Fiction: THE HIDDEN PAW

A 6th Doctor story written from the point of view of a cat! I got the idea for this because Colin Baker always went on about liking cats and used that Rudyard Kipling quote about 'the cat that walks' in interviews to describe his Doctor. So the cat in the story is called Kipling, named after that quote, but I wrote this *before* we got our Kipling. How's that for timey-wimey? (Rubbish!).

 

 

 

Did you ever wonder where your cat goes at night? What important business he has once he’s put his family to bed?

Some cats might be content to concern themselves with the ways of mice or to engage a friendly policeman in conversation, but by far the most curious cat of them all was Kipling, the investigating cat.

Kipling had always been a keen observer of the affairs of London, and had always done his bit to keep the city safe from the gangs and ruffians, so when Hitler’s jack-booted bullyboys threatened with their planes and bombs it was only natural that Kipling would do what he could.

Whether it was making sure that everyone made it into the shelters, even if he himself did not, or helping the ARP warden to check that all the lights were blacked out, Kipling was there, every night.

Well, perhaps not every night. Every so often he would take the train to the country to visit the children to make sure that they were being cared for. The driver knew that the train couldn’t start without him.

Not quite so often, but perhaps more importantly, there would be a lead in his longest running, and most mesmerising case; that of the most dangerous gang in London (if not the world) – the Hidden Paw.

Kipling had been investigating the Hidden Paw since before the war, and in fact for almost ten years when he got the break that cracked the case, and it was all thanks to the blue cat that called himself “the Doctor”.

Kipling had worked long and hard to neutralise and, wherever possible, to bring down the gangs of London, but for every one that he was able to put behind bars, another took its place within days. There were always others waiting in the wings, of course, but there was never any competition for the empty slot, it was always filled in the most civilised manner, and of course that was suspicious in itself.

Slowly, Kipling became aware that there was a waiting list of sorts, and he began to wonder to himself, who kept this list, and who enforced the running of these smooth transitions from one gang to another? Who was at the centre of it all, organising the gangs against the city?

It was the case of the Gravesend strangling that had first alerted him to the Hidden Paw, a case so open and shut that even the most inept prosecuting counsel in the land could not have failed to secure the drop for the killer.

Yet fail they did, with the evidence vanished, the jury nobbled and the police paid off.  Had he not been so involved with the killer’s capture, Kipling might not have made it his business to spend that day in court, but even though the killer walked free, Kipling got his reward.

He saw with his own eyes the cat with the black patch over his eye who nodded to the killer when the verdict was delivered, and he saw the secret sign that he made to the foreman of the jury. Over the coming years the sign of the Hidden Paw would become all too familiar to him.

Slowly the pieces began to fall into place, and the cases touched by the Hidden Paw began to mount up. Kipling began to gather information and before long he had an idea of the extent of their network, and the structure of their organisation. He knew who were the heavies, who the lieutenants, and after a couple of years, he got to know some of the management level too. Yet the cat with the black eye patch remained a mystery.

To Kipling he was simply “the Boss” because that cat had no name, and no one knew who he was. To all intents and purposes, he simply did not exist. Had Kipling not seen him with his own eyes, he might have believed that there was no Boss, that there was no single individual at the heart of the organisation. But he knew. He had seen him, seen the look in his eye, and the cruel smile on his thin lips. The Boss was real alright.

Kipling knew that if he were ever to defeat the Hidden Paw, he would have to find a way to get to the Boss. He had come close once or twice, but each failed attempt set him back years, as the Boss escaped his reach and increased the measures he took to disappear and stay disappeared.

Kipling was going to have to find another way to get to him, to either lure him out, or to corner him. He had tried to infiltrate the gang a number of times, but they knew him, and they became too vigilant for him to get anywhere near anything other than the lowest level operation. He had more luck with informants and at long last one of them was able to give him the way in that he had been looking for.

So it was, that in late April, he found himself secreted in the back of a lorry full of black market goods, on his way to a depot where, so he had been told, the Boss himself would be in attendance. His informant had helped him into the van with some of the first of the large trunks full of stockings and chocolate and bootleg booze, and the other boxes were stacked in front of him, hiding him from the gang’s loaders, and also from the driver.

The journey was long and the road was bumpy, and all along the way he listened to the musical tinkling of the gently shimmying bottles, and tried to imagine the song that they might sing. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine the scene when he delivered the Boss of the Hidden Paw to Scotland Yard, and wondered if he might even get a telegram from the King. After a while though, he became aware that there was another sound behind the clinking of the bottles; a rhythmic pulsing in the air. It took him half a second to realise that it was someone breathing, and that he was not alone in the lorry...

Steeling himself for a fight, and moving slowly and silently, he stretched his neck to get a look around the edge of the crate in front of him, and was amazed to see the strangest looking cat he had ever seen. This other cat was large and powerful looking, and clad from top to toe in a voluminous blue coat, with a mop of yellow fur on his head. Kipling must have stretched just that little bit too far, because the blue cat suddenly looked straight at him, and spoke.

“Hello, puss,” he said. “Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you. Why don’t you come down from there and sit with me?”

Kipling shrugged and gave in. The blue cat seemed trustworthy enough, and he genuinely seemed to mean him no harm, and besides, Kipling had a fair idea that the blue cat was probably here for exactly the same reason that he was. He slunk out from his cover sheepishly and jumped down from his cramped hiding place.

“There you go,” said the blue cat. “I am known as the Doctor, by the way. And what might your name be?”

Kipling stalked closer, and proffered his badge.

“Detective Inspector Kipling,” read the blue ‘Doctor’ cat, sounding genuinely impressed. “Well, I am honoured, and might I say, thankful to have an officer of the law on my side tonight. I’m carrying out my own little investigation tonight, and I think you probably know why.”

Kipling eyed the blue cat thoughtfully. Could it be that he was not the only one that had an interest in the Hidden Paw?

He did not get long to think about it, as the lorry slowed to a stop and a short squeal of the breaks signalled their arrival.

The blue cat beckoned him to duck behind the boxes. “Over here, Kipling,” he whispered. “Let’s stay out of sight.”

For what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a minute or two, there was complete silence. He strained to listen for any movement outside the lorry, but could only hear vehicles in the distance, and the whistling of the wind.

The Doctor poked his head out from behind the box, and, seeing that there was no-one about, crept to the tarpaulin covering at the back of the van and began to undo the fastenings. As soon as he had the first corner done, Kipling nodded to indicate that he would go first to check that the coast was clear, and jumped down.

As he had expected, they were in a darkened warehouse, and now that he was out in the open, he could see that there was movement at the other end of the building, where the driver was handing over a clipboard, presumably with a list of his manifest.

Behind him, the blue cat dropped out of the lorry and scuttled behind some crates. Kipling dashed over to join him.

“This could be it, Kipling,” said the Doctor. “The Hidden Paw.”

So he did know. Kipling was still not entirely sure whether the Doctor cat’s investigations and his own were compatible, but for now he had little choice but to stick with him and make sure that the blue cat did nothing to jeopardise his arrest, like...

Like stepping out into the middle of the warehouse, and announcing himself very loudly to one and all! “Hello there!” bellowed the blue cat. “I seem to be somewhat lost. Is this the meeting of the Local Defence Volunteers?”

The blue cat was mad. At first Kipling had thought that he was one of them, ready to give him away, but instead he was just plain mad. He obviously had some kind of death wish, and was looking for the quickest way to get himself shot!

“Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?” came the gruff response, as two thuggish looking roughs raised their guns and pointed them at him.

“I am known as the Doctor,” replied the blue cat rather pompously. Then his tone mollified. “I just sort of... wandered in, and found myself on the wrong side of the door.” This cat was obviously much inclined to play the clown.

“Get the Boss,” barked one of the roughs to the lorry driver. “He’ll want to meet this ‘Doctor’ character.”

“Quite right,” said a silky voice. “I do.” Kipling’s ears twitched. That voice...

“Ah!” exclaimed the Doctor, turning to face the owner of the voice. “And who might you be?”

“I am the Boss,” purred the voice. “You do not need to know my name.”

Kipling crept closer, his back shivering with anticipation. The Boss! At last! And... and he was speaking the human language. But that was impossible!

“Perhaps I don’t need to know your name, but I should very much like to. What harm can my knowing do – assuming you intend to kill me?” ventured the Doctor.

“That very much depends,” replied the Boss.

“Indeed?” the blue cat nodded. “Very interesting. Well, how about I tell you how much I do know.”

The Boss smiled, bristling his whiskers. “Please do.”

The Doctor cat prowled closer to the Boss. “I know that you are not, in point of fact, from this planet for a start.”

“Rather obvious, I would have thought,” the Boss replied. “I’ve seen many of this planet’s feline lifeforms and not one of them has the ability to speak, nor the intellectual capacity of my own race.”

Kipling was not sure where any of this had come from, and it all sounded rather bizarre, but frankly he was too busy bristling at the condescension. Intellectual Capacity? The Boss obviously had no idea how close Kipling had got.

The Doctor cat was speaking again. “I know that you’ve been orchestrating all the activities of London’s gangs for the last ten years, too. What I don’t understand is – “

“Why?” the Boss chuckled. “Well, unfortunately my motives too are rather obvious.”

“Money?” the Doctor exploded incredulously. “You’ve done all this for money? Earth money? To spend on Earth? You’ll forgive me if I find it rather difficult to believe that you’re happy to live out your days on this planet living like a common cat. ”

Of course, the Doctor was about to find out very shortly that there was nothing uncommon about Kipling. He was almost level with the Boss now, and had spied the means of his victory.

“Of course not, Doctor, you mistake me. My motive is money, certainly, but you are thinking too small. My payment will come for ensuring that this rather tawdry war ends in the mutual destruction of the human race. The profits of my black market are funding the rapid progression of the nuclear research programmes of both sides, and all I need is to ensure that both sides have the bomb at the same time, and launch at the same time, and...”

“That’s monstrous!” roared the blue cat. Then he leapt backwards and shouted “Now, Kipling!”

“Kipling?” said the Boss – just as Kipling heaved the crate from the top of the stack. The empty wooden crate came crashing down on top of the Boss, trapping him instantly.

The Doctor raced forward, sliding a board under the crate and scooping it up. As the confused roughs stood paralysed, too confused to think to point their weapons, Kipling dashed back towards the lorry, leading the way for the Doctor.

The blue cat jumped into the driving seat, put the crate down on the passenger seat, waited for Kipling to jump up on top of the crate and then slammed the doors shut. Before the roughs had realised what had happened, they were tearing out of the warehouse, and away.

Once they were far enough down the road, and sure that they were not being followed, the Doctor pulled over, and winked at Kipling.

“Good work, Detective Inspector Kipling,” he said. “Next stop, Scotland Yard, eh?”

Kipling purred in response. He was not sure exactly who or what this blue Doctor cat was all about, but he knew that it didn’t really matter – the case of the Hidden Paw was closed.

THE END