The Cat Thing Again – Bentley 41

[For back story go here: Story so far at 30 Nov 2020 and definitely this one.]

[Relevant back story also in embedded links.]

Jeremy Knowles sniffed tentatively at the sea air. It was winter for sure. Off peak in more ways than several but the fact that the pandemic had shut down and clamped down on everyone else as well was some consolation. This time of year was always bad for him and he was used to that, but other people? Not so much. There was always the expectation that the new year was going to bring fresh promise, new ideas and those much touted resolutions. Not for Knowles. Christmas and New Year were among the worst days of the year because nothing happened business-wise and it was hard to see how it would change. A crazy golf course wasn’t required in January and generally just looked like a mess of concrete and kid’s games dumped in a car park. He usually went on holiday at this time of year. But this year? Not so much.

And so with a limited potential to do list, Knowles did what anyone else would do. He dreamed a little. He threw out some what ifs, only his what ifs came with an edge, an unanswered question mark, a smart rhetorical turn of phrase that would make his targets stop, shudder and try to remember to breathe.

Fortunately Bentley knew how to handle this sort of approach, or he thought he did. And even if he didn’t he decided he would. He could see Knowles’s marks all over the threats that came from the third Railway Appreciation Society to castigate him for disobeying track laws in the past seven days. It didn’t worry him. But then the abandoned cat refuge where he got Lucky/Covid/Ginger Spice from got in touch and apparently they wanted their abandoned cat back.

According to the email, letter and finally rather difficult phone call, there had been reports of the cat receiving rather unsympathetic treatment from its current owner. They had multiple questions concerning what the cat ate, where she slept, how often she got out and what kind of cat litter Bentley used.

The local vet was in touch. More questions – apparently Lucky the cat had had a cough and Bentley had done nothing about it. Her fur was patchy and falling out in places, said a neighbour, and Bentley did nothing about it.

And Bentley did nothing about it – aside from scratching Lucky’s head as she slept perfectly on his lap, purring and occasionally adjusting a paw to better support her chin. Whatever name the cat had she seemed quite happy with it and happy to be there.

Bentley reassured the vet as much as possible, offering to send across photos of the cat, the food, the litter and whatever else. Surely there was no point in him actually visiting? Was he able to? He was, said the vet, they were frontline workers. However on this occasion they would give him the benefit of the doubt. But if there were more complaints there would be more doubt and less benefits.

So Bentley put down the phone on the vets and within a few searches dialled up Jeremy Knowles’ concrete mess of a car park. He left a message on the answerphone, hung up and received a call back within minutes.

The call was abrupt and businesslike. Bad businesslike. The two didn’t really greet each other, there were no enquiries after each other’s health and Knowles cut to the chase before Bentley was even on the starting blocks. 

“Let me put it this way,” said Knowles, barely trying to mask the scorn in his voice, “You can faff around with Shiela and her timetables and clues and patterns and rules. Or you can join me and make the rules that others have to follow. Be a victim of the world or change the world. Your choice.”

“Why would you want me to join you?” Asked Bentley. “You’re not exactly known for doing favours for anyone are you? What’s in any of this for you, there must be something.”

“Oh yeah,” said Knowles, “There’s something alright. I get you. I get you and that means something in this game, doesn’t it?”

“Am I really that important?”

“Maybe,” said Knowles, “Maybe not. Depends what you do and when you do it. It’s a question of numbers more than anything else, Bentley. More numbers, more fingers in more pies, more influence more everything. You never know when you might come in handy. I’m sure that’s what Shiela’s thinking.”

“But me and Sheila, we have history.”

“We all have history,” said Knowles. “Now you have the chance to make history too.”

And he hung up.