Sorenson had managed to work out which way was up.
Wong scrambled to his feet and pulled the door open. Madeleine straightened her arm and Sorenson was gone, out into the night.
“And don’t think about calling the militia, because I am the militia,” she shrieked after her. “If I see you again, I will arrest you. Got that, you crazy bitch?”
Wong slammed the door and stood with his back to it, bracing it against further breaches. He looked around as people started to emerge from behind chairs and tables.
“Coffee? Hot and strong?”
Tables were righted, all except the broken one, which was taken out the back. Spilled cutlery and crockery was retrieved and stacked on the counter, and Wong did the rounds with his coffee pots.
Without a table, Petrovitch set his chair back on its legs on an available piece of floor, and slumped into it.
“Are you okay?” asked Madeleine.
He inspected his hand, which hurt when he moved his fingers. His knuckles were crusted with blood and ragged pieces of skin. “What about you? Your ribs.”
“I felt something move. My lungs aren’t filling with fluid, so it can’t be that serious. Sam,” she said, “why did you tell her?”
“Because there was no reason for me not to.” He pushed his glasses back into place. “I didn’t want her thinking that he might turn up at any moment, alive, scratching his arse and wondering if anyone had missed him. She’s his family. She needed to know.”
She rested her hand on his leg. “You’re right.”
“I am? I was beginning to wonder.” Petrovitch watched Wong do his rounds, and then he came to him. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”
“My shop. She attacked my customers. Crazy lady bad for business, so out she goes.” Wong inspected the pair. “Where your mugs? You not want refill?”
“I think,” said Madeleine twisting round and wincing, “they’re back on the counter.”
He smiled. “I fetch clean ones.”
Madeleine got stiffly to her feet and hugged Wong to her, planting a wet kiss through his wispy hair onto the crown of his head. She held him tight, imprisoning him in her arms and leaving his own stuck out either side, each holding a coffee pot. “You are so very good and kind, and I love you very much.”
After a while, she let go, and secretly wiped her eyes. Wong went back behind his counter without a word, and did the same.
She lowered herself back down and leaned in. “We need to do something for him, Sam.”
Petrovitch rolled an idea around in his mouth, tasting it and finding its flavor.
“Yeah. And all the other Wongs.”
13
He lay in the gloom, not moving for a moment, listening to the sound of her and feeling the heat radiate off her body. He had spent a lifetime being cold and not minding so much, whereas she seemed to run hot, like a furnace, fueled by her energy and passion.
Petrovitch eased himself out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. As his fingers closed around the wire arm of his glasses, he felt the skin on the back of his hand tighten. No bones broken from what had been a wild, spontaneous swing, but he’d been left wondering if it was only Charlotte Sorenson’s legs that were made of metal.
He went to the bathroom cubicle, and inspected himself in the mirror, his face gaunt in the harsh blue-white light of the fluorescent bulb. To be caught in one explosion was excusable. Suffering two was starting to look like carelessness. It wasn’t just his coat that was a mess: canned skin only covered so much.
He scrubbed himself down in the miserly spray from the shower. He still smelled of dust and semtex—unless it was his towel, which he sniffed carefully—particles of which had embedded themselves deep into him. He hung his head. He was tired, so very, very tired.
He thought about going back to bed and leaching more warmth from Madeleine, but instead he found some clothes that hadn’t been worn too often before and shrugged them on.
Without turning on the light, he knelt beside the bed and tickled the end of her nose with her plait.
“Hey.”
She opened her eyes. “What time is it?”
“Six thirty.”
“Going to work?”
“Someone has to.”
“Oi.” She raised herself on her elbow. “I thought I might report in later. Light duties until the ribs knit properly.”
Petrovitch played with the thick rope of her hair, looping it through his fingers and around his wrist. “Today isn’t the right day for that. You should stay here.”
“I could say the same to you. You can work from here just as well as you can anywhere else.”
“That’s not strictly true. You, you distract me.”
She smiled lazily and rested a sleep-softened hand on his cheek. “Poor Sam can’t do his sums if there are girlies around.”
“Not true either. Me and Pif would work for days without so much as a word passing between us. It’s you. I… I don’t know.” He leaned into her palm.
“I’m sure you don’t.” She let her hand slip. “Go on, off you go. Got your phone?”
He patted his leg, and then scrabbled around in his discarded trousers for the device. “Got it.”
“Don’t get blown up today.”
He stood up. “I’ll try not to.”
Petrovitch picked up his coat and inspected it. If the sleeves were looking ragged, the tails of it were like wind-blown cloud, more air than material. It was the only one he had, so he put it on. He felt for the rat inside its steel case.
“See you later.”
Outside in the corridor, night dwellers still lay stretched out against the walls, leaving a narrow path down the middle for him and the other early risers. He made sure that he didn’t tread on any of them, nor the stair people. They stank of sweat and piss, but he presumed he would too if he had to live like them.
The streets were empty, though. Wong was opening up, and waved Petrovitch over with the huge hoop of keys he used to secure his premises.
“Early bird,” said Wong.
“What?”
“Catches worm.” He selected a key and found a padlock that would fit it.
“What the
“Crazy lady? No. Petrovitch, you too young for so many enemies.”
“And they’re just the ones that announce themselves.” The coat didn’t keep him warm like it used to. There was a chill wind at his back, and it slipped through all the gaps. He shivered. “Wong, has anyone else been around here, asking about me? Or Maddy?”
He shook his head. “No. Why?”
“Because we’re potentially in deep
