guak had instilled in Oslo a sense of hope. To not live every day in a drunken pathetic stupor of depression. The World's Smartest Cat was no longer interested in dreaming of his own death. But he found himself in a real pickle; La Diabla and her crew could cause him serious harm, or worse, if she didn't like his answer. Yet Oslo refused to sell out his best and only friend. There was no fucking way he was going to rat him out to these dinks.

"Where who is, chief?" Oslo asked the woman.

La Diabla sighed.

"You claim to be the world's smartest cat, but I know you're not all that smart, cat. But even you're not this stupid. Your little slice of heaven in MY domain will become a living hell if you don't tell me where I can find The Guak."

"But, chief," said The World's Smartest Cat. "The Guak's been dead for six months."

La Diabla showed no emotion as she stared at the feline.

"I see you have decided to force my hand, cat" stated an expressionless La Diabla. "What's the name of the puta that's been living here?"

"Yo-Yo Ramirez," replied one of her gangbanger goons.

"Bring me Yo-Yo," said La Diabla. "It's been ages since I had my way with a woman. But feel free to have some fun first, boys. I don't mind damaged goods. And burn this building down. This is a sanctuary no more."

La Diabla turned around and with cool confidence to the apartment's exit.

"And kill the cat."