Grind City

Chapter 4

Jackie finished off another size of pizza, watching the latest installment of a show with criminals hopping around time. She hadn't seen any of it for the last few seasons, so it barely made any sense. At least this one didn't try to explain the weird science and technology with phenom powers. They never got those things right.

It was nearing ten, and Dane hadn't showed. She thought about texting him, but that seemed like far too much effort. Let him miss out on the pizza and company. She knew the guilt would crush him, but maybe it was a lesson he needed to learn.

Beside her, Crawford snored softly, his head leaned back at an awkward angle on the back of the couch. His shaggy mop of red hair fell in his eyes. She could jab him awake, so she wasn't staring up his round nose or into his open mouth, but that was typically a bad idea. He tended to come out of sleep swinging, no matter who did the waking. Besides, she figured he could use the rest. He didn't exactly have the most stable situation, so she figured she could let him get a few minutes of rest.

Like she was one to talk.

Her gaze turned to the apartment around her. She'd once tried to do something to make it not such a mess. She needed to get rid of an old dresser and offered it to him. She got lectured about pity and charity and a few other things she hadn't quite followed. That was when a few things clicked into place. It was why she said things like the way she'd greeted him. He liked honesty. He liked people who were up front and blunt. She had offered the dresser under the honest but flimsy excuse of just needing to get rid of it. Perhaps if she'd said "You need to take care of your shit, I'm sick of looking at it" he would have taken it. Or maybe he would have slammed the door in her face. It was hard to tell sometimes.

Reaching for another slice of pizza, she heard something down on the street. No, it couldn't be what she thought. Not at this hour. But it continued. A high pitched bark. More a series of sharp yips. Right under Crawford's window. Anyone who spent time in the city would just think it was an irritating dog. But sheer exposure told her just what that sound belonged to.

A coyote.

"Hey," she said, slapping Crawford's thigh even though she knew the risk. "Wake up. He's here."

"Let him rot," Crawford grumbled, adjusting his position.

"He's going to wake the neighborhood."

"His problem, not mine. He's outside."

The barking outside stopped. She figured next they'd hear the buzzer for the door.

Silence.

She waited. Maybe there was trouble outside. This wasn't the safest neighborhood, and some strung out crackhead might decide they wanted dog for dinner. But there wasn't anything beyond the late periodic late night traffic.

She had a slice of pizza to her lips when a hail of fists hammered the apartment door.

Crawford sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. In the illumination of the TV, Jackie could see the whites exposed completely around blue irises. His hand against hers on the couch, his fingers gripping the edge of the cushion so tight his arms trembled. No, that wasn't from his grip.

"Hey! Wake up!" Dane called from outside the door. Only then did some of the tension fade from Crawford's shoulders and arms.

"Leave him out there," Crawford grumbled, laying back on the couch.

"Doesn't your neighbor get up at like ass o'clock in the morning?" Jackie asked.

"So?"

"You know Dane's not gonna stop for at least an hour, right?"