Joe glanced back at Dulcie, where she crouched behind him.
"Who you looking for?" Greeley said. "There ain't nobody here but me-and my friend." Slyly he glanced around to the shadowed crates behind him.
"Who you looking for?" he repeated. "Or are you just out for an evening's stroll, in this delightful portion of the village?"
"We weren't looking for you," Joe said coldly. Dulcie stared at him, shocked, and wanted to slap a paw over his mouth.
But why not speak? Obviously Azrael had told Greeley all about them-thank-you very much. And now from the shadows behind Greeley, a voice mumbled, and Greeley laughed harshly.
"Who you looking for, then, if not me?" Greeley said rudely.
There was another comment from behind him, and his eyes widened. "You cats looking for Pearl Ann? Is that it? You come looking for Pearl Ann Jamison?"
They hunched lower, crouching single file on the narrow ledge.
"You two don't want to mess with Pearl Ann. You don't know half about her. What you want with her?"
Joe glanced behind him at Dulcie. She would have to turn around and go first if they were to return the way they had come and approach Greeley.
She flattened her ears, shook her head. She didn't want to do that.
"Go on, Dulcie. Move it. We can't stay here all night."
She crouched, frozen.
He flipped around on the ledge, seeming to hang in midair, then crouched on the ledge facing her, waiting for her to turn back.
She hunched, staring at him, their noses inches apart, her green eyes huge and uncertain. He had seldom seen her afraid- fear was not her nature. Irritated, he tensed to spring over her along the thin protrusion.
She glared at him but at last she switched ends, flipping around precariously on the thin bricks, holding her breath as her three paws struck empty air then hit the bricks again, and she started back reluctantly toward Greeley. At every step she wanted to beat it out of there.
"Go on," Joe growled. "Hurry up."
She padded a trifle faster.
"Move it, Dulcie. What can he do to us?"
She could think of a number of things.
"Go on. Show a little spine."
That moved her. She gritted her teeth and headed fast for Greeley, racing along the bricks, her tail low, her ears plastered tight to her head.
As she reached the window the old man stepped aside, and she warily slipped beneath the raised glass, dropping to the floor and backing away from Greeley. Beside her Joe hit the floor with a heavy thud. Immediately Greeley slammed the window. They heard the lock slide home.
23
THE SMALL, crowded room was shut tight, the window bolted, the door securely closed. Around the cats towered cardboard cartons labeled Scotch, rum, bourbon, and vodka, either the supplies for a huge private party or perhaps the extra stock of a nearby liquor store. The room stunk of booze as if Greeley had been happily sampling the various brands. The only light was from a battery-operated lamp of the kind kept for emergency power outages. Anyone who had been through a California earthquake or considered such matters maintained a stock of battery-powered lamps, a radio, bottled water, and emergency food and medical supplies. The cats saw none of these other essentials, only enough booze to weather any quake, and the squat lamp, its light reflecting from the eyes of the black tomcat where he crouched atop the tallest stack of boxes glaring down at them: an ebony statue, the great el primo gato.
In the far corner an old, stained mattress lay nested between the cardboard cases, fitted out with a limp pillow ticked in gray stripes, and a wrinkled army blanket laced with moth holes. On a box beside the bed stood four cans of beans, with a can opener, a dirty paper plate, an open bag of chips, and a pair of dirty socks.
The opposite corner of the room served as a depository for trash and empty cans.
Greeley's shirt and pants were wrinkled and stained, and he smelled not only of rum but desperately in need of a bath.
"What you want, you cats? You didn't come to this dump sightseeing. Why you looking for Pearl Ann?"
But then the old man's face crumpled. "You didn't come to make condolences, either." He stared hard at them. "You saw her, didn't you. You saw her dead-I saw you looking!" He sat down on the mattress, eased a bottle of rum from under the blanket and upended it, taking a long pull. He was so pitiful that Dulcie wanted to pat his face with a soft paw.
"Ought to have swish 'n' swash," he said and took another swig. "But you need a coconut for that." He giggled at a joke the two cats didn't understand; they watched him, unblinking.
"What, for Christ's sake?" he shouted at them. "What you staring at?" He leaped up suddenly, lunging at them. Dulcie flipped away but Joe crouched snarling, ready to strike.
Greeley paused, uncertain.
"Pearl Ann Jamison," Joe hissed. "Where does she live? Which room?"
Greeley's laugh blasted the air, drowning them in the stink of rum. "I knew it. What you looking for her for?"
He sat unsteadily on a carton. "She rented the last empty room. All I could get was this storeroom."
He smirked at them, pleased. "Rental office let me have it cheap, when I tole 'em I was teetotal." And he belched and scratched his belly.
"So what do you want with her?" he said roughly. "You tell me what's your business with this Pearl Ann, maybe I'll show you which room."
For a moment, no one spoke; the three cats and the old man stared at each other, caught in a vacuum of silence. Then Greeley dug three paper cups from an open carton and set them in a row on the floor.
Pouring several inches of rum into each, he pushed two toward Joe and Dulcie. "Drink up, folks," he said, cheerfully lifting the bottle.
The biting smell of rum burned the cats' noses, made them back away. The old man stood up abruptly, catching himself against the cartons, and on tiptoe he reached to slide the third cup across the cartons to Azrael. Azrael turned his head and slitted his eyes against the fumes.
Greeley drained the bottle. And his face crumpled, tears streaking down.
"They were into something," he said softly. "Dora and Ralph. Playing cop maybe. Or maybe blackmail." He hiccuped and leaned against the cartons, scowling at the floor. He was silent for so long they thought he'd gone to sleep.
But suddenly he snatched up the battery light. "Well, come on!" He glared down at them, his red eyes watery. "I got a key to Pearl Ann's place, if that's what you're after."
His boozy laugh cracked. "She don't know I got it. Azrael fetched it. No trick at all for him to slip in through the transom. She thought she lost her key," he said, smirking. "She got another from the rent office. And what do they care?" He unbolted the door and led them down a narrow, dark hall that smelled of mice and human urine.
Padding warily after him along the dirty linoleum, Joe and Dulcie heard a loud thump behind them as Azrael hit the floor. They turned to see the black torn swagger out, taking up the rear like a guard walking behind two prisoners.
Pearl Ann's room was at the far end of the gloomy hall. Twisting a skeleton key in the lock, Greeley shoved the door open; when the cats hesitated, he laughed.
"Scared, huh? Scared I'll lock you in?" He slapped his knee, giggling, then crossed the room. Pounding on the window frame, he managed to loosen it. Lifting the bottom half, he propped it open with a dented metal wastebasket. "There, that suit you better?"
They padded into the close, sour-smelling room. In one corner stood an iron bed neatly made up with a worn chenille spread faded to the color of a grimy floor mop. The scarred dresser was of the waterfall era that had been popular in the forties, an incredibly ugly piece but one that had enjoyed a recent revival. Joe leaped to its top, onto a film of dust.