I am not given to introspection. We beasts live in a con-tinuous present – we eat and mate, fight when we must and rest as we can. However, that image – that dream – haunts me. And although I acknowledge that its latest iteration, with the boy Tick as the central figure, makes no obvious sense, I cannot escape its implications. If I could remember, I would not spend time on such useless research. But I cannot. I am missing some part – some crucial element – of my past, and I fear that with it I have mislaid a clue that could serve me – could serve the girl – in our present straits.
Those brutes, they are key. They and that culvert with its overwhelming flood. I have no desire to revisit that scene – even the thought makes my skin prickle and crawl like a case of mites. But I have picked up a scent, faint as a new leaf, which gives me hope. It is different from the others I have come across recently and yet somehow familiar. More to the point, it is mixed, ever so slightly, with other scents I recognize. The bite of chemicals. The mud of the river and the sour sweat of those two ruffians. The only factor missing is that of fear – human fear – so notable in its absence on this damp spring morning. It is the scent of an alpha male, a hunter like myself. Only one I do not recall, at least not outside my dreams. No matter, I am on the trail.
This isn’t a simple task, a case of tracking a scent to its source. This figure is not only potent, he is accompanied by his crew. Three times those villains have surprised me. By the culvert, by the tracks, and then again as Care and the boy waited across the street from Diamond Jim’s. I will not let them do so again.
It is with extra caution, then, that I take to the fog-slick streets, stretching my body to run low and sleek along the gutter and then up along a fence top. It should not surprise me, perhaps, when I see the girl turning into a passage before me. She has taken her own, more open path, but I could have predicted that our trails would cross if they be not one and the same. I pause, hanging back atop a marquee, as she turns down one particularly familiar street. Of course, she is approaching the jewelry shop, only this time she is coming via a back way, careful and alert. Crossing the roof, I see her as she makes her approach. Diamond Jim’s. I remember it well, the smug proprietor handling a female not much older than Care.
Although I cannot make myself invisible, I slink down a drainpipe to where a ventilation shaft has been left uncared for and rotting. The vermin who have discovered this make themselves scarce at my approach; their sense of smell is finer even than mine. But I am not concerned today with fat grey rats or their nesting young. I creep inside the tight and fetid space, making my way into the building unnoticed by any human. I am not hunting now. I want only to listen and to watch.
‘It’s some girl!’ A female voice, young but harsh with wear. The same female, I see a moment later, Diamond Jim had been fondling in the alley. Unsure, perhaps, how well her voice carries, she has come into the back room and stands, blinking, her eyes heavy with mascara. I am looking down on her through the vent. I am in the inner sanctum of the greasy entrepreneur known as Diamond Jim.
‘Says she wants to see you.’ Her voice lacks affect despite its volume. Her face is likewise impassive, the movement of her irritated eyes the only sign of life.
‘Well, send her in.’ A deep voice, full of itself. Male.
As the click-click-click of heels retreat, I realize the second speaker is not alone. Ribald comments remark on the departing woman’s skirt, her hair, her body, and I begin to understand the deadpan delivery. The armor-like cosmetics. Cats may be equally direct about their appetites, but we never belittle the ones we desire.
Another entry, and although I cannot see her from my grate, I can tell by her footsteps, by the way she breathes as well as her scent, that the newcomer is Care. I can sense, as well, the male reaction – an intake of breath. Of appraisal, and I bristle in anticipation. These men are a type foreign to me, but I see in them the behavior of predators, the kind who hunt in packs. My antipathy is total, and I feel the fur along my spine spiking in disgust.
‘I have what you’ve been looking for.’ The girl begins to talk as soon as she enters. She has pitched her voice low and she has chosen her words carefully. It’s smart, giving the appearance of strength. Although I am still alert, I begin to relax. ‘I’ve finished the old man’s job.’
‘You have, have you?’ The boss – Diamond Jim. Only there’s an uncertainty beneath his casual query. She has started this conversation. She is in control of this, and he is feeling around for a way to take it back. To reclaim his standing before his colleagues. ‘You’re on the job now?’
Chuckles, the coarse double entendre a cue for their support. The girl, wisely, does not react. ‘You contracted him to do a job for you. To retrieve the stolen necklace or to provide information that would result in its retrieval.’ She speaks coolly, her voice direct. ‘I have done that.’
‘Open your collar, sweetheart.’ The voice has become teasing, a slight lisp softening the final word. ‘Let’s see how it looks on you.’