The flash of a lighter – the click and the blue spark – and that now-familiar acrid pungency wafts toward me. The couple, silhouetted against the brief glow, separate, the woman leaning back against the filthy wall. I watch, waiting, as AD leaves her and comes toward me, stopping at the alley’s mouth to light a cigarette. It was his lighter I heard, although the chemical glow remains behind, with his temporary mate. Illuminated by the red glow, he looks both more gaunt and taller in the flame light, and I take the time to examine him. To weigh whether his appearance, if not his words, have any relevance to me or to the children. I do not expect him to see me, sheltered here by the trash. I am small and dark, and humans, I have found, rarely see what they are not expecting. Perhaps I move; my tail does have the habit of expressing that which I would keep hidden. Perhaps my eyes, as smooth as glass, reflect the glowing ember of his smoke. For a moment, he looks at me and I experience the oddest emotion. I feel he sees me, as humans so rarely see others. More than that, I believe he recognizes me in some way.
I back away, the only prudent path for a smaller creature on a night like this. He watches, for a moment, then shakes his head and walks on, tracing the path those drunkards have taken. Back to the building with its noise and light.
‘Yo, you know who I just thought of?’ His voice booms out as he pulls the door open. ‘You must remember—’ And it closes, muting the words that follow.
They are of no concern. I deal in reality – the fact of his presence, more than his thoughts or memories, are what matter to me. I have come here seeking convergences. Explanations. A reason why two powerful men should seek to harm one girl. I have found a third, less powerful, perhaps, by the brute measure of their world, and yet certainly a master of his turf.
Behind me, the woman coughs as she stumbles. I wrap my tail around my feet, having no desire to be trod upon. This sad soul presents no other threat to me. Barely able to walk, she teeters toward the same door that AD entered, only to pause in the shadows as the cough takes her.
‘Damn,’ she says in a breathy voice and reaches for the wall. Leaning forward, she vomits, her head hanging low. It’s anyone’s guess at this point whether she will fall or right herself, but something other than sickness is driving her, and with an effort she pulls herself upright, staggers back a few steps and then stops. She wipes her mouth and pulls down a top that does little to shield her from the night chill. Then she, too, opens the door.
‘Well, look who’s back—’ Again, the words are cut off as she slips inside. The last thing I hear is laughter.
Curious about AD and the transaction I have just witnessed, I retrace her steps down the alley. It is a blighted place, littered with refuse and waste. This close to the water, much of the garbage is organic – the carcass of a gull, gnawed to the bone, briefly takes my interest. The droppings of the river rats, glossy with fish, and a moldering pile of vegetable peelings – the bar must have a kitchen – make the pavement slick, and I chose my path with care.
What draws me are not these leavings, however. Nor the traces of blood and sex left by the wall. No, as distasteful as I find it, I follow the trail of that caustic stench, that strange burning, to its source. It is easy to find, still warm from that flame. A glass tube, a vial or pipe of some sort, its odor most intense at its open end from which the foul smoke must have emanated. I sniff it gingerly and draw back with a start. It is sharp, like the jagged edges of its fellow vials, several of which lie scattered around, and bitter, with a bite that makes me lick my poor nose for relief. A horrible substance, yes, and instantly recognizable, at least to one such as I. This is what AD offered Care that day when I accompanied her to their lair. This is what I have smelled on the boy. Suddenly, the marks on his hands – burn marks – make sense, as does the girl’s concern. I have seen the whore stumbling out of the alley. Have seen her sickness and her craving for more. This is not a life I would wish for any living thing. In this light the girl’s desire for independence – for a life separate from that room full of AD’s acolytes – becomes distressingly clear.
Such insight does not, however, answer the more pressing questions on my mind. And so, taking a moment for the burnt scent to clear my passages, I contemplate my next move. A ‘deal,’ the scarecrow Jonah had said. Quite possibly the same deal that the old man had been inquiring about when he met his end. Unlike a human I do not jump at conclusions, finding them as elusive as a centipede in the dirt. I seek patterns, that is all, and from them I trace and track and hunt.
A burst of laughter – the bar-room door has opened again, expelling two more men – interrupts my thoughts. And as I step back, more careful now, into the shadows, and they pass, I detect a familiar odor. Looking up, I find myself surprised for the first time this night. It is the brute, Brian, the one who has pursued Care. The one from my dream. Although his red face is now more the product of drink than of my brief mauling, I would know him anywhere. His companion, though, is not his fellow thug – the one with a face like a rat. He is walking with AD and they are heading toward the buildings.
I am momentarily torn. I came here with the intent of studying the docks. That is where this deal would supposedly happen. It is also where Care’s friend and mentor met his end. But I am intrigued by this odd pairing and, with an instinct that I hope is informed by experience, I decide to follow.