Wizard didn’t need to look back to know that Teddy was smirking and Booth was glowering. He heard the impact of Booth’s fist on the bar, saw heads turning to watch their exit. It’s not over yet, warned a voice in the back of his skull, and he felt a quickening of excitement in his body, surging like pleasure.
It frightened him.
The woman was short and dark, with tightly curled hair and a nose like a Jewish elf. She was leaning against the wall of the building as Wizard and Lynda came out into the cool dark streets.
“Last chance to do anything smart tonight,” she announced as he came out the door. “Run like hell, buddy. If you don’t, forget it. Forget everything, because you are a babe in these woods and you are going to lose it all. Last chance.” She hitched herself up off the wall and strode off into the darkness. Lynda was adjusting her coat. If she had heard or seen the other woman, she gave no sign of it.
She flashed a smile up to Wizard in the darkness. “Well, where do you want to go now?” There was a bit of a challenge in her smile. Did she know what came next as clearly as he did?
“You choose the place,” he said, giving her a wolf-hard smile. He wondered if his teeth gleamed in the darkness. This was the part he had always loved best. Preparation. The rubberiness in his legs had been replaced with an old familiar springiness. Alertness coursed through his veins, making him more alive than his body could stand. Just like old times, someone whispered grayly. His readiness radiated off him, sending sparks of aggression into the night. “Lead the way,” he commanded. To her puzzlement he let go of her arm and gave her a gentle push to set her going. She would be on point, but it didn’t worry him, because he knew the attack would come from behind. He sauntered along, casual in the cold night.
Waiting.
After a hesitant glance back, Lynda led off. Wizard followed her, smelling her perfume as it drifted back to him, listening for the inevitable.
Booth was good. Wizard gave him that. Anyone else would have been surprised when the hard hand fell on his shoulder and spun him around. Anyone else would have hit the wall and been off-balance, would have been struggling to come back to his feet as Booth’s fist pinned him to the wall and the mocking words began. That was the scene Booth had planned. But when the hand spun Wizard, he went with it, not falling to one side but turning in a tight circle, using the momentum Booth had given him to plant his fist squarely in Booth’s belly. Booth doubled over, pushing his face into Wizard’s knee as it rose smartly to meet his nose. Wizard seized him by the ears and propelled him with vicious force into the side of the building.
As Booth started to slide down the bricks, Wizard delivered a kick to the side of his knee. He was out of practice; no clean snap of joint followed it. There had been remarkably little sound since it had begun. Wizard’s first blow had knocked the wind out of Booth, and his responses to what followed had been limited to piggish grunts, with the hint of a high squeal on each intake.
Only instants had passed. Now he lay on the ground and Wizard stood over him. waiting for a movement or a sound.
The sound came; the harsh noise of a man unused to tears but weeping with pain. Booth had not expected pain, had not been prepared to pay for his amusement. Wizard had felt him assessing him in the bar. Booth had not looked beyond the gaunt frame and cautious manner; he had read Wizard as a skinny and fearful target. He should have looked in my eyes. Wizard thought with satisfaction. Next time, he’ll know better.
A disturbing thought. Far better to make sure there wasn’t a next time. He knew of no more stupid mistake than to injure an enemy and leave him to brood and heal. When he came after Wizard the next time, he would be better prepared, with a knife or a small caliber pistol for luck. Better to eliminate next time now. Wizard glanced about as he considered quick, quiet ways. Lynda was standing like a stag at bay, her eyes huge but not disapproving. And if I had lost? he asked her silently. He could smell her excitement and the edges of her fear. It was happening so swiftly for them, and so slowly for him. He took a deep breath and tightened his guts for the finale.
“Didi mau!” A small slender shadow, blacker than the night, raced between him and Booth, shrieking the old warning. The urgency of it hit Wizard, moving him automatically. He gripped Lynda by the upper arm and rushed her off, almost lifting her off her feet to match his long-legged stride. She trotted beside him, not questioning him. They fled two blocks and then he abruptly jerked her to a walk. He put his arm hastily around her and they sauntered along, not speaking. Her eyes darted, their whites visible all around the edges. The patrol car rounded the corner as they waited to cross the intersection. It turned left, back the way they had come. Wizard watched it from the corner of his vision, saw it pass the crumpled man on the sidewalk, then back up. They’d cheated him of his prey this time, but the next time…
“Let’s go in here.” Lynda’s voice shook. Fear? No. Suppressed glee. They were scarcely in the door of Maudie’s Corner before she began to shake. A titter of high laughter escaped her. She stilled it with her hand over her mouth, but her eyes were dancing as she looked up to Wizard. He met her look unsmiling and pushed his way into the bar.
It was a very narrow entryway. On his left were tiny two person tables up against the windows. There was room for one person to walk between them and the row of barstools at the long red bar. It was noisy in here, and male. A TV was blasting in the corner, accompanied by the pinging of an Eight Ball pinball machine. A cigarette machine was crowded up beside that. The wall behind the bar was decorated with framed photos of teams, mostly baseball. Wizard had no doubt that this was another of Booth’s hangouts. Well, he wouldn’t be in tonight.
It was as safe a place as any to hole up until the cops had finished with their assault victim.
He found a wall table with a cribbage board on it. He seated Lynda with a gesture and then sat down across from her. Even in the darkened atmosphere of the tavern, she shone with excitement. Men looked at her. at him, and then looked away.
She shook off a shiver and leaned forward to cover his hands with hers.
“I never saw anything like that. Never! Well, on TV maybe, but never real like that. You know, so many times when Booth would rough me up, I’d dream about letting him know what it felt like. Tonight he knew it. Boy, he knew it good!” Her hands tightened on his; he felt her nails digging into his flesh.
She released him and pawed through her purse to slap a five dollar bill on the table. “Order us some drinks, baby. I’ve got to go to the little girl’s room again.” She suppressed another little shiver. Wizard sat silently, looking up at her. As she rose to leave the table, she stepped closer to him. Taking his face in both her hands, she tipped his eyes up to hers. “You are some special kind of man. But I want you to know you didn’t have to do that for me. I didn’t expect you to protect me like that. No one ever did before.”
Wizard’s voice was hoarse. “I didn’t do it for you,” he croaked softly. Her eyes went puzzled. “I did it because I wanted to. Because it felt good to do it.”
Her hands went warmer on his face. She leaned down to press her mouth against his. “You are some kind of man, aren’t you? Don’t go way, now. I’ll be right back.”
Her lips were cold on his mouth. They started a shiver that turned into a shaking as she walked away. A wave of heat followed it, and he coughed twice, achingly. He shook his head, feeling muffled, as if his brains were wrapped in a gray veil.
When he opened his eyes, his vision cleared, leaving him unshielded to the reality. His ribs and belly were sore from coughing. He rubbed his hands together, feeling the pain in his raw knuckles like an old, familiar sickness. He closed his eyes to it and saw Booth falling to the sidewalk. He opened them quickly, but the thud of full mugs on the bar was identical to the sound of his knee meeting Booth’s nose. Vertigo swept through him, driving him to his feet. He surged from the table, pushing past a couple of men coming in the narrow door. They parted to let him through. Down the street he saw t
he steady blip-blip of the ambulance’s lights. He leaned against the building, breathing in hard gasps of the cold air. “I’ve got to get home,” he said aloud, the sickness in his voice.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stiffened his arms to keep his back straight. He wanted to curl up and around the hurt inside him and lie very still until it passed. But he couldn’t.
He had to get back to the den before he could rest. The alcohol was making the blood pound in his face, and he couldn’t recapture his day. He tried to place himself in time. The cathedral seemed months ago. The incidents before that were ancient. Was it only this morning the magic had abandoned him? Why?
The questions swirled about in his brain, eluding him. He had never been able to handle liquor; he should have left it alone.
Cassie was right; it was poison. “I’ve poisoned myself,” he muttered sadly and tottered on. He staggered toward the corner of a sidewalk that stretched eternally longer. “That woman was Cassie,” he admitted when he teetered on the edge of the gutter. “And I knew it. But I didn’t. I swear I didn’t know her.”
A thin gray fog was stringing through the streets. He tried to rub it from his eyes, but it hung before him like ratty curtains, coloring all he viewed. It opened and closed mockingly around him and whispered soundlessly and mockingly in his ears. Half a block more to go, he told himself and staggered on. On South Jackson he turned into his alley mouth. The fog massed there, defying him. He plunged into it, to crash into Wee Bit O‘ lreland’s trash and then rebound into Great Winds Kite Shop dumpster. The brick wall caught him roughly. His fire escape was a black shadow overhead.
He craned his head back to look up at it. He gave a testing bounce on his legs. A wave of dizziness and nausea washed up from his belly and drowned him. Wizard took a deeper breath. “You can do anything you have to do,” he reminded himself sternly. He bent his knees deep, ignoring all the pain signals of his body. He concentrated only on the jump, and sprang. His hands caught like claws on the old pipe. Its rust bit into his palms. He braced his foot against the bricks and pushed up. But his knees had gone rubbery again, and the muscles in his arms were like limp strings. He tightened his arms, straining to pull himself closer to the fire escape. He braced his foot again and gave a kick that let him release the pipe and grab for the edge of the fire escape. His hands caught.
He dangled from the edge of the fire escape. He knew what he must do; he had done it a thousand times. He had to chin himself up to the edge of the fire escape platform and slither onto it. But instead he hung there, like a shirt on a clothesline.
The cold black metal bit into his hands. His palms felt they must tear loose from the muscles and bones beneath them. He hung on doggedly, chewing pain. He could not make the quick hard pull that would jerk himself up to the edge. So he began the long slow tightening of muscles that would drag the full weight of his body up. His shoulder muscles creaked. Just a little farther, he promised himself, refusing to release his pent breath. A little more.
At the instant he knew that he must let go and drop to the pavement below, he felt two hands seize his ankles in a firm grip. Before he could kick free of them, they pushed up on his stiff legs, boosting him to the edge of the platform. He dragged himself up onto it and lay panting with his eyes shut. Waves of pastel light washed across the inside of his eyelids. His heart was slamming against his ribs and he couldn’t remember how to calm it. He had to let it run down as the cold air of the night washed against his sweating face.
“Hey!” The voice came from below. “Aren’t you going to give me a hand up?”
WIZARD ROLLED OUT of her way as she scrabbled up onto the platform. The aging iron landing groaned complainingly under the unaccustomed extra weight. Wizard sat up slowly to look at her. The climb had mussed her hair, but other than that she looked remarkably collected. She had clambered up the wall unaided. Now she brushed her hair back from her face and gave him a grin that was one part defiance to one part mischief.
“See? It’s not that easy to get rid of me. I should have known better than to leave you alone. Why’d you run out on me?”
“I don’t feel good.” Wizard didn’t want to talk, didn’t want her up here, didn’t want to do anything but crawl into an isolated place and curl up around the emptiness and sickness inside him. The magnitude of this disaster was such that he could not comprehend it. If only she would go away he could lie still and understand how awful it all was. Bent nearly double, he began his climb up the flight of metal steps. He heard her following. Well, let her. He couldn’t stop her. Silently he raised his window wider and wriggled inside. It was dark, but not so dark that he couldn’t make out his familiar path through the stacks of cardboard boxes stored in this room. He groped his way to the door of his den. There was a slight rustle from the roosting pigeons as he stepped through the door, but they settled again almost immediately. Behind him, Lynda had snagged her coat on the windowsill. She was muttering curses as she tugged at it, but he had no energy to hush her. He took four steps to his bed and dropped onto it. He could undress later.
Slowly he drew his knees up to his chest and tried to make his muscles go slack. His feet were horribly cold, but his fingers were too fuddled to manage the bootlaces. Best to just lie still for awhile. He heard a questioning mew; Black Thomas was on the pillow beside his head. He had narrowly missed him in the dark, and the big cat was not pleased with his carelessness.
Wizard set one apologetic hand on his dark, damp fur. Thomas gave a growl of pain and moved carefully closer to the warmth of Wizard’s body. He smelled like wet wool and clotted blood.
The two huddled together, snarling misery.
“Jesus H!” Lynda blotted the faint light from the doorway.
She seemed to fill the frame, looming over the room. He cringed deeper into his bed. “My God!” she went on. “I never imagined anything like this. What is that smell?”
She fumbled her way to the door and tried the light switch.
Nothing happened. She clicked it a few times and began to dig in her purse. Black Thomas was growling low at the intruder.
The pigeons huddled closer to one another on their shelves, cooing worriedly to one another. Wizard lay small and still, praying she would leave, praying this was just an evil dream.
Then she blasted them all with the flame of her cigarette lighter.
Wizard rolled to his knees, heedless of the pains that lanced through him and the nausea that swelled inside him. “Turn it down!” he hissed at her. “We’ll be seen!”
“Up here?” Lynda scoffed, but she whispered and adjusted the lighter to a smaller flame. “Look. don’t you have candles or something? I can’t see my way around in here.”
“Sit down and be quiet!”
“Where?” she demanded. He gestured furiously and she clunked and rumbled her way across the room to his mattress. She lowered herself onto it with a snort of disgust and let the lighter go out. Wizard moved carefully through the darkness.
He found his candle and holder and set it on the floor. In the darkness he slipped to his entry window to put the plywood in place, and to his second window to make sure the blanket was tight. Soundlessly he moved back to the candle and knelt before it. He began the slow concentration of self, stealing his attention bit by bit from his aching body and tortured mind, and putting it toward a flame. His hands clutched one another to still their trembling. He slowed his breathing to quiet the demands of his body. The flame. He could see it, he could smell it. he could feel it, could sense its warmth. It was coming now, about to blossom on the wick, the perfect orange and yellow flame.
With a click and a hiss the flame appeared, searing his eyes and exploding new pain in his head. The candle flared and Lynda leaned back, taking her thumb off the lever of her lighter.
In the glare of the little flame, he watched her slip her lighter back into her purse. Her candle flame dazzled his eyes. The flame in his mind was still there, focused, with nowhere to go.
&
nbsp; It might be the last bit of magic left to him. Gradually it crumbled into bits inside him, falling like ash into the firepit of his soul. He sat on his heels, blinking away the black spots that danced before his eyes. Black Thomas moved up beside him to ask “Mrow?” Wizard put his hands on the cat’s rough fur, feeling the ribs beneath the layer of tough meat and muscle and feeling the life beneath that. It was strangely comforting to feel how strongly life beat in the rickety little body.
Lynda stooped and took the candle. She moved slowly around his small room with it. “Jesus H.” A few more steps. “My God!” She stooped to examine his small library on his homemade shelf. “I just don’t believe it.” She moved to the crate and inspected his slender stores of food. Then she rose and drifted back to him, exclaiming all the way. “I just don’t believe it, I never suspected that anyone could live like this. I mean, I’ve seen bum’s beds under the overpass and people living under bridges and stuff, but never like this. It’s unreal!”
From her tone he knew she was not admiring his ingenuity at surviving, but disparaging his lack of success at it. He blinked and looked around his den. It had never seemed shabbier. The mattress. and blankets beneath him felt dank. There were spots of mold on the spines of his books and pigeon droppings spattered on the floor. He had never noticed them before. The cardboard box that held his wardrobe was softening and sagging at the corners. Even Black Thomas looked like a battered stuffed toy. As Lynda sank down beside them on the mattress, the cat uttered a warning growl. He did not like her. Wizard put a soothing hand on him, but the tensed muscles didn’t loosen.
Thomas focused his great yellow eyes on her and wished her all the evils the depths of his fuzzy little soul could imagine. Wizard was shocked.
Wizard of the Pigeons Page 16
