After narrowly escaping assassination at the hands of Squinty McGrumpyson, I learned that this whole case was a sham — the cat who hired me to find the Maltese Crow had set me up as a patsy to be taken out by Squinty. But why? What was her angle? I was about to find out, and it wasn’t going to be a pretty scene.
The cat comes prepared, I have to give her that — before I get two steps towards her, she’s got me covered with a snub-nosed pistol that she had hidden in her bag of ‘nip. So instead of an interrogation, the two of us have a polite conversation, while Squinty McGrumpyson hovers in the background just itching to use those surgically-attached thumbs of his.
The cat has had the Maltese Crow all along! I’m an even bigger patsy than I thought — out there almost getting run over, waiting in line for hours at the DMV, nearly getting shot, and meanwhile the cat has the Maltese Crow on her mantel where she can admire it every evening. Or does she?
Closer inspection reveals that I’m not the only sucker in town. What the cat thinks is the Maltese Crow is nothing of the sort.
The cat might be a major contributor to the university. She might be able to get me kicked out of the archeology department. But I’m tired of being played for a fool, and right now, I don’t care about any of that. I just want to get back out into the field and do some digging.
The kingdom of the gophers is still out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered. If they want to fire me, they can go ahead and do it, but that won’t stop me; because I am Dennis the Vizsla, and I never give up.