Weekly Drabble #398: Prey for a Meal

This week's prompt is from Tyronne with 'belly of the beast'.

What's that old saying? When the cat's away, the mice will play.

Well... sometimes it's not just the mice.

Enjoy!

~

Prey for a Meal:

Dylan just didn’t know how Jimmy could have been so fucking stupid. The one house – the one house – he told him not to hit and that idiot had gone in. He should have made sure Jimmy was on the ball. Normally he was okay after he hit the pipe, but he’d taken a bigger hit than usual that night. He’d been solid up until now, so Dylan had let it slide, but he was regretting that now. Under his ski mask, Dylan cursed Jimmy and then cursed himself. His dad, currently doing life for placing trust in the wrong people, hadn’t imparted much to him, but he had shared some bits of wisdom. One of which was don’t work with crackheads.

Dylan should have listened to that, but family was family. He’d given Jimmy a chance and thought everything was working out well. They had a good plan, they were getting a nice take and the security company was arguing with the homeowners rather than admit there could be a fault in their system. Nobody was looking for him and his gang. Then Jimmy had done what a fucking crackhead always did and fucked everything up for everybody.

Now, because Jimmy couldn’t remember the simplest fucking shit, he was laying in a hospital bed wrapped up like a God-damn mummy, getting fed through a tube. Dylan would be worried about him talking, but Jimmy’s jaw was wired shut and he wasn’t conscious. Cops wouldn’t be getting anything from him for a good while. The cat had fucked him up, but that’s what they did. That was why Dylan told Jimmy to stay the fuck away from this house.

Fucking Jimmy. Fucking idiot.

Family was still family, though. Jimmy might be a dumbass crackhead, but he was good at smash and grab. He knew how to follow orders most of the time, and he was Dylan’s cousin. They’d grown up in the hood together. Dylan’s dad was a top level banger before he got put away. Jimmy’s dad split when his mom got pregnant. It had always been the two of them, but as they got older, Jimmy started to use. Dylan never had. He was going to be smarter than that, smarter than his dad.

But... family was still family, right? That’s why Dylan was here. No one fucked with his family, even if they were a crackhead fuckup. You let that shit slide, and you lost respect. Once you lost that, you had nothing. Scores had to be settled, so Dylan had to fix this shit. He was prepared. Gloves, a Saturday night special that he was going to toss in the river after this, a mask and an alibi. His boys didn’t know what he was about, but they’d covered his back in the past and they understood family. They wouldn’t talk.

There were only two street lamps along the road; one at each end of the street with none in the middle. On the other side of the street was a large wooded lot that, if you crossed through it, led to a gas station that had no cameras in the back parking lot. Dylan had left his car there. He paused coming out of the woods, looking up and down the street. No cars, and the house to his target’s right was dark. There were only a couple lights on the house to the left, and without any street lamps, the road was completely dark. Lots of cover for someone looking to case a joint or rob it. It was one of the reasons he’d chosen this neighbourhood as their next place to hit.

You just had to avoid that fucking cat, Jimmy!

Dylan crossed the road, ducking behind a fence as the yard lights on the left-hand neighbour’s house came on. Peering over the wooden slats, his breath caught in his throat. For an instant, he thought he saw someone in the window and figured he was rumbled, but if anyone had been there, they hadn’t seen anything. The lights went out, giving him cover to approach his target.

He’d figured the window Jimmy had popped wouldn’t be fixed this quick, and it wasn’t. He paused, glancing around as the sudden feeling that he was being watched came over him, but there was nobody here. Only the dark, empty windows of the neighbour’s house looked down on him. He slid the window open noiselessly and slipped into the house. The burglar swept his flashlight around. The security system wasn’t even on. Fucker was cocky.

The man paused in the living room. This was where that cocksucking cat had fucked up his cousin. There’d been a rug on the floor there once, and some of the furniture was missing. Taken out either by the po-pos for evidence, or after-the-fact cleaning, erasing any trace that Jimmy had been here. His gloved hands balled into fists.

Light flashed from the back of the house as the backyard lights came on, tripped by a motion sensor. Dylan pulled the gun out of his jacket. He looked out the window, but didn’t see anyone in the yard. Probably a fuckin’ feline or raccoon running around. He wasn’t here for some four-footed asshole. He was here for a cat, and the motherfucker who owned it.

He paused, thinking for a moment that he heard the click of a closing door. He moved towards the back of the house. Nothing. He shook himself. “Hearing shit,” he mumbled to himself. “Get it together, banger.”

A moment later, he did hear something moving. The cat was up and about, playing games with him. That was fine. He’d play, too. “Heeeere kitty cat-cat-cat,” Dylan purred, his thumb stroking the revolver’s cocked hammer. “Got a little treat for you.”

He heard the soft scuff of footprints towards the front of the house, coming from the living room. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, just making sure no one was hiding up there ready to jump him. Silence. Then, a rustle of fabric, like someone shifting position. As he rounded the corner into the living room, he saw a silhouette peering at him from the far doorway. “Yeah,” he whispered. “There’s a good kitty. Come get your treat.”

“She’s not here,” a voice whispered. It sounded soft, enticing but also deeply, indefinably wrong. The silhouette vanished, but the voice hung in the air. “You got me.”

“The fuck you say, huh?” Dylan said, moving towards the shape, keeping space between the corner and himself. Nothing. “Come on out, kitty. Jimmy wants to give his regards.”

Something skittered in a way that didn’t sound like a person. Dylan spun, catching a flash of skin and a glint of blue. Cold fire lanced across his neck and he staggered back, sweeping his light and the barrel of his gone back and forth, but he couldn’t see anything. “What the fuck was that?”

A sound came from somewhere close. It wasn’t a giggle, but it conveyed the same emotion. “My regards,” the voice answered.

The iciness was spreading down his spine. His fingers were tingling like pins and needles. His vision was starting to swim. Something was wrong. He had to get out. He had to get out of here. Dylan lurched towards the window, his gait unsteady and tottering. His fingers had turned numb and couldn’t hold anything. They slipped against the wall when he tried to brace himself. His flashlight and gun fell out of his hands. The tingling in his feet was fading, getting replaced with the same cold numbness.

The window was just ahead...

...he fell. Dylan’s legs gave out from under him and he toppled like a drunk on the sidewalk, only he couldn’t make himself move. His hands wouldn’t grab, his legs wouldn’t push up. The only thing he could do was lay there. “Wh’,” he slurred through lips that barely responded any better than his limbs. “Wh’ di’ y’ d’ t’ m’?”

Fingers stroked the paralyzed burglar’s face. Long, sharp nails caressed his skin. “Normally I’d take my time,” the voice told him. “Have a little red fun, but this isn’t the time or place. I don’t want to make a mess. Too many questions that way. I just want her to know I was here. In her home.”

“Wh’,” mumbled, his head swimming. He had to force each partial syllable out as his mouth and tongue stopped obeying him, his eyes going unfocused as his entire body locked up. “y’... y’... g’n d’ t’ m’?”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” the voice told him. Hands grabbed Dylan’s wrists and started to pull him towards the window. “I’ll take good care of you, get you cleaned and dressed and then, well, I’ve got lots of room in my freezer.” Another wrong ungiggle followed.

As Dylan was lifted out of the window and dragged across the lawn to a darkened house, two things ran through his head. The first was that he’d never noticed this neighbourhood and sent Jimmy here. The second was a final, terrified wish that he could scream.