James Sallis - Moth

“Then go saddle up your car, scrape off any stray nesting cats and drive if you’ll excuse the expression like a-”

“Don’t say it!”

“-good friend.”

“I hope so, Lew. I do so want to be.”

“See you soon. Calm seas, Clare.”

And I walked out into the darkness toward her.

Four streets up, hearing voices close by as I came to a corner, I turned my head. Further down the block, a mugging was taking place. It had begun that way, at least; now it seemed to be progressing. One of the men had the woman’s purse over his own shoulder. He knelt at her head, holding her down with hands flat against her shoulders and licking upside down at her face while the other one’s hands burrowed roughly under her skirt. As I watched, that one reached up and slapped her hard on the cheek, then took her neck in his hand.

I shouted and started toward them, instinctively turning to keep the injured arm out of sight. Both jumped to their feet. The one who had been at her head ran. The other stood his ground till I came closer and slipped my hand into my coat pocket. Then he also bolted.

“Are you all right?” I asked. A plain woman in her early thirties, inexpensively dressed.

“I think so.”

“Don’t be afraid,” I told her.

Then I, too, was running.