‘What’s this?’
I look up, eyes half open, at the girl’s question. She is holding a sheet up, her brows drawn together in a bunch which then releases as she exhales, flattening the paper down on the desk before her.
‘It’s code, Blackie,’ she says as I once more drift toward sleep. ‘I forgot. He didn’t trust – well, he trusted me. I think. I mean, he taught me his code. He only took cases that he could verify; that he knew about first-hand or that came from a previous client. He thought that way he could manage things. Manage the risk.’
She keeps reading while I settle down. The papers make a good, warm bed, holding my body heat and cushioning the wood of the desk. Except for the occasional rustle or a soft sigh, the room is quiet and I begin to doze. We have food, of a sort. We are protected from the elements, from the chill that comes as the sun drops. We are inside. Care has closed the door behind us. The lock she picked and opened. The walls …
It’s a trap.
I jump with a start that sends the pages flying. Before I know it, I’m on the floor – spine arched. Ears back. Ready to attack.
Only there is no enemy before me. None that I can see. Only Care, who has slid back, her eyes wide with surprise.
‘What?’ She blinks. The sudden nature of my response has left her nearly wordless. And I …
How can I explain? I’m not sure I myself understand the sudden terrible conviction that shot through me. I spin around but my eyes merely confirm that which my other senses have already told me. No, there is nobody – no enemy – behind me. Certainly not the shadowy figures I was certain were there – was certain I had recognized a scant moment too late.
I sit, my mouth still open as I pant. As I take in the air with its scent of dust and paper. Of Care and of another – the man who spent his time here. He left his scent in sweat and exhal-ations. Not scared, no, but careful. One who in his own cautious way marked this place as his own, as surely as my claws rent that sofa back. Before …
‘I don’t know what got into you.’ Care has risen from her chair and is now retrieving the pages that I scattered. ‘You scared the crap out of me, you know that?’
I begin to wash. My default behavior, I know, and yet I cannot explain the sense I had – the certain feeling of impending doom. A dream? Perhaps. At any rate, my startled leap has raised more dust and I do not want it settling into my fur.
‘I keep thinking of what Tick said, what the old man told him. “Too many tributaries,” if Tick even got it right.’ She’s picking up pages, bouncing them together to make them line up straight. I finish my bath, both dust and tension dispelled. ‘I guess I was hoping – hang on …’
She stops, crouching, and looks at the page in her hand. ‘A tributary – that’s a kind of river, right?’ She looks back up at me as I settle once more in my nest. ‘There’s something here called Rivers Imports. It was one of Diamond Jim’s references – one of businesses that told him about the old man. Only I don’t think the old man knew any Rivers Imports – it just says “Mister” and then a question mark where there should be a name.’
I do not know what she expects from me, beyond a sounding board or companion. And so, as she pulls the desk chair back and begins once more to read, I let my eyes close again. I am clean, my belly full, and as I slip into what I hope will be a dreamless sleep, I feel a purr of contentment envelope me. All is well.
TWELVE
When I wake, I am alone. I know this because I wake as do all my kind – instantly – with a beast’s perfect awareness of his surroundings. The availability of prey, the presence of larger predators, environmental change of all kind – they flood my senses at the moment of mindfulness like a light coming on in a dark room, not that I have much experience with lights. Or with complete darkness, for that matter. And yet, that is the image that comes to mind. Perhaps because I am in such a room, recently occupied, and the girl has gone.