“What if weese ask the Goddess for a sign?” Jango suggested. “See if the gals are tellin’ the truth?”
“Not a bad plan,” Boba said, his brow wrinkled in deep thought. “But somethin’ tells me if weese don’t believe the broads without proof, they’ll hold it against us for eternity.”
I could live with a broken heart. I could not live if I brought harm to the town that had taken us in and loved us—illegal habits and all.
Love versus responsibility—decisions sucked.
“What if weese asked the Goddess real quiet like?” I suggested, thinking maybe we could get the confirmation we needed without depriving our Johnsons.
“How?” Jango asked, glancing over at the gals.
“Somethin’ like dis—real respectful-like,” I whispered. “Are youse there Goddess? It’s me, Fat Bastard. Weese got a little issue here with some hot dames dat are turnin’ our giggle bouncers blue. If youse sent the broads here for good give us a sign—youse know, somethin’ like dat.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Boba said, holding up his paws. “Dat’s not the way to word it. If weese think they’re tellin’ the truth—which weese do—den weese ask for a sign if they’re here for evil.”
“But Fat Bastard already asked the first way. Weese are screwed if they’re innocent,” Jango pointed out then screamed like a girl as a searing three-pronged bolt of purple lightning blasted from the sky and landed squarely on our asses.
“Mother fucker,” I screamed, rolling on the ground to put out the fire.
“Shit,” Jango squealed as he clapped his paws and conjured up a pool of ice water. Dropping into it, he doused his flaming butt.
“Son of a bunghole,” Boba shouted as he joined Jango in the icy water. “I think all the hair on my ass is gone.”
It was not a good scene. I was fairly sure my giblets were bald. There were several ways to look at it, though. The gals were on the up and up. I wasn’t sure I believed that they didn’t know their mission, but I was sure they weren’t here to mess with my town—my singed ass was proof. The good news was we could court the she-devils, run our legal business and get Sturgill’s nards back from the groundhogs.
Poutine sauntered over with her girls by her side. “So, I’m guessing the Goddess proved I wasn’t lying?” she inquired way too casually.
“Are youse mad?” I asked, squinting at her.
“Would have done the same thing,” she replied, pulling me to my feet. “However, you will pay, Fat Bastard. And the price will be steep.”
It was the sexiest thing the dame had ever said to me. “It will be my pleasure, Poutine. My absofuckinglute pleasure. And while we’re at it, weese can commit the perfect crime.”
Poutine yawned rudely. “What’s the perfect crime?”
I grinned and grabbed my bits in respect for her beauty and horribly sexy attitude. “I’ll steal your heart and youse can steal mine.”
Poutine tried not to smile. She failed. “You’re a cheesy asshat, Fat Bastard.”
“Yep, but I’m your cheesy asshat,” I replied.
“We’ll see,” she said, flouncing away.
Boba patted me on the back. “Dat was so smooth, I almost wept.”
“Youse are the master,” Jango conceded.
“Thank youse,” I told them. “Weese have our work cut out for us with dem dames, but I’ve never felt more alive. Are weese all in?”
“Like Flynn,” Boba said with a wide grin.
“I’m in with a grin on my chin drinkin’ gin with a twin and her kin on a spin…” Jango said then took off in a sprint as we began to pummel his rhyming ass.
The bloody wrestling match with my boys felt great. It was also a second macho display for the dames. If we were going to win their violent, crime-loving hearts, we were going to have to play our cards right.
And of course, cheat.
Chapter Six
“I’d like to propose a toast,” Poutine said, raising her can of Beth’s Blackout Oyster Stout high. “To Assjacket, cryptic messages from the fabulous Goddess and old friends who may or may not survive the night.”
The dame had a way with words that made my heart skip a terrified and joyous beat. While Sassy and the gals sipped on beer, me and the boys stuck to water. We couldn’t risk another brain-pickling. We had sexy, hairy, female criminals to woo.
The sun setting on the horizon resembled a beautiful big orange and pink testicle. Poutine’s white fur glistened in the early evening glow. I knew I could happily stare at her thieving, lying face for the rest of my nine lives and be a very happy cat.
“So, let me get this straight,” Sassy said, handing out sandwiches as we sat on the bench under Sturgill and watched the sunset. “You’re Canadian cat burglar tutors, eh?”
“No,” Poutine explained patiently for the fourth time to a confused Sassy. “We’re Canadian language tutors who are also cat burglars.”
“World-renowned cat burglars,” Jango added with pride.
That got a smirk from all three dames. Jango had always been smooth with the ladies, but he was outdoing himself this fine evening.
“That’s wonderful,” Sassy said with complete sincerity. “Which means I’ll learn aboot cat burgling Canadians?”
“Say yes. Trust me. This shit could go on for days,” I muttered to Poutine, scarfing my sandwich and going for another.
It was clear that Sassy hadn’t made the sandwiches because they were edible. Her mate Jeeves, a good man, was a kangaroo Shifter and chef who had obviously saved us all from food poisoning. Sassy burned water.
“Umm… yes,” Poutine said, following my advice. “That’s correct.”
Sassy squealed. “That is so exciting! After I learn Canadian, I’m going to become fluent in British. Do any of you furry gals speak British?”
Poutine, Annie Surely and Blythe looked puzzled. Sassy was good like that. She was a weapon of mass confusion.
“I plan to learn all the languages of the world,” Sassy went on, not needing an answer to any of her questions. “Canadian has stymied me. It’s complicated—so much ado aboot boots.”
Blythe laughed and patted Sassy’s head. “It’s very much like American just add aboot and eh
