I don’t disagree. Instead I yawn and stretch. If she’s heading out, I will accompany her. My dreams have been too disconcerting of late for me to crave sleep like some heedless kitten anyway.
‘If AD kicked everyone out, they’ll be at the club.’ She stops and looks at the sky. ‘If it’s not too early.’
She takes off at a determined pace and we fall into a companionable rhythm. Like me, she pauses before crossing a street. Like me, she moves quickly through open space, looking for movement and other signs of life as we proceed. We have both learned caution on these streets, and although her instincts may lack the acuity of mine, she has been trained and trained well.
It is therefore with some trepidation that I follow her down a narrow passage that does not have an outlet at its end. For me, this is less of an issue – its brick borders are porous and I see at least one space where I can squeeze in if need be. For the girl, however, the alley is a dead end. The walls of the decrepit buildings are stories high and the fire escape hanging above is rusty.
No matter, she reaches for it. And when she can’t grab it, searches in the alley. Sure enough, a wooden cane – its rubber tip half torn off – is lying against the wall. Using its rounded grip, she pulls at the fire escape ladder until it slides down with a clang. It’s still ringing as she grabs its rusty side rail and steps onto the first rung.
‘Blackie?’ She looks around for me. I skittered back at the clamor, and watch now, wary, from halfway down the passage. ‘It’s OK?’
She smiles and extends an arm. I remember my dream. The feeling of being caught, of being dragged into danger – hauled to my death. I recall all too well drowning. The eyes of those watching. I look up at her eyes – the girl’s – green as mine and nearly as fearless. I remember the feeling of hands taking me against my will.
I jump.
THIRTY-SIX
We are in a low space but warm. The girl crouches as she advances, standing slowly as she approaches the center where the angled roof is at its peak. We have climbed to the top of the building. Or she has, to clarify. Once I landed in her arms, I accepted the berth of her bag as she ascended the ladder and entered an open window three stories up.
‘Freddie?’ Her voice is quiet. There are others here. Along the sides of the garret, bodies lie under their makeshift blankets. My nose identifies them as human but gives me no more, and I assume, from the trepidation in her tone, the girl can do no better. ‘Junebug?’
‘Care?’ One of the bundles stirs. A head appears and then the top of a torso – female. Nude. Through the worn cloth of the bag I make out the dark-haired girl from AD’s basement. She leans on her forearm, unconcerned about her nakedness and blinking. ‘You need a place to crash?’
‘No.’ Care starts to make her way over, careful not to step on any of the other sleepers. ‘Thanks,’ she adds belatedly.
‘Watch it.’ She jumps to the left as a hand reaches out from under a moth-eaten overcoat. ‘Hey, come here, girl.’
‘Over here.’ Freddie is sitting up now and gestures for Care to come and sit by her side. ‘Don’t mind Zeno. He won’t tax you just for visiting, and if he does, I’ll pay up.’
As Care settles, leaning in against the low wall, I examine this Freddie. Older than Care, I judge by her heavy breasts and her scent, though by how much I could not say. She is undressed, save for a scarf in her hair, and as she begins to sort through a pile of clothes beside her a hand – male – reaches for her. She pushes it away. Its owner grumbles and then falls back asleep.
‘Freddie, I was wondering if you could help me find someone.’
The girl fishes out a worn tank top and, pulling it over her head, keeps looking. ‘Uh huh?’ Her voice is noncommittal, her attention given instead to a green sweater. She turns it back and forth in the faint light, no doubt noting the holes in the hem and the sleeve, and then pulls that on too.
‘Someone big.’ Care looks at her, willing her to pay attention.
‘Big?’ The other girl smiles and removes her scarf to finger-comb her curly brown hair. ‘You looking for an arrangement?’
‘No, no.’ Care shakes her head. ‘Not like that. I want to report—’ She stops herself and swallows. ‘I have something to sell,’ she says.
‘Like, to AD?’ Freddie reties the scarf.
Care shakes her head. ‘Bigger.’ I watch, unsure of her plan. I have my suspicions, but they hint at a dangerous game. ‘Too big for AD. I was thinking of going higher.’
‘Mister?’ Freddie’s voice drops to a whisper.
‘Mister – like, Mr Bushwick?’ Care keeps her own voice low.