I freeze. I stand in the lee of a rusted-out car, its tires, doors and anything else removable long since stripped from its metal hull. The wreck obscures my vision, but as a cat I prefer my other senses. My guard hairs, erect, pick up the breeze and vibrations of the street. My whiskers tingle at movement around the way. My ears – yes, I hear them. No longer talking, but their breathing, the big man’s congested and loud. While I was distracted they turned inward toward a sunken doorway. Its stairs are obscured by rubbish of a more organic kind.
Slowly, as if I were stalking prey, I approach. The two men disappear inside but a broken window provides access and prime viewing. It’s the building where the girl had been sheltering, where she had found the boy. Only now the group that had called it home – the six or seven youths who had laughed at her – has dispersed. Something else is different as well. The smell of burning has not dissipated. I suspect it will not be gone from this place until the last of the brick has crumbled into mud and the wooden laths of the exposed wall have burnt to ash. But it is much diminished. These two changes are enough to make the place seem both larger and colder.
The big thug senses it too. ‘Lonely, ain’t it?’ He shoves his hands in his pockets as he looks around. ‘Hey, if none of your brats are here …’
He looks toward AD. In the light from the street I can see a yearning, hungry look on his fat face.
‘I’m out.’ AD doesn’t even look up. He’s gone over to the corner where he fiddles with a cabinet – could it be a safe? – and withdraws an object, wrapped in rags.
‘You gave the last of it to that skank?’ The big man steps up to him. Stops and steps back. ‘Whoa, sorry, man. I was out of line.’
‘Yeah, you were.’ AD turns, a gun in his hand. ‘You know better, man. Just wait until the deal goes down. We’ll have everything we need. Everything you could ever want.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Brian licks his lips. ‘So, everything’s set?’
‘Uh huh.’ AD holds the gun up. Turns it over. In the weak light, it reflects blue. ‘We’ve got to get the marker back, and that’s it. But I have a good idea where it is. Where she is, I should say.’
THIRTY-THREE
There comes a time to acknowledge one’s limitations. Deficits of strength or wit, perhaps. At times, even of will. This is not one of them. Although I, as a furred creature, lack many abilities – the most frustrating at this point in time being my inability to either confront these criminals directly or, at the very least, specifically and clearly warn the girl – I do have other capabilities which more than make up for their lack.
In brief, I turn. I am faster and stealthier than these men. I can find Care and will figure out a way of warning her. In addition to my small size and dark color, I have another advantage: I now know what they seek.
Quick as a water bug across a kitchen counter, I slip out of the building and up to the street. The moon is gone, the sky not yet hazy with the mottled dawn. But it’s not the darkness that holds me up. No. I pause for thought. I am quicker and, I dare say, smarter than these lumbering men with their cruel ways. But I do not have much slack for error here. I will have difficulty enough once I find her.
Diamond Jim. He and that necklace are at the center of her quest. He was the one who hired her mentor, and yet he is the one who seems to have no further interest in recovering the materials that were apparently lost. However, she has already attempted to pry information out of the stout, self-satisfied businessman and failed. That he is part of this I have no doubt. My acute sense of smell has already alerted me that the class distinctions among humans are thinner and more malleable than they would let on.
I cannot see her returning to Bushwick’s, and for that small mercy I am grateful. That leaves – no …
I stop so quickly my paws cannot take hold and I slide to the lip of a puddle. Coming up the street, I see an unmistakable silhouette: the girl, and this time she has Tick in tow.
Mrow! With a howl like a beast possessed, I throw myself in front of them, puffing my fur up for emphasis.
‘Blackie?’ She stops. I hiss.
The boy steps back. ‘I told you,’ he says. ‘That cat’s nuts.’
‘No.’ She extends one hand, motioning him back. The other is clasped beneath her coat, holding something. The ledger. ‘Something’s spooked him. What is it, Blackie?’
She steps forward and I stare up at her eyes. She is trying, her brow knitted as she concentrates, and I am reminded of another time. Those same eyes, filled with tears and sadness. Green with flecks of gold, brighter than in daylight. Brighter, despite the storm, despite my own fading. I could not cry out, then. I could only stare as they receded. As I receded. Only, she saved me.
‘Care, it’s really late.’ The boy’s whine breaks into my reverie and the image is gone. In this dim light, the gemstone colors of her eyes are as murky as a roadside puddle. ‘I’m tired.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ She’s whispering. They both are. This part of town is quiet for a city. But it’s more than that. What had AD said about ghosts? There are too many memories here. Too many people have died.