Fiends. Part 24

Outside, she'd used w.i.l.l.y's pocket knife to take the legs off his jeans and make herself a pair of cut-offs to wear. She'd put on the shorts, then dropped the knife into her pocket.

The knife had come in mighty handy in the shack last night. Without it, she'd still be cuffed to w.i.l.l.y.

She planned to keep the knife forever.

And keep it always ready, just in case.

Now, walking alongside the road, she heard the sound of an engine. Turning around, she watched a bright blue pickup truck come around a bend.

She put out her arm to hitch a ride.

It was no surprise when the pickup stopped for her. No surprise at all. Not the way she was dressed.

She bent toward the pa.s.senger window.

The driver, a nice-looking young man, smiled at her. He wore a T-shirt and tan shorts. His smile looked friendly. *Can I give you a lift?' he asked, and glanced at her flimsy, makeshift bikini top.

*You aren't some kind of pervert or fiend, are you?'

He suddenly blushed. *Me? Nope.'

*Better not be,' Tina said. *I'd hate to have to kill you.'

*You and me both,' he said, and laughed a little.

Smiling, she climbed in.

*Where to?' he asked.

*Home,' she said.

KITTY LITTER.

*She's here for a kitty!'

My flinch came to an end before the second word was out of her mouth, but my heart still thudded fast and hard. I'd thought I was alone, you see. I was stretched out on my lounger beside my backyard pool, surrounded by redwood fence, enjoying a new 87th Precinct paperback, savoring the feel of the sunlight and the warm breeze.

The invasion took me by complete surprise.

After the jolt by the imperious voice, I jerked my head sideways and saw the girl.

Already, she was inside the gate and marching boldly toward me.

I knew right away who she was.

Monica from down the block.

Though we'd never actually met, I'd seen Monica around. And heard her. She had a loud, nasal voice which she operated primarily to snap back at her poor mother and berate her little friends.

I knew her name because she was often the subject of shouted warnings and threats. I also knew it because she used it herself. She belonged to the odd tribe that refers to itself in the third person.

She was about ten years old, I suppose.

If I had not been so unfortunate as to observe her behavior on previous occasions, I certainly would've been struck by the beauty of the girl striding toward me. She had rich brown hair, gleaming eyes, excellent facial features, a flawless complexion, and a slender body. She didn't look beautiful to me, however.

Nor did she look cute, though she wore a delightful outfit comprised of a pink cap with a jauntily upturned bill, a denim pinafore dress, a white blouse, white knee socks and athletic shoes of pink to match her cap.

She was neither beautiful nor cute because she was Monica.

To my way of thinking, there is no such thing as a beautiful or cute snot.

She halted beyond the foot of my lounger and scowled at me. Her eyes flicked up and down my body.

My swimsuit had never been meant for public inspection. I quickly sheltered myself with the open book. It lay like a pitched roof atop my lap.

*You are Mr. Bishop?' she demanded.

*That's right.'

*The man with the kitties?'

I nodded.

She nodded back at me. She bobbed on her toes. *And you're giving them away for free?'

*I'm hoping to find good homes for them, yes.'

*Monica will have one then.'

*And who is Monica?' I asked, though obviously I knew the answer.

She pumped a small thumb against her chest, dead center between the denim straps of her dress.

*You're Monica?' I asked.

*Of course.'

*You want one of my kittens?'

*Where are they?'

In spite of my dislike for this particular child, I was eager to find homes for the kittens. My ad in the newspaper, and the fliers I'd tacked to several neighborhood trees, had not been greatly successful. Of the four kittens born to the litter, I still had three.

They were not getting any younger. Or any smaller.

Soon, they would pa.s.s out of the cute, romping, frisky kitten stage altogether. Who would want to adopt any of them, then?

In other words, I had no wish to be choosy. If Monica wanted a kitten, a kitten she would have.

*They're in my house,' I said. *I'll bring them out for you toa inspect.'

As I leaned forward on the lounge and wondered what to do about my immodest swimsuit, Monica scowled across the pool at the sliding gla.s.s door of my house.

*It isn't locked, is it?' she asked.

*No, but you staya'

Ignoring me, she skipped off along the edge of the pool.

I took the opportunity to stand, set down my paperback, and s.n.a.t.c.h my beach towel off the lounge pad. Quickly, I wrapped the towel around my waist.

Corner tucked under to hold the towel, I hurried after Monica. She was already striding briskly past the far end of the pool.

*I'll get the kittens,' I called to her. *You wait outside.'

I did not want her in my house.

I did not want her to ogle my possessions. I did not want her to touch them or break them or steal them. I did not want her to leave the taint of her pushy, pestilent self inside the sanctuary of my home.

She reached for the handle of the sliding door. Clutched it. *Monica! No!'

*Don't have a cow, man,' she said. And then she rumbled open the door and entered.

*Come out of there!' I yelled.

She hadn't gone far. Stepping over the runner, I spotted her standing near the center of my den. Her fists were planted on her hips as she swiveled her head from side to side.

*I asked you to stay outside.'

*Where are they?'

I shrugged and sighed. She was in. There was no way to undo it. *This way,' I said.

She followed me toward the kitchen.

*Why are you wearing that towel?' she asked.

*Because it suits me.'

*Where'd your suit go?'

*It didn't go anywhere.'

*Did you take it off?'

*No!'

*You'd better not've.'

*I didn't. I a.s.sure you. I also a.s.sure you, young lady, that I'm on the very verge of asking you to leave.'

A small wooden gate was stretched across the kitchen doorway to keep the kittens corralled. I hiked up my towel as if it were a skirt, and stepped over the gate.

I turned around to watch Monica. *Careful,' I warned.

It would serve her right to fall and mash her impish little nose flat, I thought. But she swung one leg, then the other, over the top of the gate and made it to the other side without misadventure.

She sniffed. Her upper lip reached for the bottom of her nose. *What's that stink?'

*I don't detect a stink.'

*Monica may barf.'

*You might be smelling the litter box.'

*Yug.'

*There it is, now.' I pointed at the plastic tub. Its desert landscape appeared a trifle b.u.mpy. *You'll have to get used to some rather unpleasant aromas if you wish to keep a cat ina'

*Oh! Kitty!'

She rushed past me, dodged the table, and pranced to the far corner of the kitchen where the cats were at play on their blanket.

By the time I caught up to her, she had already made her pick. She was on her knees, clutching Lazzy to her chest, stroking the little tabby's striped head.

Lazzy had a rather frantic look in her eyes, but she wasn't struggling much.

The kittens rubbed against Monica's knees, purring and meowing.

*She'll take this one,' the girl said.

*I'm afraid she won't.'

Monica slowly twisted herself around. Her eyes said, How dare you! Her mouth said, *Oh, yes she will.'

*No. I offered you one of the kittens. That isn't one of the kittens.'

*Oh course she is! She's the tiniest, cutest little kitty of the bunch, and she'll go home with Monica.'

*You may have one of the others.'

*Who wants them? They're big! They aren't cute little kitties. This is the cute little kitty.'

She nuzzled her cheek against Lazzy's face.

*You don't want that one,' I said.

She started to get up. I grabbed her shoulder and pushed her down until she was on her knees again.