Chasing AllieCat

by Rebecca Fjelland Davis

  Around the corner toward the garage, Megan stood, ice cream cone upside down, as a little garter snake swirled like a green ribbon across the sidewalk.

  “Oh!” I felt myself deflate with relief, felt the tension drop a few notches, and I could hear Joe let out his breath behind me. He stepped around me, nabbed the little snake behind the head, and carried him, curling and writhing, to the edge of the trees.

  Megan’s lip pooched out. Her ice cream had splatted onto the sidewalk. “It stuck out its tongue at me!” she screeched.

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s what snakes do. But ya know what? They’re a lot scareder of you than you are of them. That’s why they stick out their tongues. ’Cause they’re so scared. If you don’t touch them, little snakes like that won’t touch you.”

  Joe came back. “Little garter snake squiggled away in the grass as fast as he could go,” he said to Megan. “He was terrified. He’s never heard so much racket.”

  “Then maybe he won’t come back.” Megan looked at Joe, then at me, skeptically but wanting to believe us. “He was scareder?” she asked.

  “He sure was,” Joe said.

  Finally relaxed enough to realize her ice cream loss, Megan screwed up her face to let out a wail, but I interrupted the dramatics. “Want new a new cone? We’ll get you a brand-new one.”

  She nodded.

  “Peapod!” Joe yelled. “Ice cream for you.”

  Peapod came galumphing, happy and wagging, and found the ice cream with one sniff. He plunked down on the sidewalk, straddling it with his forelegs, and lapped it up with his giant tongue. I patted him on the butt and we went back inside.

  When the last little kid ran outside with an ice cream cone, Joe said, “I guess my imagination is working overtime. I thought for sure—”

  “Me, too.”

  He kissed me on the temple. Susan walked into the kitchen and missed it by about half a second.

  Everybody finished ice cream and trooped inside to wash sticky fingers and put on long sleeves against the inevitable mosquito onslaught at the big fireworks display, held up on the Minnesota State University campus.

  The phone rang. Scout looked at Joe and me, and answered it in the kitchen. He kept looking at us. “Yes … I see … of course … thank you.” He stood quietly by the phone for a moment, then motioned us outside. “That was a nurse at the hospital. It seems that Father Malcolm is taking a turn. His vitals look worse, but he seems to be waking up.”

  “Why did they call here?” Joe asked.

  “I asked the nurses to call if there was any change. And the doctors said it was okay to put us on the call list.”

  “Great,” I said. “Thanks.”

  “You have any idea where Allie is?”

  “Only an idea,” I said.

  “And that is … ?”

  “I think at A-1 Bike Shop. Mike knew where to find her, and that’s where she wanted me to meet her, so it’s the only place I can guess. And now we know for sure that she’s not at home.”

  “My guess,” Scout said, “is that you’re right. I think maybe you should go together, pick her up, and trek up to the hospital. I don’t think she should be alone out on her bike tonight. And I think it would be good for her to see you, and good for Father Malcolm to see her.”

  We stared at him.

  “And I’d catch holy hell if I ditched the family right now to go with you, or else I would. Deal?”

  Joe and I looked at each other. “Okay,” we said in unison, but without much confidence.

  “Got your cell phone, Joe?”

  Joe nodded.

  “Call me when you’ve got Allie. Call me when you get to the hospital. Call me when you leave, okay? No funny business. Keep me posted. If there’s an emergency, I’ll come on the double. We’ll take two vehicles and Thomas can handle the women and kids. Fireworks are at ten. Just bring Allie along when you come back. Do her good to hang out with all of us crazies for the show. She’ll think her own situation isn’t quite so bad. Maybe.”

  “You didn’t meet Cecil,” I reminded him.

  I called A-1 Bike. I knew Allie wouldn’t answer the phone, but if she was in there, she might hear a message on the answering machine. “Allie. Joe and I are coming to pick you up. Back door of A-1. Five minutes from now. We got a phone call from the hospital about Father Malcolm. We’ll knock at the back door.”

  So we set off.

  We parked behind A-1, where Allie had told me to come at four o’clock. It was dark, dark, in the alley, but there were quite a few cars, probably for the bar two doors down. We sat in the car for a couple minutes. Nothing looked too suspicious, so we got out, locked Joe’s car, and walked up the rickety wooden steps to A-1’s back door.

  We went into the entryway, like she’d told me to do. A dim light burned above us, cigarette butts littered the edges of the floor, and a stairway led up into the darkness. We knocked at the steel door in front of us.

  Ferocious barking erupted inside, behind the door. We jumped back, from instinct. The dog, whoever it was, sounded like he could tear us limb from limb, and the barking was interspersed with snarling and dog nails against the door. We knocked again, and the snarling increased.

  “Allie?” I called, softly but trying to be heard over the dog. We could tell when somebody came up and touched, or was holding, the dog. The scratching stopped and the occasional barks were muffled. “Allie!” I called louder. “It’s Sadie. And Joe. Allie?”

  The door cracked open. “Sadie? Get in here.”

  The dog’s mouth was all I could see, and it reminded me of a skill saw. The shop was dark except for the neon bike signs on the back wall and in the front window. I didn’t like the idea of stepping into the dark toward that mouth, but Allie hissed, “I’ve got Siren. Get in here.” She shoved the door open another couple inches.

  Joe and I squeezed through the door, and Allie motioned to shut it. Joe pushed it closed.

  “Shh,” Allie said to the dog. “Siren, be quiet.” The dog sat down immediately, docile, and let his tongue hang out. He looked up at Allie with nothing but adoration.

  “Siren?” I said, my eyes adjusting to the dark.

  He wagged at me.

  “He didn’t know it was you,” Allie said. “Joe, bolt the door, will you?”

  Joe bolted it.

  “We know that dog,” I said.

  “He followed you away from the hospital,” Joe said.

  “And he was hanging around when the police came after we found Father Malcolm,” I said. “So, this is Siren.”

  Allie nodded and rubbed Siren’s head. “He won’t hurt a flea. Except if that flea hurts me.” She grinned.

  “Jeez, he looks like he’d rip our heads off,” Joe said.

  “He’s probably capable,” Allie said. “He hates my dad. Probably thought it was him knocking. Siren, meet Sadie. And Joe.”

  I forced myself to reach out my hand, palm down, and Siren licked it. I touched his head and he wagged. Joe gave him a pat, too.

  Allie let go of his collar. He came over and sniffed my knees and Joe’s shoes, and then he went back and leaned against Allie’s leg.

  “Has your dad been here?” I said. “And what are you doing here? Have you been here all the time?”

  “My dad? No. Me, yeah. Seemed like a safe place. And Mike let me stay.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us? Why did you hide from us?” I asked.

  “Because you met my dad today. Mike told me,” she said. “And you could tell him you didn’t know where I was. Right?”

  We nodded.

  “And I figured you’re a lousy liar. If you’d known where I was, my dad would have gotten it out of you somehow. Trust me on this one. I figured he’d find you eventually, since his asshole friends that chased
us know we’re friends, and the only way you’d be safe is if you really didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know what else to do. And I had to stick around town to win the race, so I’d have enough money to run away.”

  “You did know those rednecks.”

  “I don’t know them, but I recognized them.”

  “Allie, did you know your dad was there? At the race?”

  “Nope. Not ’til Mike told me. I didn’t see him. But I figured he would show up, knowing I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “So tell us. Why in the heck did you take off after you saw Father Malcolm?” I had so many questions I didn’t know where to start.

  “Wait,” Joe said. “Father Malcolm! Allie, he might be waking up … or dying … while we stand here.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “That’s why we’re here. The hospital called Scout. The nurse said he was ‘taking a turn.’ Getting worse but sort of waking up. Scout said we should come get you and go see him.”

  “Holy smoke. Okay, let’s go. But I need to leave town tonight. Before my dad figures out where I am. He probably already knows. I bet he followed you. I’m sure he’s been watching you, once he figured out who you are.”

  Joe looked at me. We both thought about the woods this morning when Peapod growled, but we didn’t say it out loud.

  “Allie, I’m so confused—”

  “Me, too,” Joe said, “but I think we should get going to the hospital. We can talk in the car. Allie, how are you leaving? I mean, to run away? You only have a bike. Are you taking Siren?”

  “Siren can keep up with me for ten miles, if I don’t go too fast. I figured we’d get to St. Peter tonight, sleep somewhere, Le Sueur the next night, then Henderson … till we figured something out.”

  “You don’t make any sense, Allie. Where are you going?”

  “I don’t know. Anywhere away from here. Away from my dad. If he finds me, for starters, he’ll kill Siren. And I will not go to another foster home. I’d rather die. And I won’t go anywhere without Siren.”

  “Come stay with us. Uncle Scout said you should come home with us,” I said.

  “No way. All those little kids? You don’t want my dad near Scout’s with all those little kids.”

  “He wouldn’t hurt—” Joe started.

  Allie whirled on him. “And what do you know about that? You do not know my father!” Her chest heaved. “He … ”

  Joe and I stared at her, waiting for her to finish.

  “Come on,” Allie said. “We’ve gotta move while we talk. I’ve got to get my stuff. We’d better hurry.” We followed her across the creaky floor, to the stairs to the basement. Siren trotted ahead and down the stairs in front of us.

  We clattered down the cement steps, past posters of Tour de France and Giro d’Italia racers. “That reminds me,” I said. “A woman at the race said you should go pro. You could get paid to ride your bike and get out of here, and get away from your dad, and make enough money. Could you do that?”

  “I’ve thought about that a lot—of trying to go pro—it’s hard, but I think I could maybe do it. I wanted to wait for a few races this summer and kick some butt, and then maybe some bike companies would give me offers. It all takes time.” The stairs at the bottom were narrow and wooden. The building was old, probably over a hundred years old, and down here the musty and bicycle-grease smells were overpowering. Allie turned the corner, still talking. “I had to wait until I had won enough money to leave. But when my dad got out of the slammer and came back to town, I ran out of time.”

  “Wait! How did you know your dad was out? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Long story. We gotta move. I’ll try to explain in the car.”

  Cobwebs hung from some of the pipes overhead. The smell of greasy dust hung in the air. We turned a couple corners, passed some more yellowed, curling, ancient posters of European bicycle racers—I recognized Eddy Merckx and Fausto Coppi—and came into the end of a big room, lighted by a single dusty light bulb dangling from a cord. An air mattress lay on the floor covered with a quilt, blankets, and a pillow. A reading light glowed from a small table beside the mattress; one old kitchen chair, a bookcase with a table lamp, a hot plate, and a dorm-size refrigerator all crowded the corner, too. On one wall hung color posters of Lance Armstrong, Juli Furtado winning the Mountain Bike World Championship, and an aging poster of Missy Giove winning the downhill at Vail. Missy Giove had at least as many piercings as Allie.

  “Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to the fly.”

  “Where’d you get all this stuff?”

  “Discarded—from apartments up over the stores on this block. There’s all sorts of shit in the storage room way in back.” She motioned. “And Mike always had the refrigerator. He just let me bring it down here for now.”

  “So you’ve been here. Since Father Malcolm.”

  “Yeah. I went straight home to get Siren, a bag of clothes, and some posters, and came here. Stuff I could cram in my bag. Siren found me before I got home, though.”

  “We knew Mike knew something he wasn’t telling us.”

  “Mike’s cool. He told me you felt really bad not coming to meet me at four o’clock. So thanks for coming now. You probably shouldn’t have, but we gotta go see Father Malcolm, so I’m glad you did. I just hope my dad’s not waiting outside.” Allie picked up a big hiking backpack with a sleeping bag tied on the top. She reached in the mini fridge and pulled out two bottles of Gatorade, which she stashed in the backpack. “Okay. I’m set.” She turned toward her posters. “Bye, Lance. Julie. Missy. I’ll call Mike for you later. Good bye, greasy dust bunnies. Guess I won’t miss you.” She shrugged into the backpack. “Let’s go.”

  We started back up the stairs. Siren galloped up ahead of us.

  Allie said, “You guys want to drive me and Siren and my bike to St. Peter after we leave the hospital?”

  “Of course we could,” Joe said. “But we’re not ditching you in St. Peter. And if your dad is following us, wouldn’t he follow us there, too? Scout told us to bring you home with us after the fireworks.”

  “Stay with us at Scout’s, at least for tonight,” I said. “Then we’ll figure out what to do and we can take you somewhere else tomorrow. Okay?”

  At the top of the stairs, Allie set down her bag. “The problem with the plan is that adults always seem to have to follow the rules. Afraid of breaking the law. The law says I’m under eighteen and if I leave home, I go to foster care, and believe me, I’m not doing that again.”

  “Allie,” I said. “Just tell us quick. Why did you take off when we found Father Malcolm? I still don’t get that. And when did you find out your dad was out of prison?”

  “Let’s go. I said I’d tell you in the car.” She shouldered her giant backpack again.

  I hooked Siren on his leash, Joe took Allie’s bike, and Allie hauled her backpack. She locked the door and pulled it shut, moving like a giant turtle with a shell. We got her pack and Siren into the back seat. Allie kept looking around while we loaded her bike into the car-top bike rack. Then we all jumped in and took off.

  We didn’t speak for a couple blocks.

  “Shit,” Joe said, looking in his rearview mirror.

  “What?” I whipped around.

  “You said shit,” Allie said. She slid down into the back seat.

  “It’s him. He’s following us!” Sure enough, the diesel pickup from after the race was cruising along behind us. A low-grade growl started rumbling from Siren’s corner of the back seat.

  “Shit again,” Joe said. “I’m calling Scout.”

  “You were supposed to call before. I’ll call,” I said, grabbing the phone from him. “You drive.”

  Scout’s phone rang and rang. “No answer. Should we drive around ’til we lose him?�
�� I asked.

  “Try again,” Joe said. “I’ll keep driving.”

  “Stay in town,” Allie said. “Don’t get on a highway where he can try to run us off the road.”

  I hit redial. No answer.

  “Allie,” Joe said, “Stay down. I suppose he already saw you, but it can’t hurt.”

  “My bike’s on top of the car, you moron.”

  Joe ignored that. “Tell us. What does all this have to do with Father Malcolm? What should we do? We can’t exactly go to the hospital like this. Your dad’ll catch us in no time.”

  I punched Scout’s number in again. “Scout! Thank god. We’ve got Allie and her dog, but Cecil Baker is following us in his truck!”

  Scout said, “Drive around for five minutes and park in front of the police station. I’ll call the cops, and I’ll be there in less than five. I’ll meet you there. That should freak him out. It should keep him from trying something, and you can get away. Ask Allie what the conditions of her dad’s parole are.”

  “What?” I looked over the back seat.

  “I heard,” said Allie. “He has to stay away from me.” I repeated this into the phone.

  “Enough info for me,” said Scout. “He’s breaking parole following you. Drive to the Cop Shop in five minutes. I’m calling the cops right now.”

  So we did. Scout’s Land Rover idling there was the best thing I’d seen for a long time. The diesel pickup slowed behind us and stopped half a block back.

  Scout swung himself out of his Land Rover, came over to Joe’s car, and leaned in my window. Siren barked. “Shh, Siren,” Allie said. Siren shushed.

  Scout made a show of pulling his phone out of his pocket. He punched 911. “I hope this works. Otherwise, I’m going to look like a big fool. And I’m on probation, remember.”

  “I’m sorry, Scout,” Allie said from her prone position in the back seat. “This is why I hid. I didn’t want you guys to get involved. You’re not going to look like a fool, I promise.”

  In thirty seconds, three cops came hustling out of the building. Cecil gunned his engine, spun out, and roared away in a cloud of diesel exhaust. Two police cars took off in the same direction.