“I think I can find my way back now,” Blinker murmured.
“Remember,” Silversides went on, “if you don’t bring me the information I want, you’ll never see those two friends of yours alive again.”
Blinker, who had been considering running away, bowed his head in submission, convinced Silversides would do exactly as she threatened.
“Do they have a name for this place?” Silversides asked.
“Café . . . Independent.”
“Café Good Riddance,” the cat sneered. “Now go.”
Blinker made his way into the old bookstore. The place was very busy. Windshield was attacking one wall with paint. Foglight was still in a corner immersed in writing. Clutch, Lugnut, and Dipstick were hard at work pushing and pulling a volume of an old encyclopedia across the floor with the intent of using it as a performance platform. Other mice were polishing the floor with bits of tissue. Still others were collecting and carrying out the endless trash, dumping it in the back hallway.
Blinker kept telling himself that he must let Clutch know what Silversides was planning.
“Hey, dude, what’s happening?”
Blinker, startled out of his sad reverie, looked up. It was Ragweed.
“I . . . I . . . Oh, never mind,” Blinker murmured mournfully.
“Where you been, dude?” Ragweed asked. “I thought you were gone for good.”
Eyes to the floor, Blinker silently shook his head.
“Cool. If we’re ever going to open this place, we need every paw we’ve got. How about you and me taking a walk around the place and checking out security? Come on, dude, I can use your smarts.” There was a hint of impatience in Ragweed’s voice that made Blinker cringe.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t. I . . .”
“Let’s hit it, dude. Like, life is moving on!”
Sick to his stomach, Blinker followed along after Ragweed. The mice first checked the back door. The way had been blocked, making it impassable for any creature. From there they went on to check the front door hole.
“We’ll post guards both places,” Ragweed explained. “At all times. I don’t think cats can get in, but dude, this place has to be, like, triple safe.”
The reluctant Blinker in tow, Ragweed climbed the rickety old staircase to the second story of the building. At the top they found a room cluttered with junk from years past.
“Windows front and back,” Ragweed observed. “But closed tight. Cool. Still, I think we better post sentries up here, too. They can look out on the front street and back alley.”
“There’s a hole in the wall over there,” Blinker pointed out timorously. It was the size of a grapefruit and rather jagged around the edges.
“Hey, awesome, mouse!” Ragweed cried and hurried over to examine the hole. “Fantastic. It goes into the next building, dude. Way good.”
“Why is that so good?” Blinker asked.
“We needed one decent bolt hole, dude. This’ll be, like, a great one. I mean, if we ever need to empty the place out fast, we can zap up the steps and cruise out this way.”
“I see,” Blinker said. Knowing that he would be telling Silversides everything he learned made him feel ghastly.
Ragweed looked about. “I suppose we should check the basement.”
“Ragweed, do . . . do you really think the cats . . . will try to get in?” Blinker asked.
Ragweed shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. But, like, we can’t take any chances. Know what I’m saying?”
“Maybe . . .” Blinker stammered, “it’s all a mistake.”
“What’s a mistake?”
“Having this club.”
“Don’t be a dork, dude,” Ragweed snapped.
Blinker was afraid to say any more.
The two mice went down the steep flight of steps that led into the basement. The area was small, dark, and damp. The dirt floor was spotted with stagnant pools of water from the hosing the floor had received the day before. A rusty furnace stood in one corner. Coils of wire and rope hung from the walls. Some broken chairs were piled one atop another. Bundles of old advertisements, along with a few boxes of decaying books, took up the rest of the space.
“What do you think that is?” Ragweed asked. He pointed to a large metal pipe that stuck into the room.
Blinker stared at it. “An old sewer hookup,” he said.
“Mouse, how come you know so many things?”
“Well, I’ve not lived much. But I’ve read a great deal.”
“Okay, what’s a sewer?”
“It’s a pipe that carries away dirt and waste.”
“Where’s it lead to?”
“Probably to a bigger sewer. But if it’s unhooked,” Blinker said, “and it looks that way because no water is coming out, I suppose it doesn’t lead anywhere.”
Ragweed hauled himself up, going from the newspapers to the chairs to a coil of rope until he reached the pipe. Clinging to its lip, he peered in. It was dark inside and had a bad odor. “You’re right,” he called down to Blinker, “it’s not being used.”
He dropped back down. “I don’t see any way to get in, do you?” he said, looking around again.
“No.”
“Then there’s no point in posting a sentry here.”
“I . . . I . . . think you should,” Blinker stammered.
“You do? Why?”
Blinker hung his head. “Just in case,” he mumbled.
“Yeah, I suppose, like, you’re right. Let’s go.”
The two mice returned to the main floor. “Thanks for your help, dude,” Ragweed said to Blinker. “And cheer up. Things are going to get better.”
“Ragweed . . .” Blinker called as Ragweed started off.
“What’s up, dude?”
Blinker’s paws trembled. “I . . . I . . . have a . . . a confession to make.”
“A what?”
“It’s . . . It’s . . .” Unable to find the words to speak, Blinker took a deep breath with the intention of trying again.
Before he could say anything, Clutch ran up and joined them. “Blinker!” she cried. “Where you been, dude? I’ve been worried about you.”
“You have?”
“’Course I have.”
“Why?”
Clutch grinned. “Hey, mouse, I like seeing you around.”
Blinker bowed his head. “You do?”
“Right. So, like, where you been?”
“Home.”
“I thought you were giving that life up.”
“I . . . don’t know . . . how,” Blinker whispered.
Ragweed considered the two of them. They were certainly a striking couple, she tall and thin, gray-brown with the top of her head dyed green. He was small and shy, entirely white, with blinking pink eyes and a naked tail.
Sensing he should leave the two mice
