Shapeshifter Ch. 05

I wondered what our needs were, but there would be better moments to ask than this one. Noom was already packing our stuff, for what little we had, and Mike ran up the stairs, mobile phone already at hand. I frowned at Noom, and he answered before I could ask.

"He's calling that b'n'b he suggested, as far as I understood they only have two rooms there," he explained, and shouldered Mike's knapsack. He was next to me with three big steps, staring down at my relaxed, exhausted body with an expression I couldn't decipher. Tension ruled his upper body, like a spring ready to go off.

"What's wrong with you?" His voice held no emotion whatsoever.

I blinked up, following the trail of dry blood, dirt and pain painted onto his tattered clothes, from his scratched boots further up the tight, worn pants and over the ripped sweater, until I met his shock-blue eyes. There was a scar the size of a grain of rice right above his left eye cutting through his eyebrow, and another scar was on his cheek, round and hollow like a cigarette burn. His eyes made me forget that burning hunger and fatigue, and I smiled happily. "I've never changed so many times in one day. I'm so hungry I have a hard time not passing out," I explained with a leaden tongue, then added for good measure, "Sorry."

Displeasure lay thick on Noom's face, but he didn't snap at me, which was a first. Instead, he shouldered the knapsack more securely, then bent down and picked me up to throw me over his other shoulder. I could feel his muscles strain under my featherweight, and purred once more. It was impossible to control my cat-self, now that the heroin was out of my system almost completely. I didn't care for the jitters that would soon follow, but right now my body had bigger problems than addiction.

"You scared the shit out of Mike," Noom huffed as he carried me up the stairs, "If you ever do that cat-face-thing to me again, I will beat you into a bloody pulp."

"I'm sorry," I said again, staring down at his working ass, not feeling sorry at all. Noom talked on, softly and threateningly, but by that time all the blood rushing into my spinning brain made me pass out.

~*~

I awoke to a blaring voice coming from the drive-through speaker. I couldn't have slept through our stint to the drive through, that speaker system was loud enough to make my teeth rattle. It was dark outside the car, and the seats beneath me smelled like Pop-Tarts and kids' sweat, very mundane and non-threatening. I was wrapped in my blanket and I still felt very hungry, but my nerves had thankfully calmed down. I felt serene and safe.

Even better, as soon as we reached the second drive-through window, Noom's arm appeared in my line of vision, offering a fat-dripping paper bag. I snatched it out of his hand and dug in, spitting paper pieces here and there whenever I found the time between biting and swallowing. Someone was laughing at me, but I didn't care. I was so damn hungry, my stomach hurt like it was digesting itself.

I was halfway through my third burger when Mike and Noom picked up their discussion again.

"So, that information you wanted me to get? I found something," Mike offered, his eyes fixed on the dark road. He was a very careful driver, that one.

Noom chewed his fries, mumbling, "So you found somethin' fishy in the Flatlands books?"

"More like a note in a note in a calendar, but yes," Mike replied. "The old DeLargo appears to have had some court troubles three months ago, enough to rake up quite a hefty sum in lawyer's fees. The only entry I found explaining those fees was 'family court', and since his only living family is your cat back there, it got me interested."

Noom shot me a questioning look, but I just shrugged around a good third of my last burger. I had no idea what that might be about. My father hadn't told me anything, and I hadn't been to court in my life.

Noom seemed to understand my shrug well enough without words. He turned back around and picked up where they had left off. "And what did you find?"

"Nothing. I couldn't get into the court archives because of some bullshit clause about fresh cases, but your cat might. The whole thing is in his family name, so there's a chance they'd be willing to grant him a look," Mike explained, keeping his eyes steadfastly on the road.

As soon as I was finished licking fat and cheese from my fingers, I sank back onto the backseats and tried to remember the last three months. Had anything worth mentioning happened? The only difference had been an increase in visits by my father, who usually tried to stay away from me except for family holidays or those checkups on my college progress parents had to do if they didn't want to look creepy.

Theodore had been at my place three times in that time span without a good reason, and every time he had sifted through my computer, my phone and my mail as he bombarded me with questions about school, friends and my coping with my 'problem'. His questions had kept me off-kilter enough not to wonder why he had been there, but now I did. Now I wondered. I didn't tell Noom about it, but the thought sat there in the back of my mind, nagging at me.

I sniffed. "We could go tomorrow," I offered in an attempt to hide my own curiosity behind theirs, and both of them gave that little jump, like I had caught them doing something naughty. Mike even threw me a shrewd glance in the rear view mirror, but he didn't hold eye-contact for long and he shuddered when he looked away. Poor man.

"I don't know," Noom grumbled, then he stuck his finger into the leftovers of ketchup and sucked them clean. "It's quite a risk bringing you out into the open, in day light no less," he explained as soon as the digits left his mouth. "If anyone sees you—"

Mike made an obscene sound. "Oh come on, Noom. They already know he's still alive, and I've got the contract for now. As long as they don't see us together, you still got another thirty-six hours left before they'd try something desperate."

That didn't seem to console my anger-ridden mercenary, if the expression on his face was any indication. His brows were furrowed and grooves surrounded his nose. For a second, I had the intense desire to lick his face until he felt better.

"I don't like it," he proclaimed grumpily and turned his head to stare out the side window.

Mike sighed. "Well, you don't have to like it, but we'll need him to get to those files. Either he comes with us, or you'll have to empty your pockets for someone to steal them."

At this point, I tuned out their conversation and let myself fall back onto the cushions drenched in kiddy-smell. All three burgers were gone, and I still felt hungry, which was unusual even for me. I always ate way more than anyone else while still staying willowy thin, but this was ridiculous. At least I didn't feel like dying anymore, which was good enough for now. I wasn't tired anymore, but the movement of the car still lulled me into a light nap filled with strange, disconcerting visions of Noom, alwaysThanks to the prominent lines of Noom's lower jaw, I was sporting a quite visible hard-on when a hand finally shook me awake.

"Is there anything on your mind besides sex, food, and safety?" an all too well-known voice rasped above me and made me smile languidly. Noom's personal scent wafted down on me like a spring breeze, first there, then not, then there again and I pushed my upper body up to follow it.

I reached his lips before he knew what I was planning. His scent filled my mind and the soft brush of his lips against mine elicited a hungry, drowsy moan from both of us. It was all it took to make him forget everything else, and just a breath later his tongue and teeth demanded entrance into my mouth. Noom's mouth was even more incredible than his scent, hot and moist and oh-so-sure of himself as he conquered every square inch of mine, pinning me down with the weight of his muscled body. I knew what he wanted there and then, and although a small voice at the back of my head tried to get my attention, Noom drowned it out more surely than any drug could ever do.

I wrapped my legs around his hips, making room for his rump and getting him closer to my throbbing cock at the same time. I wanted to touch him, too, but he wouldn't let me. As soon as my cold fingers brushed his back, he shifted to balance on one arm and used the free hand to grab my wrists and pin them above my head. I tugged at his tight grip, frustrated with the tightness of my pants and incredibly aroused by being controlled in such a way.

At one point, Noom ended the kiss with an annoyed hiss and looked over his shoulder, which gave me a front row view of his throbbing aorta.

My head whipped up before I knew what was going on, targeting that pulsing, live piece of flesh. As my head moved, my inner voice already screamed with panic, afraid what my instinct was trying to get me to do, afraid I would hurt Noom, like I had hurt the other people, but it was too late now anyway.

My teeth scraped his neck, but the angle wasn't right to get a grip, and Noom shoved me down as soon as he felt it.

"Down, scrap," he snarled, not even bothering to look at me. My body relaxed, following the order without me having to actively try, just like I had done all those times before. And the best thing was: Noom had obviously not realized what I had tried to do. I bit down a sigh of utter relief.

Mike was clearing his throat, something he must have done a few times already by the volume he was using. It probably was what had caught Noom's attention in the first place, I just hadn't heard it. Probably been too preoccupied with being horny.

"You're not doing it in my car. Get out," Mike hissed. He probably would have yelled, were it not for the people passing by every so often, but I could hear the anger well enough.

Noom did too. He ground his teeth and disentangled from me in a heartbeat.

I couldn't read his feelings on his face, but I myself didn't feel ashamed or flustered, which was strange enough. I usually didn't do well in conflicts or when criticized, but this didn't feel personal and left me cold. Still, I crawled out of the car, stomach growling softly with leftover hunger.

Noom closed the car door behind me, and I stepped close to his side, all but hiding in his shadow. I also didn't do well in strange places and would have hidden in one of the side streets where I could safely have a look around without being spotted, but Noom's presence was enough to make me feel braver than usual.

The sidewalk was paved with big, well-worn cobblestones that had sunk and slipped with the weight of years. Most of the buildings around us had either plaster walls or those wooden panels that made them look like a tourist street in the old part of London, a little dirty, a little discolored, but still charming and cozy. Flower pots big enough to hold olive trees stood here and there, spaced between the small fenced-off areas in front of pubs and restaurants, and there were almost no cars. A few passed by, a few sat in the parking lots between the garden areas, but most of the people seemed to prefer their feet to modern amenities.

It was hard not to realize on the first glance where we were: Cat's Cradle Peninsula, home of the hipsters and most of the luckless artists and musicians Babylon City had to offer. It was a cheap, dirty and impoverished area, but it would have been worse if not for its inhabitants renovating and cleaning the area all by themselves. If there ever had been a working hippy community anywhere on the planet, it would have looked bleak next to this place.

And right in front of us was our destination. 'Strummin' Joe's' said a hand painted sign above the entrance of the smallish looking pub with lead-glass windows. It looked like a puzzle piece cut out of another century and fit into this spot, squashed between tired looking residential buildings, like it was being constantly pushed deeper into the ground.

"I already called ahead, you've got one room reserved in my name," Mike snarled and pointed at the entrance. "You'll get the key in there, but the room is out back with an extra entrance, I've made sure of that. We'll meet tomorrow in front of the court archives, nine A.M., and don't you dare be late!"

Mike turned without another word, and Noom didn't stop him. He just stared after what I assumed was his one and only friend with a thoughtful glance, turning only when the car pulled out of the parking space.

I looked at Noom's face, feeling guilty.

Noom stared back for a few seconds, then he turned to the entrance. "He's got ailurophobia," he stated like it was nothing to bother with and started walking.

I followed quickly, keeping close to Noom's calming scent as we entered the pub and the crowd of drunk humans it contained. Mike was afraid of cats? Well, that explained a thing or two.

~*~

The pub wasn't full, but still moderately loud. A cloud of old smoke, beer belches and stale sweat hung in the air like a ghost, but the floors and the tables were clean enough to make me wonder where that smell was coming from. Most of the patrons were in their mid-thirties to mid-forties, with the few drunk exceptions at the bar. In every pub, there is at least one old guy who comes in at noon and only leaves when kicked out, but here, three or four of the guys looked to fit that description. The crowd had an after-hours vibe to them, people coming from a hard day's work to have a nice evening, but the atmosphere had a taste of frustration and broken dreams to it. A nice evening probably meant getting a bit drunk, smoking a few cigarettes and complaining about their jobs, with a slight possibility for crime later on.

As I followed Noom to the bar, I had a sudden vision of a bar fight like I had seen in the movies. Guys come in, the people at the pool table don't like their faces, they fight. I cautiously looked around, but found no pool table, only a checkers board in a corner and a dart game in the other. Eyes were following us here and there, but nobody seemed to want to go through the trouble to get up and hassle us. I didn't like the stares, but I preferred them over outright violence.

Noom got the room key easily enough, although the bartender— Joe, I presumed— threw me puzzled glances every few seconds because I stuck to Noom's side like a frightened damsel, or a lover, which both fit me in some way I guess. Or maybe he stared at both of us, since Noom's bandages were showing and my face probably still was black and blue from where the mobster had hit me with his gun. At least he didn't comment on it, which was a good start.

"We don't have breakfast around here, but the room is meant for working guests, so it's got a kitchenette and everything," he explained to Noom with a drawl in his voice not unlike my mercenary's. "You pay by day and you do your own room service, washer and dryer are in the cellar. And if you bring any trouble with you, you're out the door faster than the police can arrive."

Noom jiggled the keys, looping the key ring around his finger. "We won't give you any troubles as long as you don't give us away to anyone," he drawled back, "if you ain't seen us, nothin'll happen."

I was fascinated by the way his pronunciation changed, depending on who he was talking to, and I hugged his arm tighter, trying to watch his lips form those dragged-out sounds. Maybe he was trying to sound like a mean drunk or a junkie, something to make them underestimate him. Drunks and junkies had a tendency to get sloppy and careless, but Noom was damn near straight-edge and had senses so sharp he was able to best me in some aspects. Having people think he was weak probably meant he had an even bigger advantage over them if bad came to worse. But was it an act, or was it just a remnant of his youth, a ghost of times past? I was too afraid to ask, so I kept quiet.

Joe, if that was his name, showed us the way around to the back of the building and left us to our own devices at the bottom of the stairs leading up to our temporary home.

We stood there, staring at it like boys in front of a haunted house as the curiously dry, temperamental spring wind pushed at our backs and tugged at my hair.

"It will rain soon," I said, sounding more solemn than I felt. My voice had a muted quality to it, robbed of any echo by the wind and the changing air pressure.

Noom nodded. He had hooked one thumb into the rim of his pants as we were standing and staring, and I could feel his other hand moving restlessly, tightening to a fist, relaxing, moving closer to me, moving away, like he wanted to touch me and didn't at the same time. He was nervous, but not overtly so. I had no idea why.

Finally, he finished the gesture he had started to make so many times and hooked his fingers into the back of my pants, holding, guiding and shoving at the same time as he moved me towards the stairs. As I stumbled up the steps, I almost didn't hear him mumble, "I'd be very unhappy if I had to kill you," beneath the creak of wood and linoleum.

I managed to finish the climb up the stairs instead of jumping into his arms, but it was a close thing.

~*~

The door to our new haven was a deep, healthy red, although the lacquer could have used some brushwork. It was brittle and at some places the cheap wood showed, but it matched the remainder of the building. Noom unlocked it one-handed, his other hand still holding on to my pants. Maybe he was afraid I'd run, but I had no intention to do so. That room— or rooms— was the safest place for me right now, and I was antsy to get inside.

The floor was old, sun-bleached and uneven hardwood that creaked beneath our feet as we stepped inside. A small hallway leading into a kitchenette held two doors-one to the left and one to the right. The left one was open and contained a tiny, all-white bathroom, and Noom opened the right one before we walked past it, cautiously glimpsing inside.

"Walk-in closet," he whispered and twitched as I kicked the entrance door closed behind us. Huddling together like king penguins on a particularly cold night, we slowly crept into the kitchenette with Noom having a look in every nook and cranny he could find, and me walking with him with a slightly bemused expression on my face. Only when his first look-around didn't provide him with anything to attack or run from did he finally let go of me and pulled the curtains closed.

"Turn on the lights and check the kitchen. I'll have a look at the closet and the bathroom. Look for a med kit, I don't want to have to run to a pharmacy to get fresh bandages," he ordered, and off he went.

My heart was beating harder and faster than it should, although I couldn't think of a reason why.

I walked through the small room like a frightened child, huddled into myself until I reached the light switch. The lights came on blazing, leaving me blind and blinking for a moment, but I instantly felt better.

The room matched the front door in its age and simplicity. The floor was hardwood planks nailed to a wooden foundation so that gaps showed between the boards, and they had to have been cut from one single tree trunk because most of them ran from wall to wall. The wood had been stripped and waxed enough times to give it that shiny, used gleam and a slight vertical curve, but they had a homey feel to them. There was a couch with a coffee table that obviously could be pulled out to form a bed, an extra sofa seat next to the window, a TV on a small commode and a dining table with four seats next to the tiny kitchen area. None of the furniture matched, not even the chairs at the table, and it reminded me of Noom's home. He would probably like it here, but I was used to a better living standard and the mismatches itched at the back of my brain.

Sighing, I walked from storage space to storage space, opening every drawer and door to examine the contents just as Noom had ordered, but I came up with nothing but a package of pre-baked buns, peanut butter, jam and something that resembled canned breakfast meats.