Stephen Brust - The Gypsy

The girl looked at him with sudden surprise when he said, "It's a shame that someone can steal your peace of mind from you, not to mention your radio. Listen. Durand's right about putting dowels in your window frames. I know it won't bring back what you've lost, but it might keep it from happening again. Don't you give up. You got a right to feel safe in your own place."

"Okay," she said, and her eyes suddenly misted up and her chin shook just like Laurie's had when the neighbor's dog had torn off Raggedy Ann's leg,but he'd assured her that Jennie could fix her good as new. It must have been his tone more than his words that catapulted her into his arms, and she was crying on his shirt front, and Durand, damn him, was smirking like a puckered asshole. Stepovich patted her awkwardly, remembering briefly how fragile women felt to him, as hollow-boned as birds, how he'd always been afraid that if he really hugged Jennie her ribs would crumple beneath the strength of his love. Then she was pushing away from him, muttering apologies, her long hair sticking to her tear-wet face,and he was saying it was all right, she'd had a tough morning, but things had to get better.

"They couldn't get worse," the girl agreed with a sniff and a smile so carefully fragile that Stepovich had to turn aside from it. Damnit, he had to find time to phone Laurie tonight, and he had to make time to do something with Jeffery this weekend, he had to. Then they were leaving, and Durand called in that they were available again, and almost immediately they got their next call, this one for a vandalized car.

And so the morning went. In between calls, they drove, Durand not talking at all; but that little tension stretched between them because they weren't getting along. The only talk was the stupid business of asking the routine questions at their stops. Nothing hot or interesting this morning, three cold burglaries and two stolen bicycles and one drunk and disorderly and one patron leaving without paying his tab. The closest they got to a heartbeat was a domestic abuse in progress that turned out to be a cat in heat shut in the bathroom. Stepovich had to admit the cat's passionate yowling did sound like a tortured baby. Durand assured the woman who called it in that they'd rather be called out for nothing than not called when they were needed, while Stepovich persuaded the cat's owner that her "goddamn nosy neighbor" had meant well. Then they left.

In the car Stepovich thought about asking for a new partner. They'd give him one. All he'd have to do is go in and say, hey, this isn't working out. Guys did it all the time. But the guys who changed more than once or twice were the ones the brass watched. Man couldn't get along with his partner, there had to be a reason. Better watch him. And the last thing Stepovich needed right now was to be watched. By anyone.

Through doors that lead

to a fire blazing red,

Where she makes no distinction 'tween

The living and the dead

"THE FAIR LADY"

The Fair Lady sits with Her feet in the fire, watching Her toes heat up. She wriggles them with pleasure. They are very long, and the nails gleam like mother-of-pearl. There is a scampering from outside, then scratching of goose-feet at the black iron door. She frowns and causes it to open and the liderc enters. One leg is that of a goose, one arm that of a horse, and where he walks he leaves little puddles of fire, but the fire has no smoke. He bows many times to the Fair Lady.

"Speak, " She says, in Her voice that is like steel bound in silk.

"Fair Lady," says the liderc. "The Wolf is still on our track."

She frowns at this, for She knows that, while wolves have served Her before, in the end they serve only themselves. "We shall have Little Timmy slay the Wolf," She says.

But the liderc shakes its head. "I don't think he will,Fair Lady. He is more afraid of wolves than of you."

She almost cuffs him for this. but then reconsiders. Perhaps he is right, for to Timmy She is only a dream, but he has lived among the wolves all his life, and they are real to him.

"I am not unprepared," She says. "One of his cubs will come to me when I will it, and he will follow his cub."

"You are ever wise, mistress. Will you call her to you now?"

She shrugs. "Soon. If Little Timmy can slay the Dove,there will be no need to do more. We will see if he succeeds first. If he fails, we can perhaps throw him to the Wolf,thus distracting the Wolf and punishing Little Timmy at the same time. And perhaps we will even allow Little Timmy to see us. Yes, that might be best. But for now, we will wait. Go and do my bidding. "

"Yes, Fair Lady." The liderc scampers away. The door behind him closes with the clang of iron. The Fair Lady sees that Her feet are about to turn black from the fire, and regretfully removes them from the flames.

He came into town on a hot summer's night,

The flies was giving us fits.

Drove an old Ford that had about lost the fight,

His eyes was as black as the pits.

"THE GYPSY"

He awoke in the chair, and there was a blanket around him. MacWurthier was reading a newspaper and drinking coffee; he looked up when the Gypsy stirred.

"You must have been tired," he said. "You've slept more than twelve hours."

"I… thank you."

"You're welcome. Would you like some tea? Maybe some breakfast."

"No, thank you. I must leave now. You need not forget her, but you will please her most by trying to be happy."

MacWurthier stared at him. "I know that," he said,as if to himself. "I've been trying. But it's not easy."He seemed lost in reflection. The Gypsy rose and let himself out, not saying anything more, because nothing more was necessary. He returned to the street and made his way toward the park.

[?] lower me another beer, have another dream; Everything is all confused, nothing's what it seems.

"STEPDOWN"

Stepovich glanced away from the traffic at Durand. He was sulking in his corner of the patrol car like a spoiled brat. Something childish in Stepovich didn't want to break the silence, but need overturned it."Lunch?" he said.

"Yeah." Durand kept his eyes focused on the street. "Norm's."

"Okay," Stepovich agreed sullenly. That was where Tiffany Marie worked. "But to go."

"Bullshit! I'm not eating in this stinking car."

"I wanna take it over to the park. Guy there I got to talk to."

"Well, do it later. It's too drizzly for picnics in the park. And there's someone at Norm's I want to talk to."

"Tiffany Marie."

"So what's it to you?"

Stepovich glanced at him. The kid's cheeks were pink. Durand plainly knew he was in the wrong, so Stepovich let him have it.

"I busted her twice for whoring before she was fifteen," Stepovich spoke deliberately, slowly, coldly."She was a runaway, working the streets, too stubborn to work for a pimp. So she was taking it from both sides, getting the real dirt-bag tricks, and the pimps' girls threatening her all the time. Both times Ed and I busted her, the court sent her home. Both times her dad beat the living shit out of her. Not for spreading her legs, but because she was doing it for money instead of for dear old dad. Which was why she kept running away. Third time we picked her up it was because her John had left her unconscious in the motel room, and the manager of the motel wanted an extra two hours' rent from her when she didn't leave on time. She didn't have it, or any money. The John had taken that, too. What she did have was cracked ribs, a broken collarbone and the clap. Crabs,too, from what I hear."