Blink & Caution (20 page)

You both turn to look out the front windows of the train station, where you see nothing but waving yellow swamp grass and trees along a low hill beside a road.

“Yeah, well,” she says.

“Will you do it?”

He stares at Kitty.

“Will you do it?” he says.

She sighs, hangs her head. “I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t want to get sucked into this.”

“You already are,” he says.

She likes the pleading in his voice. She recognizes it. It’s her pleading with Spence to let her do something with him, go with him somewhere. She sits up, looks around. She can almost feel him here. She wants to call his name. Spence? Spence, are you here? If he is, it’s the first time. So why now? Easy: because of this fool boy who needs her.

“What’ve we got to lose?” he says again.

And this is the cleverest thing Blink has said so far, although there’s no way he would understand why. Suddenly in Kitty’s rattled and overtired brain, she sees that he has provided her with the one inescapable truth. She is already a part of this thing. She did it herself. She stole this boy’s money and then felt so bad about it she followed him here. She tumbled headlong into this.

So this is now part of the journey. Escaping Merlin was not a complete escape, just a stage. There are some insects that go through a whole bunch of stages before they finally reach their final shape. Something else she learned from Spence. That’s what is happening to her. She has left behind the ugly slug of a larva-type thing she had become, and now she’s some kind of other creature. She’s not in the muck anymore but in this murky water. The sky is yet to come. It’s as close to rational as she can get.

“I owe you fifty-nine bucks and change,” she says, “not a jail term for aiding and abetting.”

He grins at her. He can tell from the tone of her voice that she’s not really turning him down.

“Half and half,” he says, the big businessman all of a sudden, dividing up his millions. “Not counting the money you owe me.”

She punches his arm. It’s as close to a “yes” as he’s going to get.

You phone Alyson from the train station.

“You’re early,” she says.

“Just smart,” you say.

“I’ll come for you,” she says.

Funny, your father used to say that, didn’t he, Blink? He’d phone out of the blue and say, “I’ll come for you.” And you’d wait and wait and wait.

“Blink, are you there?”

You want to say okay, but you’re holding the receiver so Kitty can listen in, and she’s shaking her head.

“No,” you say, as coolly as you can. “Where’s someplace we could meet downtown?
Is
there a downtown?”

She chuckles. “There’s a coffee place on Princess called the Sleepless Goat.”

“The what?” you say.

“I didn’t name the place,” she says. “That’s what it’s called.”

“Okay. Is that far from here?”

“Let me pick you up,” she says.

“Just answer the question. Is it like an hour away or what?”

She makes an irritated sound; she’s not used to being bossed around.

“It’s probably under ten bucks by cab from the bus station,” she says, “if that’s what you mean.”

“What about the train station?”

She pauses for a moment as she takes in the implication of what you’re saying.

“You’re right,” she says. “You are smart.”

You beam at Kitty, who makes like she’s going to shove her finger down her throat.

“The cab fare is about the same,” says Alyson. “I could meet you in half an hour. Say, midday?”

Kitty is shaking her head, mouthing something at you, holding her hand to her head like a phone.

“Uh, no. I’ll call you back,” you say to Alyson. Kitty nods. “We can figure out when we’re going to meet then.”

“Stop playing games with me, Brent.” She says your name as if it’s something she noticed on the bottom of her shoe.

“Forget it,” you say. “See you around.”

“Okay, okay, okay!” she shouts. “This is serious. That’s all I’m saying. I have to know that you understand that.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” she says. “But you don’t seem to get that this isn’t funny. Not for me.”

“Getting arrested wouldn’t be so funny, either.”

“I
told
you. There’s no way I can let anyone know that I’m even talking to you.”

“That’s right,” you say, cool as spare change from a businessman’s hand. “That’s what you told me.”

She sounds like she’s going to start up again. Then she backs off. “Okay,” she says reluctantly. “We’ll do this your way.”

“Excellent.”

A
nd so Kitty Pettigrew commits herself to Blink. His plan is foolhardy at best, disastrous at worst, but there is nothing new in that. It is the way she has lived her life since last winter. Only now there is someone else to live for. This brown-eyed boy full of spark no matter how smudged around the edges he is — he will be her reason to go on. She can feel Spence beside her, feel his hand on her shoulder, steadying her, preparing her for the recoil.

She borrows some quarters from him to phone Wayne-Ray.

“Who’s he?”

“Never you mind,” she says, and pinches his ear.

“Owww!” he says. “Jesus.”

She pats him. “He’s about the only guy in the world I trust right now,” she says, owing him some kind of explanation.

“You can trust me,” he says, rubbing his ear. “Jesus.”

“Sorry,” she says. “Apart from you.”

Wayne-Ray is at work. He can’t talk for long, but she can tell he’s glad to hear from her. She remembers not to tell him where she is.

“I’m out of the city,” she says.

“Are you heading home?” he asks.

“Not exactly,” she says. “Not yet.”

“Kitty —”

“I just want to know everything is all right,” she says, cutting him off.

“Those people haven’t been around, if that’s what you mean.”

“And Tamika?”

“She phoned me first thing. She’s freaking out about . . . you know.”

“But nobody’s been around her place. No one’s hassling her . . . them.”

There. She has told him, just in case Tamika hasn’t. She knows about the baby. Knows about Serina, her niece.

“As far as I know, it’s cool,” he says. “But that money, Kitty . . .”

His voice is reduced to a strangled whisper.

“Tell her I’m sorry,” she says. “Tell her to do whatever she wants with it. Burn it if she wants. I gotta go. I love you, Wayne-Ray.”

“I love you, too, Cuz.”

“Take care.” Then she hangs up before he scolds her, before he gets into trouble with his boss. Before she falls headlong back into the mess she left behind her.

Blink is waiting for her, looking sullen, as if his ear is still hurting.

You pay the cab fare, and Kitty swipes a five right out of your hand to give the driver.

“Stop doing that,” you say as the cab pulls away.

“What? Giving the guy a tip?”

“Not
that.
Stop grabbing money out of my hand.”

She just laughs.

You’re across the street from the coffee shop Alyson told you about and right in front of a clothing store: Army Surplus & Adventure Outfitters. A good sign. You head inside and start cruising the aisles.

“So, now we’re on a shopping spree?” says Kitty.

“I’m not going anywhere looking like this,” you say. And she nods as she checks you out.

“You do look pretty preppy,” she says, hooking her finger into the filthy and torn cuff of your red full-zip.

“You should get something, too,” you say. Her eyes light up. Then she frowns. “Seriously. That thing you’re wearing is kind of —”

“Watch it,” she says. “I love this jacket.”

“It’s great,” you say. “It’s beautiful. But it’s kind of like a flashing light, if you know what I mean. You don’t exactly blend into the crowd.”

She looks down at the fuzzy blue jacket. She runs her hands down the front. It’s the first time you’ve really noticed she has a great body. But the jacket — it’s matted, losing fur. It looks like some blue cat with mange lying on the side of the road.

“I guess you’re right,” she says.

You turn your attention to the shelves. Next thing you know, she’s calling your name.

“Check it out, Blink,” she says. She’s modeling a wet suit — holding it up in front of her and doing this catwalk routine. Then she’s trying on ball caps and triple-X-size hunters’ jackets, and you’re laughing despite yourself.

“Can I help you?” says the manager.

You settle on some Sly Gear camo pants and a forest-green fleece hoodie. She finds a denim gaucho jacket, a brown turtleneck sweater, and some jeans. You put them on in the changing room.

“Very camouflagey, dude,” says Kitty, snapping off a sales tag. “I can hardly see you at all.”

She models her new gear, which gives you the opportunity to look her over. She’s skinny but not everywhere.

“Easy, fella,” she says.

You pay for the duds and head out onto the street, where you find the nearest trash can. You ball up your filthy clothes and throw them out. The Blessed Breakfast Uniform is no more.

She stares at the blue fuzzy jacket. She shows you the torn lining.

“What happened?”

“Some guy put a bug on me,” she says.

“Why?”

She makes a face, like she’s trying to figure it out herself. “I guess because he thought he owned me,” she says.

“The drug dealer?”

“Right. I worked for him sometimes.”

You nod. She may be a good liar but she’s a good truther as well, and you’re pretty sure by now you can tell the difference.She shoves the jacket down into the trash, then she leans on the can, her hand on either side of the hole as if maybe she’s going to barf. But, no, she’s just saying good-bye to the jacket. Then she turns to you.

“Ready?”

And you remember something Granda used to say, when you were itching to go to the beach and he was taking too long. “Are you ready, Granda?” you’d ask him, and he’d say, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

But Kitty is shaking her head. “I don’t know how much money you’ve got left, but we’d better buy ourselves some toothpaste.”

He sniffs the air. “Maybe some deodorant, too, huh?”

You call Alyson again from a phone booth and arrange to meet her at the Sleepless Goat.

“What do I look for?” she says. “Are you going to have a sign or something?” She sounds like she’s still pissed.

“I’ll do the looking,” you say.

“I’ll be wearing a peach-colored leather jacket,” she says. “I’ll be driving a yellow Jeep Wrangler. You want me to wear dark glasses, too, a funny nose?”

“If you want.”

“This may be a game to you, Blink, but it’s really serious to me.” And then she hangs up.

“‘I’ll be wearing a peach-colored leather jacket. I’ll be driving a yellow Jeep Wrangler,’” says Kitty, snapping her hand open and shut like a yapping puppet. “Give me a break!”

You laugh, but it’s more nerves than anything.

Next thing you know, Kitty is herding you back into the Army Surplus store.

“What?”

“Let’s make sure she arrives alone,” says Kitty, and finds a place where you can both look out onto the street through the crowded and dusty mannequins in the window.

The Jeep arrives and zips into a parking place just up the hill. You watch as a woman opens the door. It’s not her. This woman has jet-black hair. Then you see the short, belted leather jacket. It’s pinky-orange colored, all right. And there couldn’t be two people in this city with that bright yellow vehicle and that jacket. She beeps the door locked and heads down the street in long-legged designer jeans and high-heeled boots. She must be at least eighteen. Not exactly Daddy’s little girl anymore. Funny how you hadn’t thought about her aging.

Kitty whistles. “Hot stuff,” she says.

Alyson stops outside the Sleepless Goat, looking up and down the street, her arms crossed, her head tucked low into a cream-colored scarf, and tapping the toe of her boot on the sidewalk. She shrugs and heads inside.

“She used to be blond,” you say, without thinking, and next thing you know, Kitty’s swinging you around to face her, her hands grasping your arms really tightly.

“How do you know what she
used
to look like?”

Her eyes are buzzing accusingly. Like maybe you’ve been playing her along, holding out, setting her up.

Sheepishly, you pull the photo out of your pocket. “It was in his wallet,” you say.

She relaxes her hold on you. “So, now I get it,” she says. “Blink’s in love.”

You feel stupid. Transparent.

“Don’t screw around with me,” she says.

You look down. You’re not sure anymore what you’re doing. It’s all way harder than you thought.

Then Kitty gives you a playful shove. “Buck up,” she says. Then out on the street, she adds, “Go do your stuff, lover boy.”

“How’ll I know if something’s up?” you say, suddenly nervous.

Kitty shrugs. “I’ll create a disturbance,” she says. “Light myself on fire. Take off my clothes.”

You pause outside the café. You look up the street and down, trying to figure out if you’d even know an undercover cop if you saw one. Truth is, suddenly everyone looks like a cop: the brother with the fall-down pants talking on his cell, the fat bearded guy looking in the window of the bookstore, the blue-rinse lady picking up after her beagle. You shake your head. Just go. Kitty is watching out for you. How weird is that — somebody covering your back?