Cross My Path

by Clea Simon

‘AD is smart. He always was.’ A smile plays on her lips, as at a secret memory. ‘He knows the score.’

  ‘The score?’ The girl’s voice is soft.

  A quick nod and those eyes flick up, defiant in their bloodshot way. ‘Connections, that’s what you need these days.’

  ‘I thought AD worked for himself.’ Care sits back, and I relax. She hears the undercurrent.

  ‘Times are changing.’ Rosa’s tongue darts out to lick dry lips. What they taste, I do not know. ‘The city’s coming back, you know. He’s going to make things good again.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘You know.’ Her voice has dropped, even as her eyes dart around. ‘The boss.’

  Care waits. There’s more to come, and she hears it.

  ‘AD, he was always the smart one,’ the woman says. Something like pride in her voice. ‘He wasn’t going to stay locked up, not like the rest of the crew.’

  ‘You weren’t.’ It’s a statement, but the woman hears it as an accusation.

  ‘I wasn’t working at the warehouse the night of the bust. Not there.’ A laugh like a bark. ‘I got the call. I knew AD wanted us all, but I had a client, didn’t I? A private gig. Just like you.’

  She looks up at Care as if challenging her, and the girl meets her eyes. She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t say anything about her relationship with the old man – with me. Doesn’t point out that by the time of the bust, when AD’s gang was broken up for good, her apprenticeship had already come to its premature end.

  ‘I shoulda been there.’ She stares off at some point in the past. ‘Shoulda waited till AD could shadow me. You know, be my backup.’ More than that, I could have told the girl. In this feline form, I am privy to much. This woman and AD had worked as a team before. Now, however, she shrugs. ‘My john was a big guy. I didn’t want no trouble.’

  ‘He a regular?’ I don’t understand what line of questioning the girl is pursuing, although I can hear the urgency in her voice.

  No matter. Rosa shakes her head. ‘I was hoping. Maybe, if I’d been more careful. The next dude smacked me so hard, my face swole all up.’ A shrug. ‘A girl can’t keep her looks forever. I still see him, sometimes. You know, down here by the pier? But he don’t look at me no more. I’ve heard he don’t look at any girl twice anyway. Maybe I should’ve waited, let AD roll him.’

  Time is fluid to her, insubstantial. Almost as if she were an animal. Care ignores the flawed logic.

  ‘You going to work with AD again?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ The woman slouches. Looks away. She’s eaten and drunk and ready to move on. Care’s breakfast only buys so much. ‘I heard maybe he had something else going on. A job, like.’

  ‘What kind of job?’

  A gimlet stare. Care has crossed the line, or maybe she’s just bored.

  ‘What kind are there? People. Product. Someone wanting something moved, and AD had all the connections, didn’t he? Or he did, anyway. Back before. Maybe he was cooking again. Same old shit – scat, probably.’

  ‘Probably?’ Care is focused, but I find myself sniffing. Scrutinizing the air for a trace of the drug’s acrid bite. The man on the wharf said AD was shouting for it. ‘Rosa?’

  A sigh as the woman squirms in her seat. But she’s warm, she’s eaten. There’s another hunger driving her. If her former leader was cooking again, I suspect she would know.

  ‘Look, there’s rumors,’ she keeps her voice low. Licks her lips. ‘A big stash. Pure stuff, too. Better than what AD made. But maybe AD had an in. Maybe he was helping.’

  ‘Where?’ Care leans in. To her, the woman’s words must sound a fantasy, a rumor. But the girl hears something in her companion’s voice, and I remember the bales. The stinging scent that filled the air.

  Her question goes too far, though. Touches too near what matters most to this woman, and Rosa closes down. And just then, the stained plastic is pushed back. The grill man looks up. Two men, both large with muscle, stride in, their bulk seeming to fill the space.

  ‘Crazy talk.’ The first one turns back toward his companion, as he reaches for a chair.

  ‘Junkie rant.’ His companion seems to agree. ‘Still, boss said to check.’ At that, he looks around, as if realizing that they are not alone. His eyes linger for a moment on Care, a moment longer on Rosa, but then he, too, sits.

  ‘Hello, gents.’ Rosa rises in a surprisingly fluid motion. The sweater drips off her shoulders, revealing white and dimpled flesh. ‘You looking for some company?’

  The grill man comes over, kettle in hand. He looks up at Rosa with cold eyes, but the second man speaks first. ‘Yeah, maybe. Rosa, right?’

  She murmurs her assent. ‘You remember.’ Her smile almost looks real.

  ‘Sit right here, girl.’ A nod to the stool beside his. ‘I know someone who wants to talk to you. May be some business in it too.’

  A sound like a purr, as close as she can come, as she takes the seat. But when she reaches for him – one hand sliding up his arm – he turns away, dislodging her. Although his number two has already sized the joint, he scans the room again.

  Care. I watch her, my apprehension growing. But she is no rabbit, no brainless creature that bolts at the appearance of a threat. Rather, she takes her time, considering. Although I can hear how her heart is racing, she remains seated. She barely moves. Slowly, almost imperceptibly she turns away, as if her hair were less distinctive than her face.

  Maybe it is. He looks at her and pauses. She senses it and freezes. Her intake of breath quickly stifled. Only ears as attuned as mine could hear that gasp. No other nose would detect the sudden sweat that breaks out on her brow and beneath her arms. But his eyes don’t linger long enough even to assess the pallor that drains her cheeks or the sudden glassiness of her eyes. As if she were not there, his gaze passes from her. He looks away.

  Care seizes the moment to escape. Slowly, carefully, she rises – only I can sense the effort she puts into seeming casual. Into not bolting. I hear her heart racing and feel the warmth that emanates from her. But she moves slowly, throwing an extra coin down on the table as she walks, head down, toward the door. Only when she’s passed out of sight from the building – around the corner of the closest warehouse – does she stop to catch her breath. Resting against the damp brick, she closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath. And when she opens them again, I can see the resolution clear and fierce.

  Not that she’s reckless, not this girl. She hangs in the shadow of the warehouse, surveying the open waterfront before she moves. The morning’s workers – both laborers and hook boys – begin to gather. The first trucks of the day have been loaded, and no other ship has docked. But the men who stand in groups of three or four are quiet. Hopeful, maybe, or resigned. They barely look up as the girl crosses the cobblestones, toward the low stone building at the water’s edge. The building AD disappeared into, only a day before.

  I would stop her, were it in my power. As it is, I dart, anxious, skirting her legs. That building is a trap. I sense this as any beast would. Yes, I have entered it, and left it intact. But I am small and careful, and found access through a portal unavailable to the girl. Even her former colleague Rosa has means the girl lacks – her trade buying her sufferance that would not be extended to Care, were she apprehended. I do not know what exactly that woman heard, but I am not easy. That building has known death. Its floors reek still of blood.

  I can do nothing, and the girl neatly sidesteps me as I weave between her legs. She is drawing close. The building itself seems to wait, lurking, as poisonous as a toad.

  ‘Wait! No.’ The girl turns. She does not stop, but she does slow, even as the short, bow-legged man hurries to catch her, keeping to the shadows as best he can. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Peter.’ She pauses once she recognizes him. Curious, I believe, rather than defiant. ‘I was looking for you. You took off.’

  ‘Yesterday? You don’t have to – that was nothing.’ He looks down at the paving. His hand rubs o
ver his face, as if he could wipe something away. ‘I just— Anyway, you shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘But you hired me.’ She’s staring at him. Looking for whatever it is he’s trying to hide. ‘This is how I do my job.’

  ‘Yeah, I know I did …’ He stares off into space. Not, I notice, at the building. ‘But maybe that was a mistake.’

  ‘You don’t want me searching for Rafe?’ She’s doing her best to read him, read his silence. ‘Or just not here? But – no, it’s that building.’ She nods toward the low, stone structure. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Look.’ Hands down at his sides, he meets her eyes. ‘I’m grateful for what you did. Looking for Rafe and all. But maybe we should call it quits.’ He takes a breath. ‘You can keep the money.’

  ‘Wait.’ Whatever she sees, it has softened her view of this man. ‘I don’t know what you’re afraid of, Peter. But I’ve barely even started. I’ll find Rafe, and wherever he is, I’ll do my best to get him free.’

  He turns away, rubbing the back of his neck.

  ‘I wasn’t even looking for him yesterday.’ She’s speaking slowly, as if piecing together the words. ‘I told you, I had another client. Only – you know more than you’ve told me, don’t you?’ He stares at something in the distance. A gull, or maybe just at the sky.

  ‘Look.’ His whole body seems to sag. ‘Rafe – just … Rafe isn’t your problem, OK?’

  It’s where he’s not looking as much as what he sees. Care narrows her own green eyes, appraising. ‘He’s in there.’ She nods over at the building. The only structure on the water. ‘Isn’t he?’

  ‘Don’t know.’ He’s staring at the stones again. ‘I only know that’s not safe. You can’t mess with what goes on there. None of us can. That’s … off limits.’

  ‘I know about the trade.’ There’s something off about her tone. She’s faking. Improvising on a theme and looking for cues. ‘Goods coming in. Going out too.’ She pauses, her eyes on his face. ‘Scat.’

  And it hits me. What I’d missed. The well-packaged bundles, impressive in both purity and amount. This isn’t some local stockpile, such as was once the source of AD’s power, only of superior quality. This is something different, much larger. That he would have been a part of? Yes, that would explain his journey here. The words that were shouted. But what did he bring back to trade for a seat at this table? With what was he purchasing access?

  Or is there another factor? I find myself going over what we have heard, Care and I, looking for what I have missed. A large stash of superior quality. Clearly, AD’s particular talents weren’t needed. Is that why he was disposed of? Or had his demands become too insistent? Too loud.

  Care has finished speaking, having ventured all she dare.

  ‘Look, I don’t know about that side of things.’ Distress marks Peter’s face. His brows bend upward as if in pain. ‘That’s not my business. Never was. I just wanted to make a life. Someplace safe, for me and Rafe.’

  That catches her up as nothing else has. ‘You and Rafe,’ she says, weighing the words. ‘You really care about him.’

  A slow nod. Resigned.

  ‘So why don’t you want me to look for him? I could find him, you know.’

  The face that turns toward hers is undeniably sad. ‘I believe you,’ he says. ‘But then they’d probably just kill him.’

  The import of his confession strikes her almost immediately. ‘Wait,’ she says after the briefest of pauses. ‘You know where he is. You know who took him and why.’

  For a moment, there is silence. No movement but for the lashing of my tail. I can almost hear the frantic scrabbling. The flurry of scratching claws, desperate to escape. But then the moment passes. The man appears almost to deflate, his shoulders slumping. He nods with downcast eyes, acknowledging all.

  ‘Tell me,’ she says. Her voice is level. Neutral. But there is no mistaking the note of command.

  ‘We do work together,’ he begins. ‘As a team, here on the docks. And he did go missing three nights ago.’ He licks his lips. She waits, and while she does, I work my way around him. I knew his scent, when I found it in that basement. I circle behind him, taking it in. Looking for what else I may find; for whatever this man says, I do not believe it will be the entire truth.

  ‘I wasn’t worried,’ he says now. ‘Not at first. Like I said, I thought, maybe he’d gone off. Found a girl or something.’

  ‘Or something?’ Care studies his face. When I glance up, I see the set of her mouth. And although I catch no additional signs of distress – not in his sweat nor in the warmth of his body – I am grateful for her reticence. For her patience, and I will her to say no more.

  ‘I was afraid of this.’ The words rush out on one held breath. The truth, then, as straight as he knows it. ‘He’s been looking— Rafe wasn’t happy on the docks.’ His eyes search hers, seeking understanding. ‘He wanted more.’

  She nods but holds her peace.

  ‘I think he got involved in something. Took a job that he shouldn’t—’ He breaks off. Shakes his head. ‘I don’t know for sure.’

  Care’s breath stops. She wants to speak, I fear. To reveal that she knows of the woman, of the mission to the keeper. But she has discipline, this girl. She will not divulge more than she must. ‘You know who took him,’ she says. ‘You must know why.’

  It’s not a question. Still, he shakes his head. ‘I got a message. That’s all.’ He reaches across his body, one hand rubbing the other arm. The message, then, was painful.

  ‘That he’d been taken?’ She sees his anguish and is moved by it. Would that she weren’t. She has spoken too quickly. Filled a void for him. He nods again, his mouth a grim line. ‘By whom?’

  His eyes dart up. The question is too naked and it scares him. ‘Not my place to ask, Miss.’ He’s shaking his head. ‘The boss’s men, they were. Two of them. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Do you know where he was working, for this job of his?’ She shifts her focus, and he looks confused. ‘Rafe, your friend. Who was he talking to – or what about – that got him into trouble?’

  He inhales, as if time were air. The girl knows, of course. Knows what the keeper told her, at any rate. But not what happened after or how the youth’s questions – about her, about me – may be involved. The man only shakes his head. ‘He didn’t tell me.’ He sounds sad. Spent. ‘Only that he’d do me proud.’

  He stands there, silent. His head is hanging low, as if he expects to be whipped. Standing so, he doesn’t see how the girl looks at him. Doesn’t see the softness in her face, but I do. I know this girl, her weaknesses. She hears the echo in his words of her own exchange with the boy Tick. She hears the connection and the love, and she would trust this man. Would accept his tale at its face value, if for no other reason then that he is mourning a loss. She is thinking of the boy Tick, of how his absence would leave its stamp on her. But she is not this man, and she has not pressed him for all he knows.

  I leave him to rub against her ankles. Not from affection, but to break the spell she seems ensorceled by. ‘Blackie.’ It works in that she looks from him to me, the ghost of a smile playing over her lips. ‘I’d almost forgotten you were here.’

  ‘Hey, look there.’ She turns – we all do – to where a laborer is pointing down at me. ‘It’s that cat, the black one. I seen him here before.’

  Care gasps and would reach for me, to hold me. But I am too fast. I leap back a body’s length and wait, appraising the situation.

  ‘What do you want?’ Care braces herself, stance wide as the man strides toward her. ‘What’s my cat to you?’

  ‘Your cat?’ The man huffs in some version of a laugh. His colleagues are watching, and he won’t be outfaced by a girl. ‘That old stray? I doubt it. Fact is, we’ve got a job for him, that mangy critter. The boss wants something for his cellar. Says the rats are costing him.’

  ‘Well, find another cat, then.’ Care stands her ground, arms akimbo as if preparing for a fight. My hackles start t
o rise. My ears flatten. She will not fight alone.

  ‘Sorry, girlie.’ The man is smiling. ‘There’s a bounty for this one. Black cats are special.’

  And then I feel it. The cold steel of a hook, circling around my torso. Hoisting me off my feet. That smile – he was the distraction, while another snuck up behind me. Then darkness, rough-hued. Burlap. A sack. That I could be so foolish …

  No matter now. No time for self-recrimination. Cruel laughter rises as I hiss and spit, lashing out. The girl’s cry over all. ‘Let him go!’ A cry of pain as one sharp-claw hits home. A shift, and I slash again, claws like talons. Spots of light through the rough cloth. Blood, too. I smell it warm upon the fabric, before I am upended. The sacking tightens, leaving me confused.

  ‘Put him down!’ The girl again. ‘Stop it!’ Frightened, and I fear not just for me. These men are rough, and daylight will not deter them from their petty victory. Their pleasure. They have not worked, or not enough, and too much is on the line. I twist, willing my body to forget its age and injury. A hand presses down, by chance or intent, pressing tight upon my snout. Held thus, I cannot bite. Nor can I breathe, and though I kick and kick again, the spots of light – of sun through cloth – are growing dim. Are fading. That laughter, once again. As if in a dream …

  ‘What the—’ The laughter stops, and I breathe again. ‘Have you gone nuts?’

  ‘Let her go.’ A man, speaking through clenched teeth. ‘You know I’ll use it, Tommy. You know I will.’

  ‘Peter, come on.’ The laughing man not laughing now. He sounds confused and distant.

  ‘Let her go.’ A growl almost, such as I would make. And then a gasp. The girl. I hear her stumble, and then take two steps. Toward—

  ‘My cat,’ she says. ‘I’m not leaving without my cat.’

  ‘You heard the girl.’ I cock my ears and try to regain my bearings. Peter is standing close by, and Care is with him. Only, no, she is approaching. Coming toward me, in my despair. Only, no, this is not what I would wish. This is wrong.

  The one who holds me is a violent man, and I have wounded him. Does she not see this? He will not spare her, no more than he would show mercy to me. He would—