by dan waters
and the cat came back, the very next day.  move up slowly to reveal the rest of the ensemble -- long legs in black tights, the short skirt and bodice top of the dress. a whip is wrapped around her waist, the tip dangles almost like a tail. her stride is confident, sexy.
the cat came back, they thought she was a goner.  her arms are encased in long, satiny black gloves. a half mask with eyeholes and subtle cat's ears covers the top half of her face, her hair falls free like a mane behind.
but the cat came back, she just wouldn't stay awa- a-ay.  catwoman -- the former patience price -- comes to a stop in front of the slack-jawed bouncer.
what's the word i'm looking for? oh yes.  meow. so saying, she strokes a finger under the bouncer's chin -- close, the claw emerges from a slit in the glove's fingertip, but doesn't draw blood. the bouncer recovers himself, unhooking the rope and stepping aside. catwoman strides past him into the club.
buy me a drink. sandy stares daggers at catwoman with her drooling boyfriend, but catwoman ignores her, leaning close to the attentive bartender and almost whispering:
white russian, no ice, hold the vodka and kahlua. the man blinks, retreats to fill the order. sandy taps catwoman on the shoulder as she makes eyes at randy.
let's dance. she grabs randy by the lapel and drags him toward the dance floor -- not that he needs a lot of encouragement. catwoman shoves the man onto the dance floor ahead of her. she begins to writhe sensuously to the music, instantly the center of attention. catwoman's distinctive movements combine catlike grace with acrobatics and martial arts.
don't touch my tail. catwoman pulls her whip from around her waist, flicks it in the air -- randy backs off. but catwoman swings the whip so that the braided leather wraps repeatedly around his torso.
guess the party's over. catwoman springs upward, atop a bank of speakers. she moves with incredible agility, near the roof of the club, from the speakers to a light rig -- she leaps and grabs a mirror ball, which swings and deposits her close to the door.
c'mon in, wanna-bes! free drinks! the crowd stampedes the door. catwoman struts away down the sidewalk, recoiling the whip around her waist.
oooh, pretty. the three thieves spin, looking around --
you boys -- thought you could just barge -- in here and take -- all these beautiful things -- that don't belong to you.  the guard quickly tears off his gag and blindfold, untying his own feet, then picks up the fallen handgun and trains it on the thieves. we hear police sirens approaching. catwoman meanwhile swiftly gathers up fallen jewels, sweeping them into the swag bag. she pauses for a moment, thoughtful.
what a lovely idea.
you are cute. lone blinks at this uncommon response to a pointed weapon, continues to play it by the book.
bet you look sweet in uniform. and such a big gun.
obviously you don't know much about cats. i come when i want, not when i'm told. with that, she springs to the rooftop -- the force of her leap knocks the a. c free of the window, lone has to dive out of the way as it crashes to the ground.
that girl has got to go. she glances up toward lone's window -- lets out a sexy growl -- and springs up the fire escape.
boy, you don't know what you're missing.  she moves through the dimly lit, spartan environment, able to see easily in the dark. she runs a claw over the strings of a guitar, finds a discarded button-down shirt, slips it on. she narrows her eyes when she finds a framed photo -- close -- tom lone with his arm around a pretty girl. letting out a growl, catwoman slashes out the girl's face. in the bathroom, she opens the medicine chest, picks up men's toiletries. finding a bottle of cologne, she sprays it in the air and sniffs, then makes a face, looking at the bottle
avenal.
a bitch is a dog.
you're tougher than you look.
had enough?
i hate water. suddenly enraged, she lunges toward laurel, who hits the ground -- but catwoman springs over her head, up to the landing where the lapdog yaps. she snatches it up by its collar, bares her claws near its face. the dog shuts up, petrified.
where's your husband? a beat as laurel takes this in. she lets out a little laugh.
i don't belong to anybody.
if i can't get to georges, i can at least scratch up something he loves --
how sad. i'd cry if i cared.
i've heard this story before. where is he?
i can't wait that long. i want him now.
i'll check it out.
it's personal.
depends on my mood.
and here i thought you were just some brain-dead mannequin --
sorry, i work alone. but i like your attitude.
that would be me, georgy boy. angle through window, with george, looking down on the ruined factory as catwoman appears on a catwalk just below the window, strutting her stuff, speaking into the walkie-talkie.
come out of your hole, let's have some fun. numerous guards are approaching from various directions, moving to surround catwoman.
a kitten with a whip. you like my makeover? i even had my nails done -- as the guards near, she drops the walkie-talkie, leaps and wraps the whip around a pipe above the window, swinging right past george, claws extended -- -- leaving five scratch marks in the glass right in front of his face. he jumps backwards instinctively. she lands on a catwalk, near more guards. they move in brandishing nightsticks. high-angle as the guards surround catwoman -- no easy escape.
duh. so saying, she shoves another guard into the path of a swinging stick, which knocks him unconscious. she somersaults over the heads of the remaining attackers, she's about to get away when georges' voice erupts over a pa.
i'm not finished with you, georgy! so saying, she dives into a large duct leading downward.
ivan nevski -- his head tilts back -- she's face-to-face with a corpse, he's been shot a couple of times in the chest. he's bluish, eyes glazed -- very dead.
you're no help. she sniffs the air, turns toward -- -- a smoldering fire in the fireplace. catwoman moves toward this, studies the ashes and burned papers, then reaches in and snatches out -- -- the remains of a textbook. the cover reads "yersinia
yersinia pestis.  yp.  a singed news clipping protrudes from between the pages, she plucks this out. close -- "businessman denies terrorist link," with a photo of xavier bartok, his name in the caption below. catwoman is reading, absorbed, when -- the front door swings open -- a uniform cop and a landlady with a ring of keys step inside --
sucker.
those things'll kill you. she smacks the cigarette out of his hand, boots him into the bushes and leaps on top of him.
yp-3 -- the plague -- what's it for?
tell me about xavier bartok.
i'm asking the questions.
then it's time to brush up on your braille.
when?
wrong. your boss won't live to see it. she bangs his head hard again, angel loses consciousness.
thanks for your help.
he should be. how much do you know about your husband's operation?
yeah, yeah, but the secret ingredient in his face cream -- it's black plague bacteria. he's selling it to an arms dealer.
and he's committed murder to protect his secret.
i'll take it from here.
i love this part. georges spins, startled -- and she slashes him across his cheek. the music is so loud, no one hears his cry of pain. georges rushes for the exit -- but catwoman gets there first, shoves a chair under the doors.
let's not be interrupted. she advances on him, blood drips from the slashes on his cheek, staining his tuxedo shirt.
red's a good color on you. at that, she grabs georges and slams him against the wall of the box, behind a curtain, partly concealed from view. the door rattles, increasingly hard. close as catwoman wraps a hand around georges' throat, the claw tips digging into his skin. he gasps:
i could rip out your throat.
because you deserve it. and because i can. through binoculars -- catwoman holding georges, but still not delivering the deathblow. laurel spies from the back of the theatre. under her breath:
damn it. i can't. the chair splinters and the door flies open, armed police with drina behind them. catwoman leaps to the lip of the box, turns and hisses, then
watch out! lone sways, losing his balance, she springs and grabs his gun arm, saving him. a beat as they look at each other, then -- -- she snatches the gun out of his hand, tosses it aside, then grabs his tie and pulls his face to her to lick his cheek.
tag, you're it. she bounds away, comfortable on the narrow railings. lone pursues, moving more carefully now. accompanied by the ballet music, the two perform their private dance, high above the tombstones and graves. catwoman winds up in a corner on a mesh platform, no way out from here, but for a 25-foot drop to -- the floor, where police await, pointing upward. lone advances, he has her trapped. he pulls handcuffs.
handcuffs. yummy. he lunges at her -- she dodges, kicks a leg out from under him. no slouch at fighting, lone recovers, plants a kick in her mid-section. she gasps, surprised.
you play rough.
i knew there was a spark between us. she turns and flings the cable away, it dangles free of the mesh floor, still spitting sparks. a second later, click -- lone has slapped a handcuff on her wrist, clicks the other cuff over his own. catwoman spins back on him, looking hurt. he reaches to pull off her mask. she slaps his hand.
please, it's our first date. i wouldn't want the mystery to go out of our relationship. lone struggles to push her off, but she keeps her thighs locked around him. he finally rolls on top of her.
you men love the chase, but once you catch us, you always lose interest. as she speaks, close on her cuffed hand -- her fingers squeeze together, her hand slithers out of the cuff like a cat's paw.
sorry. she's on her feet, ready to scamper off, but -- more cops have made it to the grid, blocking every way down -
and here i thought we were hitting it off.  with that, she leaps and grabs the dangling power line which tears loose from the ceiling -- she drops to the floor, still holding the cable. cops surround her, moving in quickly, guns drawn -- she backs toward the wall, near a circuit breaker panel.
show of hands -- who can see in the dark? she lifts her own hand daintily, then violently swings the power cable into the circuit breakers --
not exactly. she throws herself on the end of the bed, curling up with the other cats, examining her injuries. she finds a bloody gash where angel's bullet grazed her skin. edna moves closer.
it's nothing to cry about.
piss on 'em.
it won't happen. i promise. edna studies catwoman, speaks softly, worried.
i wanted to -- but i couldn't. i actually.  felt sorry for him.
don't remind me. that girl is so weak.
i could really use a nap. so saying, she rolls over and falls asleep at once.
i can do this.  right?
ow. she struggles to pull herself upward.
you cow.
look what i found! all spin to see -- catwoman standing at the edge of the helipad, above the sheer drop, holding the two suitcases out to either side of her. she has a lit cigar clenched between her teeth. behind her, the sky is lightening with approaching dawn. all guns are trained on catwoman, except laurel's.
henchmen, laurel? how tacky.
don't you hate it when somebody shows up at a party wearing the same dress? laurel advances on catwoman.
you guys gotta be careful with this yp-3 stuff. it's a living thing, you know, a bacteria. if it gets too hot -- it dies. xavier looks from catwoman to the fuel pooling on the helipad, putting two and two together. he jerks his head at his mercs -- they start backing away toward the stairs. laurel is still focused on the money.
tempting offer.  we would make a pretty good team. beyond the law, fighting the yoke of male oppression, sisters under the skin.  laurel nods hopefully. catwoman looks thoughtfully at the cigar in her hand.
nah, i still have to live with myself. so saying, she flicks the lit cigar to the helipad -- igniting the spreading pool of gasoline -- xavier et al. sprint to leap off the helipad or charge down the stairs as -- the helicopter explodes in a glorious fireball. laurel is thrown across the helipad by the blast, showered with chopper debris. the men are hightailing it out of there, but laurel gets slowly to her feet, machine gun ready, bent on revenge. spotting catwoman darting through the smoke and flames toward the stairs, laurel fires a volley with a scream of rage and charges after her in pursuit.
no -- i need more time -- wham! laurel gets in a devastating blow that sends catwoman reeling. at the same moment, lone kicks open the closet door. he's still gagged and blindfolded, hands and feet bound, but he's struggling, grunting now. catwoman takes this in, shocked. she moves to lone's side.
tom.  laurel picks up the machine gun. flames are spreading from the ceiling, down the walls.
no! don't do it!
a promise is a promise. her tone is soft, more like patience's. edna takes in the blood on her, her torn clothes.
i found out the truth. edna notes the sunlight pouring through the window, eyes her.