The Ninth Life (Blackie and Care Cat Mystery #1)

A harsh intake of breath, almost a sob. ‘Fat Peter – you thought he’d gotten it, that he was holding out … The emeralds,’ Care gasps out the words. ‘Oh, Tick.’


Another shrug. The boy stares at the floor as if he can see something in the dim light. Care watches him as if she can do the same.

‘Well, you’ve got your marker now.’ She’s speaking carefully, her voice modulated to be even and calm. ‘Though why you still need it …’

A humorless laugh. ‘Wants her little friend to keep his toy, does she?’ AD turns to his colleague. ‘But the boss almost got caught out when he didn’t get the heads-up and he doesn’t like leaving loose ends.’ The red-faced man beside him tries for his own laugh and barks instead, rough and hollow.

‘It’s a token, too, darling. His token.’ AD leans in. ‘The token, you might say. For the best deal old Jim ever made.’

‘He’s getting something in return – from Bushwick?’ The girl is thinking aloud, piecing together the few fragments she’s uncovered. AD squints at her. He doesn’t like it.

‘We’re all getting something, darling. You, too, if you want to come back. I’m going to need every one of you street rats in a few days.’ He leans back and picks his teeth. ‘I’m going to get fat as old Fat Peter. Get myself a proper place, like he had. Wear some fine clothes. Dress you up, too, my girl. If you want.’

‘No.’ Care takes a step back, then another. This far from the lantern, her face is in shadow, but I can see the sudden tightness around her eyes and mouth. The worry as she processes what she is hearing. ‘No. Thanks anyway, AD. Tick?’

She reaches out her hand. In the dark room it catches the light, casting a shadow that dances over the brick wall. Another shadow stretches to meet it, dark and clawlike. Closer to the lantern, it looms much larger as it settles on the boy’s thin shoulder. The faint light picks out the dirt outlining the broken nails.

‘Tick’s staying with me,’ AD says, his voice full of certainty. ‘He’s done pretty good, keeping me up with goings-on around this town, and I’m willing to forgive him a certain lightness in his fingers. Besides, he’s got a taste for the life, now. Don’t you, Tick?’

The boy doesn’t respond. His head hangs in shadow, his dark hair obscuring his features.

‘Tick.’ Care’s voice breaks. She swallows and licks her lips. ‘Tick, you don’t have to stay with him. I don’t care if you – that you …’ She stops. He hasn’t looked up. ‘He’s a boy, AD. He’s just a child. He and I – he’s like my brother. I’m going to take care of him.’

‘How you going to do that, darling?’ AD’s voice has relaxed into a drawl. He’s enjoying this – playing with her as I might a resilient rodent. ‘You still intent on setting up shop like your old man?’

‘Why not?’ She steels herself. ‘He taught me things. I have skills.’

‘Taught you how to get yourself offed, most likely.’ He’s drawn the boy back. He’s bored and ready to move on. ‘Poking about in other’s affairs. But Tick stays with me.’

‘Tick—’ A last appeal to the child. He looks up, but he is so far in the shadows now, I do not think she can see this.

‘He doesn’t want your mothering, girl,’ AD growls again and steps in front of the lantern so his shadow falls before him. ‘He wants what I can give him. What I’ll have for him in plenty, now that he’s given his little plaything back. You’ll pay for that, won’t you, Tick?’ He turns, his shadow a grotesque giant looming large. ‘But I’ll still have a place for him once we’re through.’

The boy yelps as AD’s companion grabs his arm and Care starts forward. I will leap, if I have to. Will attack, with tooth and claw, although I already know I have met my match. The confrontation does not happen.

‘Leave it, girl.’ AD steps toward us. Behind him I can see the brute as he ushers the boy into a farther room. ‘Go while you can.’ His voice has grown softer again and Care looks up at his face. To me, the deep grooves appear the same as before. The ingrained dirt, the stubble. She blinks, though, as if someone else has appeared. She opens her mouth and reaches out.

‘Go.’ AD shakes his head, his voice sad now. ‘Just … go.’

I look up in alarm as Care makes a strangled sound and see the light reflecting off the tears on her cheek. Without another word, she turns and runs out to the street, and I am close behind.





THIRTY-FOUR


Clea Simon's books