Hungry. Time to eat.
He was turning toward a bar door, wondering if it were the sort of bar that kept dishes of nuts and crackers on the tables when a car pulled up to the curb behind him.
"Hey you!" called a girl's excited voice. "Hey,gypsy-man!" Then louder, "Hey, gypsy-man! Wanta party with me?"
He stepped closer to the big car with a grill like silver teeth. He tried to make out the girl's face in the night's deceptive grey wash. Yes, he knew her. Earlier, she and her friend had stopped to hear him play.Butplay. But been younger then; the night lights had aged her. Her breasts swung free under a black tee shirt with a garish picture on it as she leaned out the window to him. Earlier today, the wind had blown her curly hair into appealing disarray. Now it stood up stiffly around her face, reminding him of the way a horse's coat looked after lather had dried on it.Makeuit. Makeupd all her features, distorting her face into mouth and eyes and lashes, everything wide and wet. He took another step, trying to see where she had gone behind the paint. Which was real and which the lie? His brother, the Raven, would have known at once; he could always tell semblance from actuality. He, too, might have known, he thought, if it were real night: prey or not prey. But he didn't, so it was far better to be safe. And yet, he remembered what the Dove had always said about chance meetings. He would be careful, but he wouldn't walk away just yet.
She opened the door of the car, slid over and patted the seat invitingly. "C'mon, gypsy-man, come Join the party."
There were two in back and three in front. There was a young man with a tattoo of a cross on his cheek in the back seat with her. His head was thrown back,lolling on the neck rest. His eyes were closed, his mouth loose, but Raymond did not think he slept.Twslept. Twoys were in the front seat, with another girl wedged between them. The driver had a cigarette dangling low from his mouth, and the good leather of his coat was draped with chain. The other boy was occupied by the girl between them. Her shirt was open, and as the boy nuzzled her breasts she stared out the window over his oddly cut hair. There was no expression at all on her face.
"Come on, man," the girl in the back seat urged him. "Remember me? We gave you a dollar earlier today. My name's Chrissy. We been looking all over town for you. We got something for you from a friend."
Could this be a Sign? Yes. Or a Trap. The Raven or the Dove would have known at once. "Who?" Raymond asked.
Chrissy smiled. "Get in, and I'll tell you, gypsy man. But here's a hint. They told me to watch for an Owl."
A moment more he hesitated. His brothers were not the only ones who knew him by that name. But the night was cold and the car was warm, and whatever he learned, whether of his brothers or of Her,must be useful. And that, after all, was what he did:watch, wait, and learn. He edged into the car as the girl giggled delightedly. She pushed the boy further into the corner, as if he were just so much bedding.bedding.She reached past Raymond and pulled the door shut,then continued to lean against him. The car pulled away from the curb.
"What do you have for me?" he asked, pushing the girl's hands gently away from his chest. But she only laughed and reached over to tap his tambourine through his jacket.
"Man's got music in his heart," she told the driver,and laughed again, in a way that struck Raymond as witless. The driver was watching Raymond in the rearview mirror. Raymond met his eyes squarely,asking no questions and telling him nothing. After a moment the boy nodded, as if confirming something.
Paper rustled as he passed a bagged bottle over his shoulder. "Warm up first, man," the boy said. "Then we'll give you the message."
"No, thank you," said Raymond.
"Suit yourself," he said, and drank from it.
"I am looking for some friends," Raymond told the driver's.
The girl was leaning on him, pawing at his tambourine through his jacket, but he ignored her. She did not smell as if she'd been drinking, but she did not act sober either. "Let us be your friends," she offered, shrilly. She reached up to stroke his hair. He leaned away from her.
"Knock it off, Chrissy," The driver growled. "Man doesn't wanta be groped, he just wants his message.message.So to him already."
"Yeah. Sure I will. But, hey, gypsy-man, you hungry? We got some pizza here, somewhere, I think."She reached to the back window ledge, came up with a greasy white box. She opened it for him, presenting him with cheese and sausage melted over bread. He smelled the peppers and grease, and his stomach growled loudly. "Or you wanna burger? We got a burger, here, somewhere, in case you wanted a burger. Hey, Jer, where did we put the burger?"
"Chrissy-" The driver's voice was edged as broken glass. He glanced at Raymond in the mirror, and tried to smile. "Now be nice to the man. Give him some food and the message."
"Oh, yeah. Here." She set the greasy box in his lap and leaned back against the boy, pillowing herself on his lax body. "Lemme think, now. How did it go?It was like a poem, or something."
The pizza was unappetizing, but it was warm and it was food. Raymond took a wedge and ate it. Whoever had seasoned the tomato sauce on it had no respect for spices. He waited for the girl, who muttered and giggled to herself, then suddenly sat up straight."I got it," she announced, and then recited,
"Butterfly sandwiches,
Crunchable things
Crisp little bodies
With flower-hued wings."
Then sagged back into the seat, laughing until she choked. The driver's face went dark with anger. He took the cigarette from his mouth, and flicked it out the window. "Damnit, Chrissy," he growled, and his voice was so ugly Raymond felt the hair on the back of neck stand up. Chrissy heard the threat, for she sat up suddenly, her face contrite.
"Eat something while I remember. I'll get it right this time, I promise. Jer, why don't you pass the bottle back? Give the gypsy-man something to drink with his pizza. And give me some time to 'member it right," she added in a confidential aside to Raymond.
"No, thank you," he said.
She took the bottle, drank from it, while streetlamps and neon crawled past the car's windows. He forced himself to stomach another piece of pizza, telling himself that no matter how insipid it was, it was food, and who knew when he would be offered food again? The driver watched him and Raymond watched him back. Chrissy leaned against him suddenly, rubbing her forehead against his shoulder. "Shit," she said miserably. "I'm losing it, I'm coming down. Jer,you got anymore stuff? No?" Her face crumpled as the driver shook his head. "Damn. This is so depressing. Lemme have another drink and maybe I can remember the poem." As she lifted the bottle again,she asked him, "Aren't you going to eat some more?"
Raymond shook his head slowly, then asked, "Earlier, there was another girl with you. Where is she?"
"Fuck, I don't know. We were supposed to give her to the fiddler-oh, damn, I wasn't supposed to say that. But I guess it's okay, now, I mean, he ate some of it anyway." Now her words were addressed to the driver, who was shaking his head angrily.
Raymond closed the box slowly. He handed it to her and she took it back, knowing he knew. A stupid way to have failed, and for one instant he thought he saw sympathy in her eyes. The driver pulled the car into an alley and the brick walls threw back at them the vibrations of the leashed engine.
"Say the poem, damn you!" the driver snarled.
Chrissy turned to Raymond.
"The Coachman has fallen to hoof and to horn.
The Raven is caught and will die before morn.
The poor Owl is buried beneath dirt and stone
Leaving the Dove, to die all alone."»