Page 72 of Burn Bag

“Award-winning cats,” Eli corrected. “They’re worth a million dollars.”

“For fucking cats?” I shouted, my eyes bugging out.

“Again, award-winning cats,” Red answered. “These things go for up to over a hundred grand a piece.”

“For a fucking cat?” I snarled.

“Hey, we don’t discriminate,” Lock chuckled. “We’re being paid handsomely to get these cats across the country to their owners.”

“Stick ‘em on a fucking plane and call it a day,” I muttered.

Lock shook his head again. “I’m afraid we can’t do that. I’ve been given explicit instructions on what these cats need.” He snapped his fingers in thought. “Hey, you know someone who really likes cats?”

“No,” I snarled immediately. “We are not bringing Daphne along.”

“She could take care of the cats while you handle transport.”

“No,” I answered again. “She’d end up bringing one of them home with her.”

“Only if she had a hundred thousand dollars,” Lock grinned.

I pointed at the table to make this clear. “Only if she drained me of the money first, and I don’t have that kind of money to spend on a fucking cat!”

That wasn’t entirely true. When my old man passed, a huge chunk of his fortune came my way, and though I hadn’t wanted a dime of it, it came to me all the same. It was just sitting in the bank collecting interest because I didn’t know what to do with it.

“Like I said,” Lock grinned. “She’d just be taking care of the cats. No need to worry about her taking any home.”

I was about to argue further when he stood and grinned at someone behind me. “Daphne!”

I spun around and shook my head, pissed that he went behind my back. “What the fuck are you doing?” I snarled at him.

“Daphne, we have a job for you, if you’re willing to take it.”

“We do not,” I cut in.

“It’s taking care of a special breed of cat while we transport them.”

“She’s not doing it!” I insisted. “She’s supposed to be at home resting!”

“Cats?” she beamed. “I love cats!”

“No!”

“See? It’s all working out great,” Lock chuckled.

“But why do you need to transport cats?” she asked curiously.

“They’re expensive. It’s very important we keep them in good health while we move them across the country.”

“I can do that,” she beamed.

“No,” I said, running over and standing in front of her. “No, she cannot do that because we have our own cats to take care of! And…” I fumbled for any reason at all that she couldn’t go along. “She just had a concussion. She’s supposed to be resting. And I’m pretty sure flying with a concussion is a no-go.”

“Oh, I got automatic feeders for them this morning,” Daphne piped up.

“And I already checked with her doctor,” Lock grinned. “Cleared for takeoff. It was just a mild concussion.”

I snarled at him, ready to send one of her murder cats on him. How dare he interfere with my wife.

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