As Brand moved down the alley, looking for a likely rooftop, he heard someone call his name. Turning, he smiled slightly at the middle-aged man coming toward him. He and John had become friends of a sort when their paths had crossed at a now defunct local shelter. They'd spent a few early evenings panhandling on the Mall then bedded down at the shelter, if there was room. When there wasn't, they'd find a safe place in some alley or down by the creek. John had considered himself Brand's protector, probably because he stood several inches taller than Brand's five-ten. Not that Brand needed a guardian—but he never said that to John. At that point in time, he was happy to have John's company.
"Hey, kid, I swear you don't look a day older than the last time I saw you," John said, giving Brand clap on the shoulder before stepping back.
"I could say the same about you," Brand retorted, eyeing him.
John snorted. "A nice lie, but I'll take it. So what you been up?"
Brand shrugged. "Not much. You?"
"Same old, same old, kid. Keeping it together best as I can since my brief stint in jail."
"I heard about that. Sorry, man."
John waved his hand in dismissal. "A bed, three squares a day… made it almost worth it. Still…" He looked up and down the alley. "Guess the cops haven't been down this one yet tonight."
"They have," a voice piped up from behind a dumpster. "Came, kicked us out, but we're back." A girl about sixteen, if that, came out to stand in front of John and Brand. "Should be safe enough now, if you're looking for a place to crash." She grinned, introducing herself as Doll. "Too few of them, too many of us. It's a losing battle for the cops once it gets dark."
"Still, be careful, Doll. They see you too many times, they're gonna stop giving warnings and jail your pretty little self," John said.
"Yeah, I know. But I'm…"
Brand had moved away as the two were talking, so he missed the last of what she was saying. He liked John, but had other things he needed to be doing and having the man hanging around with him would make it that much harder.
Scurrying farther away, Brand slipped into an unlit doorway, pulling back into the shadows. John walked by a minute later, still chatting with the girl. Brand wondered if he was even aware it was just the two of them now. Probably not.
Inching forward, he watched the pair turn the corner out of the alley onto Eighteenth. Then, spotting a dumpster next to a convenient fire escape, Brand leapt onto it and from there made his way to the roof of what he knew was a restaurant popular with the baseball fans. He sprawled on his stomach, looking over the edge, watching as a pair of street kids sidled in off the street. They were obviously keeping a weather-eye open for the cops or trouble from anyone who had already taken up residence for the night.
An hour passed. Things quieted down as the people who had come downtown for the Fourth of July fireworks made their way to the parking lots and from there, home. No cops visited the alley. Those stragglers looking for a place to spend the night moved on when they realized all the viable spots had been taken. One man came up to the roof, saw Brand and beat a hasty retreat when Brand scowled at him.
Best that you do. Brand smiled darkly as he continued his surveillance.
Forty minutes later he spotted his prey. A tall, blond man came into the dark alley. He was dressed in slacks, a dark blue shirt, and a battered leather jacket. The build, the pale blond hair… The man's head turned right and left as he surveyed the area, the streetlamp highlighting his features for a moment.
It's him.
Brand kept his gaze locked on Fedor while he reached for his backpack. When his knee came down hard on a sharp bit of debris, he hissed softly in momentary pain.
Fedor must have heard him because he looked up. His thin, aristocratic lips curved in a grisly smile as he started toward the fire escape.
Suddenly, the headlights of a police cruiser flooded the area when it pulled into the alley. For a moment Fedor froze, then, giving Brand a mocking salute, he turned, walked swiftly to the corner and vanished from sight.
Seconds later, backpack in hand, Brand was jumping from the bottom rung of the fire escape to the alley floor. Ignoring an officer's orders to stay where he was, he raced to the street but it was too late. Fedor was nowhere to be seen. Not that it surprised Brand all that much. The man was as slippery as an eel, as Brand's mother used to put it. Most predators were and Fedor was on the top of the food chain when it came to preying on the innocent and not so innocent.
With a sigh of disgust, Brand hoisted his pack over one shoulder and continued his search. It was close to dawn when he finally gave up and headed back home. Tomorrow is another night, to paraphrase some movie line.
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