The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [117]
He was dead serious; and there was no sense in anybody trying to tell Hickie that animals were just animals. “Well, I could use his services, I said. “For a week, maybe. And the pay’d be top dollar.”
Hickie’s finger kept tapping at his nose. “A week? Well…” He suddenly brightened up. “What thay we go an’ athk him? If Mike taketh to you, Thtevie, that’ll be a thign that he wanth the work—and thuch bein’ the cathe, far be it from me to thtand in hith way!”
I watched Hickie start to march off in the direction of the hovel he called home, like the pint-sized captain of criminal industry he was; and as I fell in alongside him, I allowed as the kid would enjoy a brilliant future, so long as he could stay one step ahead of the long arm.
We caught up on each other’s doings during the walk to Hickie’s home on Monroe Street, which was in one of the oldest and worst sections of shantytown in the city. Hickie’s building, like most around it, was a decrepit wooden deal, a leftover from the last century or thereabouts; and what he called a “basement” was really more like a cave. We reached it by going round to a back alley—which was thick with ash heaps and laundry that’d been hung out to dry—and then heading down an old set of stone steps into a dirt-floored space below. The joint was dark, save for the barely detectable light of a high, filthy window at the front—but that didn’t stop a collection of dogs from starting to bark as soon as they heard us coming. Once we were inside, Hickie lit a kerosene lamp, and as soon as he did, the place jumped to life: not only dogs yapping and leaping around, but cats scurrying away from the dogs and hissing at them, and dozens of other, smaller animals moving around in ways what made it seem like the walls themselves were alive. Hickie greeted them all with great enthusiasm, a process that took some time, while I just waited cautiously, not sure which of the beasts were dangerous to outsiders and which were okay.
Past the few pieces of furniture that Hickie owned there was an old sink with a bucket of garbage underneath it, the contents of which had been strewn around the room—and out of which soon appeared a medium-sized raccoon, what gave Hickey a very guilty look.
“Willy!” Hickie shouted, moving for the garbage pail at a speed that made it tough (but not impossible) for the raccoon to escape up the sink’s single water pipe. “How many timeth doth I got to tell you, no more garbage!” He looked up the pipe to the blinking, clinging animal. “You act like you don’t ever get fed, you ungrateful little—”
I had to laugh. “Hickie, he’s a raccoon, for Pete’s sake, what do you expect?”
Hickie’s hands went to his hips, and he continued to stare the animal down. “I exthpect him to act with a little common courtethy and gratitude, or he’ll find himthelf thleeping in the alleyway—that’th what I exthpect!” He went farther toward the front of the room and lit another lamp, carrying it with him. “I named him after the Kaither Wilhelm, that one, but he don’t wathte any time bein’ imperial, he don’t…” Hickie signaled for me to join him; and as I noticed that a sizable snake was making for my feet, I decided to brave the other animals and enter the deeper reaches of the room. “Now, then,” Hickie said, climbing up onto a huge pile of old trunks, “come and thay hello to Mike.”
In the darkness I could make out a large, framed structure on top of the trunks, and when Hickie held the lamp up I could see that it was a cage, made out of some old two-by-twos and chicken wire. Inside the cage a long, lean shadow was whipping around in agitated motions, with an equally long, fluffy tail following behind. “Mike!” Hickie finally got high enough to set the lamp down and then sit on one of the trunks next to the cage. “Mike, I’ve brought an old friend to pay hith rethepecth and offer