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Authors: Tanya Huff
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surprise.
“Are you trying to give kitty a heart attack,” he gasped when he could catch his breath.
“Pretty!”
“Don’t touch that!”
“Come on, Brandon.” A woman’s feet came out from behind a massive stroller. Large hands tucked themselves into the child’s armpits and hoisted him out of sight while ducky sandals kicked futilely in protest. “Let’s get you home while you’re still in a good mood.”
Austin inched carefully forward until he could get a good look at young Brandon’s destination. The stroller not only had plenty of room for hitchhikers but a large flat canopy. When the back rack was full of bags-which it was-the adult pushing couldn’t actually see the seat. He waited while the seat belts were secured, waited while the woman went around to the handle, then, just as the stroller was about to move, he leaped.
“Kitty!”
“No kitties this trip, big fella,” the woman corrected, adding with some pique,
“and next time we’ll stay away from the pet store.” He hadn’t been seen and Brandon already had a cover story in place. “Way to go, kid,” he murmured into a chubby ear. “Hey! Arm does not go around kitty’s neck.”
“Kitty soft.”
“Yeah? Well, baby smelly.” Tucking legs and tail close to his body in an attempt to look as much like a stuffed toy as possible, Austin settled back to enjoy the ride. If they turn left once they’ve crossed the food court, I’ll have to bail.
The stroller turned right.
What are the chances, they’ll head for the upper level . . . ?
The stroller’s front wheels bumped against the escalator.
“You okay in there, Brandon?”
“Okay!” The stroller tipped back and began to rise. “Kitty?”
“I’m good. And do not put that in your mouth, it’s attached!” At Sunshine Records, his luck ran out.
“Just going to make a quick stop, kiddo, then we’ll head for the parking lot.” With the stroller stopped, someone in the record store would be sure to do that
“make faces at the baby” thing that adults found so impossible to resist. After a lifetime of similar faces looming over him, Austin had a strong suspicion the babies weren’t as thrilled by it. As they began to turn, he murmured a quick good-bye and jumped clear, racing for a planter and the cover of a plastic shrub.
No hue and cry.
Now to find out exactly where he was.
It looked good. Ten meters of main concourse, then the short side hall to the doors where they’d left Dean. A little exposed until he got to the side hall, but if he remembered correctly-which, of course, he did-once there, he’d have plenty to hide behind.
Play the skulking music, boys.
Checking that no one was looking his way, he jumped down and began moving along the clear Lu-cite barrier that kept the careless, the stupid, and the carelessly stupid from falling through a hexagonal opening to the lower level.
Clear Lucite barrier?
“Hey!” The shout came from across the concourse. “There’s a cat over there!
Let’s get it!”
Oh, crap.
Wondering how much longer he was going to wait, Dean tried to find a comfortable position on the metal bench and picked up his last remaining section of the Saturday paper. He’d read the comics, the sports pages, the wheels section-which was pretty much the newsprint version of infomercials but about cars so that was okay. He’d read life, and entertainment, and even the report on business. There was nothing left but the actual news.
The front page shared space about equally between a doom-and-gloom prediction of an economic slowdown caused by consumer inability to realize the need for more electronic crap and the continuing disappearance of Kingston’s street kids.
“Look, the day you can keep track of three hundred and ten cases and not lose a few of the mobile ones, you let me know. Until then, get off my fucking back!” a social worker was quoted as saying. Dean couldn’t decide which impressed him more, the social worker for
“Are you trying to give kitty a heart attack,” he gasped when he could catch his breath.
“Pretty!”
“Don’t touch that!”
“Come on, Brandon.” A woman’s feet came out from behind a massive stroller. Large hands tucked themselves into the child’s armpits and hoisted him out of sight while ducky sandals kicked futilely in protest. “Let’s get you home while you’re still in a good mood.”
Austin inched carefully forward until he could get a good look at young Brandon’s destination. The stroller not only had plenty of room for hitchhikers but a large flat canopy. When the back rack was full of bags-which it was-the adult pushing couldn’t actually see the seat. He waited while the seat belts were secured, waited while the woman went around to the handle, then, just as the stroller was about to move, he leaped.
“Kitty!”
“No kitties this trip, big fella,” the woman corrected, adding with some pique,
“and next time we’ll stay away from the pet store.” He hadn’t been seen and Brandon already had a cover story in place. “Way to go, kid,” he murmured into a chubby ear. “Hey! Arm does not go around kitty’s neck.”
“Kitty soft.”
“Yeah? Well, baby smelly.” Tucking legs and tail close to his body in an attempt to look as much like a stuffed toy as possible, Austin settled back to enjoy the ride. If they turn left once they’ve crossed the food court, I’ll have to bail.
The stroller turned right.
What are the chances, they’ll head for the upper level . . . ?
The stroller’s front wheels bumped against the escalator.
“You okay in there, Brandon?”
“Okay!” The stroller tipped back and began to rise. “Kitty?”
“I’m good. And do not put that in your mouth, it’s attached!” At Sunshine Records, his luck ran out.
“Just going to make a quick stop, kiddo, then we’ll head for the parking lot.” With the stroller stopped, someone in the record store would be sure to do that
“make faces at the baby” thing that adults found so impossible to resist. After a lifetime of similar faces looming over him, Austin had a strong suspicion the babies weren’t as thrilled by it. As they began to turn, he murmured a quick good-bye and jumped clear, racing for a planter and the cover of a plastic shrub.
No hue and cry.
Now to find out exactly where he was.
It looked good. Ten meters of main concourse, then the short side hall to the doors where they’d left Dean. A little exposed until he got to the side hall, but if he remembered correctly-which, of course, he did-once there, he’d have plenty to hide behind.
Play the skulking music, boys.
Checking that no one was looking his way, he jumped down and began moving along the clear Lu-cite barrier that kept the careless, the stupid, and the carelessly stupid from falling through a hexagonal opening to the lower level.
Clear Lucite barrier?
“Hey!” The shout came from across the concourse. “There’s a cat over there!
Let’s get it!”
Oh, crap.
Wondering how much longer he was going to wait, Dean tried to find a comfortable position on the metal bench and picked up his last remaining section of the Saturday paper. He’d read the comics, the sports pages, the wheels section-which was pretty much the newsprint version of infomercials but about cars so that was okay. He’d read life, and entertainment, and even the report on business. There was nothing left but the actual news.
The front page shared space about equally between a doom-and-gloom prediction of an economic slowdown caused by consumer inability to realize the need for more electronic crap and the continuing disappearance of Kingston’s street kids.
“Look, the day you can keep track of three hundred and ten cases and not lose a few of the mobile ones, you let me know. Until then, get off my fucking back!” a social worker was quoted as saying. Dean couldn’t decide which impressed him more, the social worker for
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