Some of the things that happened as he worked numbers were things he'd never talk about. Never.

Non-scientific effects of catnip, but I blame it on Janet Careese. She probably made something to the catnip extracts.

Tall, Dark, and Fluffy

It had all begun with their previous number, a thirty-seven years old veterinarian by the name Janet Careese. An interesting woman... with interesting ideas. Fusco had made a dubious joke about how she was the same as John, except she cared. John had glowered at him, but hadn't said anything.

The problem, though, hadn't laid in Ms Careese's ideas, nor hadn't it come from the perp who wanted her dead – a somber story about a pet turtle she hadn't been able to save, that had ended with a dramatic confession to Carter, nothing terrible.

The problem, John would tell you if he hadn't sworn never to speak of it to anyone, was that amongst other things, Janet Careese had had an important quantity of distilled catnip in her lab, for whatever reason, and said important quantity of distilled catnip had entirely ended up soaking John's suit after a short fight with the would-be murderer.

Then, another number had come up, and John hadn't had the time to go and change his clothes.

Yet another unlawful investigation later, John ended up standing in front of a building he knew to be Elias'. One of the crime boss' men had taken a liking to a waitress, and from there, things had gone bad; the waitress already had a boyfriend, the criminal refused to take no for an answer, John had barely managed to keep him from killing the boyfriend – because of some rather invading pets who seemed to think he smelled wonderful and hence that they should stay with him at all times. Elias' man had used his furry distractions to get the hell away, and John had tracked him down to here.

"Mr Reese, I know you can take care of yourself, but are you certain you don't want the detectives' assistance, in case something goes..."

"No, Finch. I'll handle it myself, thank you very much."

No way he was giving ammunition to Fusco by letting him see that.

John doubted that Elias would appreciate one of his men to disturb his business because he was hopelessly in love and hopelessly violent, but at the same time, he could guess that the mob boss wouldn't be overly pleased with seeing him walk in to get the moron as if he owned the place.

John ignored the several meows in the background – the fight had drown some of the cats away, but they had come back as soon as it had stopped – and decided to call before entering. Maybe they could make a deal.

The sound of the call connecting almost went unheard as a particularly adventurous feline jumped onto John and decided it found the Man in a Suit particularly comfortable to take a nap – on his shoulders. Claws out, and digging into the suit not the fall.

"John?"

He winced, and tried to shake off the offending animal, but the beast was tenacious.

"Elias. I was wondering if you'd agree to hand over the fool in your organization who's been threatening his crush's boyfriend with your name because he's a freaking moron, before anything too grave happens. I'm certain some time away from the young woman would clear his head, and you wouldn't have to deal with a problematic employee who runs to your secret factory anytime he gets in non-business-related trouble. As you probably know already, I'm just outsi..."

John hissed at the cat who had sunk his claws in his left unkle, and shook it away, half-tempted to fire a shot in the air and get them all to run away as a consequence.

A window opened on the first floor – from where John was standing, he couldn't see who was at the window, but he already knew why.

A moment later, Elias' voice rose again from the phone, sounding vaguely perplexed.

"Why is there an army of cats following you, according to Anthony?"

John squinted at the open window.

"None of your business. If you agree, just hand the guy over, and I'll forget to mention he also works for you to our friendly detectives."

The call disconnected without him having an actual answer, and two minutes later, the door of the old factory opened, revealing the problematic man, held down by Anthony Marconi. Scarface had an incredibly contented look on his face, and a camera in his hand. Too late.

"Not a word."

To Marconi's credit, he didn't speak – only handed over the guy, and smirked.

The cat on his shoulder seemed very comfortable, and didn't appear to want to leave any time soon.