The Library at Mount Char (24 page)

After about fifteen minutes, Steve judged they had enough. Lou was a skinflint, but he never tried to cheat them. Steve's cut would be well over two thousand. With that, he could have his car. He had not told Jack this, but that meant something else to him as well. With his own wheels, he would not be so reliant on Jack for transportation. They could begin to go their separate ways.

Steve went up first, pulling himself up the rope with his shoulders. Jack, still in darkness, tied the pillowcase to the end of the rope. Steve hauled up the loot.

He was getting it untangled when he saw the flashing blue lights in
the distance. They weren't using sirens. For a long minute he hoped that it was just coincidence, but as they bore down he knew in his heart that it wasn't.

“Cops,” he hissed to Jack.

“What? How far?”

“Not far. Hurry.”

“Ah, shit.”

A minute later Jack was halfway up the rope. “Dude,” Steve said, “they're about two blocks away.”

Jack looked up at him, his face pale in the moonlight. He seemed resigned, and not especially worried. Steve was scared enough for both of them.

“Go,” Jack said. “I'll catch up.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Steve thought about it for a second, then took off. He left the bag on the roof. In later years he would lie awake in the dark and wonder why he had done that. The possibility of leaving Jack holding the bag—literally, ha-ha—either had occurred to him in that moment, or it had not. He simply could not remember.

Then the blue lights were bearing down on him, too close for anything but flight. He climbed over the side of the roof, dangled, dropped, bypassing the storm drain he and Jack had climbed up. He darted into the shadows behind the strip mall a second and a half before the lights turned into the parking lot. He hid behind a Dumpster as the first car did a tentative probe. Steve could hear the radio through the squad car's open window. “Suspect in custody.” It did a U-turn and circled back to the pharmacy.

This time there would be no juvenile court, no pre-trial intervention. That ship had sailed. Jack was charged as an adult with burglary. He might have lessened his sentence if he ratted Steve out, but he didn't. Martin and Celia got him a good lawyer, though. They pleaded it down to three years, out in eighteen months on good behavior. It wasn't such a long time as these things go, but even from the first visit, Steve could tell it wasn't going well. The prison was medium-security, but Jack was
young, relatively good-looking, and white. Quiet Lou had explained that he would be a prize, explained what that would mean. After only three days, Jack looked back at him with haunted eyes.

He lasted three months, then hanged himself with his underwear. Steve didn't go to the funeral, but he attended the graveside service. He watched from a hundred yards away, behind a tree. Celia saw him anyway. After she buried her oldest son she bore down on Steve, eyes bright, like a hawk descending on a field mouse. She didn't say anything. The woman who had bought him his one and only fifteenth-birthday present slapped him hard across one cheek and then the other and delivered her verdict.

“You…you little…you
asshole
.”

She was crying. Steve didn't stop her, didn't try to say anything. There was nothing to say.

As the days and weeks and seasons wore on he found himself repeating this nothing, not wanting to. Gradually he came to understand that this particular nothing was all that he could really say now. He chanted it to himself in cell blocks and dingy apartments, recited it like a litany, ripped himself to rags against the sharp and ugly poetry of it. It echoed down the grimy hallways and squandered moments of his life, the answer to every question, the lyric of all songs.

A
n hour or so after Steve and the lions took shelter in the room with the cave paintings, Mrs. McGillicutty's cell phone rang. Steve was sitting next to the female lion, checking her bandages. He stood with a grunt, limped across the room, and answered it on the fifth ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, Steve. It's Carolyn.”

“Of course it is.” He rummaged around in the supply pile for another piece of beef jerky. It was homemade, and very good. “Who else would it be, really?” He noticed that he was slurring a little.
Probably the pain pills. Or maybe the blood loss
.

“How are you?”

“Oh, I'm
great
,” he said, putting a little edge in his voice. “Thanks to you, I mean. I found the bandages and whatnot. Very helpful. I think the bleeding has stopped.”

“Well, that's good.”

“Yes. Yes, it is. And suspiciously convenient.”

Long pause.

“There's a little clay pot with a cork in it,” Carolyn said. “Did you see that?”

“Matter of fact, I did. Right next to the syringes? I wondered about what it was.”

“That's the one. I got it from my sister. What's in there will help you with blood loss.” She paused. “If, um, you know…if that's a problem.”

“As it happens, yes. I believe that it is. However could you have guessed? I'm pretty light-headed, and I don't think it's just the pain pills. So, what…do I chew up the little round things in the pot, or…?”

“Umm…no.”

“What, then?”

“Well, you, ah, that is…it's a suppository.”

“I see. So I should stick it up my ass, then?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“
I was just thinking the same thing about you
,” Steve roared. “
Cram it up your ass, you crazy, horrible bitch!
” He reached for the Off button, then something occurred to him. “Quick question, though, before I hang up on you.” He waited for a long time. “You still there?”

“Yes.”

“Does the stuff work on lions?”

“Lions?”

“Yes. Lions. My
backup
. Thanks for them as well, by the way. Those guys were awesome. They got here just in the proverbial nick of fucking time. But the female is banged up pretty bad. She's lost a lot of blood. I put a couple of those pressure bandages on her, but I think she's still bleeding.”

“They're not dead?”

“Nope,” Steve said, proud of himself for the first time in decades, “I let them in.”

“But…I told you…”

“Yes. You mentioned that they were ‘disposable.' I'm pretty sure that was your word. But seeing as how they'd just saved my life, I didn't feel like
leaving them out there to fucking die
was the dao way.”

“The what?”

“The dao way. It's Chinese. I meant it wasn't the right thing to do.”

“Oh. Your pronunciation…”

“What?”

“Never mind. But to answer your question, yes. It should work on lions as well.”

Steve was quiet for a long time.

“Are you still there?”

“What? Yes. Sorry. I was trying imagine sticking something up a lion's ass. I don't think I'm quite there yet.”

“Oh. Well…it's up to you. Like I said, at this point they're disposable. But they won't hurt you. They've given their word.”

“I see. Gave their word, did they? To you?”

“Not me. My brother.”

“The big scary guy?”

“No. My other brother. Michael. He talked with the lions. He told them to look after you.”

“Talked with the lions, did he?”

“Yes. We made a deal. They will protect you as if you were their own cub.”

“Maybe they were just being polite.”

“No,” she said seriously. “Dresden may be in exile, but he is still king. In his language the word for ‘promise' is the same as the word for ‘a bone that cannot be cracked.' He will do as he says.”

Steve considered this. When he spoke, some of the joking was gone from his voice. “If you say so. That seems to be what they're doing. And honestly, I'd almost figured out that they weren't going to hurt me.” He paused. “It just takes a while to wrap your head around the idea. When I got up this morning I was under the impression that lions were scary.” He patted Dresden's mane, offered him the rest of the beef jerky.

The big lion sniffed, then took it gingerly from his hands, exposing canines thicker than Steve's thumb.

“These two seem OK, though. We've struck a mighty blow against prejudice this day.” A thought occurred to him. “Say, do you know the female's name?”

She didn't answer at first. Then, he heard a deep, bass rumble that sounded exactly like a lion. Steve held the receiver away from his head, eyebrows raised. The male lion looked up at the sound, interested. “Is there another lion with you?”

“No. That was me. That's her name.”

“Oh.” Steve paused. “I don't think I can pronounce that right.”

“Probably not. Theoretically I can't either.”

“What do you mean, ‘theoretically'? I just—”

“Never mind. It takes practice. And minor surgery, to really get it right. But…you might call her Nagasaki. Naga for short. That was what the guy who kidnapped them did. They don't like those names, but they'd recognize them. They'd know who you meant.”

“Dresden and Nagasaki, huh? Cute. Are they married, or whatever you call it?”

“No. Naga's his cub.”

“Pretty big for a cub.”

“Well, his child. But she'll get bigger. She won't be full-grown for another couple of years.”

“If she makes it that long.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I said, she's lost a lot of blood. And I can't go anywhere because of the dogs. There's at least a couple hundred of them out there. How are you planning to get me out of here?”

“We'll walk. But it won't be until tomorrow, at the earliest.”

“She—Naga—she's not going to make it that long. And what the hell do you mean
‘we'll
' walk? I thought you couldn't—”

“We'll talk about it when I get there. Maybe I can—”

“Can't you alter your schedule or something? This lion…I mean, she saved my life.” For a moment he saw Jack's face through the hole in the roof of the pharmacy, trapped in a darkness he would never leave.
Go. I'll catch up
.

“I'm sorry, Steve. I just can't. But the lion isn't important.”

“Yeah, well, maybe she's important to me.” He hung up. “And fuck you.” She called back, then called back again. After the third time he turned the phone off.

W
hen he hung up, the female lion—
Naga
, Steve thought,
her name is Naga
—was still conscious, but only just. Despite his
best efforts and admirable patience on her part, blood was still leaking out from under the bandage. More important, she seemed to be getting worse. Putting on the pressure bandage had obviously hurt her, but she hadn't mauled him, hadn't even growled.

Talked with the lions, did they?
He could almost believe it. Not quite, but almost.

But maybe on some level he
did
believe it, because when he lifted the thick flesh of Naga's muzzle to check her capillary response, he really wasn't afraid at all. Steve wasn't a veterinarian, but he'd had a lot of dogs over the years, including one who got run over. He knew that one way to check for blood loss in animals was to push your thumb into the gums and watch how fast the color returns. If it comes back fast, that's a good sign. If it takes a while, like it had on Angie after she got hit by the car, not so much.

He didn't think Naga was quite as far gone as Angie had been, not yet, but she was getting there fast.

So, as an experiment, he shook one of the suppositories out of the little clay jug that Carolyn left for him and took it into the bathroom. There he bent over and used one trembling finger to cram it up his own ass. When he turned on the tap to wash his hands afterward, nothing came out. He used a couple of bottles of Dasani instead, lathering up a dry, ancient bar of Ivory soap gathering dust in a dish over the sink. By the time he got the stink off his index finger he felt better. A lot better, actually. Even the slurring in his voice was gone. But he was really thirsty. He guzzled two more bottles of water and half of a third before he stopped feeling parched.

Then, with a sigh, he pulled the cork out of the little clay jug and shook out another suppository. “Heeere, kitty-kitty,” he whispered under his breath.

Dresden looked at him quizzically.

“Sorry, big guy,” Steve said. “Bad joke.” He limped across the room. Naga lay in a fairly sizable pool of her own blood. He didn't want to sit in it and soak his pants, and with the way his ankle and calf were torn up he couldn't squat. Naga herself was no longer conscious, but Steve felt the eyes of her father on him, yellow and alien in the dim light of the overhead.

When he was ready, he bent at the waist and lifted her tail, exposing her rectum. She gave no response at first, but when Steve placed the small white globe against the puckered flesh and pushed it in, she trembled in her sleep. Dresden's brow furrowed. He took a step forward and showed Steve a flash of teeth.

Steve stood up rapidly, held his palms out to Dresden. “All done,” he said. “Sorry.” He took a step back. Dresden, to his relief, didn't follow. “I'm gonna go see if I can find a bowl,” he said. “If this works, she's liable to be awfully thirsty.”

The old woman was in the kitchen. Her husband, done with his mowing, was milling around on the porch with a couple of dogs. He seemed lost, bumping here and there among the dogs like a pinball, jiggling the locked door handle every so often. Inside, his wife stood at the kitchen sink dry-washing ancient, dusty dishes with a rotting sponge.

“Um…excuse me?”

“Supper isn't quite ready, dear. Why don't you go watch the game?”

“Do you have a bowl I could borrow? A biggish one? A mixing bowl, maybe?”

She blinked. “Why…yes. Yes I do.” She sounded almost as surprised as Steve was. She pointed at a cabinet under the stove. “There.”

“Thanks.” Steve opened the cabinet door and rummaged around inside. There was a stack of bowls—ceramic, stainless steel, plastic. With a clatter he slipped a good-sized one out of the pile.

“Supper isn't quite ready, dear.”

“I'll go watch the game.”

She smiled, nodded. He limped back into the living room. To his amazement, Naga was standing. As Steve watched, she took a single step. She wobbled but did not fall. Dresden moved to her hindquarters and sniffed at her butt with a quizzical look on his face.

“Feeling better?” Steve heard real relief in his own voice. “Awesome.”

Probably the lions heard it too. They swished their tails, accidentally and amusingly in sync. Steve went to the supply pile and emptied half a dozen bottles of water into the bowl. Naga's nostrils flared as he did this, and she took another step. This time when she lost her balance she did fall.

“Don't try to do too much,” Steve said. “I'll bring it to you.” He set the bowl down in front of her. She lapped at it greedily until more than half was gone, then lay on her side.

Hesitantly, Steve touched her muzzle. She pulled away, causing Steve to jerk his hand back.
You could call it overreaction, but if ever there was a good time to be jumpy, it's when fiddling around with a lion's mouth
. Then she leaned forward and licked his knuckles. Dresden, watching this, swished his tail again.

“Do you mind if I…?” Tentatively, he touched her muzzle again. When she didn't draw back, he lifted her lip and pressed his thumb into the gum just behind her left incisor. He tested twice, comparing it against the same test done on his own fingernail. He judged her to be better, but not quite well.

He slid around to her hindquarters and inspected the pressure bandages on her hip. The bandage was bloated and dripping blood, saturated. Steve debated changing it, then settled for tying a third one, his last, over the first two. He pressed down on this, hoping that the direct pressure would help. It seemed like the sort of thing they did on doctor shows.

A
n hour later he was still pressing down. Naga's bleeding was better, but it hadn't completely stopped. There was one more suppository left in the little clay jug. He went back and forth about when to use it. Now? Or at the last minute? He had no idea how the thing worked, so he couldn't begin to guess. Was it like a video game where if you drink your health potion too soon you waste some of the benefit? Or was it like sharpening a knife, where it was best to put forth a little effort to whet the edge every time you used it rather than waiting until it got really dull before you trotted out the sharpening stone? He didn't know.

What he did know was that if he couldn't get the bleeding to stop, Naga was unlikely to be around for Carolyn's return. “And you won't want to miss that,” Steve whispered. “It's
bound
to be weird.”

As he waited, his mind drifted back to Jack, who had also been kind
to him, and to whom he had brought ruin. Thinking this, looking down at Naga's wounded body, it came to him that there might be a new way to say the nothing that had weighed on his heart for so very long. He touched Naga's neck, gently. She lifted her head a little, looked at him.

“I'm going to get you out of here.”

His words hung in the dusty silence of the living room. Dresden turned at the sound, golden eyes solemn over his blood-caked muzzle. Carolyn's words echoed in his mind.
He is still king. His word for ‘promise' also means ‘a bone that cannot be cracked.'
Steve met the lion's gaze. “Yeah. I'm going to get her out of here if it fucking kills me.”