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“Look alive, will you?” Tristan said, snapping his fingers in her face. “Here they come.”
Dixon showed up to the truck first. He opened the truck door and scooted in next to Lila, forcing her to squeeze closer to Tristan. They sat next to one another, not touching, not speaking. While Lila slipped on her hood, Dixon scribbled notes about what he’d seen around the neighborhood.
One patrol on the other side. They’re stopped with no lights. Eating. He drew a map beside his words.
“Well, they won’t be eating for much longer,” Tristan said as he directed the next two men to the roof of Chaucer’s Ghost. The other slipped inside the truck cab. The group squeezed closer together, and Tristan awkwardly put his arms around Lila for lack of anywhere else to put them. She smelled his soap, really nice soap, and a hint of whiskey.
Dixon raised an eyebrow.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lila saw Tristan’s chin jut out, and he pulled Lila even closer into his body.
Lila had somehow found herself in a tennis match between the two men, and she was the ball.
“Get off,” she muttered, pushing Tristan away. She climbed over Dixon and the other man in her haste to escape the truck, nearly kneeing them both in the crotch.
At the mouth of the alley, a petite black woman with thick, natural curls, an electric-blue coat, and knee-high red boots strolled toward them. The young woman reminded her of Pax in movements and Jewel in beauty.
“Toxic, check for a security system,” Tristan barked when she stopped before the truck.
The woman scampered over to the side door of the building and pulled out her palm, passing it over the doorframe several times before punching furiously on the keypad. She twisted her ankles back and forth, clicking her heels, while she worked, and Lila heard the smack of bubblegum.
Tristan drifted away from the truck, stalking deeper into the alley toward a bundle of blankets. He squatted in the muck, and his murmurs echoed against the buildings on either side. Something changed hands. Dirty knit caps bobbed in agreement above the blanket, and Tristan drifted back to the truck.
“Spies?” she asked.
“No. Too young for it. Told them to run if more people showed up.”
“What’d you give them? Flyers?”
“The number for a shelter, not that they’ll go, and a little cash. I’ve seen them around. They’ll buy food with it.” He turned back to watch Toxic’s progress. “We’ve never actually given those fliers out—not that it hasn’t stopped Bullstow from asking everyone in the neighborhood about them. It’s making my people nervous.”
“It should make you nervous. They’re already looking into the nitro heist and the camera vandalism around Bullstow.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “How did you know about that?”
“It’s what I do,” Lila said, checking her Colt.
A muffled beep sounded inside the restaurant. Toxic turned, bowed to her little crowd, and added a flourish with her free hand.
“Faster than me,” Lila admitted, pitching her voice deeper. “Good job.”
Toxic gestured toward Lila with her palm and turned back to Tristan. “Finally, someone appreciates my work. Do you see how easy that is?”
Tristan ignored her. “Let’s get in before someone sees us.”
“No one will even know we opened the door. I’ve set the system to keep sending a locked signal.”
Lila straightened her mesh hood and crossed into Chaucer’s Ghost, crinkling her nose at the smell of mildew and mold and the twinge of something dead. The building still looked like a working restaurant, for the stainless steel sinks and counters and ovens had not been removed. A thin layer of dust coated every surface, including the floor. The group all left boot prints as they trudged through the kitchen. Spider webs stretched across the corners of the room, and Lila heard the sound of flapping wings through a pair of open double doors.
Tristan snapped a tube in his hands and shook it, bathing the room in an eerie green glow.
The group moved into the empty dining room. A dozen pigeons fluttered in place as they entered, offering cooing trills. The birds had left their mark upon the floor. Pockmarked with gray and white droppings as well as a smattering of fuzz and feathers, the large room still managed to drip with the memory of comfortable charm. Though the red brick walls had dulled somewhat, the stained cherry wood still shone in patches, especially on the bar in the back of the dining room. Something had been moved upon it recently, disturbing the dust.
On the wall, a sign had been left up. Chaucer’s Ghost glinted in twisted metal, still proclaiming its name for invisible guests. Every time Tristan moved, the green light shifted, creating shadows that retreated around the tables. Lila imagined ghostlike patrons pausing mid-bite, suspending birthday wishes, anniversary cakes, and nervous wedding proposals, all in order to watch the little group invade their space. They all existed just out of sight, hiding whenever she turned.
Lila shivered at the thought.
Dixon pointed up.
