“Everyone knows Birdie,” she said without looking up. “I ain’t seen him lately, but that don’t mean he ain’t around.”
“How long do you think it’s been since you saw him?”
“Well, now let’s see.” She stopped eating and mimed patting her pockets. “Sumbitch. I think I done lost my PDA, where I jots down all that important shit.”
Rule wasn’t sure why he didn’t give up and move on to someone else. She didn’t want to talk to him, and he couldn’t make her. But she was enjoying giving him a hard time. Why not let her have a few more minutes of it? “It’s hard to know who to trust, isn’t it?”
She snorted. “That’s easy. Don’t trust nobody. Do I know you from someplace?”
“I’ve been on TV now and then. I’m the Lu Nuncio of my clan.”
“Of your . . . shit, you’re that prince guy. The werewolf.” Her eyes narrowed even more and she pointed at him with her fork. “You’re a ce-le-britty.” The last two syllables sounded more like “bratty.”
Rule grinned. He was beginning to like her. “Of sorts, yes.”
“How come you’re here without the cameras? Ever’ time you goddamn ce-le-britties come around to feed the homeless, there’s a camera someplace. Marianne says it’s good publicity. Brings in donations. I say it’s a pain in the ass.”
“But I’m not here to feed the homeless. I’m looking for Birdie.”
“He ain’t here.”
“True. Is there anyone else who’s usually here who you haven’t seen lately?”
“Tom Cruise. That man plumb loves the chicken and noodles. Can’t figure why he ain’t been around lately.”
“Perhaps he’s on a diet. Us celebrities have to watch our waistlines.”
“Ha!” In high good humor, she slapped the table. “P’raps he is. Watchin’ your waistline, are you? Why you wanna know all this, anyway?”
He glanced across the noisy room. It wasn’t as crowded now. The line of people to be fed was gone; there was a shorter line now leading to the trash cans. Patrons were encouraged to scrape their cafeteria-style trays before turning them in.
Lily was talking to a tall man in a spattered white apron—one of the servers. She had instructed Rule firmly not to divulge why they were here. Some of these people were not screwed down tight, and all lived a precarious existence. It would not be helpful to tell them that someone might be snatching homeless people and killing them to power their magic. “I’m not supposed to tell you,” he said at last.
Her mouth twisted in scorn. “But I’m supposed to tell you stuff?”
“I can’t think why you would,” he admitted. “I may not be here for a photo op, but I do want something from you. Why should you care what I want?”
She stuck a forkful of chicken-whatever in her mouth and chewed in silence for a moment. “She’s a cop. That woman you came with.”
“Yes. Federal, not local.”
“Why’s she want Birdie?”
“She thinks someone may have harmed him.”
“You ’spect me to believe some big-shot federal cop cares what happens to Birdie?”
“She cares.” Rule looked at the nameless woman who smelled of baby powder, whom life had taught a great deal about survival and very little about trust. “You have no reason to believe that, but it’s the truest thing I know. She cares what happened to Birdie.”
“Hmph.” The sound was scornful, but after another bite the woman put her fork down. “You wait here. I’m gonna turn in my plate, then maybe I’ll tell you.” She heaved herself to her feet.
Rule waited. Why not? While she was gone the pungent man on his right got up. The two who’d sat across from him had already left. By the time the woman who wouldn’t share her name returned, they were alone at that end of the table.
“Better get up. They don’t mind if’n we talk awhile, but they don’t want us camping out once we’re done eating.”
He pushed back the folding chair and stood.
She was shorter than he’d realized and wide in the hips, wide through the shoulders, with heavy breasts restrained by a dark green tee. The flannel shirt she wore over that was thick, frayed at the cuffs, with the buttons on the right—a man’s shirt. Her jeans might have been meant for a man as well. They were cuffed up several times at the ankles and none too clean. She had dainty feet tucked into tattered athletic shoes smaller than the ones Rule had recently bought his ten-year-old son.
Was there any way he could get her new shoes and a dozen pairs of socks? The homeless had to take care of their feet, he knew. One of the hardest parts of living on the street was finding a way to wash clothes, but socks could be washed in the sink at a public restroom. Maybe some lotion for the hands she kept so scrupulously clean? A nail clipper—no, a small pair of scissors would be better, useful for more tasks. Or even a Swiss Army knife.
She tipped her head back and fixed him with a belligerent look. “I’ll tell you. You won’t b’lieve me, but I’ll tell you what happened to Birdie. Them aliens took him.”
“Hmm.”
“Don’t believe me, do you? Think I’m a crazy old bat.”
“I think you saw something. Did you see the aliens take Birdie?”
“Hell, no. But I seen ’em take poor Meggie, and now Birdie’s missing, so I knows what happened to Birdie.”
“Tell me what you saw.”
“Meggie, she allus tries for a spot at the shelter, but she drinks too much to know what time it is, so she gets there late a lot. They was full up by the time she showed up that night, so she comes around whinin’ at me about how I could let her stay at my place just this once. She allus says that—‘just this once.’ I likes my privacy, see? I don’t share my place with no one. I don’t like anyone knowin’ where it is, but Meggie . . . well, I made a mistake with her one time when it was real cold an’ let her stay with me. But it weren’t cold that night, and she smelled pretty damn ripe, so I tells her to move on.” She scowled. “Wasn’t like I knew what would happen, was it?”
“Of course not. And you’re entitled to your privacy.”
“I am.” She said that forcefully. “So I tells her to move on, an’ after a while she does. Now, my place . . .” She slid him a suspicious look. “I ain’t telling you where it is, but it’s close to the street, so I heard it when she starts talking to someone. I wanted to know who that was, ’cause Meggie’s too scared to speak to a shadow if’n she don’t know ’em. ’Specially a male shadow. So I’m thinkin’ it’s someone I know, and I don’t want her telling anyone where my place is, so I went to see.”
“You saw her taken?”
“Big old black car. Not a flying saucer, nothin’ like that. They was in a big old black car, real nice. And Meggie . . . she just stood there.” For a moment the woman stared into space, her face slack, her eyes holding a touch of real horror. “She weren’t right. I saw her face, and she weren’t right. They used their mind powers on her, I guess. That one of ’em who’d got out of the car took her arm and told her to come along, and she did. She just did what he said.” She shuddered. “That’s how I knew they was aliens. Meggie wouldn’t never get in a car with someone that way. ’Specially not a man.”
“They didn’t look like aliens, then?”
“Only saw that one. The other was driving the car, or mebbe there was a bunch of ’em in the car. I couldn’t see. But that one, he looked just like anyone.”
“He was disguised.”
“That’s right!” His suggestion unlocked a fierce series of nods. “That’s absodamnlutely right! I figure they can be anyone, those aliens. But you’re a werewolf. They can’t turn themselves into werewolves.”