Norton, Andre - Anthology (16 page)

 
          
 
They looked at each other. They looked at the
man. Andrew stared up the street, then back into the engine.

 
          
 
"There," Kip said, pointing to a
pedestrian. This one walked toward them with keys in his hand. "Shoot
him."

 
          
 
Key frowned. "I thought we weren't supposed
to—"

 
          
 
"Through the heart, like you did before.
When he sees the hood up."

 
          
 
Key let loose with her arrow, and it passed
through the man's heart. He stopped beside Andrew and the car. "What's the
trouble?"

 
          
 
"I think the battery may be dead."

 
          
 
Now that Kip heard the word
"battery," she realized that was what the arrow had struck, and why
it had gotten so hot to the touch.

 
          
 
"Let me bring my car over and give you a
jump." And the second man walked away.

 
          
 
Key shrieked with laughter, her eyes squeezed
nearly shut and her hands together at her mouth. Kip retrieved their arrow.
"I'm a great shot," Key said. "Right through the heart, and just
the right instant—"

 
          
 
"We're in so much trouble," Kip
said.

 
          
 
"Let them scold us," Key said.
"We're really smart and we do really good work and we're going to save the
cat after all."

 
          
 
Kip took another look at the offending arrow.
It had penetrated the battery a good four inches, and the feathered end touched
the engine block. Kip couldn't remember what batteries did, but she knew Andrew
had said it died, so this had to have been what killed it. And now the second
man was going to jump on it? She didn't hold out much hope.

 
          
 
The second man nosed his car into Andrew's and
pulled out a long line of thick cable. The jinn watched, confused but curious
as the second man started his engine, then stopped it. "Not working?"

 
          
 
"It just clicks."

 
          
 
"Again."

 
          
 
They did. Both men checked the cables, their
cheeks pink and their breath clouding from their mouths as they spoke, smoke
signals augmenting their words. They tried again, the second man running his
engine for nearly ten minutes.

 
          
 
Key sat on the curb. "It's not going to
work—I wrecked his car and now he's not even going to take the cat."

 
          
 
Kip sat beside Key, arms around her knees,
chin tilted up as she watched the men in their cars. Finally, Andrew got out
and disconnected the cables. Slamming the hood in disgust, he said, "I'll
just call a tow truck."

 
          
 
"Sorry I couldn't help you," the second
man said.

 
          
 
Key nocked another arrow. "Do
something!" she shouted. "Don't just leave!"

 
          
 
Kip rested a hand on Key's arm. "Let him
go. He doesn't know about the cat."

 
          
 
Key lowered the bow, rested her head on Kip's
shoulder.

 
          
 
The second man put one leg in his car, then
stopped. "You know," he said, leaning on the roof, "I have a
pickup."

 
          
 
Andrew kicked his tire. "You want to sell
it to me?"

 
          
 
The second man laughed. "It's got a
stronger battery—might be able to turn it over. It's worth a try."

 
          
 
He drove off to get the truck, and Key looked
back into the engine. "All this because of one lousy arrow. I wish I
hadn't shot it."

 
          
 
"If you hadn't shot it, the man wouldn't
have promised to take the cat," Kip said. "And if you hadn't shot the
first arrow, we wouldn't have found the cat to begin with."

 
          
 
"I guess. Let me go look at the
cat." Kip stayed with the car. She touched the arrow, a little hesitantly.
It had cooled by now. It resisted her as she tugged it. though.

 
          
 
The cat felt the jinn approaching, and he
lashed his tail.

 
          
 
Just my luck, to get picked up by jinn. Silly
and flighty. It's nice of them to give me food, but I don't need their help,
and they shouldn't be here.

 
          
 
The cat lifted his head as the jinn knelt
beside him, hissed when she touched him. You shouldn't be here. He inched away
from her fingers as she stroked his unwashed fur. No need to touch me if you
think I'm so "filthy" — I'm fine here, just tired. I'll sleep for a
bit and I'll be fine.

 
          
 
He closed his eyes, and the jinn left him to
the sunlight and the old-smelling newspaper.

 
          
 
Andrew sat in his car, wishing that at least
the heater worked. He'd taken little into the marriage, but the car had ended
up truer to him than the wife he'd traded everything else for. He fingered the
dashboard lightly, ran his hands over the steering wheel. "Why you,
too?" he asked. He'd never given the car a name, although his brother had
called it "Sweetheart." The car had just turned ten. The marriage had
turned five.

 
          
 
It took a while for the other man to return,
and Andrew kept making motions to get out and leave. What had possessed him to
say he'd take in that cat? He'd held his breath hoping Julie would demand he
give her that Siamese, wishing her attachment to the animal would prevail over
her desire to spite him, and it had.

 
          
 
But he had wondered, seeing a half-dead animal
lying in a box, what sort of person had abandoned the cat, and what he could do
to help it recover.

 
          
 
Strange bursts of compassion—and Andrew had
thought this a heartless city—had surrounded him this morning. The other man,
Steve, had offered to help when he'd remembered the last time he was stuck.
Steve missed an appointment because of him.

 
          
 
"The animal probably has fleas,"
Andrew muttered. "And ticks. It's probably going to cough up hairballs on
the bed and howl at the moon."

 
          
 
He glanced across the street to the bank, and
a smile crept up his face. "I wonder if I could repay the debt by getting
a goldfish?"

 
          
 
A pickup rattled to a stop nose-to-nose with
the dead car. Even Kip could tell the truck was old, that the rust around the
wheel wells and the doors had been accumulated painstakingly, each winter
adding salt to the mixture, salt that munched patiently at last year's damage.

 
          
 
"Are you sure we won't kill your engine
trying to revive mine?" Andrew asked.

 
          
 
The second man slapped the pickup with his
palm. "The engine's just fine. Runs like a tank."

 
          
 
"Sounds like a tank," Key said,
drawing up beside Kip. "Cat's sleeping. Still didn't eat."

 
          
 
The jinn waited while the men repeated the
hookup, and while the pickup started. Andrew started his engine, and it
coughed.

 
          
 
Kip grinned. "It didn't make any sound at
all before."

 
          
 
Both jinn looked into the engine, and it
coughed again. The arrow glowed. "Come on," Key said. "I promise
I won't shoot any more arrows ever again, and—"

 
          
 
She didn't get to make a second promise. The
arrow blew apart, and at thatjnoment the engine started.

 
          
 
Key whooped, leaped Into the air and beamed
with her eyes squeezed closed. Kip picked flecks of arrow shrapnel from her
hair.

 
          
 
Andrew kept his car running while the second
man disconnected the cables and drove off. Kip and Key moved close to the car.
After a while, Andrew pulled out of his space and merged into traffic.

 
          
 
"Hey!" Key said.

 
          
 
The jinn waited for the car to return, but it
didn't.

 
          
 
"I don't understand," Kip said.
"He promised. He felt bad for the cat and he promised us."

 
          
 
They walked back through the lunch-hour
traffic to the bank. More people had come in now, but in their lunch-hour hurry
no one stopped for a dying cat. Kip sat beside the cat and touched his fur as
only a jinn can. Even angels can't make themselves present to an animal in that
way, being more spiritual than physical. Jinn have an animal nature, so animals
respond to their presence not with fright, but with calm. The cat purred to
comfort himself as Kip touched him, her fingertips stroking the matted fur.

 
          
 
"Maybe someone else will come in,"
Key said. "School gets out in the early afternoon, so maybe a parent will
take a kid in here and the kid will beg to keep the cat."

 
          
 
"He's not even fully grown yet," Kip
said.

 
          
 
They sat very still in the stale air of the
bank, on either side of the cat in the box. He purred weakly now.

 
          
 
"Maybe I should try the ATM card once the
sun goes down." Kip folded her hands in her lap. "They'll scold us
for it, but we'll have saved the cat."

 
          
 
"What are you going to do—leave the money
in the box with the cat?" Key shook her head. "We can carry the cat
after sunset, anyhow. And even then, we can't be seen by anyone. The angels
would lock us up for that."

 
          
 
The cat listened even though his ears never
lifted. The jinn felt sorry for him. Ridiculous — I'll be up in no time, just
when I feel like it. I don't feel like it yet. They talked to each other and
not to him, the cat noticed. And that's just fine with me.

 
          
 
They had thought someone cared about him. One
of the jinn talked more than the other, but both felt confused. Shouldn't be,
the cat thought. It would be the first time anyone looked after me. Not that I
need help — I'd be fine if it weren't so cold.

 
          
 
Better this way, the cat thought. No one
bothers me. People throw things anyhow.

 
          
 
The sun's rays had stopped striking the bank after
noon
, but outside it remained bright.

 
          
 
''Kids will start passing in a little
while," Kip said.

 
          
 
The cat had fallen asleep, and every so often
Key would touch the tired body, not so much to see if the cat was alive as to
reassure herself. The jinn would know the instant he died.