The floor of the Dew Drop Inn is tacky. The soles of Marc’s shoes stick and peel up with each step. He orders whiskey and breathes, letting the smell of stale beer and the country music and the sharp liquor burn do its work.
He calls Silvie. She is crying when she answers and that slices Marc right open. Claude comes on the line, and even though he’s trying and he can tell that Claude is too, within a moment they are hissing at each other in an angry blend of languages.
‘Ta gueule,’ Claude is saying. ‘You know what you are? Do youknowwhat—’
‘Chiante.’ Marc hangs up. Anger courses up and down him. The bartender gives him a measuring look.
‘My ex,’ Marc says, easy. The bartender nods, understanding. Everyone knows what that’s like.
Marc orders another drink, and then another right away to save time. The world is getting that nimbus, that halo around it. He looks at his watch. He has been here for an hour and a half. Kimble will be waiting. He thinks,I’ll just finish this then go, but when he raises the glass to his lips it’s already empty so he orders another.
A woman comes in. She is a small, brown-haired. He saw her earlier, behind the cash register of Mountain Foods and Goods.
‘They were in the dumpster again last night, like raccoons,’ she says to the bartender. ‘Expired meat, Tylenol. The camera caught one of them.’ She shakes her head. ‘We’re a nice town and it’s not nice. Trespassing, stealing.’
The bartender gives her a small neutral smile. ‘Susie.’
Marc feels the slipperiness of the round stool beneath him. The texture of the air is thick. He needs to get out of here.
‘Who was in the dumpster?’ he asks.
The woman looks at him, suspicious. ‘Kids.’
‘But not kids from Ault,’ Marc says.
‘I don’t know where they were from.’
‘I make TV shows.’ Marc is careful to hit all his consonants. ‘I’m making one about this place. Could I look at the surveillance footage? The cameras?’
He pulls his cell phone from his pocket. There are eighteen missed calls from Kimble. He closes his eyes, braces himself. ‘Hey, listen, I had some stuff to do—’
‘We were supposed to meet an hour ago and that’s a pretty loud bar you’re in.’
‘Don’t hang up,’ he says quickly. She’s silent, he feels her scorn crackling down the line, but she doesn’t hang up. ‘I’ve got something.’
In Mountain Foods and Goods, Marc follows Susie down the dry goods aisle. He runs a finger along the very top row of cans. His fingertip comes away feathered with dust. He nods in satisfaction. His sister taught him this. Never buy anything from the top shelf, not in these little places. These cans have probably been here for years. Always buy the things at eye level.
Marc and Kimble crouch in the tiny office at the back. The screen judders, black and white. Then it settles and there they are – at the edge of the light. They wear a hood, and on the grainy black-and-whitefootage it is impossible to tell much else about them. But they’re thin. Marc can see the bones in the wrist poking out of a baggy sleeve. After a few moments the figure slips across the screen and lifts the lid of the dumpster. They duck their head and look around, like someone accustomed to waiting for a blow to fall. Then they lean forward and plunge both arms shoulder-deep into the dumpster.
They toss the dumpster expertly, carefully, sorting frozen meat, pizzas, canned goods, bags of rice and beans. A few vegetables that haven’t rotted yet. They are tidy and don’t make a mess.
They find something. Their body language changes from casual to relief. They start grabbing cans of something, shoving it into their backpack.
‘What is that? he says to Kimble. ‘What have they got?’
‘Powdered baby formula,’ Kimble says, not taking her eyes from the screen. She chews her lower lip and notes the timecode.
On screen the kid thrusts can after can of formula into their bag.
‘I don’t like it,’ Kimble says quietly.
‘Do we let the lizard go?’ Marc can’t tell whether the big feeling sweeping over him is relief or something else.
‘That’s exactly why wedon’tlet go.’ Kimble looks up at Susie, who is watching them. ‘Can I copy this? I’ll bring it back tomorrow.’
‘I can’t do that,’ Susie says with quiet triumph. ‘I shouldn’t even have let you back here. I might need it for evidence. You know they kidnap people. They steal little kids to join them and take adults for their blood. I could have been killed, sitting here all on my own last night—’
‘Come outside for a moment,’ Kimble says to her. ‘We can talk, just us girls.’
