Having chosen her clothing from the collection of tattered and dirty mismatched coats, pants, and shirts she kept at Jack’s, Bagabond jammed a Greek fisherman’s cap on her stringy hair and left the cats behind as she made her way up to ground level through the tunnels that bypassed Jack’s home. Agile from years of moving through the underground, she used the eyes of the rats who lived in the tunnels to show her the path. The floor-level view she gained from their perspective was enough to avoid most obstacles. She had spent days underground without using her own eyes. It was best to remove herself as much as possible from contact with the mass of people who crawled on the surface as her creatures crawled in their tunnels and burrows.
Bagabond grasped the rungs of a ladder to the world above her and climbed. Shifting the manhole cover slightly upward, she looked around and saw only a sleeping derelict in the allev. She climbed out, replaced the cover, and limped toward the crowds at the mouth of the alley. Long ago she had found the most direct route to Rosemary Muldoon’s office in the district attorney’s complex. Today, though, the streets were crowded with revelers. Many wore grotesque masks; some were in full costume. Bagabond felt anger at these “normal” people. The virus that had given her a means of survival had also removed her from this human world. Sometimes she regretted it, most of the time she did not. It took no effort to curse the crowd and clear a path to the justice Center.
Somebody whistled, appreciative by the sound of it. She didn’t glance around. It wouldn’t be at her.
Before the security guard noticed her, Bagabond joined a crowd of people waiting for the elevator. Keeping the crowd of three-piece suits between her and the guard, she walked with lowered head and sidelong glances to the stairs. It took several minutes to walk up to the eighth floor but she hated the elevator.
Instead of the usual receptionist, who knew that she was an old client of Rosemary’s from her days with Social Services, the front desk was manned by a handsome, black-haired man in a brown suit. He was having trouble with the phone as she walked up.
“Damn! Lost another one. Whoever created hold buttons should be shot. Don’t you agree?” He spoke without looking up from the phone console whose buttons he was punching.
“Even though I know that’s no attitude for a lawyer.” He finally looked up and his face registered surprise for just a moment. “Hello. What can I do for you?” He smiled at the bag lady. “Do you want this floor? This is the DA’s office. What are you looking for?”
“Rosemary.” Bagabond kept her head down and her voice weak and rough.
“Rosemary? I’m new here, but the only Rosemary hereI think-is Rosemary Muldoon. She’s an assistant district attorney.” He turned to look dubiously down at the phone console. “Well, I could try to buzz her, but…”
“Rosemary” The derelict’s voice was stronger and angry. When he looked up again, he met, for a mere second, a pair of sharp and clear black eyes.
“I’ll do my best.” The phone rang. “Paul Goldberg. District attorney’s office. May I help you?”
Bagabond started toward a door behind Goldberg, but it opened as she reached for the knob.
The woman behind the door was petite, about three inches shorter than Bagabond. The bag lady knew that because they had once been obliged to exchange clothes. Rosemary’s eyes varied from dark brown to hazel, depending on her mood. Today they were dark and intense..
“Hello there. Good to see you. Go right in. I’ll be back in a moment.” Rosemary Muldoon held the door for the bag lady. Before she entered the office, Bagabond looked back at the receptionist’s desk. Rosemary nodded. “Paul, call that temporary service again. Tell them if someone doesn’t show up in fifteen minutes, we’re calling another service. This is ridiculous.”
“Yes, Ms. Muldoon. I hope I didn’t offend your client.” He smiled apologetically at the bag lady, who shook her head once, sharply.
“My friend, Paul,” Rosemary said. “Hold my calls, will you, please?”
The man behind the desk sighed and nodded. “Of course, Ms. Muldoon. I look forward to seeing you again, Miss,” he said to Bagabond. He was already reaching for a ringing phone as Bagabond stared at him again, then turned and limped into Rosemary’s office.
“Donnis is on vacation and things are a mess.” Rosemary shut the door and walked over to the walnut desk. “Here we are, understaffed, and our newest addition has to answer phones instead of working on the caseload. He’s decorative, though.” Rosemary perched on the side of her desk. “They offered me new carpet to replace this ghastly green shag. I took another staff attorney instead.”
“Good choice.” Bagabond sat down on the edge of an old straight chair. She took off her hat and brushed the hair out of her face.
“How’s Jack?” Rosemary reached out and took the cap from Bagabond. Putting it on, she looked inquiringly at Baga bond, who shook her head.
“Doesn’t go with the tweed.” Bagabond sat back carefully, as if worried the chair would collapse. “Okay, I guess. We’re not talking all that much right now. I just got a call from him before I came over. He’s out hunting a niece who ran away to New York City.”
Rosemary raised an eyebrow.
“Her name’s Cordelia Chaisson. Sixteen. Country girl from Louisiana. Jack says she’s real pretty-tall, slender, black hair, dark brown eyes. That’s all he told me. He sounded pretty upset. “
“I’ll put the word out in the station houses,” said Rosemary. “That much I can do. Too many kids run away to the city.” She took a fountain pen out of the desk set by her hip.
Bagabond nodded her appreciation. “How’s life off the street?”
“Who says I’m off the street? With this job, I never leave.” Rosemary sighed and continued to play with the fountain pen. It was obvious she had other things on her mind. “Things are getting worse with the Family. The Butcher-remember Don Frederico?-is killing anyone who threatens his authority. It’s no way to run the Gambione Family. We’re no longer completely in control in Jokertown. Somebody’s setting the jokers against us, the Family. They’re just being used, of course.”
“The jokers are always getting used. Either they’re the great downtrodden minority of this century, or else they’re a plague to be eradicated.” Bagabond fixed her with wide black eyes.
Rosemary continued, “They get something when they pay protection to the Gambiones. That’s one tradition that even the Butcher doesn’t dare abandon.” She gestured with the pen. “I keep thinking that if my father had just had a son, to take over the Gambiones, this wouldn’t be happening. Maybe that S. O. B. Butcher will have a nice accident. Slip in the bathtub or something.”
“He always was bad news.” Bagabond smiled humorlessly up at Rosemary. “Even in our brief acquaintance, I can’t say that he made a good impression. If I hear anything. I’ll let you know. I usually avoid Jokertown, but the rats like it down there. Lots of food.”
“I don’t want details, please.” Rosemary shivered. “You want to know what else is making my life interesting? First thing I hear this morning is that there’re some valuable note books on the street. I don’t even know whose they are, but the Egrets want them. If the Egrets want them, so do I. You really do hear the strangest things, so if you find out anything about this, I would appreciate it.” Rosemary wouldn’t meet Bagabond’s dark gaze. “I feel as if I’m using you, Suzanne, but you know things no one else does. Thanks.”
“I have a lot of eyes and ears.” Bagabond looked out the window behind Rosemary’s shoulder. “You are a friend. I only have one other-human. I want to help.”
“I wish Jack wasn’t such an idiot,” Rosemary said. “What is wrong with that boy?” She shook her head in sympathy. “Have you thought of maybe looking elsewhere?”
“Maybe at the mission?” Bagabond combed the hair back across her face with her fingers and jammed the cap down on her head. She stood up and spread the ratty paisley skirt she wore over a pair of chinos. “Or perhaps the singles bars. I could start a new fashion trend.”
“I’m sorry.” Rosemary slid off the desk and touched Bagabond’s shoulder. Bagabond swung away from her hand.
“I’ve been alone for years. I’ll survive. Besides, the cats would be happier.” Bagabond showed her teeth, white and sharp. “I’ll be in touch.”
Rosemary opened the door and walked with her to the front desk.
“I’ve got court in twenty minutes. Just call me if you need anything, dear.” The stooped and limping bag lady nodded her lowered head and walked away. As she passed the receptionist’s area, Goldberg looked up.
“Hope to see you again soon. Have a nice day.”
As he said the last words, the bag lady turned her head to stare at him.
“Yeah, I don’t believe I said that either.” He grinned and shrugged in apology, and the phone rang again. “‘Bye.” Making her way slowly down the stairs, Bagabond wondered if Jack had found Cordelia yet. Missing girls, missing notebooks. Everyone was looking for something. She wasn’t. It was the advantage of having nothing to lose.