More indiscriminate smoking, more questions than answers, and finally a femme fatale appears.
"Don't Tell Mama" is owned by Kander/Ebb and is from the musical Cabaret.
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Chapter 3: Armistice
After the various anonymous queens had scattered, Tugger and Munkustrap settled on opposing ends of the couch.
"Alright," muttered Munkustrap, tenderly massaging his eye. "If, and if, mind you, I had really done something to deserve that, did you have to sucker punch me so hard?"
Tugger sucked on his cigarette with an unusual vehemence. "Yes. You'd be glad to know that your reflexes haven't dulled though. I'm going to be limping for weeks to come. Thank the Everlasting Cat most of my best work is done… reclining. Otherwise you'd be in a whole world of pain now." He looked round and frowned. "I didn't order any champagne!" He snapped irascibly at the advancing tuxedo cat, who had in his paws a chilled bottle.
"It's not for drinking," Quaxo said patiently, in a tone one might use on a petulant child on the verge of a tantrum. "It's for Munk's bruise." He surveyed their surprise. "Am I being presumptuous here?" He raised his eyebrows in mock-concern at Tugger. "You did punch him didn't you? Or have you finally mastered the art of civil discourse?"
Tugger emitted what sounded like a "tuh!" and continued to puff his cigarette as Quaxo handed the bottle over to a grateful Munkustrap. With a curt nod to the two other cats, he smiled mirthlessly and departed.
"I swear he can see into the future, sometimes. Yet, he refuses to give me the winning lottery numbers." Tugger mused, as he watched the lithe black figure depart.
Munkustrap leaned back into the couch and pressed the cool bottle against his eye. In spite of the throbbing pain around his eye where Tug's paw had connected with his face, he savored the moment. Fighting with the Tug was a strangely welcoming experience. For a moment, he let himself be lulled by the flicker of nostalgia and let the world around him pull away and drown out; the couch he sat on was the bed he and Tugger shared as kittens; it was the couch they had sat in when Old Deuteronomy announced which would be his heir; it was the couch he sat alone in, in a similarly sucker punched state after the announcement was done; it was the couch in this very bar that everyone had gathered around when they heard the terrible news and Jenny began to wail…
His eyes popped open again, he tried to block out the later memory and focus on the earlier thoughts, but he found himself unable to anymore. He wished he could retreat back in to the sanctuary of sepia-toned memories, but as he looked around, the deafening music of the jazz band; the garish make-up on the burlesque dancers; the unceasing and alluring whiffs of cigarettes; and the cold silence of his brother on the other end of the couch; they jarred and jostled with the memories, asserting themselves as if telling him, "That was then, and this is the now." The horrible, twisted present that pressed in close to him and wouldn't let him forget it was there. His head throbbed, and he was sure this time it had nothing to do with Tugger's punch. When did he last sleep? He'd catnapped a bit before Cass had burst into his office, but that seemed interminably long ago. The taxi ride, the surreal walk down the coroner's office to the morgue, Alonzo cold and dead at the morgue… Alonzo. The thought washed over him, and he realized, for the first time since this unending night had begun, he felt the full weight of sorrow at his friend's passing. There was no time for self-pity now; he had a job to do.
The Rum Tum Tugger seemed to sense the strange melancholy emanating from his brother. "What, crying over a little bruise you got? Really, it breaks my heart. Makes me all repentant, it does." He stubbed his cigarette. "Two years in respectable society made you soft?"
Munkustrap sighed. "Alonzo's dead, Tug. The cops found him early this morning and informed Cass." On hindsight, Munkustrap thought that Tugger took the news with relative restraint. When Tugger had finished shouting and smashing glasses, he settled into the couch again, his teeth gritted, and his back arched, the effect of which, combined with his mane made him look like a slightly emaciated lion contemplating lunch.
"Who did it?" Tug snarled.
"If I knew, I assure you, the Lair would not be my first stop. I'd be running to the cops. Instead, I find myself trawling the seedy underbelly of society." Munkustrap replied drolly.
"The bulls," Tug snorted derisively. "What good are they? They'd never care about Lonz's death. Just another anonymous casualty of urban violence. You saw how useful they were when Electra was—" He stopped short of finishing the sentence and lit up another cigarette. "Thanks for coming to tell us. We'll take it over from here."
"I didn't come here to play informant, Tug. Cass hired me to investigate, and that's my job until the case is resolved."
"That makes no sense. Why would Cass choose you over her family?" Tug asked, with a sidelong glance.
"Maybe she decided that she didn't want this made into a glorious muddle by the Rum Tum Tugger." Munkustrap saw Tugger visibly stiffen at the statement. "That's one of the reasons I'm here to break the news to you myself. I don't want this to be handled… internally. You are going to stay out of my way. Do you understand, Tug?"
The maine coon took a long drag of his cigarette as Munkustrap winced. He wished Tugger wouldn't relish smoking so much. It made him crave cigarettes again, and he'd been trying so hard to stop. "One of the reasons," Tugger murmured, side-stepping his brother's question. "What other reasons do you have to be back here?"
"To see if I can get any more clues. Cass said she didn't know about Lonz's current job scope. What's he been doing lately?"
"Railway duty," Tugger answered shortly, as he rolled the cigarette between his fingers.
"Railway duty?"
"He makes sure stuff gets unloaded and loaded safely."
"What stuff?"
"Well," Tugger drawled lazily. "That's on a need to know basis. And you," he stabbed the cigarette in Munkustrap's general direction. "You don't need to know. It couldn't have had anything to do with railway duty anyway. Yesterday was his day off."
"What'd he do on his day off?"
"How should I know? We're not the frickin' Gestapo, we don't keep tabs on all our members."
"Who does he do railway duty with?"
"Why is this important?" He frowned. "I thought we established it's irrelevant."
Munkustrap shrugged. "If it is, then surely there's no problem if you told me."
Tugger closed his eyes and puffed on his cigarette. Munkustrap sensed Tugger was doing some quick thinking. "Tumble and Addy." Tugger finally answered. He saw Munkustrap's mouth open, and quickly cut him off. "They're not here though. They're out… running errands."
"Errands."
"Errands. You know," Tugger waved his cigarette vaguely. "Laundry, and the like."
"Right," Munkustrap deadpanned. "Why does laundry sound like a euphemism for something else?"
Tugger shrugged. "Need to know basis. 'Sides, you're too paranoid. Laundry is laundry. All toms need clean underwear once in a while."
"When will they be back?"
"Not any time soon." He puffed his cigarette enigmatically.
Feeling like he was ramming his head repeatedly against a wall, Munkustrap decided to switch to a different topic. "What about Demeter?" He asked casually. "Is she around tonight?" He immediately he'd hit a sore spot, because at the mention of Demeter, Tugger's single eyebrow shot up, and his mouth tightened into a thin line. What was it a sign of? Confusion? Guilt? Complicity? Anger? Tugger had become infuriatingly skillful at masking most of his emotions, such that even though you got the impression he was startled, you never knew which emotion it was that was being swallowed back down to where all unnecessary feelings go to die. To Tugger, most feelings were deemed unnecessary.
"Why, she linked to this case?" He peered at Munkustrap.
"That's on a need to know basis," the silver cat smirked.
"That's real cute, you know?" Tugger scowled. "Can't help you there, don't know where she is." He said flippantly, violently stubbing his cigarette.
"You expect me to believe that answer?"
Tugger look thoughtfully at his brother. "Ask her sister, she'll say the same thing."
"Where can I find her?" Munkustrap asked as a jaunty jazz tuned started playing.
"Try straight ahead." Tugger said drily, with an exaggerated flourish of his hand.
The previously empty stage now was now occupied by a tall red-headed cat strutting out in what Munkustrap surmised to be a modified nun outfit. He raised an eyebrow. "Mama," she crooned. "Thinks I'm living in a convent…" The club erupted into applause and catcalls. "Mama, doesn't have an inkling that I'm working in a nightclub in a pair of lacy pants." She lifted her skirt and flashed the audience briefly as the toms once again went wild. Even Munkustrap had to hand it to her. Most performers used to performing as a double act would have showed some sign of being ill-at-ease alone on the stage, but the unfettered attention lavished on her seemed to make Bombalurina an even larger stage presence than she had ever been. As she broke into the chorus of "Don't Tell Mama", shedding the nun outfit to reveal a halter top that cut to her navel, she purred coquettishly, cooed sultrily, and belted her way brassily across the stage and the floor and into the hearts (and wallets, Munkustrap though, sardonically) of the adoring toms that stared at her and pressed lavish gifts onto her. As she worked her way through the floor, she came closer and closer to the two brothers, her target clearly being the Rum Tum Tugger who was puffing his cigarette with a carefully calculated debonair air of boredom. On approaching them however, her eyes finally chanced upon Tugger's unexpected guest, and with the air of a cat that finally found a new toy to play with, she sidled up to Munkustrap's lap. "Please sir, just leave well enough alone," she cooed, nuzzling her face in his hair. "If you had a secret, you bet I would keep it." She teased, her mouth hovering next to his ear. "I would never tell on you." Getting off his lap, she sidled back up onto the stage, "If you see my mama," she heaved throatily, putting her finger to her pouting lips. "Mum's the word!" She finished her song to a standing ovation.
"That's some number." Munkustrap commented. Tugger merely puffed his cigarette with nonchalance.
When her act was over, Bombalurina made her reappearance onto the floor in a comparatively conservative outfit. Working her way through a crowd of toms anxiously inviting her to sit with them, she bestowed upon them each a smile, carefully crafted so its recipient would feel (or be willing to delude himself into feeling) like it was meant for just him alone. "There, there, toms. There are plenty of charming queens just clamoring for your attention. You don't need me." She said soothingly, stroking the eager toms' egos. When she finally reached her targets, she clambered once more onto Munkustrap's lap. "Well, well, look who's come home to us." She purred, as Munkustrap felt the ire of a great number of toms suddenly directed towards him.
"Just a business visit, Bomba."
"Boo," she pouted. "Is there no chance," she ran her finger along his collar, "that we might get you to," she toyed with his shirt button, "tarry a little?"
"Only if you have something interesting to say about your sister's whereabouts."
She half-smiled, and lifted her cigarette holder to her mouth. "Don't you know it's not polite to ask a girl about some other dame?" She exhaled. "We queens get jealous easily."
"I'm not here to be led to dance, Bomba," Munkustrap replied, half-wishing he could snatch the cigarette out of her paws. "So if you know something, spill. If not, get off of me."
"Well you sure know how to charm a girl," she snapped, her voice much less husky and ethereal now. "What can I say; I'm defenseless against such charm," she said sarcastically, shifting off his lap and crossing her arms. "What do you want to know?"
"Where's your sister?"
Her eyes darted to Tugger for a second before she replied in a monotone. "I don't know. Haven't heard from her in years." She spied Munkustrap's raised eyebrows. "Didn't you know?" She asked, obviously enjoying Munkustrap's distress. "She disappeared about a month or so after you left. Never heard from her since."
"You seem to be quite calm about your sister's disappearance."
Bombalurina flashed him a dark look. "She's a tough queen. She can handle herself."
"In the meantime, you get to headline at the Lair solo?"
She cocked her eyebrow at him. "That's real cold, Munk. How did you turn so heartless?"
"Funny, I might have asked you the same thing."
"Ever the charmer, Munk." She puffed her cigarette stiffly. "Bored now." She stood to leave with nary a glance to Munkustrap, leaving the two brothers alone again.
"I can see I've overstayed my welcome," Munkustrap said, as he watched Bombalurina's retreating figure. He rose from the couch, and to his surprise Tugger followed suit and walked with him toward the door.
"Drop the case, Munk," Tugger murmured, as they walked out into the cool night. "This has nothing to do with you. Don't get in over your head."
"Is that a threat?"
"I'm just sayin', there's going to be an outcry for blood when the rest of the Jellicles hear about this. I don't know what's going to happen if you can't deliver that."
"Oh, so this is concern?" Munkustrap smiled drily.
Tugger suddenly grabbed his brother by the collar. "This is not a game! Lonz is dead, Munk!" Tugger shouted, his voice echoing down the empty street. "And you, you are not family. 2 years ain't enough to change that; hell, Lonz's death ain't enough to change that. You can't come waltzing in here, and expecting people to fall in line with what you're doing. Nothing's changed between us." He relinquished his grip and pushed Munkustrap backwards. "A member of our family is dead, and we will be the ones to handle this. Someone's gonna answer for this, and the only way this is gonna end, is with blood spilt."
Munkustrap felt the bile rising in his throat even as he strove to swallow down his fury. "You think I don't care about Lonz's death? When I think about Lonz on that table in the morgue, it makes me want to retch; it makes me want to tear whoever did this apart with my bare hands. I can't drop this, Tug." He was breathing hard. "But there is more than one way to handle this. There are other means of finding out the truth, and other means to meting out punishment. Cass understands this, that's why she called me in instead of you."
Tugger gave him a long, appraising look. "Fine," he said, finally, breaking the silence. "We'll honor your contract with Cass because she's one of the family. We respect that, y'know, family. Any contract one of our family makes, we all respect it. You go do your thing. But you can bet that we won't be sitting back and waiting on you to come to your conclusion. If we find out who did this first, we're going to deal with this on our terms."
"Fine, but if I find the culprit first, you can't even touch a hair on him unless I say so. Deal?"
"Always about the rules, right till the end, Munk? Alright, once and former king. I accept your terms." He did a ridiculous flourish with a slight bow.
The two brothers looked at each other in silence for a while before Munkustrap wordlessly turned and walked off; leaving the taller cat in the cold where he stood for a while even after Munkustrap was well gone.
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The highlight of noir, for me, has always been the interactions between the detectives and the various women that come into their lives, and I had fun writing this part. Bombalurina's nun outfit was based off a performance of Cabaret I watched where Sally Bowles did sing "Don't Tell Mama" in a stylized nun outfit. (But I've never been able to resist a singing nun. Who can?)
It's also been hard to write the characters as true to their original personalities, while trying to have them inhabit noir stereotypes. So if Munk sounds a lot more caddish than you might imagine him to be, er… blame stylization. _