Once I ditched mike, I made my way up the road, crossed the interstate, wended left up a road past a Cracker Barrel. Then passed a Ruby Tuesday to arrive at the Walmart Parking lot.  It’s easy to sneak a ride from there to Waynesville.  As I sat near the exit of the parking lot, I felt a chill up my spine. 

From nowhere, Chaucer’s apparition took a seat next to me.  “It’s about time you got off your kitty ass to work.  We’re now lucky to have Lucky on the job, rather than the slob, glutton, and dipsomaniac Cornpone.”  

I’ll admit it right off.  I was not so sure that the murderous Ms Ming was a welcome addition to the mix we had brewing.  For one thing, I get around anybody willing to kill anybody standing in her way.  No sooner did I say that, then Chaucer answered, “That’s the best thing about her.  She understands that you must bulldoze obstacles, not pronounce them insurmountable.”  Over the years, Chaucer said he had seen Lucky garrot loafing guards, poison inconvenient journalists, shoot and knife other operatives, and rid the world of bothersome politicians. What I wonder is, why is Wolverine still alive?”

Once I got up the nerve, I asked Chaucer what he wanted.  What he wanted was for me to go talk to Lucky.  I was to use my boyish charm as the Love Machine to win her over. I would then use my power to extract information from her about her plans.  

Doubts assailed me.  My working hypothesis about Lucky was that her heart was smaller than a microchip.  Nothing about her suggested a goody–good sentimentalism.  If anything, her history screamed she was a domesticated psychopath.  Intelligence services across the world adore such agents.  If you train a psychopath, you must monitor him closely.  You must have the right incentives.  You must cater to their inevitable perversions and love of risk.  You must anticipate the regular stream of lies.  If you can do all that and more, hire psychopaths.  A collector may need a Jack Bauer, but he needs a strong-willed, ruthless Chloe directing him.  Your psychopathic agents need tight collars.

If Lucky is indeed a psychopath, I saw one Love Machine manoeuvre I could deploy.  Feed her vanity.  Every cat knows the technique.  When you enter the target’s zone, you make your disdain for everybody else present plain.  In an audience of any size, you know somebody will want to pet you.  Treat him as he would treat a rat’s body in his bed.  Once you have your contempt for all noticed, simply hop into your target’s lap.  Win!

I confess that many cats like to do this to cat phobics and haters just to screw with them.  I’m not one of them.  Besides, most psychopaths fancy cats.  A cat’s self-interested mentality is something every psychopath understands.

Psychopaths even understand cat aggression, especially kitty predatory aggression.  Any cat will show reactive violence if you mess with him.  If you want to understand predatory violence, watch a cat stalking prey.  He is patient and quiet before he pounces and kills.  Psychopaths appreciate that we cats also like to toy with our crippled victims. After our first strike, we like to play before making the kill.

With so much to ponder, I startled when I heard Chaucey hiss, “I want results! No excuses; results!”  Then he vanished.

It didn’t take long to hop into a sucker’s F-150 for a quick ride to Waynesville.  I got out near City Hall, then scooted across the street to Hoppers.  Lucky sat at a table drinking a club soda with a lime twist.

You already know my love method.  A worthless pub manager tried to evict me. I eluded him.  Other customers cried out for my company. I ignored them. Then, in a flash, I was in her lap.  I rubbed on her, and then, guessing what she’d like, I began making biscuits on her chest as I pushed my face towards hers.  She adored it.  

The pissy manager rushed over to evict me.  She told him to leave her and her friend (me) alone.  She smiled as she asked him if he felt it would be safe to take me from her. He walked away muttering “Fine, fine.” 

Lucky drifted into Motherese to speak to me, annoying habit of women.  Please stop.  It drives healthy cat so yearn to commit mass murder.  

Anyway, she told me I had a rugged, handsome look.  She conjectured I was a Snake in the Chinese zodiac and mentioned that she was a Tiger.  Motherese or no, we were bonding.