‘Victor’s Cat; The Victor’ is a dark tale from Russell Shor (not dark as in the colour, you know, dark as in ‘Oooo what’s gonna happen?!). This is another one which makes the boys clutch their tails- box lids are definately a bad idea!

*****

That damn bristly cat kept Rene locked in an evil glare even as the cargo plane made sudden hard lurch upward and to the right, sending Rene’s gut traveling in a different direction than the rest of his body.
“Christ, I hate these jobs,” the pilot growled. “Bloody arseholes down there shoot at anything.”
Rene pulled a deep breath hoping it would quell the nausea. But that cat, curled in the South African pilot’s lap, hadn’t loosened his creepy eye lock since they’d taken off.
Rene passed a quick glance toward the other passengers; two brothers who gave their names only as Abbas.  They looked comfortable and that cat didn’t seem to pay them any mind.
 
What the hell was it about that animal? Rene wondered.  The pilot, Victor De Broe, had him tucked under his arm when he and the Abbas Brothers had shown up for the job that morning. A maintenance man had found him two days before, barely alive, stowed away on a cargo plane out of California. “Must be some tough cat to survive all the way to Maputo,” De Broe laughed as he set the cat down in front of him. Immediately, the animal arched his back, hissed and took a hard swipe at Rene’s leg catching his claw in his sock. Rene smacked him hard. The cat, screeched, backed off and started that glare that hasn’t dimmed since.
   That cat was just another reason Rene hated this job.  His boss had dispatched him with a simple order: “De Broe watches the rebels until they turn over the diamonds. You watch the Abbas Brothers until they wire me the funds. Got that?”  The boss regarded him a know-nothing shit. He’d learn otherwise, and soon. Rene had a plan.
They’d landed in a field amid a row of low corrugated metal buildings. A group of fatigue-clad soldiers rushed the airstrip and lined up, rifles ready – new Kalashnikovs.  A barrel-chested African man, with bulging intense eyes, a full, bushy beard in a green uniform bristling with medals pushed through the raggedy formation and shouted some orders. De Broe unlocked the hold. The soldiers unloaded the stacks of bulky wooden crates, each bearing roughly-stenciled Cyrillic labels, while the Abbas Brothers stalked to the closest building. Simon hurried behind. He he could feel that cat’s glare behind him.
Inside, the shorter of the two brothers, removed from his case a calculator, light, two small electronic scales, several large clear plastic containers, and stacked them at one corner of a desk. The barrel-chested commandante emptied a sack of blackish-looking pebbles onto the other end of the desk. Rene tried to watch the brothers sorting the stones but found himself searching for that cat. He almost missed the clear stones that the brothers set off to one side until the commandant laughed, “at least one of my miners is honest.”
Sorting done, the brothers began wrapping the stones into rectangular papers, folding them shut and placing them on the scales. After each weighing, they tapped numbers into a calculator and noted the specifications on the papers. 
The khaki-shirted brother nodded brusquely at the commandante. “Not nearly enough.”
 
The commandante folded his arms around his belly. “Perhaps I should punish my miners for stealing, but that is all I have.”
The khaki shirted brother eyed the man and spoke in a firm monotone. “Mobutu and Charles Taylor learned eventually that if you short us,” he nodded toward Rene, “His boss will make it very difficult to get any more weapons.”
The commandante locked Rene in a steely gaze. Even now, Rene worried about that cat’s glare than the man before him; until his hand reached into a side holster. A small wallet emerged. The shorter brother grabbed it and retrieved a jagged, triangular stone which Rene guessed was about the size of his thumbnail. Even from his vantage, he could see it was clear like ice and not peppered with black spots. The brother weighed the diamond, then folded it into a paper by itself, marking “19.27.” Rene kept his eye on the paper as the brothers packed all of the stones into a metal strong box. Now, he had his plan. And another: before escaping, he would squeeze eight lives out of that cat before ending the ninth with a snap of its back.
 
 
As the plane leveled out and the ride smoothed, the Abbas’, seated behind him, dozed. The cat had left De Broe’s lap. Rene couldn’t locate him but he did notice the strongbox had shifted during the maneuvers and was now just across the aisle. He tried the lid. Not locked. The Abass’ were still dozing. Rene worked his fingertips through the papers until he felt the bulge of the large stone. Again checking the brothers, he angled it out of the box, removed the stone from the wrapper and tucked it inside his sock. He was going to slide the box back to the cargo hold when a large pebble lying in his pant cuff caught his eye– Yes, replace the paper in case they decide to check before he his getaway. Rene nearly dropped the pebble when the craft hit a turbulent patch. The box slid another foot away from him. Leaning way over, he opened the box lid a crack. Not enough. A little more. Still higher. Ah. Perfect. He set the gem paper in its original place and pushed the lid down hard. A cosmic screech filled the plane.  A sharp pain tore through his hand. The cat’s tail was trapped in the box lid and his claw had found Rene’s vein. Blood rushed from his wrist. A pistol had a bead on his chest.