Reports of mysterious animal deaths were being noticed by news organizations across the U.S. Interpol agent Bernie Benedict hoped that the animal slaughters wouldn’t be linked to his very own, very big, and very hungry kitty.
Each of Bomba’s latest victims was larger than the previous. The cat was leaving his old “can opener,” Bernie, gifts strewn across the U.S. Thanks, Bomba. I miss you, too. What Bernie found on that muggy Milwaukee night was the ruination of a very large snow-white bird. There were feathers and wing bones strewn across the alley. The head of was gone, as was the bottom half of the poor creature. Bernie’s partner, Frankie had picked up a piece of evidence that he held outward on a stick.
“Check it out, buddy boy. Some angel lost his halo. That’s nutty.” Frankie held out a golden ring that was about a foot in diameter, pulsing with light.
Bernie looked up at the moon. Damned cat, he thought. Jesus K. Ries…No. Wait. Cancel that. (Every time that Bernie mentioned the Messiah, Jesus would show up and ask Bernie to find him a date for his big comeback tour). “Bomba, what have you done, now?”
“Ooowee this place stinks!” A powerful smell forced Bernie to move back toward the curb. Bernie could barely breathe as it burned his lungs. The smell came from Bomba’s acidic urine. The big kitty had not only marked his territory, but also etched Bernie’s, radioactive luminescing name into the alley’s brick wall.
“I’ll bag and tag the ring, pal — looks like a halo to me. I’ll ask Dr. Green to bring it down to the lab. We both could use some shut eye.”
Bernie had a terrible feeling in his gut about this particular “bird.”
Bomba, the big pussycat, seemed to be enjoying his road trip with his new leggy, ‘best bud,’ the goddess Artemis, as he followed the trail of Edwin MacHeath’s cannibals eastward. “Macky” MacHeath was back in town and the “big show” was moving quickly. The prophetic showdown between the shark gods loomed.
Two dark figures came out of the shadows. “Agent Benedict?”
“Who are you guys?”
“Sorry to surprise you, sir? (Oh, geez, cough cough) What happened here? I’m detective London and this is detective France.” London picked up a huge white feather. “It must have been a real beast that killed this ostrich. Let’s move out to the curb.”
“That was no bird, Mack!” said Frankie, who was walking toward his car with the evidence bag full of glowing halo.
“Do you see the size of the teeth marks on the back of the wing?” asked London.
“Yes. I see, London,” said Bernie.
“What about you?” asked France.
“I see, France,” said Bernie.