Notes: Repost of a very old piece of fiction. A few things have been added, a few things have been edited. This, by the way, is how you write them as people - undoubtedly much different than you're used to. And yes, I know I say Argyle in one place and De Beers in another. Take it to mean they're two separate instances.
Disclaimer: I dont own CATS, now am I making any monetary profit from this story.
Midnight. Not a sound from the pavement... although in the distance is easily heard the sound of flashing lights and wailing sirens.
Once upon a time in London there lived a man of most subtle and alluring graces by whose hand criminals sought rise in stature, and common men found redemption at the sharp end of a knife. Macavity... Macavity... there's no-one like Macavity... and many would be glad of this statement. He strode - never walked, for a man as graceful as he never did anything so boring as simply walking - with a gentle rolling of his hips, a soft smirk upon his lips, and a sinister gleam in his sultry eyes.
His eyes, like phantasms, haunt the very best of his agents. Those of the world that have looked into those eyes and remember them as they were - ready to snatch away your soul, your very life, should it so please him. A commodity they would eagerly trade for a good dose of catalyst (the drug pioneered in his warehouse factories) or a taste of his lips... the latter arguably the most dangerous. His coat refused to shine in the moonlight, and his tangled red mane absorbed the pale moonbeams rather than reflected. Macavity was a man feared by jellicles and loved by those who hated him, in a twisted way that exploited his assets of raw sexual magnetism, and a cold, calculating mind. The man beside him was well aware of this, and though he tried to remind himself of the beautiful blonde back in his hotel room, his eyes were drawn to Macavity's physique like a moth to an open flame. And like that moth, he was likely to be burnt should he venture too close.
"...diamonds."
Mungojerrie blinked as he realised that his 'employer' had been speaking. Nervous hands were quickly jammed into his jacket pockets, wherein they immediately sought an found a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. "S-sorry, wot was that?"
Macavity stopped in the middle of the empty street and turned his eyes to the scruffy looking young man beside him. He watched for a moment as his companion tapped a cigarette - heavy in nicotine - out of it's box, then proceeded to fumble with a lighter before drawing in a lungful of soothing smoke that he exhaled through his nose.
The master criminal raised an eyebrow, speaking in a low dangerous drawl, "Archimedes deigned to foil a diamond heist; I was merely suggesting that you take the time out of your busy schedule to casually annex a few choice Argyle diamonds for me..."
"Wot?" repeated the theif, this time stunned, cockney accent atrociously harsh, his voice a little louder than intended. "Oi can't, not Argyle, ya can't be serious. Mac, please."
"...Lest certain information should find it's way to your parol officer," Macavity finished, a characteristic devious smirk making his eyes glitter malevolently, "what was that you were selling on the street when I found you? I know we all have our vices, 'Jerrie."
Mungojerrie's eyes flicked around the dark stret as though waiting for something to interrupt so that he could escape the conversation and fly. "You set that up," he acused quietly.
"And don't forget it," Macavity replied aridly, "there are far worse things that could happen too. Don't forget your sister, what if she should have a nasty accident? Perhaps she might fall and be..." Macavity grinned a dark and condescending grin, "impaled."
It took Mungojerrie all of three seconds to decide, "how many d'ya want?"
"Good boy," Macavity nodded and began to saunter off into the dark blanket of the night, "I'll have Griddlebone contact you."
Mungojerrie stayed standing in the street until Macavity was gone. Shakily he threw the butt of his cigarette to the ground and snubbed it out under the toe of his boot. The scruffy catburgalar blinked against the darkness, waiting until he was sure his 'employer' was gone. Then he swore. Violently and loudly before turning on his heel and fleeing the scene, kicking over a garbage bin for good measure.
She was a princess. A darling porcelain doll dressed in a sparkling spaghetti-strap sheath and stiletto heels. A proud and haughty young woman who's eyes were dulled by years of living by her wits. She was his whore, and he loved her body with a purely proffessional passion.
Griddlebone shivvered as she looked out the window and down onto the street, bustling with traffic even at this hour in the morning. She rubbed her arms compulsively as her eyes darted back to the white powder set out in a cleanly manicured line on a small square of aluminum foil that lay innocently on the dresser. Did she really need it tonight?
HE was coming.
The tall, shapely blonde woman bit her lip and looked away again, a pained expression on her face. It hurt all over. All over, everywhere, her body aflame with the old ache and the new cravings of her addiction. Only it hurt more when she took it, burning a track through her sinuses and igniting a bonfire in her head. She was so intent on not paying attention to the line of white powder that she didn't hear the door when it clicked shut, nor the footsteps that crossed the room towards her.
"Griddlebone." A hand came down upon her shoulder and the blonde woman nearly shreiked, her nerves wound tightly enough over her own personal anxiety that her heart began to pound twice as fast from just that small shock.
Griddlebone spun around in place, wide eyed, then gasped out the name of the man standing in front of her, a small smirk on his lips. "Macavity!"
"Now why does everyone say my name like that?" The man asked rhetorically, evidently amused by her reaction. He let the hand on her shoulder toy with the strap of her dress, a very clear signal that she chose to blatantly ignore - closing her eyes to block out his image instead. Seconds later his voice sounded, very close to her ear, "I much prefer it being shouted... or moaned."
"My throat hurts, Macavity," Griddlebone said, voice perfectly neutral, "I won't be doing either of those today."
"So you say." The master criminal circled her, eyes watching her like a predator watches it's intended kill... eyes unblinking and glinting in the light. "I have an assignment for you anyway."
"I told you..." Griddlebone spoke, her tongue barely managing to force the words out of her mouth, "I'm not d... not doing that anymore."
Macavity ignored her, "I want you to meet with Mungojerrie and give him some information on a job he has agreed to perform. A letter, if you will. Tell him that it contains everything that he will need to know, including when and where to bring me what he has procured."
"I don't work for you anymore," Griddlebone repeated, a little louder.
"Au contraire," Macavity smiled at her. It was a nasty smile that sent cold shivers down her spine. "You, like the rest of my agents, continue to work for me until I terminate the contract. Do you understand?"
"I don't work for you."
The slap stung. He hit her backhanded, so that his knuckles grazed her cheek rather than the palm of his hand, and her head snapped to the side, whipping her hair around. Griddlebone bit her lip, not looking at him. "You will meet with Mungojerrie and give him the information I send with you," Macavity asserted drily.
"You don't own me." Griddlebone cringed, expecting a blow for her statement. She hadn't meant to say it aloud, but with Macavity things like that were always back and white - like the old addadge, in for a penny, in for a pound.
His hand clasped her chin and forced her to turn her head and look at him, an expression of displeasure upon his face. Without warning Macavity's lips came down on hers, bruising in the forcefulness of the kiss... if it could be called that. His tongue forced past her lips and teeth, a reminder that he could take what he wanted when he wanted and that she had no right to deny him anything of hers. The material of her dress was ripped. There was the sound of a belt buckle being undone. Griddlebone scrunched her eyes shut, trying to stop the stinging tears. "You will do as I say," Macavity enounciated clearly and forcefully, "else I shall terminate your contract. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes..."
"Yes what?"
"Yes Macavity... Master... Mac-av-ity."
Griddlebone sat on the floor by the bed, her mascara run in teartracks down her face. She blinked down at the floor, then looked up at the dresser in the corner. Immediately she stood and quickly rummaged through the top drawer for a small peice of a drinking straw. She bent down over the white powder... and her sinuses burnt.
The appartment was on the third storey of what appeared to be a very old building, it's construction delapidated, and cracks showing through the concrete. Griddlebone stood at the door, standing perfectly straight in her lavish fur coat and elegant kneelength skirt, her shoes simple black heels. She sniffed reflextively before knocking on the door, a slight fuzzy feeling still clinging to the back of her eyeballs.
The door opened a few seconds later to reveal a dishevelled looking man in his mid-twenties, dressed in an untidy flannel shirt that was half tucked into a pair of ragged jeans. His feet were clothed only in socks, and his hair was mussed, as if he'd just been sleeping. The only thing to contradict the image of 'just-woke-up' was a half burnt out cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
"Goodmorning," Griddlebone said quietly.
"'Morning," Mungojerrie replied in the same polite tone, the difference in accents between them easily noticable. "You're up early for a thursday," he noted with a nod of the head in her direction.
"I had a rough night," Griddlebone told him simply, though they both knew exactly what she meant. Quickly she changed the subject, "how's Rumpelteaser?"
"Out," Mungojerrie stated, then blinked, "I mean, wif friends. She's on some road trip ta Oldbury ta see some famous antique store or somefing. She's - she's good."
"That's good," Griddlebone nodded. There was an awkward silence beteen the two of them as they stood in the doorway, not looking at each other. Finally Griddlebone withdrew a slightly crumpled white envelope from the inside of her coat, "Macavity told me to give this to you."
"Oh, roight," Mungojerrie took the letter and quickly stuffed it into his jeans pocket, "d-did 'e say wot was in it?"
"He said that it covered everything you need to know, and where to drop them off... once you get them."
"Y-yeh," Mungojerrie's eyes darted around, and Griddlebone took moment to wonder whether the catburgalar was as nuerotic as she was depressed. "Thanks fer bringin' it."
"You're welcome," she replied automaticly, then hesitated, "goodbye."
"'Bye..."
Griddlebone turned away from the appartment door as it shut, and walked down the hallway to the lift her heels clacking against the dirty linoleum floor of the main hallway. Her eyes were on her feet, and never looked up as she entered the elevator and pushed the button for the ground floor.
The pair of them had been together ever since she could remember - thrown into the foster care system at a young age, Mungojerrie and Rumpelteaser were thick as theives right from the beginning. Four years older than his sister, Mungojerrie had taken on the role of protector, staunchly sheilding her from the dark corners of the world even when they were forced to live in them. Like now, in the dingy little appartment he'd managed to scrape together just in time to see her graduate college.
The conditions of his paroll included a job, and Mungojerrie worked four days at a mechanic's shop down the road, spending the other three days of the week too pissed to give a damn, or doting on his younger sibling. For her part, Rumpelteaser worked part time at a book store, waiting for summer to end.
She came home to find him on the couch in their living room, one hand idly flicking an unlit cigarette, the other dangling an open bottle of malt whiskey. The apartment smelt like smoke and booze, a crushed and empty cigarette packet telling her exactly what he'd been doing all day.
Rumpelteaser sighed and moved over to sit next to him. "'Jerrie..."
"Mm?" He answered her in a gravel-voice, tired eyes flicking to her face. Dark shadows were smudged beneath them. His face was unshaven, and she noticed a few strands of premature grey in his hair. An open envelope lay on the floor by his left foot. She knew what it meant, she'd seen it happen enough.
"Dont do it," Rumpelteaser said simply, a pleading note in her voice.
"I 'ave to," Mungojerrie answered her blearily. "You dont know what 'e'd do if I didn'..."
Looking into his eyes and seeing how tired he looked, how wrung out and old (for all that he was only a few years older than her), Rumpelteaser thought she might have a good idea. She placed a hand over her brother's, stopping the nervous flicking of the unlit cigarette. "When?"
"T'morrer," he answered, voice flat.
"I'll be your alibi, 'Jerrie," Rumpelteaser told him quietly.
They fell into silence, both staring away at the wall. Silently, Mungojerrie handed her the bottle of whiskey.
A small, plain, brown papered package was dropped off in the post box of an inner-city London apartment. A bright, cheerful card affixed to the package told anyone watching what the package was - obviously, they thought, some kind of birthday gift. A surprise, naturally. The young man who'd delivered the package had, after all, glanced up at the building block as though checking that the recipient wasn't there to see him dropping it off.
Those watching went back to their lives with a smile. What a nice thing to do for someone.
Griddlebone raised her head slowly, her eyes reflecting the harsh stagelight above her. Her face was caked with foundation and various other powders to conceal the large bruise that spread across her right cheekbone, still a rich purple colour. She took a step forward to the microphone, her heart pounding as the paino began the introduction to her number - for once not a seductive dance. Tonight she would be singing. The song had a distintive jazz flavour to it, which would have been appropriate had her throat not felt parched and dry. Had she not been terrified of making a mistake lest he hear it from backstage.
Griddlebone took a deep breath and began to sing, her voice smooth as the words rolled over her tongue like honey, even despite the bitter taste in her mouth.
"Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw -
For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He's the bafflement of Scotland yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!"
She took a deep breath before beginning the next verse, and wove her way across the stage, microphone in hand, her hips swinging with each movement she made.
"Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
And when you reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there!
You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air -
But I tell you once, and once again, Macaity's not there!"
But he was there. Waiting there in the back room behind the stage. The perfect place to watch and wait, to listen and absorb the words that she sang. She was sick of him. Sick of his games and the services she performed. No remuneration was worth this. She hated him.
"Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
You would know him if you saw him for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side with movements like a snake;
And when you think he's half asleep he's always wide awake."
Griddlebone caught sight of a nervous looking figure from the audience lighting up a cigarette, and aknowledged him with a tilt of her head. Mungojerrie was in the bar tonight, probably not having realised she would be performing. The blonde saw him hastily raise a glass of amber liquid and down the contents in a single gulp. He was bordering on alcoholic these days.
"Macvity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a bystret, you may see him in the square -
But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!"
Mungojerrie locked eyes with her, the expression on his face clearly asking her what the hell she was doing singing about the Boss. About Macavity, no matter what form the song put him in. Griddlebone ignored his pointed look and continued singing in time with her music. She had bigger things to worry about. Things waiting backstage...
"He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
And his footprints are not found in any ile of Scotland Yard's.
And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair -
Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!"
Griddlebone could feel her forehead start to sweat as the enormity of what she was doing suddenly seemed to crash into her consciousness. Just as suddenly she remembered with a cringe why it wasn't such a good idea to be singing this particular song when it's topic was not a favourable portrayal of the man (the tom, the -feline-, she corrected herself) waiting for her backstage. When all was said and done, there was a reason he was never caught.
"And when the Foreign Office find a treaty's gone astray,
Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
there may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair -
But it's useless to investiagte - Macavity's not there!
And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
'It -must- have been Macavity!' - but he's a mile away.
You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums."
Fearfully the singer cast a glance back in the direction of the stage wings, horrified to see a figure standing in the doorway, looking most displeased at her display. Rather than collapse into hysteria as she was tempted to do, Griddlebone screwed up her courage for the last verse. In for a penny, she thought to herself, in for a pound.
"Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare:
At whatever time the deed to place -
MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!"
She hesitated only a second before continuing, a tiny flicker of nervousness making its way into her voice. Would they know what she was saying? Would it get past the door?
"And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
(I might mentioned Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!"
She took a deep breath and improvised as she went, ignoring an odd stare from the pianist who was forced to delay the end of the song for a a few lines more. She knew she was in for trouble, there was nothing now that could make it any worse.
"Macavity, Macavity, they all work for Macavity,
For he's the one responsible for acts of great calamity,
De Beers had better watch their stock, for that tom is on the job,
But when the diamonds are a loss...
Macavity... Macavity... MACAVITY! Macavity wasn't there!"
Griddlebone replaced her microphone as the applause died down and walked offstage, her head lowered. There was no sign of Macavity as far as she could see, and so far as she knew he had left his previous position near the door. The blonde woman sighed shakily, then attempted to scream when a hand covered her mouth from behind her. The scream was muffled, sounding more like a squeak than anything else. Her heart pounded in her throat, her eyes wide in terror as a deep masculine voice - his voice, Macavity's voice - spoke close to her ear. "I like that song, Griddlebone," the point of something sharp touched the small of her back gently, "sing it for me again, darling."