Cat's Out - Book 2

Chapter 12 - a chill in the 'burbs

Antonio leans under the Camaro's hood as Grant explains the intricate details of the Chevy 350 cubic inch engine.

If not for my cat ears, I wouldn't be able to hear them, because I'm waiting impatiently at a Frosty Freeze table while the guys embrace their new bromance. I'm tempted give them both a good swipe--claws extended--and remind them that it's late and the sun is setting. If Grant doesn't want to be touring Detroit's underbelly in his shiny Camaro after dark, they need to get it in gear.

Finally, the hood is closed and they head my way, still deep in conversation. I'm no guy expert, but the only time I've ever heard them utter more than single syllable grunts is when they're discussing cars, football, or girls. And only with each other. The guys on my baseball team hardly discussed baseball with me.

I meet them at the window. Antonio must have gotten the memo that I was buying, because he goes straight for the Ultimate Chocopalypse Sundae. Grant and I settle for the cone selections. After parting with some of my unearned allowance money, we find a table as far away from the civilian population as possible.

It is only now I realize the flaw in my plan to bring Antonio here. Grant licks his cone and seems quite interested to find out what we have to discuss.

He has no idea.

"Um...Grant." I put a hand on his. "Could you give us a few moments?"

Judging by the look he gives me, this isn't going over well. "What? I can be your taxi driver but can't be in on the secret?"

I meet Antonio's eyes. He shrugs. "He did almost do a swan dive off the upper deck for you last night."

"You told him about that?" I say.

"Hey. Bros don't keep secrets." Grant holds up his fist for a bump and Antonio obliges.

Honestly, a girl simply cannot roll her eyes back far enough for occasions such as this. I decide to wing it. I only have to leave out the part about being a cat. And running twenty miles.

"Okay," I say. "I followed some of Moloch's customers last night."

Grant's mouth drops open. "You what?"

"Shush. You wanted to listen. So listen and don't interrupt."

Antonio nods. "Probably easy to trail. They're determined to get their fix and not exactly firing on all eight cylinders."

"Yeah." I lick my cone before the vanilla drip makes it to my hand. "But here's where it gets weird."

"Oh," Grant says, "thank God we're to the weird part."

Me and Antonio shush him in stereo. I make a locking motion over my lips and continue. "This old store was full of them, maybe twenty or more. And they were...I think a lot of them were dead already."

Grant spews a mouthful of chocolate-vanilla swirl onto the table. "And you called the cops at this point, right?"

We ignore him. Antonio looks stunned. "I didn't know...I mean, I knew about The Dark and how it controlled them, but...it kills them?"

"I think so. Two guys injected the three tweakers I followed, and I'm pretty sure they died, too."

"Oh, man." Antonio drops his plastic spoon. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Grant's cone is dripping over his hand. He doesn't seem to notice. "And this is where you call the cops, right?"

"The cops can't help," I say. "You haven't met these guys."

Antonio nods. "She's right. They never leave any tracks. And I'm pretty sure they've got connections inside. How else do they do as they please without interference?"

"But you know one," I say. "A cop, I mean."

"Yeah," Antonio says. "I let him know what I know. Which isn't much."

"Is he getting closer? To catching them?" I engulf a mouthful of ice cream.

"Dunno. He quit, like I said. I think he was the only one who really gave a damn."

Grant tosses his melting cone into a nearby trash can. "Hold on. Every cop in Detroit can't just give up."

"You don't get it." Antonio picks up his spoon and goes back to work on his sundae. "They're outnumbered. Outgunned. Underpaid. There's huge sections of the city they won't even go into. That's where The Resurrection operates. It's their city now."

So it's us vs. them. One teenage shifter, a skinny black kid, and our designated driver. Jack, too, if she ever feels safe outside again. Or inside.

I pull out one of my old letters. "I want you to look at this." I unfold it and push it toward Antonio.

"Whoa." He pulls the letter to him. "This is old. And I don't parlez vous."

"Don't worry about the French." I jab a finger at the formula. "How's your chemistry?"

"Better than most, but this is way past my straight A grade point."

I suspected. He's smarter than he lets on. "Think it matches The Dark?"

"Hmm... I don't have the formula, but I might be able to get it." He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of the page. "I'll see what I can dig up."

"Be careful." For the first time, I'm really worried about Antonio. He's sticking his neck way out for us.

"Always." He scoops up a spoonful of chocolate syrup and swallows it like cold medicine. "But it's worth the risk. I want my city back."

His city. It hadn't occurred to me that Antonio's home was being destroyed. As a Cherry Hill freedom fighter, I can understand that.

"Well, thanks for helping us." I fold the letter and tuck it into my pocket.

Antonio lifts an eyebrow. "Huh? I thought you were helping me."

Grant glances at the sinking sun. "We need to get you back."

"Okay," I say, "you guys get going. Antonio, text me with FF once you have something."

"FF?"

I nod toward the sign. "Frosty Freeze. We can do this again. Safer than the phone."

"You've been watching too many cop shows." Antonio stands and polishes off his sundae.

"He's right. And you ain't no cop." Grant digs out his keys and smiles at me. His eyes look beyond me and the smile disappears.

I turn to follow his gaze.

A man lurches down the sidewalk toward us. Not fast. Not like he's after us. He's just there. And he's nowhere.

The vacant look in his eyes is one I've seen too many times already.

Apparently, The Dark is spreading to new clientele in the suburbs.