there; he'll be wanting to see you." She paused, scowling. "You really should get by more often. That man's not going to be around forever, you know."
"I don't know about that," I replied, smiling and putting an arm around her wide shoulders. "Sometimes I think he's going to end up burying all of us."
"Not without a fight, honey," she said laughing, her mood lightening instantly. "Not without a fight."
I said my goodbyes to Cachelle, promising to stop by before I left, and went around the back to the stairs. I walked on up, silently like the old man had taught me, and let myself in the door. Before I'd taken two steps into the cloakroom I caught a steel cane in my shins.
"You still make more noise than a chorus line of fat tap dancers," a gravelly voice said, and then laughed.
"And I could smell you two miles away," I answered, not turning around. "Aren't you ever
going to take a bath?"
"Why don't you kiss my boney ass?"
I turned in the doorway and saw the old man in the wheelchair. His head was shiny bald, his face clean shaven, and his sky blue eyes were buried in a spider's web of laugh lines. He wore a sleeveless white t-shirt, baggy black trousers, and rope sandals on his useless feet. His arms lay poised on the armrests of the chair, and even relaxed the muscles stood out like cords under the skin. In the years I'd known him, he didn't seem to have aged a day.
"You bathe," I replied, "and maybe I'd think about it." I walked over and hugged him, his arms circling my shoulders like steel cables. He pounded me on the back a few times, and then pushed me away.
"It's good to see you, boy," he said, his voice breaking only slightly. "It's been too long."
"I know, Tan," I answered, lowering my eyes. "I've been busy."
"Busy? Shit. Why don't you get a real job?"
"Ah, come on, Tan, you know me. I never had the chops to be a good thief."
"Bullshit. You were always just too lazy. You coulda been a pretty good burglar if you put your mind to it."
"Well…"
"Not like that little Mexican boy you used to bring around. Shee-it, he was good for nothing. What was his name? Elbow, Humidor–"
"His name is Amador, you old bastard," I interrupted, "as you well know." Pulling off my coat, I dropped it on a low table and then tossed my wallet, keys and knife on top. I turned, and made for the main room.
"Come on, Tan," I said. "I need a drink, and then I'm going to need your advice."
Without a word, the old man swung the wheelchair around and followed me down the hall.
Besides the cloak room, and a small bedroom on the other side, the entire second floor of the building was one large room. Two entire walls were made up of floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down on Royal and St. Peter Streets. The floor was hardwood, polished to a mirror finish, and the walls plain and unadorned. In the center of the room was a skylight, and the ceiling was covered with hooks, exposed beams, suspended ropes and ladder-looking affairs that ran from one end of the room to the other. There was no furniture in the middle of the room, and only a single table and a couple of chairs in the far corner. Along the wall near the next corner over stood a tall cabinet, dark wood with brass fittings. Otherwise the room was empty.
Tan wheeled across the floor to the cabinet and opened one of the lower drawers. He took out a bottle and a couple of glasses, and then rolled over to the table.
"Come on, boy," he called to me, "get it while it's still room temperature."
I crossed the room, pulled out a chair, and sat down opposite him. Tan spun the top off the bottle and filled the glasses. He slammed the bottle down on the table top, and then took up his glass.
"To the one that got away," he said, raising the glass to the ceiling. He'd always made the same toast, as long as I known him, but he never answered when I'd asked what it meant. After long enough I stopped asking.
"I don't know about that," I replied, smiling and putting an arm around her wide shoulders. "Sometimes I think he's going to end up burying all of us."
"Not without a fight, honey," she said laughing, her mood lightening instantly. "Not without a fight."
I said my goodbyes to Cachelle, promising to stop by before I left, and went around the back to the stairs. I walked on up, silently like the old man had taught me, and let myself in the door. Before I'd taken two steps into the cloakroom I caught a steel cane in my shins.
"You still make more noise than a chorus line of fat tap dancers," a gravelly voice said, and then laughed.
"And I could smell you two miles away," I answered, not turning around. "Aren't you ever
going to take a bath?"
"Why don't you kiss my boney ass?"
I turned in the doorway and saw the old man in the wheelchair. His head was shiny bald, his face clean shaven, and his sky blue eyes were buried in a spider's web of laugh lines. He wore a sleeveless white t-shirt, baggy black trousers, and rope sandals on his useless feet. His arms lay poised on the armrests of the chair, and even relaxed the muscles stood out like cords under the skin. In the years I'd known him, he didn't seem to have aged a day.
"You bathe," I replied, "and maybe I'd think about it." I walked over and hugged him, his arms circling my shoulders like steel cables. He pounded me on the back a few times, and then pushed me away.
"It's good to see you, boy," he said, his voice breaking only slightly. "It's been too long."
"I know, Tan," I answered, lowering my eyes. "I've been busy."
"Busy? Shit. Why don't you get a real job?"
"Ah, come on, Tan, you know me. I never had the chops to be a good thief."
"Bullshit. You were always just too lazy. You coulda been a pretty good burglar if you put your mind to it."
"Well…"
"Not like that little Mexican boy you used to bring around. Shee-it, he was good for nothing. What was his name? Elbow, Humidor–"
"His name is Amador, you old bastard," I interrupted, "as you well know." Pulling off my coat, I dropped it on a low table and then tossed my wallet, keys and knife on top. I turned, and made for the main room.
"Come on, Tan," I said. "I need a drink, and then I'm going to need your advice."
Without a word, the old man swung the wheelchair around and followed me down the hall.
Besides the cloak room, and a small bedroom on the other side, the entire second floor of the building was one large room. Two entire walls were made up of floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down on Royal and St. Peter Streets. The floor was hardwood, polished to a mirror finish, and the walls plain and unadorned. In the center of the room was a skylight, and the ceiling was covered with hooks, exposed beams, suspended ropes and ladder-looking affairs that ran from one end of the room to the other. There was no furniture in the middle of the room, and only a single table and a couple of chairs in the far corner. Along the wall near the next corner over stood a tall cabinet, dark wood with brass fittings. Otherwise the room was empty.
Tan wheeled across the floor to the cabinet and opened one of the lower drawers. He took out a bottle and a couple of glasses, and then rolled over to the table.
"Come on, boy," he called to me, "get it while it's still room temperature."
I crossed the room, pulled out a chair, and sat down opposite him. Tan spun the top off the bottle and filled the glasses. He slammed the bottle down on the table top, and then took up his glass.
"To the one that got away," he said, raising the glass to the ceiling. He'd always made the same toast, as long as I known him, but he never answered when I'd asked what it meant. After long enough I stopped asking.
Similar Books
