"Go ahead, make fun of it. But don't blame me when you miss out later because you were afraid to take a few chances." Chrissy paused, to allow Laurie a chance to plead for more information. Instead, Laurie picked up her binder and book and took them over to her desk.
"See, it's like a war, right now," Chrissy suddenly resumed. "And, we're like Her spies and stuff. And some of us do even harder stuff, like being ninjas for Her, or something. See, there are people out there who know about Her and would do anything to keep Her from carrying out her plans. Because once She comes to power, well, everything's going to change.People who used to push us around are going to be real sorry, because we'll belong to Her and they'll have to do what we tell them. She's going to make them crawl for us."
There was great satisfaction in Chrissy's voice. Laurie glanced sideways at her through the curtain of her hanging hair. She was staring off through the wall, a look of petulant gloating on her face. Just the way she used to look when she'd talked about running away,and how her Mom and Dad would be really sorry they'd been so mean to her once she was gone. Only then she did run away and hid out at the shelter for two days, and her parents never even called the police. She glanced at Chrissy again. It suddenly struck her how dumb she looked, with her bangs starched up stiff over her forehead, almost like a rooster's comb, and one shaved spot over her ear. It was a tough punk hairdo, but she still had that fat, round little face she'd always had. Laurie's dad had always said Chrissy looked like a Cabbage Patch Kid with too much stuffing in her. She still did. Cabbage Punk,Laurie thought to herself, and giggled.
"So what's funny?" Chrissy demanded, instantly suspicious.
"Nothing," Laurie muttered. "I was thinking about something else."
"Listen, Laurie. You want in on this or not? Because if you do, you're gonna have to take some chances, and not worry so much about what Mommy and Daddy say." Chrissy thrust one hip out and put her fists at her waist. Like that one rock poster. Laurie wondered if she'd been practicing in front of the mirror.
"I don't know," she muttered. She didn't. The way she was acting, she didn't even know if she wanted to be friends with Chrissy anymore. Except, if she wasn't best friends with Chrissy, then she wasn't best friends with anyone. Heck, she was hardly any kind of friend with anyone. "I gotta think about it, okay?"she amended. She finally let her eyes meet Chrissy's. But there was no understanding there. Chrissy only shrugged.
"Well, don't take too long," she said flatly."There's stuff going on. Big stuff. You wait too long,you won't be in on it. You'll be one of them."
Laurie just stared at her. Waiting for her to say something else, to add something that wouldn't make it sound so flat, so final. But she didn't. Finally, she turned away from Chrissy's unsmiling face.
"I got an algebra test tomorrow. You know?"
"Yeah. I know. Hope you get a hundred percent and Mommy sticks a gold star on your forehead."
Laurie didn't look up again until after the door slammed. Then she stared at the space where Chrissy had stood, trying not to let the tears loose, and vaguely wondered where Chrissy had gone. And how long it would be before she gave in and followed her.
NOV. FIFTEENTH, AFTER WORK
Watch the trail, now, it's coming to an end;
The river speaks the terms of my fate.
I can hear the laughter of the falcon and the wren;
I fear my repentance comes too late.
"LANNAN SIDHE"
Not even the stupid waitress uniform could make her look bad. She still had her hair pinned up out of the way, but that couldn't stop the streetlamps from snapping copper highlights off it. Durand looked at her, and felt angry at Step all over again. How the hell could that idiot look at a woman like Tiffany and still remember some stupid mess she'd gotten into as a kid?
She spotted him and came over to the car, opened the door and slid in, just as if she'd been expecting him. She leaned over and hugged him and gave him a quick hard kiss before she said, without malice,"You stood me up last night, you asshole."
"Couldn't be helped," he told her. "Cop stuff doesn't stop at five o'clock."
She sat looking at him with those huge eyes of hers.If any other woman had called him an asshole, he'd have told her to take off, find someone else to abuse. But coming from Tiffany, it didn't even bother him.Sometimes, when he wasn't around her, he wondered why. He knew all the stuff Step had told him was true, and always before he'd had a rule against dating women who had any kind of trouble in their past, divorce or illegitimate kids or smoking pot, or anything. Sometimes he tried to tell himself she'd been a whore and he shouldn't like her so much. But when he was with her it didn't matter. So he'd broken his own rule, to date her, and she kept right on breaking all his rules of how he thought a woman should be. Like now.
After two seconds of thought, she shrugged and forgave him. "Next time, try to call," she said, and settled in beside him.
"Buckle your seat belt," he told her, as he always had to.
Reluctantly, she slid back to her side of the car. As she dragged down the shoulder harness, she observed, "You ought to install a seat belt in the middle, so I could sit next to you instead of clear over here."
"In my spare time," he promised her, in the joke they shared about him never having any spare time.
"What would you like to do? Dinner and a movie?"
"Okay. But I got to go home and change first. You mind?"
"Nope." He pulled away from the curb, the old Chevy's clutch slipping. That was another thing he was going to have to fix in his spare time.
Durand was content to drive in silence, just smelling the faint trace of perfume that Tiffany brought with her, feeling her left hand rest on his shoulder as he drove. But Tiffany asked, "Aren't you even going to tell me about it?"
"About what?"
"About what kept you last night?"
"Oh. Cop stuff." He always hated to talk to her about anything to do with Step. He was the one thing they could never agree on. It was ironic, because if it hadn't been for Step, they never would have met. He was the one who had introduced them, on Durand's first day on the job. Of course, it had been Tiffany who'd followed up on the introduction, and called him at work to say she'd like to see more of him. No woman had ever done that before.
"It's Mike again, isn't it? What did he do to you this time?"
He drove two more blocks before answering, and she let him have his silence Then he said, "I'm starting to think he's mixed up in something dirty."
"Oh," she said. That was all. Waiting to hear the rest before she said anything more. Probably only he knew her well enough to hear the tiny chill in her voice.
Durand sighed. "It's like this. You know, I told you about that gypsy guy we busted, and how he got turned loose somehow. And the murder at the hotel and everything. Well, Step's been talking to me like it's over, homicide gets to handle it now, forget it.But yesterday I noticed he didn't change out of his uniform after work. So I kind of followed him, and saw him go to the park and talk to this guy with a carriage. And after he'd left, I go talk to the guy, and it turns out Step's been asking him all kinds of questions about a gypsy and a knife."
"I don't see how that means Mike is doing something wrong. I mean, don't cops do that all the time,follow up on cases?"
"Yeah," Durand admitted uneasily. "Only usually they let their partners in on it. And this bit about the knife; I think I remember that the gypsy had a knife when we busted him, but I don't ever remember Step turning it in. And the hotel murder was done with a knife. See?"
"Not really." Her tone flatly denied that Mike could be mixed up in anything he shouldn't be.
"Look," Durand amended. "I'm not saying he's done anything wrong. But I think he's bending the rules, a lot. And no cop can afford to do that, even a little. My dad taught me that, when I was real small.A cop always has to play by the rules, whether he likes it or not. A cop without rules is nothing."
"Rules without common sense are stupid," Tiff
any said flatly.
Durand was silent for three blocks. This was as close to a fight as they'd ever come, and he didn't want to get any closer.
"So," he finally said as the Chevy idled roughly at a stoplight. "What would you do? Ignore it?"
"Of course not! For crying out loud, you're partners! Come right out and ask him about it."
"And of course Step will tell me the whole story,"Durand observed with heavy sarcasm.
"He will, if you ask him right," she said quietly,He glanced over at her. She was staring straight ahead, and he knew that, in some odd way, he'd hurt her. It bothered him a lot more than he'd have thought it would. Especially since her left hand had never left his shoulder. He tried to find words to apologize, but it didn't seem like apologizing was the thing to do either.
The Chevy crept out into the intersection, clutch complaining all the way. "Okay," Durand said quietly. "I'll do my best to ask him right."
"Thank you," Tiffany said, just as quietly. Durand was left reflecting on why it was that the times when he understood her least were also the times when he loved her most.
FALL, 1989
If there's more to making choices
Than luck and happenstance,
I hope I do it right
Next time I get the chance.
"NO PASSENGER"
The bus hissed like a tired snake as the door opened.The Coachman was the first man off. He leapt to the ground and pirouetted, smiling. "Welcome to Lakota," he said.
Daniel climbed out, buttoning his heavy green coat.He followed the Coachman out to the street, and looked up at the glass skyscrapers. "A city," he said."Is a city."
"Not so," said the Coachman. "Each has its own rhythms. You'll see."
Daniel snorted. "If you like. In any case, we're here. What now?"
"Now? Well, it is Wednesday. Tomorrow, we will begin looking around. If we haven't found anything,I'll try to borrow a coach on Friday. I'm sure to get it on Sunday, if we haven't had any luck before then."
"What will we do with a coach?"
"Ride around the city. If your older brother has arrived, and your younger brother hasn't let himself be killed, I will find them, and pick them up, and then we will see what happens. Or maybe not. I don't know as much about this as you may think I do."
"Well,1 know even less. As I said, what now?"
"Have you any money?"
"Some."
"Good. Let us find a place to sleep. It would be good to stay out of sight, if we can."
"Whose sight are we staying out of. Coachman?"
"The Wolf's, of course," said the Coachman,smirking, and hailed a taxi.
EIGHT
The Wolf, the Badger,and the Old Woman
15 NOV 22:00
Old woman, I hate too much.
I must give it vent.
Old woman you are hiding
here inside your tent.
Old woman, how much more
will I have to repent?
Old woman will I have left a mark
When my days are spent?
"BLACKENED PAGE"
"Mike!"
At the shout, Stepovich jerked awake. Reflexes rolled him off the couch and onto his feet as he scrabbled for a gun that wasn't there; shoelaces tied together brought him down just as swiftly. He caught himself painfully on one elbow, managed to avoid hitting the coffee table more than a glancing blow.
"You son of a bitch," he said with great feeling.
Ed laughed. "Works every time," he observed cheerfully, even though it was at least four years since he had pulled the same stunt. He turned his back on Stepovich and headed for the apartment's tiny kitchen. "'You want coffee?" he called back over his shoulder.
"That dead bolt cost me fifteen dollars. If you've screwed it up, I'm gonna feed it to you."
"Me?" Ed stuck his head back around the corner."Thing wasn't even shot, Stepovich. Door wasn't locked. I just waltzed right in."
"Uar," Stepovich muttered, working at his knotted laces. He'd never been able to figure out how Ed did it. The man was overweight and clumsy as an ox,but there wasn't a lock he couldn't slip, and Stepovich couldn't count how many times in the years of their partnership that Ed had taken him unawares. When he was a rookie, Ed had almost convinced him that he,Stepovich, just wasn't alert enough to be a good cop. It had taken him a long time to realize that the big man could walk softer than a cat, and could take damn near anyone by surprise. Grabbing cat burglars from behind had been one of his favorite tricks, once upon a time.
Stepovich retied his shoes and got up to make his way into the kitchen. Ed had half the stuff out of his cupboard stacked on the floor. "Where in hell are the coffee beans?" he demanded as Stepovich came around the comer. Sneaky bastard didn't even bother to turn and look at him. Just knew he was there.
"Don't have any." Stepovich reached up to the shelf over the stove, took down a jar of instant. "Coffee's right here."
"That shit?" Ed stepped casually away from the mess he'd made. "Let's skip it, then. We can grab some on the way." He glanced back once at the packages and cans he'd rummaged through. "Pretty sorry haul, Mike. Nothing there I'd feed the neighbor's cat. When's the last time you went shopping, anyway?"
"Don't go shopping, I just pick up what I need for the day on my way home from work. Where we going? And what the hell time is it?"
"Just about midnight. Witching hour. Best time for witches, vampires and gypsy fortune tellers. But, hey,Mike, this is no way to live. Coffee is not something to take casually. You've seen how I do it, little hand grinder, drip pot, and keep those beans in the frig until you're ready."
"Where we going?" Stepovich repeated wearily. Midnight. Shit. He had to work tomorrow. Maybe Ed had been retired long enough that he'd forgotten what it was like to drag his ass out of bed at six in the morning. Look at him. Eyes bright, hair combed,black bomber jacket that could no way meet over his gut anymore. Looked like a teenager going out cruising. Same stupid shitty grin when he finally met Stepovich's eyes and answered.
"Where we going? We're going to get fortunes told,sweet baby mine. Madam Moria sees all, and I've got her primed to tell all. Let's go."
He tossed Stepovich's jacket at him and the flying sleeve stung his face. Ed was humming "Captain of the Pinafore" as Stepovich followed him out the door. Despite himself, Stepovich felt a small quickening of pulse. Gilbert and Sullivan had always been Ed's hunting tunes. Quick, Watson, the game's afoot and all that.
They were into the Cadillac before Stepovich remembered to say, "But Ed, I told you the thing with the Gypsy was all done and it turned out to be nothing after all."
"Bullshit," Ed said kindly, and slammed his door so hard that Stepovich's ears popped. The engine started with a roar, then Ed eased it back to a purr-like a big cat's. It slipped into gear with a barely perceptible whump! and prowled off down the street.
Stepovich heaved a sigh, and then sniffed curiously. Sniffed again. "Smells like a delicatessen inhere. You got a pizza in back or something?"
"Naw." Ed cleared his throat. "It's the cheese." A little further down the street he added, "In the mousetraps, you know. I mean, I hate to kill the little… buggers that way, but I tried everything else. I even stole my neighbor's tomcat and locked him up in the garage with the car one night. I left the trunk and all the doors open. Even the hood. I figured he'd get hungry and nail that mouse for me."
"Didn't work, huh?" Stepovich asked idly.
"No. Bastard got in the trunk all right. Sprayed all over the place!" Ed sounded righteously outraged.
"Ah." Stepovich tried to sound commiserating and couldn't. He couldn't hold back his snickering either."That's what I'm smelling then. Cheese and cat cum.Thought it might be some wow new aftershave you were using. Well, guess the cat knew a pimpmobile when he saw one."
"Shithead," Ed growled. "Work my ass off for you,and you make fun of my car. Nice guy,"
"What are friends for? Now, truthfully, what's with the Gypsy thing
? I mean, for real, that's all done and closed. I should be at home, resting up for another day of protecting and serving the public."
They drove in silence. Traffic was down this time of night, and the store fronts were dark. North of Roosevelt. He hadn't patrolled in this area at night in years; it looked the same as it did then. He tried to avoid Little Philly when he wasn't working; he got enough of it during his shifts.
Traces of snow in the less trafficked areas. Only the garish lights of neon tavern signs and stoplights flickered over them in bars and splashes amidst the pale wash of the street lamps. West on Carradine, now.The streets were black with a layer of white from the earlier snowfall.
"You think I'm getting old," Ed said suddenly, softly.
Stepovich was startled. "What? No, man, nothing like that, it's just that this thing is done, and…"
"You're a sorry liar, Mike. Always have been, always will be. Your voice gets too sincere; it's a dead giveaway." A quick stab from Ed's dark eyes sank into Stepovich, gave him a tight pain somewhere in his sternum.
"Yeah." He admitted two stoplights later. "I'm lying. I'm still digging at it. But I wanted you clear, not because you're old, but because this could get real messy." He looked over at Ed, demanding he meet his eyes. "Messy enough to screw up your pension."
"Oh, yeah?" Ed turned a corner, slowed as he chose a parking spot for the Cadillac. He cut the engine, turned to Mike an indecipherable smile. "Well,fuck 'em if they can't take a joke." He stretched in his seat, rolled his big shoulders to crackle them loose."Now," he said, his voice changing entirely, becoming businesslike and instructive. "Here's the setup,and it's taken me two days and seventy-eight dollars,so keep that in mind and don't blow it. I'll go up with you, but you gotta act like you been in on this all along. Here's how it goes. I got Madam Moria's name from my little friend."
The Gypsy Page 42
