Impurrfect Crime

By Susan Sabia

Ramona had lived in the Fairdale Lodge for most of her fourteen years. She prided herself on meeting all the guests as they checked in.

So, when she stepped into the lobby, she was delighted to see Bobby, the hotel manager, with his mothy pork pie hat askew, handing room keys to two men—one tall, one short.

Bobby called them Big Stan and Smokey Two Toes. “Enjoy your stay, gentlemen,” he said as he waved toward the elevator. Instead of chasing after them, Ramona decided she’d let them get settled and introduce herself at breakfast in the morning.

But as Ramona watched for them from the lobby sofa the next day, breakfast came and went. Then lunch and dinner. Stan and Smokey never left their room as far as Ramona could tell.

The morning after that, fog enveloped the hotel as Stan and Smokey hurried through the lobby. They carried sagging canvas bags and wore black gloves. Ramona tried to intercept them before they ventured out, but they were in such a rush that she failed to make an introduction.

Later, as Ramona finished her lunch, a delicious tuna concoction, Stan and Smokey raced back into the lobby, their expressions grim. They hugged their canvas bags to their chests and ran up the side staircase as sirens blared and tires screeched outside.

Four policemen burst into the lobby, guns drawn, just as Bobby entered from the dining room. Startled, he stepped back into the door, causing his pork pie hat to fly off his head. A burly cop stepped on it as he approached Bobby.

The cop showed the manager a photograph. “They come this way?”

Bobby nodded, glancing down at his flattened hat. “I… I was eatin’ lunch.”

Despite the chaos, Ramona had an overwhelming urge to scratch the cop’s eyes out. That hat was precious to Bobby. He wore it all day every day. Ramona had often wondered if he slept and showered with it on. Since Bobby was too poor to replace his worn-out brown shoes, Ramona knew he had no money to spurge on a new hat. She decided she’d find a way to replace his prized possession.

“What room they in?” the cop asked.

“506.”

The police flew up the stairs.  Curiosity overcame Ramona, so she followed a few yards behind them.

“We’re finally gonna get ’em,” one cop said. “Five jewel robberies, and we’re gonna be the ones to bring ’em in.”

“You betcha,” another growled.

By the time they reached the fifth floor, they were all panting, except Ramona, who continued to keep her distance. The cops stood next to door 506.

“Stan Ross and Smokey Barns! This is the police. You are under arrest!”

Stan and Smokey responded by shooting through the doors, splintering the wood. Ramona hid down the hall in the doorway of room 501 as the police shot back. One policeman screamed, his blood splattering the hallway as he fell to the floor.

Once the shooting stopped, the policemen hauled Big Stan and Smokey Two Toes out in cuffs.

Giving in to her curiosity yet again, Ramona snuck by the cop guarding the hallway and crept into 506. The black bags lay on the floor, open. Mounds of glittering, marble-sized objects dazzled before Ramona’s eyes. Reds, blues, greens, and more, translucent and glowing in the afternoon light. A light blue one lay next to one bag. Must’ve fallen out in the commotion. Ramona glanced around to be sure the policemen were still in the hallway with the wounded officer. She flicked the blue marble into her mouth and swallowed it. The perfect-sized treat, though it didn’t taste so good.

Two days later, the hotel manager squatted in front of Ramona’s litter box, a glint of sparkling blue catching his eye. Ramona purred as she watched him, content with the knowledge he would be able to replace his beloved hat.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Susan Sabia is a Pushcart Prize nominee and a runner-up in the Binnacle Ultra-Short Competition. Literary Review, Every Day Fiction, and Flash Fiction have also published her work. She likes to write stories with a twist.