The Legends of Twisted Felix Katt (Book 3)

(5)Hands in the Air, this is a Reunion

You’re only given one little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it- Robin Williams

Do you know what one of the rather sad facts of my life is? My gut instinct can scream at me far in advance of an ambush, my natural paranoia can bug me to hide weapons in various and sundry locations on my body, and yet still Murphy and her Laws will do everything in their power to run rough shod over me. I was actually dumb enough to think for a half second that I had a handle on things. I mean, Rorick was alright a I had some twit’s neck in a firm grip under my garrote. And then I hear that harpy’s voice.

“Fancy meeting you here.” I call out to a woman I had deluded myself into believing should be dead by now. “I didn’t think old bones travelled well.”

“Why is that anyway to talk to a superior?” Persephone Hound Head taunted me as she stepped into view.

It didn’t escape my notice that the people around me were struck stupid by the fact that I knew this quadrant’s Head of the Hounds by voice alone. Or that she was moving slow to hide the arthritis locking up her joints. Even Rorick was staring at me with a faint look of surprise once he saw her face and realized who she was. Of course, for a man like Rorick, who normally had so much control over his facial features, it was the equivalent of his jaw hitting the floor. Still less obvious than the gaping astonishment on everyone else’s faces though.

“You might be higher ranking, and you might have an army of dogs ready to chase me down at a moment’s notice, but don’t think for a second that makes you superior to me. I’m Captain Felix Katt, and ain’t no one I recognize as my superior. I captain my own damn Destiny.” The arrogance in my voice was a bit cloying, even to my own ears.

Persephone sighed and limped her way closer to me. Despite my blasé attitude in my words, my grip on the garrote hadn’t slacked at all so I hauled back on it just a little more to make the woman gurgle as a gentle reminder for Persephone to keep back.

“Let my second in command go Felix. She was just seeing if you were as slippery as all those stories suggest.” Persephone sounded so tired that it shocked me into loosening my grip.

The skeeve in my grip twisted the moment she felt the garrote slacken. It definitely seems like this was going to be my day for things to get a little physical. And not in the fun way that I was hoping for either. The elbow thrust back into my gut wasn’t friendly but I had expected it. So like when I train with Rorick or Van, I just twisted so that it had less impact on my diaphragm. Of course, I hadn’t released the hold on the garrote completely, so as I twisted, I hauled back on the thin wire too. Yeah, I was about to murder a high ranking Hound, in front of several High Born witnesses and her boss, the lead bitch of the Hounds in this quadrant. Like I’ve said before, sometimes I’m not the brightest crayon in the box.

“Captain stop!” I heard Persephone’s voice bark out even as I continued to haul her second in command over my shoulder. The bite of some kind of barb pricked into the muscle of my leg even as I pulled. The effect was immediate; I dropped like a marionette who’s strings had been cut. It wasn’t the cool numbness of a typical street level tranquilizer; instead it was the burn of something much more militant. Pain and paralysis, effective cowing techniques and lucky me, I was getting to endure both in full measure. But there was something Persephone seemed not to consider at all, the fact that I was not alone. Like most Women, even though she was trained to know better, she had completely dismissed the man in the room.

This makes for a pretty picture; I’m splayed on the floor with my body cast akimbo like a ragdoll and in serious risk of chocking on my own spit. But Rorick, oh my Rorick, he is in his element now. The first person who happened to be near him flew across the room like a crumbled ball of paper tossed at a garbage can. A second later everyone was turning to try and subdue the rampaging blood slave by tut was far too late to stop my brute. That little dirk in his hand wouldn’t really kill anyone unless it was purposefully placed in a soft spot, and even though he was determined to get to my side, Rorick is the kind of man who properly reads a situation. This meant he knew to hold off on the ultra violence. The damn Hound Head had only dropped me because I was about to kill her girl. So instead of simply slaughtering the lot of them on his way to my side, Rorick was inflicting debilitating but non lethal wounds. Of course, I’m fairly certain the pain of some of those wounds would leave one or two of them wanting to die, but that’s not my problem to figure out and I’ll sleep easy tonight.