Who'd have thought?

iii

Ten minutes later Marty's headache had just about gone and he could feel the difference in his thinking already.

The color started returning to Jim's hands as he continued to work them. Finally he recovered enough dexterity to loosen the ropes around Marty's hands. But as Marty rubbed his wrists gratefully Jim had to stick his foot in it again. "I don't know what she'll do if she sees them untied. I think we should make it look like you're still bound."

Marty resented the ropes, his shoulders were hurting from the unnatural position and she could be gone for hours. But, there was some sense in what Dunbar said. He let him replaced the bonds but tied so that Marty could easily pull the knot open. He sorted out his ankle bonds so he could walk in a short gait and again one pull would release him. Jim ran his hands over the ropes that he had just tied behind Marty's back. "Do you think they'll fool her?"

Marty turned abruptly and stared at Jim. "How should I know -I can't see behind my back. And how are you gonna tell?"

Marty untied Dunbar's ankles and then sneered silently as Jim replaced the ropes, loosely but not obviously so. He hated cops that sucked up, this one sucked up not only to his senior officers but this demented perp.

Russo explored the whole room, annoyed but not prevented by the ropes. But he found nothing he could use. There was no window, nothing that could be used as a weapon, in fact, nothing that was not fixed to a wall, ceiling or floor.

Dunbar asked annoying questions about the room, what Marty remembered from the canvass and the events leading up to waking in the bathtub. Russo sketched out what he knew and enjoyed watching Jim's eyes widen as he described their captor and her costume. Poor bastard hadn't even seen a sexy woman for at least a year. At least Marty got the pleasure of watching her while she tormented them. "And when she squats in from of you, those slashes in her –"

But he was interrupted. "Sh." Jim cocked his ear toward the door. "Footsteps, it's her."

A moment later she entered carrying an old fashioned video camera on a tripod.

"Your head feeling better, pretty boy?' She smiled a huge warm smile beneath her mask. The red lips glistening and beautiful, even white teeth shinning. The rubies glimmered.

Marty nudged Jim. "She means you."

"Oh, yes thanks. Much better. Did you speak to the department?" He sounded so sincere - mind you, so did she.

"Yeah, they didn't believe me. Treated me like a nuisance call. Fucking cops, always checking me out, or ignoring me, never just look me in the eye." She squatted before Jim, straightened his jacket and looked at him expectantly. "I absolutely hate being treated like eye candy. At least you're not treating me that way."

Jim's smile was rueful. "No, I'm not going to do that. But…"

She was eating out of his hand and she didn't seem surprised that Dunbar kept his eyes from her cleavage. From where Marty sat it looked like he was doing that thing, where he seemed to make eye contact. Marty had never figured how he did it, or why. Creepy. Marty watched in wonder as she moved back from her position inches away from Jim, where her breasts had threatened to leave their leather. She frowned at the man in front of her. "What?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know what to call you?"

She reached out and ran her long red nail down the side of his face. Marty couldn't figure out why he didn't flinch. "Call me Puss, darling, all my friends call me Puss." The purr was back in her voice.

"Okay, Puss, maybe Russo and I can get them to listen, why don't you get them on the phone and let us talk?"

She stood, looked from Jim to Marty and back. She gave Jim another smile and a pat on the cheek. "No need, I got something better. See this camera? We're going to make a movie and then they'll know I have you. Just give me a few minutes to set up."

"Can we talk while you set up?"

"Sure baby. What do you want to talk about?"

"Puss, who's your husband?"

"Oh, Jimmy the Knife."

Jim's eyebrows climbed his face.

"Jimmy the knife, serial killer Jimmy the knife?" Marty interjected.

She turned on him faster than a cat defending kittens. Marty felt the breeze as her gun traveled past his face and she brought her eyes within inches of his. Her voice had edge, like a freshly sharpened hacksaw. "You say that again and I will cut you into little pieces, and you'll make it into the next batch of Cat Chow." He could smell her soft perfume, musky and salty, but floral and feminine. "The chicken variety." In his peripheral vision he could see her pale arm muscles contracting through the slashes in her leather, her chest rose as she pulled in air and the red line of her mouth was sharp enough to cut. At that moment Marty had no doubt she would do exactly as she said.

"I… I… Didn't… mean…" The cold in his stomach made it hard to Marty to get enough breath to get his words out.

Jim spoke up from beside them, "Puss, we only know what we hear, don't blame Marty for the lies someone else told him." Dunbar still sounded calm. Puss' eyes moved away from Marty's reluctantly. She would have enjoyed carrying out that threat. Marty and Puss both looked at Jim. Jim continued as if unaware of the danger that had just passed so close by. "You know it was the 7-5 that picked your husband up? Not us, we're with the 8th." She sighed. The tension dropped.

She put her index finger to her mouth in parody of someone considering. "Hm, I thought you guys were all together, you know, the thin blue line?"

Jim chuckled, "Ah, PR, you know, even Russo and I, we work together and sometimes, I bet even he'd like to kill me."

A small smile caught at the side of Puss' mouth, it spread and she joined Jim in his chuckle, as she turned back Marty decided he'd better join in too. But when her eyes returned to his they were cold and devoid of any latitude. His chuckle died at birth.

"I want a good background for your movies boys." She wandered behind Marty's back and he listened to her heels clicking around the bathroom.

"You been married long?" Jim could have been talking to a woman at a bar for all the tension that showed in his voice.

"Newly weds. We just got back from Niagara falls this week." Puss stretched a sheet of black velvet over the rail surrounding the bathtub. Marty strained to keep an eye on her. She smiled, noticing him watching her. Like a fussy housewife, she brushed lint off it.

"Hey, Puss, that's where me and my wife went. 'Bout 6 six years ago now. That great restaurant over looking the water - Noir 17."

"Yeah, we had dinner there the night of our wedding. Great lobster and great chocolate cake." Now she positioned the flood light.

"You elope?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, you?"

"Sort of." He smiled as if at a pleasant memory.

She chuckled, "If that guy hadn't started hassling us to make space in his hotel, and then if Jimmy hadn't gotten those calls to come back to work we might still be there now." She moved the camera and stand into position.

"Ours was cut short too, had to get back to the job. Sounds like what happened to you and Jimmy?"

Puss put her head back and laughed out loud, hands on her hips, her chest rose and fell melodiously - it was almost fascinating. Under any other circumstances, Marty would probably have felt like joining in. But if he wasn't mistaken, she had just said that Jimmy the Knife had killed that hotel owner and had to cut short their honeymoon to get back and do some more killings in New York. "We're in the same business after all – just different ends. I like you pretty boy, I really do. You have a unique way of looking at things."

"Call me-"

Again her speed and reflexes astounded Marty. From behind the camera she was around and in front of Jim before he took his next breath. Puss interrupted - a finger on Jim's lips – he was frozen. "No baby, no names, if I know your name it's harder if I have to … you know."

Jim nodded and dropped his head.

"Good. Now be quiet for a minute while I set this up." She took the power cord and looked for an outlet. She narrowed her eyes and searched the edge of the floor. As she came close to where the two men sat against the bath her eyes traveled to the bonds that tied Marty's hands.

The hair on his arms stood up as her gaze traveled over him and their eyes met and locked again. Her voice was like iced water thrown in a rage and he felt his gut clench as she moved in on him. "Your ropes aren't tight enough, big boy. You have been very, very bad." She made him kneel, his head between his legs and put her stiletto on his back, digging in so deep her whimpered. "Move one inch and I will have my heel through your kidney and a bullet in your head, baby."

She retied the rope and moved back. "Sit. Head down – penance." He did as he was told, his face flushed and burning.

Then she checked Jim's bonds, happy with the ankles but not with the hands. He flinched as she pulled them tighter. "Puss, it's too tight, really." Desperation sounded in his voice.

"No sweetie, not until you've helped me get my hubbie back." She gave him a smile the rope an extra yank. Marty watched as Jim's face paled and a small shudder ran through his body and he swayed, eyes blinking and slowly closed as he slumped sideways.

"No, Jim –" Marty copped a full force backhander across the face that banged his head into the enamel tub and the light began to fade.

Jim allowed himself to slump, to reassure her of her position but the blood was singing in Jim's ears and panic began to rise at the thought of his hands being damaged permanently.

The door slammed and locks engaged. He raised his head and began straining at his wrists.

He felt Marty's shoulder nudge his arm, "Marty?" Marty's body started to slide downward, Jim grabbed him by am arm and slowed his decent. Running his hand along Marty's head, he found a slight cut on his forehead, wet, some blood. Not enough to knock him out. He kept searching - there - at the back of his head a lump already starting to rise. Jim knelt, found the taps of the bath and ran cold water, he scooped some up in his trembling hands, already the pins and needles were beginning again, and threw it in Marty's direction. He waited. "Marty?" No sound. He placed him hands under the cold water again and bit his lip, forcing his hands to be steady as he filled them, then carefully lifted his arms over the tub. He found Marty's shoulder with his knees and Marty's face with the back of his hand. He let the water fall.

Jim was pushed back, onto his ass as Marty lunged forward, with the shock. "What the…"

"Marty, it's me, Jim, you okay?"

"Yeah, what…" he remembered. "That bitch hit me?"

"I guess, although from the lump on the back of your head it was contact with the bath that knocked you out."

Marty was seething. He felt like slugging Dunbar one. "Sure, your girlfriend was just playing with me, I know." His head hurt and he was trapped in an echoing bathroom with a man who wouldn't shut up.

"How bad is it?" Jim finally sounded worried. Marty rolled his eyes.

"I'd say pretty bad, my gun is gone, we have no phones or radios and cat woman doesn't even seem to like you anymore."

Jim drew a long breath. "I meant your head. You got double vision, ringing?"

"Nah, it's fine, doesn't even hurt much."

"Good. Alright." He held his hands out toward Marty. "Do you think you could loosen these? Even a little bit, or I'm screwed."

The last thing Russo wanted to do was help Dunbar right now. He looked the ropes over, possibly there was some give. "Yeah, hold still, I have to turn around. He fumbled behind his back. Jim was silent other than an indrawn gasp when he yanked at the rope to get some stretch. He managed to loosen them a little. "How's that?"

Dunbar turned back, "Better, thanks. How long do you think we've been here? They should be looking for us, taking her call seriously. It doesn't sound right that they think it's a crank call."

"I don't know, Dunbar, you're the kidnap expert aren't you?" Sarcasm went unchecked on his face, in his voice. He turned away.

Jim sighed, his turn to look disgusted. "Fine, if you want to blame me for this go ahead. If you can come up with a plan to get out of here, I'll do whatever you need. Maybe you can get away and send someone back for me."

Marty smiled, "Or not." He watched as Jim moved his tied hands up to his face and rubbed at his eyebrow, paying no mind to Marty's snipe.

"So, she's got a camera and she's what? Going to take pictures and send them to the department?"

"It's a video camera."

"Do you think she'll need to put the gun down to operate it?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"Alright, what can we do with this?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you see her in a vulnerable position we need to jump her there and then. If you give the word I'll launch myself at her and you make for the door. How's that sound?"

"You could do that?"

"Sure."

Marty looked at Jim. As long as he got in close he'd stand a good chance. This sounded feasible actually, as long as -"Do you think she's alone in this?"

Jim pursed his lips, then shook his head "I have no idea."

"It sounds a bit dangerous, Jim. I might not like you, but launching yourself at an armed woman? Karen would kill me."

"Then only give the word if you think I've got a chance, okay?" Jim sounded disgusted again, his expression pained.

"I didn't mean –" Marty was interrupted by the return of the woman carrying a plastic chair in one hand.

"You." She indicated Marty. "Italian Stallion, scoot over there, out of the way."

Marty did as he was told moving several feet to the wall next to the basin.

"You, pretty boy, sit in the chair."

Jim got to his knees and stood, Marty could see he was a little unsteady, was that having his feet tied or did he have a concussion from the fall earlier? Would he be able to take the woman down if it came to it? Or would he just throw himself at the thin air and ruin their chance? "Where's the chair, Puss?"

She looked up sharply. "Don't play funny games with me. It's right in front of you, now sit."

Jim just sighed and reached out with his tied hands, meeting the back of the chair in a few inches. He hopped around and seated himself.

She pointed the gun at Marty. "Now you be quiet 'til he's done."

"State your name, badge number and whatever else there is official wise and then tell them what happened to you."

"Detective James Dunbar, 9544, I'm with the 8th precinct. I was canvassing outside the deserted factory at approximately 11 am on the 15th. A wet rag was held over my mouth and nose, I assume it was chloroform. I woke up tied up in a bathtub with Detective Russo. We've been treated all right."

"Good, you're good; you should be in the movies. Now get up and give your buddy a go."

Jim stood, wishing he could communicate silently to Marty. Was there a moment here when she was off guard, running the camera? Two sighted cops could have watched for that moment, made eye contact - acted in concert. Once more he felt the edge of his capability like a stone wall, unyielding. As it stood he'd have to rely on Russo to notice and hope that Marty gave him some clue as to what was needed. He turned, listening for Marty. Nothing. Puss prodded him with the gun barrel and he hopped back until he felt the bath behind him.

"You're next."

Marty sat in the chair. "Detective Martin Russo, I'm with the 8th Precinct. We were chasing a guy, 5'10" or so, black, heavy built, he shot Tom –"

Gun fire erupted; Marty threw himself to the floor, and heard Jim landing hard behind him.