Page 11 of A Brother At My Back

4

Zeb…

She was miserable for the ride and I wanted to feel bad for her and I guess I did, even though I knew she’d done it to herself. That tequila she’d drunk was wicked stuff, and I’d been at its mercy a time or two. I could sympathize, or was it empathize? I reckon it could even be a cross between the two.

She lived out the other side of town. The flat she was in wasn’t the best. She was on the second floor of a double-decker building. One of those open-air sorts of deals leading up to the door. Only one stairwell up, no back exit or escape route. Her flat was the last one in the row of four on the end of the building, furthest from the car park and backed up to nature. Woods out the windows on the side and the river a short drop down past the back porch, if it had a back porch; I hadn’t seen yet. There wasn’t really a front where she was at, all that long walk from the stairs at the other end. The fire escape was a rusted, spindly ladder by her front door that didn’t look like it’d hold a five-year-old, let alone a grown woman like her.

It wasn’t a good defensible position and it wasn’t grand for an escape, either. The door, at least, was a solid wood one, painted a peeling forest-green. There were a lot of locks, so she had that going for her.

A gray-and-dark striped tabby cat leaped up and put its paws against the door frame, letting out a howl of protest. It reminded me of my mum back home, when I came home late after bein’ up to no good.

“Hey, you,” the beauty declared and she picked the cat up and said to me, “This is Mad Max.”

“Cute fella,” I remarked, and she smiled a genuine one that made me smile too.

“Max is short for Maxine, she’s a girl.”

“Ah, yeah, never woulda guessed that.” I sniffed and reached out to pet the cat’s head and she immediately flattened her ears and hissed, swiping at my hand with her claws. I jerked back and Tiffany laughed.

“And now you know why she’s called Mad Max.” She set her down and, keys chiming softly, started unlocking her door. I shook my head at the fifth lock.

“First off, only lock one or two when you’re gone. It’s taking you too long to get inside. Your things are just that, things. You’re irreplaceable, so you should be the focus. Only lock all of them when you’re inside.”

She paused and listened to me and finally gave a nod, pushing open the door. I looked at the jamb and already saw some improvements I could make. It was straight wood she had the locks going into; I could anchor a strip of metal to it, make it take more than one or two swift kicks to knock it in. Buy her some time for another improvement I had in mind.

“You got a taser or a gun?”

“No, I don’t know how to shoot.”

“I reckon we’ll fix that.”

“Al - all right…”

The front door opened right into her kitchen and inside was gloomy. She had thick drapes over the insides of the windows which was good for keeping a man on the outside from lookin’ in on her. She stood aside and let me through and I quickly assessed. No back porch, no bedroom either; Americans called it a studio flat. Just the kitchen and bathroom with her bed set up in the main area out here.

“Nice place,” I said, and compared to my regular flat, it was. Of course, I hadn’t really even tried with mine. I’d been such a fuck-up I hadn’t put down too many roots. Not yet. While I’d felt more permanence here than anywhere else since comin’ to the States, I wasn’t to that point of commitment yet, I reckon.

She snorted as if she didn’t believe I’d meant the compliment and I let it go. No sense in arguing the point. She tossed her keys on the cracked kitchen bench and they clacked loud in the small room, sliding slightly before coming to rest with a metal-on-metal click against the edge of the tired, old, gas stove.

“It’s cheap, which I like, and they didn’t ask a whole lot of questions when I moved in, which I liked even better.”

“Heh, fair enough.”

“Can I fix you some coffee or breakfast or something for the ride home?”

“Ah, nah, yeah,” I said, not thinking, and a silence stretched between us some.

She just stood there halfway in her kitchen and looked at me, waiting. Finally, giving me a long slow blink she asked, “So, um, which is it?”

I cracked a grin and sheepishly said, “That’d be great.”

“All I have are eggs and toast,” she said quietly, moving further into the aisle of the kitchen, going to the fridge.

“Sweet as.”

She paused, closed her eyes and gave a deep sigh, her shoulders lifting and dropping. She turned around and said squarely, “I’m going to need you to finish the sentence,” she said. “Clear communication is important to me.”

“Sorry, eh. I don’t mean it. I’m just tired-like and my words are gettin’ away from me.”

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