Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls - Jane Lindskold [8]
Yet, many evenings she must leave me to hunt. All the Jungle awakens in the evening, its coming alive heralded by the chirping of the ‘Tail Wolves,’ as the prostitutes are called. Their preparations take the longest, but soon after they awaken, their protectors—the Four they are called, although there are more than four—also rise, donning leather and weapons.
The Tail Wolves and the Four share each others’ profits, but each pays individual fees to Head Wolf. I see he is careful that they do not become a Pack within his Pack.
Others of the Pack make their way by selling drugs. Some of these fall prey to their own wares. Head Wolf deals with such harshly. When he repeatedly cannot pay his fee, one young man gone into designer dream is declared a hanger-on by Head Wolf from the same Council Rock where he taught me the Law. From my place in the Heights, I watch in horror as Head Wolf strangles the boy in his sleep.
Abalone is neither a Tail Wolf nor a member of the Four. She tells me she has turned tricks only when she has had no other way to earn her keep; something in her voice tells me that this is not often.
What she prefers is stealing. Her flamboyant exterior hides the soul of stealth and her special prey is vehicles. One good strike in a month and she is comfortable. Still, she takes a long time preparing each strike. All I understand of her craft is her oft-repeated phrase: “The days of hot wire and go are gone. Today, more than half the theft takes place in a computer.”
Tonight she has left almost before dark falls to take care of some business. I swing alone above the near silent Jungle, Betwixt and Between in my lap.
“From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs,” I say softly aloud.
“Wondering what you can do?” Betwixt asks. “I thought so.”
“Me, too,” Between adds, then recites, “Don’t want to be a Tail Wolf/Don’t want to be a Four/But no matter what you name yourself/You’re nothing but a whore.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Betwixt retorts. “The Tail Wolves are whores, not our Sarah.”
“They’re selling sex honestly,” Between snaps. “Sarah just sits here leaving half the Pack panting for a chance at her. You both know that Head Wolf took her so fast because he wants her.”
They bicker, but I do not interrupt. They have framed my dilemma perfectly. I have seen that not all who come to the Pack are so quickly welcomed. Most must prove themselves first—living as hangers-on, doing the filthiest chores.
Soon I must decide what I will do. My choices seem limited. Either I must become a Tail Wolf (The Four will only take proven brawlers) or be a beggar—a Tabaqui, in the lingo of the Pack.
The Tabaqui are barely tolerated and I have heard debates as to whether begging is really legitimate “hunting.” My choice seems clear—either I must choose a path that will disgust me or one that will disgust others.
I have not yet reached a decision when the welcome buzz of a pulley on wire signals Abalone’s return to our roost. She skids down to my hammock and drops lightly next to me.
“Good Hunting, Sarah!” Her eyes are bright and her blue lips curl with mischief.
“Good Hunting,” I reply.
She leans close, so that she is whispering in my ear. “I have a heist ready. Want to come?”
I nod vigorously. “If it were done when ’tis done, then ’twere well it were done quickly.”
“That’s the spirit, I think.” She hugs me. “I don’t understand you half the time, Sarah, but that’s okay, too.”
Reaching for a guide rope, I stand, scooping Betwixt and Between up with my free hand.
“Can’t you leave the dragon?” Abalone asks, a resigned expression anticipating my reply.
“I am a brother to dragons, a companion to owls,” I say stubbornly.
She shakes her head. “Put your brother in your shoulder bag, then at least it’ll be out of sight.”
We make our way outside by the same route that Abalone first