Empire Island, Exile the First

Chapter 2

"Here kitty, kitty," I whispered brightly as the little gray tabby asshole darted under the dumpster at the end of the alley. Didn't he realize I was here to help him, for fuck's sake?

"Come on, little guy. I won't hurt you," I said through gritted teeth, but even Mrs. Lee's tabby cat, Reginald heard the tension in my voice that promised anything but.

If I didn't need the hundred dollar reward she'd posted in the laundry room of our East Vancouver low-rise apartment building, I wouldn't have come for the cat at all.

But I did need it, and everybody knew I had a knack for finding things. In this case, the cat, a hundred bucks, and hopefully some pork and ginger dumplings from a grateful Mrs. Lee. Ever since I lost my job at Drive Coffee House four months previous, things had gotten progressively worse.

I hadn't been able to use my usual luck reserves to buy a few winning scratch lottery tickets or find a hundred dollar bill on the sidewalk every time I went for a walk.

My original suspicions had been correct. My magic was running out and soon I'd be an ordinary loser in a city that despised me if I didn't do something about it.

But before I figured all that shit out, I had to get a little cash to somehow make it through the next few days.

I bent at the waist next to the dumpster and heard the tabby yowl in fear. I reached my arm under, trying not to make contact with the filthy side of it, and realized I was out of reach.

"You little shit," I muttered, realizing what I'd have to do.

I'd have to get down on my hands and knees and get the little bastard out of there, even if it killed me.

I made the psst psst sound cats seemed to love, and normally it worked. I was a cat person; they loved me and I loved them.

But not Reginald, apparently. There was no love lost.

So I faced the music and eased myself down to my knees slowly, hoping with each passing second that he'd change his mind and come running out into my arms.

He didn't, so at last I knelt on the cold, damp pavement in the urine scented alley of a Downtown Eastside neighborhood. I nudged at a discarded hypodermic needle and leaned down to look under the dumpster.

There, in the back, was Reginald. His gray fur was puffed out like a spiky striped hedgehog and his eyes were wide and yellow. Something had spooked him, scared him badly, and he wasn't responding to me at all.

"Come on, kitty," I said, reaching my hand in. I was taller than most women, so I managed to get within a few inches until I noticed my hair dragging back and forth across the soiled alley surface.

I jerked back, shouted, "Fuck!" and felt Reginald's claws catch the top of my hand before he made a beeline straight for the alley entrance.

"Fuck!" I exclaimed again, scrambling back and jumping to my feet. I was wearing my black leather British army boots and the tread had been worn down over the years through service and my own boot stomp dancing at raves and punk shows. So I skidded like a cartoon character with their legs spinning as they gained traction.

I finally caught something less slippery and slimy than whatever I'd been crouched in, and I ran.

I spotted Reginald at the sidewalk and called for him. "Reg! Kitty, kitty!"

He didn't stop. He turned the corner out of sight and I whispered, "Dammit," as I ran.

I reached the sidewalk at last and ran straight into Missy, another resident of our building and my unofficial rival. Well, she'd decided she was ever since her boyfriend had hit on me at the Slick Fire concert last year and I may or may not have taken him up on his offer for a quickie in the bathroom.