" Si, buenas. Muy buena suerte."
He went a block and a half before he realized he'd left his umbrella back at the cafe. It wasn't raining hard, though, and Lisa Marie could use it.
This was how it happened. Rory sacrificed her job, making sure the world knew the truth. So he would be standing down at the Cape with President Davis, to meet the supposed aliens.
He passed a woman who was sitting on a park bench, sobbing, her face in her hands. Her white dress, saturated with rain, revealed her alluring figure. He vaguely recognized her—a student?—and slowed to say something, but then went on. She didn't want company in her grief.
Gabrielle
She heard his steps hesitate— please stop, talk to me, hold me—but he didn't stop, would she? Probably, it didn't happen all that often, you come home and find your cat lying dead, and then the president and all those others, she had poor Happy's body in a shoebox and didn't know what to do with it.
Am I being punished for sin, is my mother's God really up there counting the times I put a camera up my cunt to pay the bills? No, cats die, presidents die, snap out of it, you know better, you know better.Her nose was running and she didn't have anything in her purse; she blew into her wet hand and scraped the mucus onto the bottom of the park bench, then splashed her palm in the puddle at her feet, and rubbed her nose hard against her forearm.
Aliens dropping out of the sky, a science father figure blows up himself and everybody in the room, a perfectly good cat drops over dead, and I'm ten minutes late for an anal-intercourse shoot. Which I'm not going to do. Even if it means my job. Louis is gentle but he's just too big around. It's not the proper use for that opening; things are supposed to come out, not go in.
"Oh, sweetheart. Things can't be that bad."
She wiped her eyes and looked up. It was the old lady with the shopping cart. She sat down next to her. "What is it that's so bad?"
She looked into the old kind face. "My cat died."
"Oh, my." She lifted a corner of the sodden shoebox and looked inside. "What was her name?"
"His name. Happy."
"Never had a boy cat. Lots of girl cats. You want one?"
"Not now, no. Thank you, no."
"You got cat people and dog people, you know? My husband, he was a dog person. One reason I had to get rid of him."
Gabrielle smiled. "He take the dog with him?"
"No, that would be cruel. I kept the dog, even though he smelled bad." She leaned close and whispered. "He had gas. Both of them did."
Gabrielle wiped her eyes. "How long ago was that?"
"Thirty-some years, I guess. Buried him when Hull was president. Hardly anybody had the cube back then."
"You still think about the poor thing."
"Oh, yeah. Buried him under a big piece of plywood out in the swamp. Mall there now."
"You couldn't just bury him in the backyard?"
"No. Gosh and golly. Way too big. Laws, too."
"There are laws about burying dogs?"
She nodded slowly. "Some kinds." She looked over Gabrielle's shoulder. "Afternoon, Officer."
Rabin
He touched the brim of his plastic cap. "Good afternoon, Suzy Q. Are you ladies all right?"
"Nobody's all right, Officer. Nobody's all wrong, nobody's all right. We all of us stuck in the middle."
He smiled a little. "It's a hard day for everybody. Can't I give you a ride to the shelter?"
"We gone through that before, Officer. I don't want nobody preachin' at me."
"You could stand it for a little while. It's a roof over your head."
"Ain't nothin' wrong with my head."
He held up a hand. "I just don't want you to get pneumonia again. You remember two years ago?"
"I remember eightyyears ago. Don't you worry about me."
"She won't catch penumonia from exposure," the beautiful woman said. She touched the old woman's hand. "But he's right. You should get out of this rain."
"You should, too, ma'am. You're not exactly dressed for this."
"No." She startled him by taking off her hair and wringing it out. "What I'm dressed for is getting fucked in the ass."
"What?"
"People do it," Suzy Q. said in her defense. "Where you been all these years?"
Rabin swallowed a couple of times. "Sure. But you're wet. You're cold and wet."
The beautiful woman patted her hair into place and favored him with a brilliant smile. "It's a living. Not the cold and wet. The other."
"You aren't a whore, are you?" Suzy Q. said.
"No. No, I'm an actress. And a medical student." She looked up at Rabin. "No laws broken. I just do cube for the Institute of Sexual Studies here." Still smiling, she started to cry. "Could you do me a favor? Could you do something with my cat?"
" Perdón?"
She pushed the shoebox an inch toward him. "My cat died. He just died, with the president. I don't know what to do with him. And I don't want to go to work and I wish it would stop raining."
He carefully picked up the sodden box. "Sure, don't worry about it. But will you do something for me?"
"Sure. That's what I do, is do things for men."
"Get yourself and Suzy inside somewhere. I don't want her to die on my shift."
"Okay. Is that a deal, Suzy?"
"Okay. Let's get a cuppa coffee." They headed toward Main Street, the beautiful woman pushing the cart. She wasn't wearing underwear, and her buttocks clung to the translucent fabric, rolling. Rabin's heterosexual fraction watched with interest. What would it be like to do that with a woman? Just different scenery, he supposed.
His civilian phone rang. He wiggled it out of his pocket. "Yeah?"
"Qabil, this is Felicity."
"What?" The dispatcher? Why wasn't she calling on the shoulder unit?
"I'm downstairs, on the pay phone. Look, you're friends with Norman Bell."
"Well, I ... "
"You're friends. He and his wife have to disappear right now.I was just up in the boss's office and he got a call from some FBI guy. The feds are gonna pick them up tonight and take them to Washington for questioning."
"About what?"
"You didn't see the cube? Of course not. Look, they're suspected of being foreign agents. For France or her allies."
"What bullshit!"
"Yeah, and they know it is. He joked about it; they just want to lock her up and throw away the key. It's serious, Qabil. A presidential order. From that senile old Indian."
"Allah. Thanks, Felicity. I'll call him right away."
Norman
Exasperated, Norman hit the "save" button on the Roland and touched the phone screen. It stayed blank.
"Turn off your house," said a voice he didn't recognize. Another blackmailer?
"House, turn yourself off for thirty minutes." It chimed. "Okay. Who are you?"
There was a click, the distorter going off, and a heavy sigh. "Norm, it's Qabil. There's real trouble."
"Yeah? ¿ Que pasa?"
"Is Rory home?"
"No. I expect her any minute."
"You have to pack up and leave as soon as she gets home. The FBI's going to pick you up tonight, take you to Washington and bury you."