Armed again with the WD-40, we made our way up the ladder. Behind me, I hoisted the ladder back up and locked it in place before making my way up the rest of the stairs of the fire escape. We sprayed additional joints and springs along the way to ensure it would remain quiet for the duration of our stay.
On the roof, I walked in a slow heel-to-toe step across the flat tar top to the first skylight and peered inside. The kitten’s claws dug deep into the hood of my sweatshirt, glued to me and looking over my shoulder. Warm light glowed from within, dim and quiet. I knew Betty was down there already asleep, and it felt right being back here again. We were two magnets, forever pulling us together, no matter the obstacles.
I placed my hand on the frame to inspect it. The round skylight was a dome with large, leaded glass triangular panes forming to create the shape. My hand trailed around the dome and found the small latch I’d installed. I tested it with a slight rattle. It appeared in good shape; the rubber seals still fresh and holding. I sprayed the hinges with WD-40 for good measure, letting it soak in. I wouldn’t attempt opening it tonight, but this way it was ready.
I stepped back and set down my rucksack beside the dome; the kitten rode it all the way to the ground before wobbling down onto all fours and exploring the space. He romped after a few pigeons, and I thought it wasn’t such a bad thing having the little guy around; he could keep the squirrels and birds out of my belongings.
I pulled out my compact sleeping bag and small tent and began assembling the parts. Everything was minimal but efficient. I was grateful that the weather was rather mild and rain wasn’t in the forecast for the next week. If this dragged out longer than that, I’d have time to get better supplies. Her townhouse was among the tallest on the street. It was a good thing; neighboring townhomes wouldn’t be able to spot me up here over the ledge of the roof.
The setup went together fast, and the kitten returned to my side when I offered him another fish from the tin before eating a few myself. I set up my computer on some loose bricks, opening the fins on the solar chargers—which were already fully charged—to be ready for the morning sunrise. The kitten curled into the hole at the center of my crossed legs as I sat upon my sleeping bag, and just like that, we were a team.
???
The next morning, I brewed some coffee in a Moka pot over a camp stove and watched as Betty moved around her townhome, getting ready for work. I peered over the edge of the roof, noting all the cars on the street. From my vantage point, I couldn’t tell if anyone seemed suspicious. However, I could watch her leave and see if she was followed.
If any of Ethan’s men were down there, they weren’t making themselves known either. FBI types were easier to spot, but Ethan’s guys were near ghosts.
A town car arrived. It was her driver. I flipped on the camera hidden in the tree outside her front door. Betty exited her house, locking up behind her, looking over the railing to the left of her stoop.
“Kitty kitty,” she sang, hearing her voice through the speaker.
I looked down at the kitten curled up beside my thigh.“Is she looking for you?” I asked him.
He slowly blinked his yellow eyes, ignoring my question and purring incessantly. I ran a finger over his dusky black brow. The sunlight lit his face, his pupils narrow slits and barely visible.
Through the camera, Betty’s expression looked a little sad when she didn’t find any cats near her stoop. I knew then how valuable the furry tool beside me might be. Her affection for Mr. Beans made it apparent she loved cats. This was a good thing; I could work this angle with ease.
Betty looked both ways on the street before holding her gaze to the left as though staring at something. I peered again over the edge of the roof, trying to judge the direction she was looking. There was an old blue Crown Vic that tickled my memories and a Land Rover in that general area. I kept my eyes on them both as she got into the town car and pulled away from the curb. Sure enough, the blue Crown Vic pulled away from the curb after them.
Bingo.
“I see you, asshole,” I whispered.
Looking down at my computer again, I pulled up the CCTV feeds and began following them across town. The blue car followed them the entire way. This was definitely the guy, Ronny.I monitored the CCTV until I saw the car find a spot to park around her building.
She’d be safe at work for the day. If they were going to make a move, it’d be here at home when she’s alone.
I pulled up the Ghost web app on my phone, reading the messages Betty left last fall, including the one she’d sent last night. She confessed she needed me. I’d spent so many years alone that the realization that someone needed me made something long dead stir in my chest.
Betty was strong and commanding, but the crumbling of her walls showed her vulnerability, too. She had to be scared if she were asking for help. I’d worked hard for her attention, and now that I had it, I would honor it by protecting her, always.
My thumb scrolled through past messages before closing the app. It wasn’t smart to answer her there, not when it risked them seeing activity on my profile. Instead, I pulled out a clean postcard from my sack and the wooden stamp of a rat I carved from a chunk of wood at my cabin. I used it as my trademark. On the web app, my screen name was TheRatMan because of my vendetta against the mafia and my past affiliation.
A little on the nose? Yes. But I liked the irony.
With a marker, I wrote:“I’m here, Buttercup. What do you need?”
I loaded the makeshift stamp with ink from an inkpad and crudely stamped the card with my logo. She knew this logo… hated it, in fact. I’d taunted her with notes on her pillow before, and it was the most delicious fun hearing her grumble and scream in protest. I had a feeling this time, however, she’d be relieved to see it.
I fanned the postcard a few times until the ink dried, then got up, scooping the little kitten up with me and placing him on my shoulder. He made himself right at home on the broad expanse of natural muscle I’d built from chopping wood and building my Canadian homestead. The kitten had ample space on my back to get comfortable.
From the rucksack, I snaked out a long length of climbing rope, adding a few knots every foot or so to add traction. The skylight opening dropped ten feet to the top landing of the spiral stairs between her office and bedroom, so I’d only need the rope for the trip back up.
Snaking it around a pipe, I secured the rope. When my thumb found the latch and flipped it open, I threw the rope down. I braced my arms on the solid part of the frame and lowered through the opening before dropping in completely. I was silent, able to control my movements so well that I could practically hold my body horizontal like a flag on a pole if I wanted to.
Moonlighting as a male pole-dancer was always an option if money got tight.
When the cat and I touched down, I was proud of my little feline companion for making it the entire way without protest. He was so slight; it was easy for his tiny body to hold on with his oversized paws. I didn’t mind the nails that dug in through my thermal-sleeved shirt. Pain was a friend of mine. My back was already a roadmap of scars anyway.
