I end the call.
For a moment, the bakery is silent except for rain tapping the boards and the low hum of the ovens cooling in the kitchen. My hand shakes around the compad. Kauss is alive. Arrested, butalive. Alive after going to the zoo. Alive after finding the Poison Memories. Alive after doing exactly what I feared and exactly what he promised, in his very careful Vakutan way.
No confirmed fatalities.
The relief makes me dizzy.
The fear follows immediately after.
Darlene takes the compad from my hand before I drop it. “Sit down.”
“I have to go.”
“You are not walking into a police station looking like you’re about to faint.”
“I’m not fainting.”
“You’re white as flour and twice as useful.”
“I need my ID.”
“I’ll get it.”
“I need credits.”
“That’s the tragic part.”
The repair fund under the counter. The collection from customers. The money that should go toward the display case, the window, the locks, the stock we lost. My stomach twists.
Darlene reads my face. “Don’t you dare.”
“I have to bail him out.”
“You don’t even know the amount.”
“I’ll find out.”
“That money is for the bakery.”
“He got arrested because of the bakery.”
“He got arrested because he has the impulse control of a meteor.”
“Darlene.”
She grips the counter with both hands, anger and worry fighting in her face. “I know. Damn it, I know.”
I hurry upstairs and change with clumsy, frantic movements. Clean sweater. Dry coat. ID chip. Credit authorization. Theemergency cash tin from beneath the flour canister. My hands keep shaking, and I keep seeing Kauss alone in a cell too small for him, shoulders hunched, face closed, expecting disgust when I arrive.
He requested that I be notified.
That fact keeps striking me. He could have named Al. Darlene. No one. He chose me. Or maybe I am simply the only contact the police could find connected to him. Maybe he regretted it the second the words left his mouth. Maybe he thinks I will come because I am foolish enough to feed strays and damaged men with dangerous hands.
He is right.
I come downstairs to find Darlene waiting by the rear door with my bag, an umbrella, and a small shock baton.
I stare at the baton. “Seriously?”
