Cissie averted her gaze before I reached her, studying some point in the distance, her neck and shoulders kind of stiff-like. I sat next to her, laying my leather jacket with its added weight of Colt .45 on the ground between us.
'Hyah,' I ventured.
'Hello,' she responded without much interest.
Cagney settled in the middle of the road, facing us, head resting on his paws. He yawned as he watched us.
'Hot day again,' I said, making conversation.
The back of Cissie's head bobbed in agreement. Today she was wearing a dark-brown dress that matched her hair, puffed at the shoulders, slim at the waist No stockings and, when she finally turned my way, I saw she wore no make-up. She eyed the dust in my hair, on my hands, on my face, but ignored it for the moment.
'Is that
'He's nobody's dog.'
'He was waiting outside when I came down for a breath of fresh air. I thought he was a stray.'
'He didn't run away?'
'He was wary at first, so I just sat there and talked to him and after a while he came over and sort of slouched down next to me. Wouldn't let me pat him though, moved away every time I tried.'
'Cagney doesn't like people very much. Seems to think they're to blame for everything that's happened.'
'Did you say Cagney? His name's Cagney?' At last her face cracked into a smile. 'After James Cagney?'
'Well his real name's probably Rex or Red, but he wasn't saying when we met up. I decided on Cagney and the mutt didn't seem to mind.'
'Has he been with you for long?'
'Coupla years, maybe.'
The sun beat down on the dusty roadway and pretty soon Cagney's eyes drooped shut. I took a rumpled rag from my pants pocket and wiped sweat from the back of my neck and underneath my chin.
'D'you have any idea what time it is?' Cissie asked, a coolness still there in her tone.
I looked over my shoulder and squinted up at the sun. 'Bout four, I'd guess. Busted my watch way back, had no use for it anyhow. Hell, I got no appointments to keep.'
'So where have you been all day?' She was looking directly at me now and I wondered at the suspicion in her eyes. 'You left before any of us were awake. Even before Muriel was awake, apparently,' she added meaningfully.
This time I looked away, staring up at the hotel's taped windows. The thought that so much death lay beyond them was depressing. 'I had things to do,' I replied eventually.
She must've understood that was all I had to say on the subject, because she didn't push it any further. I liked her for that
'How've you survived, Hoke? How have you lived on your own like this for three years?' Curiosity, and maybe some concern, was edging aside her coolness.
'It's easier to get by when you've only got yourself to take care of. You can move faster and make your own decisions. It's a lot simpler this way.'
'You sound bitter.'
I gave a small, dry chuckle. 'Really? Well now.' I left it at that
'The aeroplane that came over last night...'
'A Cornier Do 217. German medium bomber, the Flying Pencil they used to call it. Whoever's flying it doesn't realize the war's over, or doesn't care. And there's no way we can communicate.' I tucked the rag back into my pocket 'Maybe one night I'll be waiting for him in a Spitfire or Hurricane and finish it once and for all.'
'No. No more killing, Hoke. Hasn't there been enough?'
Try telling it to that guy.' I indicated the sky with my thumb and I could have meant the mad German pilot or the Creator Himself. It didn't matter which.
'What's the point of continuing the hatred? Look what it's already done to us.' She lowered her head and I could see the beginnings of tears glittering in her eyelashes.
I could stand my own self-pity, but not somebody else's. I pushed myself to my feet and reached down for my battered and torn leather jacket 'I'm gonna clean up, then get a bite t'eat,' I said.
She joined me, brushing dust from her seat, and suddenly I was the one who was curious.
'How d'you get out of the hotel? Past all those dead people, I mean. Weren't you afraid?'
'Of what? Empty shells? You think I'm scared of ghosts too?' From the glint behind those unshed tears in her eyes I guessed Muriel had offered some kind of explanation, maybe even some excuse, for last night.
'No, I'm more afraid of maniacs still dropping bombs or lunatics trying to steal my blood.'
'I can ease your mind as far as one of those threats is concerned. Let me show you the safest place to be in the hotel when the bomber comes over again.'
I led her across the street and through the brick, zigzag barrier protecting the Savoy's River Room windows and back entrance, Cagney immediately rousing from his doze to follow us. Inside the gloomy entrance hall I picked up the flashlight I always left in a corner by the stairway in case of emergencies or my own late-night arrivals, then took her downstairs to the hotel's vast basement area. We entered a long room on the left of the hallway and I played the flashlight over pink-curtained bunk-beds, all of them numbered.
'Sleeping quarters for the rich and famous,' I explained. 'At the first sound of an air-raid siren, Savoy guests were ushered down here for their own safety.'
I moved the light on, showing Cissie the discreet alcoves, heavy drapes across them turning their interiors into small but private chambers. 'For your royalty, big shots, even princes and princesses. If they were gonna shelter from the bombs, they were gonna do it in comfort.'
I picked out a bust resting on a pedestal at the far end of the room. 'Abe Lincoln,' I told her. 'This place is dedicated to him. The Yanks who came here looked on it as another tiny state of the Union wedged between the Strand and the Thames. A lot of work for the US was carried out down here, and a lot of bridges built between your country and mine.' I shone the light up at the ceiling and around the pillars. 'It's reinforced with thousands of feet of steel tubing and timber beams, all strengthened by concrete. The place is bomb-proof, Cissie, so if you get scared next time that damn crazy starts blitzing us again, just get yourself down here. Safest place in town.'
I felt her shiver beside me.
'Thanks for the tour,' she said, 'but can we leave now? There's something horrible about this room.'
I turned the flashlight on her and saw her eyes were wide and constantly moving, as if she expected something to jump out at her from the dark at any moment
'I thought you weren't afraid of ghosts.'
She was already backing away. 'I'm not, but it's like the Underground station down here, it feels like a mausoleum. Hoke, have you looked behind those curtains?'
She had a point. It was one thing to be surrounded by the dead, but another to be enclosed with them, especially in the dark. I began to feel uneasy myself.
I followed her from the Abraham Lincoln Room and we climbed back to ground level. She became calmer standing in the light from the entrance doors, but I could tell she was still agitated. Could be I'd made a mistake taking her down there, because it had only underlined the fact that we were holed up in one huge tomb, and whether Cissie believed in spirits or not, the idea had to be a mite unnerving. Ysee, I'd forgotten how accustomed I'd become to living with the dead all around me. These people, save for Potter, weren't used to the new cities yet.
'How long have we got to stay here?' Cissie demanded to know.
I'd been trying to make things easier for her, so I guess I got a little irritated by her tone. 'Lady, you can leave whenever you like.'
'But.. .' she started to say, 'but surely.. .'
I was stone-faced.
'Surely well stay together.' Her hands were held towards me, palms facing, more in exasperation than pleading. 'We need each other, Hoke, can't you understand that? Could you really go on living by yourself, with only ... only a dog for company?'
