Someplace to Be Flying (38 page)

Because it made no sense, he told himself. No sense at all. The world didn’t have room for imaginary twins being real, or for secret races of animal people.

But still …

He wondered now: On the walk home from the park, when he’d been talking to Kerry about the eccentricities of the Rookery’s residents, who had he been trying to convince that their behavior was merely odd, not proof that magic existed? Kerry? Or himself?

When they were finished cleaning up the kitchen, Hank began taking garbage bags down to the bin beside the house, leaving Lily upstairs to set up her computer and check her camera equipment to make sure it was all still in working order. The gear was all too specialized for him and he knew he’d only get in her way if he tried to help.

He was on his second trip to the bin when he saw a beat-up black VW bug pull in behind his cab. Shoulder muscles tightening, he stepped quickly into the shadows alongside the house. Then he had to smile and the tension left his shoulders. It was only Moth, driving one of Anita’s junkers.

“Hey, kid,” Moth said as Hank approached the VW. “You not answering your phone anymore?”

“Left it in the car. What’s up? You find Katy?”

Moth shook his head. “Can you believe Anita actually likes these cars?” he said as he struggled to get out.

“That’s because she’s half your size.”

“So’s Terry and you don’t see him driving one.”

Hank laughed. He liked VWs himself. First car he’d actually owned, as opposed to boosted, had been a bug.

Moth gave the porch light a pointed look. “Think we can kill the light?” he asked. “Makes me feel too much like a target.”

Hank went into the hallway to turn it off, then joined Moth on the porch steps. Moth pulled an ever-present pack of cigarettes out from where it was tucked in between his biceps and the sleeve of his T-shirt, shook a cigarette out, lit up.

“Still can’t find Jack either,” he said.

“Maybe they took a road trip together.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping, too.”

But neither of them believed it.

“How’d you know I was here?” Hank asked.

Moth blew out a stream of blue-gray smoke. “Lucky guess.”

“Too bad you can’t use a bit of that luck to find Katy and Jack.”

“That’s what’s got me worried,” Moth told him. ” ‘Course the pair of ‘em have always had a kind of elusive quality.”

“That what you were calling me about?”

“Nah. Paris’s been trying to get hold of you. Said to tell you she found your dick.” Moth grinned. “And I didn’t even know you’d lost it.”

“Marty’s going to owe me big-time for all the crap I’ve been taking on this.”

“And to think I never thought he had much of a sense of humor.”

“You’ve just never liked lawyers.”

Moth shrugged. “What can I say? Whenever I see one, the next thing I know some judge is handing me a few years in the state pen.”

“Must be tough, you always being innocent and all.”

“You know the drill, kid. Inside, everybody’s innocent.”

“Except for the short-eyes,” Hank said.

Moth’s eyes went hard. “Any guy can’t keep his hands off a kid deserves what he gets. We know it and they know it. Why the hell do you think they’re always whining about rehab? Like therapy’s going to help when the wires are that crossed. But the lawyers push for it and the judges buy into it and next thing you know the freak’s out on the street, stalking kids again.”

“Marty doesn’t defend pedophiles.”

“Never said that he did.” Moth flicked his butt toward the sidewalk, where it landed in a shower of sparks. “So are you doing the ran with Eddie tonight?”

Hank shook his head. “There was a little problem here,” he said and explained what had happened to Lily in Arizona and how her apartment had been torn apart.

“What’re they looking for?” Moth asked.

“Damned if we know.”

Moth nodded, lit up another cigarette. “You like this one, don’t you?”

“You’re beginning to sound like Paris.”

“I thought you did,” Moth said. “You should bring her by the yard sometime, give us all a chance to meet her.”

Hank smiled. And let her see what she was getting into. Because one thing would never change. The family was always part of the package.

“I’ll do that,” he said. “When all of this blows over.”

“That can’t come too soon for me.”

“Tell me about it.”

Moth took a long drag, slowly let it out. “This woman you were saying Lily met in Tucson—you think she could be the same Margaret in Jack’s stories?”

As soon as Moth said it, Hank knew he had to be right. Jack’s Margaret was also dark-haired with those white stripes of hair at her temples. Feisty, knew her way around.

“How’d you make the connection?” he asked.

“I’m not saying she is or she isn’t,” Moth said, “but it’d make sense.”

“You ever meet her?”

“Nah. She’d ran more with Paris’s crowd. Ask her when you call her about your dick.”

Hank sighed. He refused to look at Moth, but he couldn’t ignore the snicker.

“Let me know when you get tired of this one,” he said.

That woke a deep belly laugh from Moth.

“Oh, kid,” he managed when he finally caught his breath. “If you could see your face you’d know that might never happen.”

Great, Hank thought. Like he was ever going to hear the end of this now. Marty was
really
going to owe him for this.

“Can you pick up Eddie tonight?” he asked.

“Sure. I’ll just do some mix and matching with Terry, but we can work it out.”

“I was thinking,” Hank added. “Maybe you could ask Eddie to do me a favor.”

Moth’s voice was cautious. “What kind of favor?” “Set up a meet for me with the Couteaus.”

Moth shook his head. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, kid. Eddie already told us how he feels about getting involved with them.” “I’m just asking him to set it up.” “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“You two go back a long way,” Hank said. “He’ll do it for you where he’d just put me off.”

Moth gave him a long steady look. “What’ve you got planned?” he asked.

“Nothing. I just want to talk to them, get them off our backs. Find out what they’re looking for.”

“And if it’s something you can’t give?”

“I have to know what’s going on,” Hank said. “We’re getting nowhere, stumbling around in the dark, and if we don’t do something, somebody’s going to get hurt.”

“Somebody’s already gotten hurt—or are you forgetting that one of them’s dead?”

“They aren’t going to know we had anything to do with that.” “You hope.”

Hank sighed. “Okay. So feed me some ideas. We’ve already tried to stay out of it, but that didn’t work. They trashed Lily’s apartment and came looking for her in Tucson. Do I wait until she’s dead before doing something?”

Moth didn’t reply immediately. He lit up another smoke and stared at the dark houses across the street, then finally stood up. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll talk to Eddie.”

Sender: [email protected]
Date: Sun, 1 Sep 1996 15:40:22 ?0500
From: 'Donna Gavin' 
Organization: Tamarack Publishing
To: [email protected]
Subject: Check this out
Okay, now before you say anything, I didn't tell
anybody what you told me. But I have been doing
some research into this whole 'bird people' busi-
ness. (Hello? Do you feel as weird as I do taking
this seriously?)
Anyways,
You know that guy Andy Parks in Sales that I told
you about-the one who acts like he knows _every-
thing _ and, unfortunately, is really bright and
not in your face about it so that you can't hate
him for being so damn smart?
I called him up earlier today and pretended I'd
been talking to a writer who's trying to research
Legends and foLktales and stuff about crows that
can also be people but she couldn't find any refer-
ence material on it, so did he have any sugges-
tions. What, like werewolves, except they're crows?
he says. So I go, I guess except then he says, wait
a minute, isn't there some kind of Indian thing
about-I hope I get this word right-shapeshifters.
Or was it shapechangers?
Well, the upshot is he says he'll look into it and
I figure, that's that, he's blowing me off, only he
calls me back a couple of hours Later and says the
only thing he can find on our bird people, crows in
particular, is this book called _Kickaha Wings_
which was written by a retired Butler U. prof (!)
who still lives in Newford (!!), His name's Bramley
Dapple. I think I actually remember him. Didn't he
teach art history and actually look a little bit
like a bird himself?
Andy doesn't have a copy of the book himself, but
he knows someone who does. He says it's a fairly
slim voLume collecting a handfuL of Kickaha myths
dealing with shapeshifting bird entities. Published
by East Side Press in Newford-that's still Alan
Grant's imprint, isn't it?-and illustrated in what
Andy's friend calls a Rorschach inkblot style by a
Barbara Nichols.
If they don't have a copy at the library-though
they really should, considering the author's local
and all-Andy's offered to photocopy his friend's
copy for you.
>won't be back until late Monday night
Well, I hope you had a good time in Tucson and I
expect a full report.
You are being very careful, aren't you?
Love
D.

A soft tap on the door of her office made Lily look up from Donna’s latest email. She smiled when she saw Hank standing there.

“Everything working all right?” he asked.

She shook her head. “The computer and modem seem to be okay, but my printer won’t work. All the parts look the way they’re supposed to—at least I’m pretty sure they do—so it must be something internal.”

The screen on her monitor had been smashed as well, but she’d hung on to her old monochrome dinosaur, storing it in the closet. They’d only knocked it over onto its side and it still worked.

“How about your developing equipment?”

“It seems to have survived,” she said. “The bulb’s broken on the enlarger, but it’s pretty sturdy so I think it’ll be okay.”

“You’ve got insurance?”

She nodded. “Two hundred deductible. I suppose that should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. It’s going to take so long to get everything fixed up again. And the worst thing is, I don’t even know if I want to live here anymore. This used to be my home; now it’s more like some Tombs squat and I don’t feel at all safe in it.”

There were dents and holes in the drywall from having had computer components and the like thrown against it. Deep gouges in the wooden floors. Lily and Hank had replaced all her files in the file cabinet, but it was going to take days to put them back in order—not to mention the weeks it would take to reorganize all her file photographs. And that was just this room. Her darkroom smelled so strongly of spilled chemicals that it was hard to stay in it for any length of time. The kitchen still reeked, even though they’d had it airing for hours now.

“We don’t have to stay here,” Hank said. “We could find a hotel room. Maybe you’d feel safer there.”

“But all my things would still be here. If they were to come back …”

“I don’t think they’ll be back. They went through this place pretty thoroughly and didn’t find what they were looking for.”

He hesitated then and Lily knew what he was leaving unspoken.

“It’s me they want now, isn’t it?” she said.

“Hard to say,” he told her. “We don’t know what they’re looking for.”

She appreciated the way he was downplaying the danger, but they both knew that anyone who’d gone to this much trouble wasn’t about to give up now. Whatever they wanted from her, the state of her apartment was proof that they wanted it badly. Sighing, she swiveled her chair so that she was facing her computer screen again.

“I got an email from a friend of mine,” she said. “Here. Read it.”

He came into the room and looked at the screen over her shoulder. When he’d finished, he pulled a straight-backed chair over and straddled it so that he could fold his arms across the back.

“Do you remember this Professor Dapple?” he asked.

“Not really. But it’d be worth stopping by the library in the morning to see if they have the book, wouldn’t it?”

Hank nodded. “The more we know, the better off we’ll be.”

“Oh, I’ve got something to show you,” Lily said. “Wait here a sec.”

She went into the living room and brought back the knapsack she’d taken with her to Arizona. From the open top she took out a small soft leather pouch and passed it over to him.

“What’s this?”

“Look at it. I found it in my knapsack when you were putting the garbage out.”

Hank opened the pouch and shook a handful of silver jewelry onto his palm. There were three bracelets, one a smooth solid band almost an inch wide, the other two braided. A fourth was inlaid with a vibrant piece of polished turquoise holding dark red-brown veins that made an almost recognizable pattern. Half-formed pictographs. Maybe a fossilized bird track. The same turquoise was in a couple of the rings and the brooch. The earrings were spiraling silver designs.

He looked up at her. “When you say you found it … ?”

“I mean I didn’t pack it,” Lily said. “Margaret must have put it in there. She’s the only one who could have.”

“Because she helped you pack.”

Lily nodded. “I got my camera gear together while she put everything else in the knapsack.”

“So …” Hank looked down at the jewelry in his hand, then slid it back into the pouch. “What are you saying? You think whoever trashed your place was looking for this?”

“No. I mean, how could they? I didn’t have the jewelry—I hadn’t even met Margaret yet when my place got trashed, or when we first met in that alleyway.”

“These must be worth a lot.”

“I’d say. This woman I sat with on the plane paid a fortune for the jewelry she’d bought while she was there and none of it was nearly as nice as this.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Me, neither.” She gave him a sudden smile. “Maybe it’s her hoard—you know how magpies are supposed to collect bright objects? I never saw anyone wear as much jewelry as she did. But on her it wasn’t, like, overkill or anything It worked.”