The Secret Stash

Evan had to reveal what he knew he was using as leverage. Written for Writers Cramp 03/12

The air was mustier that evening than it had been in a while, and Evan thought it had much to do with the earlier, predictable downpour, a phenomenon all too familiar this time of year that rarely caught locals and knowing tourists off guard. Oh, it’s four p.m.? Time to take some cover, then! Despite having lived mere blocks away from the happiest place on the eastern seaboard, Evan had never gotten used to the weather in the Floridian locale he’d called “home” for the past year and a half, and he, at times, longed for the harsh winters of the Windy City.

Across the table from him, El Gatto drummed its claws against the stainless-steel surface. In the dim light, Evan could discern every familiar feature of his superior, one of many Denuvians who had seamlessly lived among humans as the common house cat until finally revealing their true nature. In a matter of two decades, their bodies had shifted into their current larger, bipedal version. Many continued to find no need for clothing, save for headwear. The one in the room with him, in particular—having risen in rank among the local presence—wore a top hat adorned with red and white stripes.

He realized at that moment that El Gatto was awaiting a response from him to a question he’d almost forgotten had been asked. To his credit, the query could have been only one of two possibilities, and he took a proverbial stab.

“It’ll be here in two days,” Evan said.

El Gatto scoffed. “That’s too late.”

Despite his familiarity with his boss’s unusual voice, Evan cringed at its slightly metallic sound, likening it to fingernails being drawn across a chalkboard. “I know, boss. I’m working very closely with procurement and shipping. Supplies have dwindled dramatically in the last—”

The feline-like creature snapped its paws, cutting him off, and one of its two personal assistants stepped up. Evan had come to secretly refer to the burly bodyguard as “Thing One”—the other, “Thing Two,” stood along the far wall, leaning casually against it. Officially, these lowlife human thugs were unironically known as Rick and Morty, respectively.

“Yes, boss?” Rick asked as he leaned in, his left cheek mere inches from El Gatto’s snout.

“Get me Scavenger,” El Gatto said, eliciting a simple nod from Rick, who soon exited the room. Morty stopped leaning and instead shifted into a more alert, ready position behind his charge.

Evan bristled at the mention of his sister’s code name. “We don’t need her, boss,” he said.

“And why not?” El Gatto asked.

Evan took a beat before finally responding. “I—” he began, tentatively. “I have a stash I can access.”

The feline bipedal leaned slightly before rising to its hind legs and walking around the table to stand behind Evan, who kept his eyes forward. “A stash, you say?”

“Yes,” Evan responded.

“Where is this stash you speak of?” El Gatto asked, placing its paws on Evan’s shoulders.

“It’s... local,” Evan said, a tiny quiver in his voice as he chose his words carefully.

The leader of the local crime syndicate rounded the table again to return to a seating position in front of its top supplier. “And why haven’t I heard from you about this local stash before now?”

“I secured it for emergency situations such as this,” Evan said.

The Denuvian narrowed its eyes. “You were saving it as leverage.”

“No,” Evan quickly retorted, his voice louder than he had intended.

Morty stepped closer to the table but was waved back by El Gatto. “It’s alright. Evan here is just a little excited to tell me more about this secret stash of his.”

Evan swallowed the small pool of saliva in his mouth before speaking. “I can have it here in an hour.”

El Gatto sneered. “Get it here in twenty minutes.”

Evan looked at his boss, wideeyed. “That’s impossible. I can probably—”

“I’m hungry,” the feline cut off its supplier once more and began to purr softly.

Dejected, Evan simply nodded, knowing full well what that statement meant. “Twenty minutes,” he said.

“Good,” El Gatto said, and stood up. It exited the room with Morty following close behind.

Evan remained in his seat for a couple more minutes before finally getting up. He headed quickly to the company-issued Suburban that had been parked behind the shed, started it up, and drove hastily from the abandoned factory.

As he sped through the streets of Orlando toward the location of his secret cache of Hill’s Science Diet—a commodity that had become increasingly rare as the Denuvians’ consumption had more than quintupled since their humanesque form required higher sustenance—Evan attempted to strategize how he could transport the supply in less time than it should take. He thought for a moment about reaching out to his sister for assistance but banished the thought as immediately as it came.

He didn’t need her. And he would never need her again.