A Fistful of Collars by Spencer Quinn

Author:Spencer Quinn [Quinn, Spencer]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781451665185
Publisher: Atria Books
Published: 2012-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

SEVENTEEN

And I was going to let Thad go, no question about it, if not now then real soon, but before I could, I felt a sharp jab in my side, too sharp to ignore. I spun around and there in the dust, back way up and teeth bared, stood Brando, his golden eyes full of hate. He hissed at me—that horrible hiss cats have in their repertoire—in case I was missing the point about how he felt about me. Guess what. I felt the same for him, or maybe even more so. Hot rage boiled up in me—kind of a great feeling, I admit it—and I lunged at Brando, snarling my fiercest snarl, the one where spit sprays out of my mouth. And then—

Ow. That hurt. And so quick! Brando had swiped one of his claws right across my muzzle? That was what must have happened—too fast to see, but I figured it out from the way he was poised in front of me, one paw raised, still hissing. I licked my muzzle, tasted blood, my own, and decided to think things over. Sometimes I thought better if I had more space. That was the only reason I backed up a bit.

Meanwhile, Bernie was kneeling on the ground, turning Thad over on his back. Thad’s eyes were closed. Bernie stuck the gun in his belt and placed a finger on Thad’s neck.

“Thad? You all right?”

Thad’s eyes fluttered open, big, blue, empty.

“Thad? Say something.”

His eyes stopped being empty, got unfriendly instead. “Fuck off,” he said.

Bernie let him go. Thad wobbled, started to tip over, then stuck out his arm and caught himself.

“What are you staring at?” Thad said.

Bernie rose. “You’ve got coke all over your face,” he said.

Thad wiped his face on the back of his sleeve, leaving a white smear on the material. He gazed at it, the look in his eyes changing from unfriendly to more like he’d just felt a pain inside.

“What’s going on with you?” Bernie said. “What’s the story?”

“Nothing,” said Thad, eyes downcast. “Nada, zip, zilch.”

Bernie pointed to the markings Thad had made in the dirt. “What about that—‘April Sorry’?”

Thad’s gaze slowly shifted to the markings. Then, in a clumsy kind of way but not slow, he lunged forward, almost a fall, and rubbed out the markings with his hand, rubbing and rubbing wildly. After that, he turned to Bernie as though he’d just beaten him at something. Thad’s eyes were amazing: they told so much all by themselves.

“You think I won’t be able to remember ‘April Sorry’?” Bernie said. Thad didn’t reply. “Did something happen in April?”

Thad smiled, now lying facedown on the stony dirt. There was something horrible about that smile, hard to explain. “Yeah,” he said, “something happened in April.”

“What?” said Bernie.

“Spring came,” Thad said. “All the blossoms, shit like that.”

Bernie looked down at him. “I can help you.”

“That’s what everybody says,” Thad said. “Everybody wants to do me favors.”

“I didn’t say anything about favors,” Bernie said.

“Makes you unique.” Thad pushed himself up, back into a sitting position.

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