Cat Trick

He got to his feet. “I have this,” he said.

I opened my mouth to argue that I could pay for my dinner, but he was already halfway to the counter.

The sun was just going down and the sky over the river was streaked with red and gold when we stepped outside. I stopped on the sidewalk for a moment to take in the view.

“‘Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in morning, sailors take warning,’” Marcus said softly behind me.

I turned to look at him.

“My father used to say that,” he said with a shrug. “Then he’d go into this long explanation about the light from the setting sun, dust particles and high-pressure systems.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” I said as we started walking.

“Yeah, I know. But when you’re ten and your friends are standing there, that kind of thing is embarrassing.”

I waved my hand dismissively at him. “No, no, no, no. Embarrassing is your father doing the balcony scene from

Romeo and Juliet on the fire escape. In tights. In January. Embarrassing is all your friends dressing up as tap-dancing raisins for Halloween because your father played one in a cereal commercial and became some kind of cultural icon slash cult hero.”

“You’re joking,” Marcus said.

I sighed and shook my head. “No, sadly, I’m not.”

“A tap-dancing raisin?” He still looked a little disbelieving.

“A shriveled, tap-dancing raisin that had no rhythm.”

He nodded slowly. “You win. That definitely is more embarrassing.”

I bumped his arm with my shoulder. “Someday I’ll tell you about the time my mother picked me up at school after rehearsal for Gypsy.”

“I look forward to it,” he said, smiling down at me.

The street curved, following the shoreline, and ahead I could see that one of the tents was about three-quarters assembled. We crossed at the corner, and as we got closer to the boardwalk, I caught sight of Burtis Chapman and Mike Glazer.

Burtis was built like an offensive lineman, with wide shoulders and huge, muscled arms. His skin was weathered from working outdoors and his hair was snow-white in a Marine Corps brush cut. He was extremely well-read, I knew, but was happy to play the uneducated hick if it suited him.

Mike was about the same height, only leaner, with sandy blond hair cropped close and a couple days’ stubble. In his black wool commando sweater and gray trousers, he looked like a city boy.

“I just think we’d be better served with something from this century,” he was saying, pointing at the tent. He didn’t look happy. “And a lighter fabric—a polyester or nylon.”

I remembered Maggie rolling her eyes in exasperation as she’d described Mike as a festering boil on the backside of life. It was about as close to swearing as Mags got.

For all that Mike seemed to be arrogant and condescending, I knew he could be kind of personable as well. He’d spent some time in the library the previous morning, walking around looking at the large collage panels that told the history of the building.

“Could I help you?” I’d asked, walking over to the magazine section, where he’d stood.

He’d smiled and shaken his head. “Thanks, no. I was just taking a trip down memory lane. These photos are incredible.”

“Take your time,” I’d said. “There are more panels hanging in the computer room.”

He’d checked his watch and frowned. “I wish I could, but I have to get going.” He shrugged and looked around. He seemed a little sad. “Maybe Thomas Wolfe was right; you can’t go home again.”

“I prefer The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

,” I’d said.

Mike had frowned, not getting the reference.

“There’s no place like home.”

He’d nodded his head with just a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll try to remember that.”

Burtis was standing silently, holding a sledgehammer in both of his large hands. His expression was unreadable, until I got close enough to see his eyes. There was a hint of menace in them. If the rumors I’d heard about Burtis were even partly true, I knew he wasn’t a man to get on the bad side of.

“Well?” Mike said impatiently.

“My turn to talk now, is it?” Burtis said, looking at the younger man as though he were something Burtis had just scraped off his shoe. “First of all, boy, both these tents here are just a couple of years old. That canvas is water-repellent, mildew-resistant and flame-retardant. My tents don’t sag when they’re wet and they don’t blow over. When my boys put a tent up, it stays up.” There was a challenge in his body language and his tone.