‘Buck up.’ The boss has taken a flask out of his coat. He’s seen it too. ‘Your service won’t be forgotten.’
As they pass the flask around I begin to back away again. I don’t know how long I’ll have until they descend on the girl. Nor do I know how I’ll get her to leave the boy. All I can be sure of is that I have to try.
‘Tell me again.’ Care is talking as I slink back in, her voice soft but direct. ‘Use his exact words.’
‘I did, Care. Honest.’ The boy whines, tired, but I have no sympathy to spare. ‘“Too much current,” he said. He was looking for “other tributaries.”’
Care stares as if she could see through him. I think she is seeing someone else. The old man, the one she misses.
‘You knew where he meant. Where he wanted me to go.’ It’s a statement, not a question, but the boy shrugs an answer. ‘You gave me the weight.’
Another shrug.
‘Why were you at Fat Peter’s, Tick?’ Her voice has grown softer. ‘Did AD send you? He didn’t want you to—’
‘No!’ He interrupts her, speaking too loudly for the quiet space. ‘No. AD wouldn’t. He knows what happened in the home. Besides, he doesn’t deal in skin anymore.’
The way Care’s eyebrows lift, I think she is going to argue. I don’t blame her. Preying on smaller animals is the nature of things, although there’s little meat on this boy.
I’m a bit surprised when she picks up on another of the boy’s words. ‘Not anymore?’ she asks. ‘Why not? What’s he got going – and what’s AD got you doing in it?’
‘Deliveries. The usual.’ The boy looks up, his face unreadable. ‘You haven’t been around much, Care. You don’t know. Things have gotten bigger. AD’s gearing up for more business.’
‘Not with Fat Peter. Not anymore.’ She sits back and I see my chance. She may be mulling over the connection between these two predatory men. I’m more concerned about the boy. About the men who are waiting less than a block away. I leap to the ground beside her feet, intent on making myself understood.
‘Fat Peter must’ve been working with someone. Someone bigger.’ She smiles at me as she says it, pleased with herself for working this out. I close my eyes in satisfaction – and start as I feel hands on my body.
‘Ow!’ The boy falls back, his wounded hand in his mouth. ‘I thought …’
‘He’s a street cat, Tick.’ Care is looking from the boy to me. For good measure, I hiss. ‘And you grabbed him.’
‘I just thought he looked … never mind.’ The boy examines his hand. It is barely bleeding. ‘He doesn’t like me.’
‘He doesn’t know if you are going to hurt him,’ Care corrects him and pauses, as if she would say more. I cannot resist another blink of satisfaction. Whether I’ve put the thought in her mind or not, I’m proud of her. ‘So, Tick. You still haven’t answered my question. What were you doing out here today?’
‘AD sent me.’ His head is bent as if he were addressing his injured hand.
‘Tick?’ Care hears him. I can tell. Like me, she’s not content with the answer.
‘He told me to go find Brian – he’s the bruiser – and do whatever he wanted.’
‘And he wanted …’ She waits. He’s staring at the ground, his chin on his chest. ‘Tick?’
Nothing, but she’s no fool. ‘The way I slipped by him – the big guy. What’s his name – Brian? That was supposed to happen, wasn’t it?’ She’s talking to herself. I can almost see her thinking. ‘He let us go into the shop. He knew Fat Peter was dead all along. He wanted us to find him. He wants us to take the blame.’
She’s got it – all but the last step. I’m waiting for the boy to bolt. To signal the men outside. Unless they’re already on their way.
I approach him slowly, the low growl rising in pitch as I get closer.
‘Blackie.’ Care reaches for me, to draw me back, and stops. ‘Tick – you were sent to bring me back, weren’t you? Or did you—’ She jumps to her feet, heading for the door, but I’m a move ahead. I’ve leaped into the doorway and stopped, frozen. There’s nothing. No motion. I look up at her and she turns back into the basement.
‘Tick?’
‘Don’t make me go back, Care. Please.’ He’s staring up at us, his misery clear in the last of the twilight. ‘I don’t trust those men, and AD – he’s …’ The tears are flowing freely and I feel Care hesitate. My tail lashes as I take in the street. Soot and ash. That hint of tar from the tracks nearby. Rain, again. But the smell of men and cigarettes has grown faint and far away. And so I sit, wrapping my tail around my feet as Care descends.
‘They’re not …’ She pauses. Swallows to keep her voice steady. ‘Are they coming here, Tick?’