nearby, amid the jars and cans.
“It’s all right.” Kit approached cautiously. “Don’t be afraid.” She reached out her hand. “No, no, don’t move.” The cat dragged dark smears behind it on the concrete. “Ssh. Have you been in a fight or something, huh? Poor little guy.” Actually, the cat struck her as unusually large.
I don’t even like cats much. In the past few minutes, the animal had twice followed her out onto the sidewalk, circling her while making that terrible noise, then had dragged itself back into the alley.
“You tangle with a dog, kitty?” At the sound of her voice, the wounded feline crept closer, only to twist unsteadily away. “You’re a size all right. I’d hate to see the other fellow. There now, cat. It’s all right.” Its legs tremored.
What the heck color is it anyway? Scant illumination floated into the alley, and she leaned closer. Great. Orange tail, one white ear, gray face: it looked as though it had been stitched together from parts of other animals. Frankenstein’s cat.
The next time the animal fell on its side, it failed to get up. Gingerly, she stroked the fur, but the beast didn’t twitch. Four streaks of blood glistened on its flank.
Suddenly, the broad head tilted, straining in her direction. Then the green glimmer of the eyes sealed shut again, and the head dropped.
Oh hell. It just died. She pulled off her glove and touched the cat’s ribs with her fingertips. The fur felt like frost, but underneath warmth throbbed. Anyway, it’ll be dead soon on a night like this, that’s for sure. Suddenly, green gleamed up at her again, and the mouth opened in a silent bleat.
Great. She put her glove back on and tried to lift the creature without hurting it or getting blood on herself. Now, what am I doing? Am I nuts? Stiffening, the cat arched and bristled, hissing like a ruptured steam pipe. She almost dropped it as claws dug frantically into the arm of her jacket. “Hey, cut that out!”
The cat went limp. Oh hell, I killed it. But it squirmed feebly as the wind keened around her. Now what? Hell hell hell hell hell.
“Is one of these going to be enough, hon?”
One eye in the mirror, he watched his own smile erode…then rebuilt it, grain by grain. When he considered the image convincing, he turned to find the barmaid studying him, her lips slightly parted, a sharp line creasing her forehead. Nodding at the mirror, he made a show of raking his fingers at the windblown mess of his hair.
“…have noticed if you’d been in before.” She watched him gulp the messy sandwich. “Guess you were hungry.” Dragging delicately at her lipstick-smeared cigarette, she plucked it from her mouth and dropped it back in the clamshell. “This bother you while you’re eating?”
“Sorry?” The food actually tasted of nicotine. “I mean, no. Fine.”
“The way you downed that—you sure one’s enough?”
Nodding, he wiped at his face with the paper napkin. “So, you from here?”
“Who me?” She practically gurgled. “I lived here all my life. This place was my dad’s, but I run it myself, since me and my husband split.” She blew smoke out of her mouth and sucked it back in through her nostrils, an action that made her look bizarre, dragonish. “Bar’s about the only business that makes money in this town, especially in winter. What did you say you were doing here?”
He gave her the new name and the story about being a real estate appraiser. “…several properties to inspect in the area. Might take a few days. You never know.” She accepted this without comment, and he nodded at his reflection. S o easy for me to fool them anymore. The hollow mask in the mirror watched him. Lying takes hardly any effort.
“Sal? Could you get the phone, hon?” Shaking another cigarette out of the pack, she felt around in her apron pocket. “You don’t smoke? Barry, is it?” The box of matches still lay on the counter, and she leaned forward so he could light her
“It’s all right.” Kit approached cautiously. “Don’t be afraid.” She reached out her hand. “No, no, don’t move.” The cat dragged dark smears behind it on the concrete. “Ssh. Have you been in a fight or something, huh? Poor little guy.” Actually, the cat struck her as unusually large.
I don’t even like cats much. In the past few minutes, the animal had twice followed her out onto the sidewalk, circling her while making that terrible noise, then had dragged itself back into the alley.
“You tangle with a dog, kitty?” At the sound of her voice, the wounded feline crept closer, only to twist unsteadily away. “You’re a size all right. I’d hate to see the other fellow. There now, cat. It’s all right.” Its legs tremored.
What the heck color is it anyway? Scant illumination floated into the alley, and she leaned closer. Great. Orange tail, one white ear, gray face: it looked as though it had been stitched together from parts of other animals. Frankenstein’s cat.
The next time the animal fell on its side, it failed to get up. Gingerly, she stroked the fur, but the beast didn’t twitch. Four streaks of blood glistened on its flank.
Suddenly, the broad head tilted, straining in her direction. Then the green glimmer of the eyes sealed shut again, and the head dropped.
Oh hell. It just died. She pulled off her glove and touched the cat’s ribs with her fingertips. The fur felt like frost, but underneath warmth throbbed. Anyway, it’ll be dead soon on a night like this, that’s for sure. Suddenly, green gleamed up at her again, and the mouth opened in a silent bleat.
Great. She put her glove back on and tried to lift the creature without hurting it or getting blood on herself. Now, what am I doing? Am I nuts? Stiffening, the cat arched and bristled, hissing like a ruptured steam pipe. She almost dropped it as claws dug frantically into the arm of her jacket. “Hey, cut that out!”
The cat went limp. Oh hell, I killed it. But it squirmed feebly as the wind keened around her. Now what? Hell hell hell hell hell.
“Is one of these going to be enough, hon?”
One eye in the mirror, he watched his own smile erode…then rebuilt it, grain by grain. When he considered the image convincing, he turned to find the barmaid studying him, her lips slightly parted, a sharp line creasing her forehead. Nodding at the mirror, he made a show of raking his fingers at the windblown mess of his hair.
“…have noticed if you’d been in before.” She watched him gulp the messy sandwich. “Guess you were hungry.” Dragging delicately at her lipstick-smeared cigarette, she plucked it from her mouth and dropped it back in the clamshell. “This bother you while you’re eating?”
“Sorry?” The food actually tasted of nicotine. “I mean, no. Fine.”
“The way you downed that—you sure one’s enough?”
Nodding, he wiped at his face with the paper napkin. “So, you from here?”
“Who me?” She practically gurgled. “I lived here all my life. This place was my dad’s, but I run it myself, since me and my husband split.” She blew smoke out of her mouth and sucked it back in through her nostrils, an action that made her look bizarre, dragonish. “Bar’s about the only business that makes money in this town, especially in winter. What did you say you were doing here?”
He gave her the new name and the story about being a real estate appraiser. “…several properties to inspect in the area. Might take a few days. You never know.” She accepted this without comment, and he nodded at his reflection. S o easy for me to fool them anymore. The hollow mask in the mirror watched him. Lying takes hardly any effort.
“Sal? Could you get the phone, hon?” Shaking another cigarette out of the pack, she felt around in her apron pocket. “You don’t smoke? Barry, is it?” The box of matches still lay on the counter, and she leaned forward so he could light her
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