The Guardians

the spotted brick of the Edwardian storefronts behind me, I appear to be not holding a cel phone but nursing a smal animal cupped in my hands.

And then it comes alive. The Beastie Boys holering 'Sabotage' into my palm.

'Helo?'

'Trevor? How you doing?'

'Thanks for caling back.'

'My job.'

It's immediately clear that Barry Tate is not prepared to be as patient with me as he was the first time around.

'I saw something this morning,' I start. 'Oh?'

'Gary Pulinger.'

'What about him?'

'He was outside the Thurman place.'

'What time was this?'

'I'm not sure. Maybe six, six thirty.'

'Was he attempting to enter the property?'

'He wasn't on the property, just the sidewalk.'

'Walking on the sidewalk?'

'Standing.'

'So you want me to arrest him for loitering?'

'I'm not teling you to do anything, Barry. I just thought it was worth reporting. Given he's a suspect in the Tracey Flanagan business.'

'Who said that?'

'It's what I heard.'

'Oh yeah? Wel, you know what my supervisor heard yesterday? That me and my partner searched private property without a warrant. It wasn't a pleasant meeting, I can tel you.'

'Sorry to hear that.'

'And I'm sorry to hear you're caling me with more of this 'I saw something' news. What did you see? A kid walking along looking at houses?'

'He wasn't walking. And it wasn't any house, it was—'

'Your dad ever tel you about that kid who cried wolf?'

'Listen, Barry, you can be pissed off at me al you want. But I've got a feeling that Tracey Flanagan was in that place at some point, or maybe she—'

'You know something? You seem to have a lot of feelings about that girl. Now that could be an avenue I'd be wiling to explore if you have something you want to get off your chest.'

'This doesn't have anything to do with me.'

'So let's not make it have something to do with you. Sound good?'

'Sure.'

'Thanks for the cal.'

'And sorry about—' I start, but Hairy Barry is already gone.

By the time I'm back inside, the breakfast table is unoccupied and the waitress is clearing the plates. I cal up to each of their rooms, but either they have agreed to ignore my cal or they aren't up there. I leave a note for Randy at the front desk with my cel phone number and make my way outside once more.

It's my legs—kicking and side-swinging worse than at any other point since my arrival in Grimshaw—that seem to know I'm going to Sarah's before I do. I must now appear, as one of my doctors said I would eventualy, as a 'top-heavy drunk,' leaving my shoe prints on dew-sodden lawns. You'd think, in my condition, presenting myself before a woman I like would be a bad idea. But the thing is, I don't have time to wait for good ideas anymore.

An hour after starting off from the Queen's I reach Sarah's place, thirsty and tingled with sweat. Pass my fingers through my hair. Rub a finger over my teeth.

'Trevor,' she announces when she opens the door, as if looking out at the day and declaring 'Rain' or 'Snow.'

'Gosh,' I say, moronicaly, for the third time today, 'I wasn't realy expecting you to be here.'

'Why wouldn't I be?'

'Figured you'd be at work.'

'It's Saturday.'

'Of course. Saturday.'

She backs into the house, and I step inside and push the door closed behind me. Blink against the muted indoor