Game Of Cages (2010) (18 page)

To catch this predator, I'd have to figure out what it wanted. Eat and reproduce was the simple answer, but Catherine and her songbird story had made me realize that this wasn't as simple as it seemed.

Maybe it just wanted its freedom. Maybe the most important thing to it right now was not to be captured and starved in a cage again. Then, once it was far away, it would do its thing. Maybe it would call more of its kind here. Or start a cult. Maybe it would create an army and install itself as Pet Emperor.

Unless I destroyed it first.

The cinder-block building was painted white, and I walked inside feeling like a man with a bomb strapped to his chest. I had come eagerly to this little town to kill and possibly be killed, and none of the old ladies smiling at me as I dropped fifteen dollars of Fat Guy's money into the food-bank kitty had any idea how dangerous I felt. There was a second door right in front of me, and behind the welcome table on the right was a long hall filled with lawn equipment.

I accepted a tray in exchange for my donation and went into a much larger room. As I moved down the line at the kitchen windows, a heap of mac and cheese, a pair of chicken drumsticks, succotash, home-baked rolls, and broccoli-cheddar bake were put on my plate. I said thank you. No one had white marks on their faces, and no one seemed likely to go on a murder spree.

The sapphire dog hadn't come here. Not yet.

As I stepped away from the serving line, I scanned the room. There were a dozen round tables set up and ten chairs at each table. Most of the seats were full. At the center table, a half dozen firemen were holding court. They were tall, well-muscled men ranging from their mid-twenties to mid-fifties. Several women--two dozen or so in all--sat at their table or chatted with them from an adjacent table. I wondered if I could sit close enough to hear what they knew about the Breakleys.

"Oh, please join us," a gray-haired woman said from the table nearest me, at the edge of the room. She was sitting with three people: an Asian woman who looked just a few years younger; a brown-eyed toddler wearing tiny earrings; and a woman I assumed was the toddler's mom, plump, with dark hair and a lot of eyeliner.

The gray-haired woman, who had the whitest skin I'd ever seen, introduced herself as Francine, then went around the table and introduced Mai, Estrella, and Graciela. I told them my name was Ray, and Mai immediately asked me if I was the one who had his car stolen. I retold that story, because it would have seemed odd to refuse. The women clucked their tongues and made a fuss over my black eye. Then conversation turned to the Christmas festival.

Just as I was about to steer the topic toward the Breakley fire, another woman stopped by the table. The others called her Catty, which startled me. For a moment, I thought they had copied my habit of giving descriptive names to people, but no, it was just an unfortunate nickname. They traded forced pleasantries until Catty left, then Graciela admitted that she felt obligated to buy some of Catty's jewelry at the festival because Catty had helped her out so often.

Mai kindly told me that Graciela's husband was serving overseas, and while the whole town was happy to help her out, only Catty hinted that she deserved some sort of repayment. Graciela listened to this without looking up from her plate.

They chatted about the display Catty would have and how much Graciela should spend. I wasn't a part of the conversation, but it was too late to move to another table. I was not getting any closer to finding the predator.

I had looked into the sapphire dog's eyes only an hour before. After I'd seen something so alien and beautiful, the everyday chatter around me made me feel utterly out of place.

Then Hondo stopped by. He greeted everyone enthusiastically, especially little Estrella. Turning to me, he said: "I take it your lady friend decided not to leave after all."

Someone on the other side of the room laughed uproariously. People were having fun. "What do you mean?" I said.

He was a little surprised by my tone. "Your friend. She paid me a pickup fee for the train station, but it only takes a half hour to drive out there. I'm still waiting for her call."

Francine noticed the look on my face. "Maybe she has a problem with her phone," she said in a soothing tone.

Now Hondo was looking concerned, too. "I don't think so. Arliss at the station knows my cars. He says it's not there."

Catherine didn't arrive at her destination. I dropped my napkin onto my plate. "Excuse me."

"Hey, man," Hondo said, "do you need help?" Everyone at the table looked ready to jump up and join the search.

"Thanks, but no. I'm sure she's fine. I just need to make certain for my peace of mind."

I pushed my way toward the door. As I passed the firefighters, I heard one of them say he had to get back to his family for Christmas, then they stood, too.

I made my way back to my car. It was nearly three-thirty, and Catherine had left around noon. I had to find out what had happened to her.

I parked across the street from the B and B. Two people on stilts came down the shoulder of the road. They were dressed in silver costumes, with white masks over the top half of their faces and delicate dragonfly wings on their backs. The costumes were decorated with snowflakes and reflective tape. The rented Acura was nowhere in sight.

I went into the Sunset, still feeling like a bomb ready to explode.

Pro Wrestler was sitting at the little desk in the living room entering figures into a computer. He hunched over the keyboard, carefully tapping the keys with thick fingers, and I felt a startling yearning to be like him. To hell with feeling like a bomb. I'd rather be a human being. I walked up to him and extended my hand. "Thank you for your help this morning," I said. "I'm grateful. My name is Ray."

He already knew my name from my credit card, of course, but he took the hint. "I'm Nicholas. Those clothes look a little loose on you."

We were smiling. "Yeah, but they're warm."

"Good to hear. Staying for the festival?" He looked around the little lobby. I did, too. A man in a long tan coat and a wide-brimmed tan hat sat by the fire. Nicholas's expression was slightly disappointed. Obviously, he'd hoped for a bigger crowd. "Sure," I said, because why not? "Sounds like fun."

I was about to ask if he'd heard from Catherine when Nicholas said: "I almost forgot." He took a manila envelope from the bottom drawer of his desk and handed it to me. My name was written on it in sweeping lines of delicate brown ink. The envelope held something bulky and small.

"Where did this come from?" I asked.

"Nadia found it on the front porch."

I tore open the envelope. It was a cellphone wrapped in a sheet of notepaper. It was Catherine's, but I turned to Nicholas and said: "Someone found it. That was nice of them."

"Does it say who?"

I said the note was unsigned, thanked him, then went to my room. Once the door was locked, I sat on the corner of the bed and opened the slip of paper. It read PRESS REDIAL in the same sweeping hand.

What the hell. I'm good at following directions. The phone rang twice. "Hello?" It was Well-Spoken Woman, and she had me on speakerphone.

"Thanks for the phone," I said. "I have a pal in Tokyo I'd like to call."

"We know your name, Mr. Lilly, and we know why you are here. If you would like your friend to live through the night, come to the Grable Motel. It's out past the Breakley farm. Come right away."

"Give me an hour or so to wrap up."

"Unacceptable."

"I have to wash the blood off," I said testily. If they really did know why I was here, they would believe that.

"All right then." She sounded hesitant, which was what I wanted. We hung up.

The bed smelled like laundry soap, and the plug-in pine scent made the air close. God, how good it would have felt to lie back and close my eyes ...

There was a knock on the door. I opened it, figuring Nicholas must have another envelope for me.

It was the man in the tan coat. He was a little shorter than me, even with his hat still on, and his skin and hair were the color of sand. "You're Raymond Lilly, aren't you?"

I didn't like the way he was smirking at me. "Yeah. Who are you?"

"I'm Talcott Arnold Pratt. The society sent me here to clean up this mess."

His coat was open, presumably to give me a glimpse at the sigils burned into the lining. A peer! An honest-to-God peer had finally come.

I must have let my relief show. He gave me a sour, condescending smile and pushed into the room. "Shut the door," he said. I did.

Everything about the guy gave off contempt, but I was glad he was there. A peer in the Twenty Palace Society ought to have the power to take out the sapphire dog, not to mention the bidders.

"The investigator who brought me here is--"

"I know who she is. I've read her report and don't need to talk to her."

"You don't understand. She's been kidnapped. I need your help to get her back."

"I don't rescue people. I kill predators."

Of course not. I hated this guy already, but there were bigger things at stake than my feelings. "Okay. What can I do--"

"I don't answer questions from wooden men. Are we clear?"

I felt the skin on the back of my neck prickle. Was I going to have to throw down with this guy right here? "We're clear."

"Has anything happened since the last supplemental report?"

"I don't know when Catherine made the last supplemental report," I answered. I kept my tone neutral.

"It was this morning."

"Then yes."

Pratt was getting annoyed, too. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, something more has happened since the last report."

He glowered, then looked away and laughed a little, shaking his head. He loosened his coat, probably to give me another look at his sigils. "Has she told you what's at stake here?"

"Wait ... let me guess. End of everything that matters to us, right?"

"That's right. Creatures from the Empty Spaces are terribly inefficient predators. They invade a habitat and hunt it to destruction. They don't have any balance about them."

"The sapphire dog isn't killing anyone--just making them crazy."

He continued as if I hadn't spoken. "But you want to put your pride above all of that, don't you? You want respect." He gave me a thin smile. I'd seen that look before. It was a cop's expression--a look of superiority so complete he would never think to question it.

"Sure, sure," I said. "The stakes are so high you get to do whatever you want and I have to take it. Let me give you an update so you can make your big exit."

I gave him a quick rundown of everything that had happened since Catherine and I rented the cars. I described the predator, the way the victims had looked, and how it seemed to split apart when threatened. He asked what I had threatened it with, and I told him Steve's gun; I wasn't going to tell this jerk about my ghost knife.

When I started telling him about the cellphone and the kidnapping call, he lost interest. When I got to "... then I opened the door and was insulted by you," he was already walking out.

He stopped in the hall and smirked. "You're done. Run along home now, if you can." He left.

There was a moment when I could have booted him in the ass, but I let it pass. If Pratt was anything like my boss, he could have pinched my head off with one hand. Peers were strong and tough--they had to be to face predators. And the guy killed for a living.

I checked my pockets to make sure I still had everything, then went outside to the Neon. I didn't know the names of any of the streets in Washaway, but I knew how to get in and out. I followed the road to the bridge, drove by the burned-out Breakley farm, then kept going. I passed the Wilburs' black iron gate and finally reached a shopping center. A road sign promised to connect me with a state route just down the hill, but I didn't see the road.

The Grable was set in the back corner of the shopping center. All that was visible of it was a cinder-block wall painted the same color as the field house and an entry arch with a sign at the top. The NO VACANCY sign was lit.

As I cruised by, I saw an open courtyard/parking lot with just enough space for cars to drive down the center and angle park in front of the units on either side. In fact, there were three BMW X6's in there now, all parked in front of units at the far end of the lot. The Maybach was in the last slot.

There was no possibility of getting in the front way without being exposed to every unit. I drove across the lot.

The shopping center was laid out in the shape of a U. At one end was a drugstore. At the other was a supermarket. In between was a variety of little shops and storefronts--a small bookstore, a pitch-dark bar, a dentist, a drive-up burger joint, a teriyaki restaurant, a Subway, and several darkened windows with FOR LEASE signs in them. All were one story tall, except the drugstore and supermarket, which had peaked roofs. The Grable sat in the back corner of the U.

All the windows were papered with sale prices, garlands, and religious displays. There was a huge inflatable Santa and reindeer on the roof.

Santa gave me an idea. I parked beside the drugstore and went inside. I bought a newspaper, a lighter, and a votive candle with Fat Guy's money, then went around the back of the building.

The alley was strewn with trash and smelled like old piss. It was wide enough for a trash truck to squeeze through. The paint on the buildings was peeling, while the guardrail on the other side of the alley, where the ground dropped away to a nettle-ridden slope, was dented and rusty.

At the far end of the alley, I came to more white cinder block. I'd found the edge of the Grable. I stepped onto the guardrail but couldn't see over the wall. I could see the broken glass cemented into the top, however. The Grable had been built for privacy.

Turning around, I saw a young woman in the doorway, puffing on a cigarette and watching me. Her hair was a dull, fake black that she brushed into her raccoon-dark eyes. She was positioned beside the Dumpster, and I'd been so intent on the motel grounds that I hadn't noticed her.