Sunlight drenched the devastation and danced on the droplets of water that splattered, spattered the demolition machinery. That these machines were about to satisfy appetites again was obvious. Already the engine of one machine idled, rumbled hungrily. There was a smell of rotten building and fumes of burning diesel in the air.
It was as he skirted the pile of rubble near Esther’s doorway that Damon heard the voices.
‘Can you see the bastard?’ a yell.
‘Yeah. It’s up here. Not gonna scratch me and get away with it? Here kitty kitty kitty. Nice kitty. Come’n get yer neck wrung.’
‘Leave it there. Go straight in with the loader. You’ll squash the bugger flat. It can’t get out.’
‘No way. This one’s gotta be hands on. Here kitty kitty… nice kitty,’ sweet, wheedling tones. ‘Hells bells, Kev! Should see the brute! Only got three legs. Hell! Never seen nuthin’ like it. OUCH!!’
There was a laugh from the other. ‘Can’t even get yer hands on a three-leg cat. Whaddaya?’
‘Be a no-leg cat when I done with it!’
Damon edged around the rubble, took in the scene. He knew the quarry. He eyed up the hunters. Two pleasant enough looking young guys but each with the blood-lust gleam of the hunter in their eyes. Damon called out. ‘You guys want a hand? After that bloody three-leg cat, eh?’
Surprised in their hunt, they turned towards him. ‘Yeah. What’s it to you?’
‘Been tryin’ for weeks to him. Got him cornered up in there? Great. Give us a go. I’m not as big as you guys. Bet I can get it out.’
‘Yeah? Feel free. But I’m gonna swing him,’ said one.
‘Sure, mate,’ said Damon. ‘Move over. Might take a couple of minutes but I think I can reach in there and grab it.’
‘Claw you to bits,’ and the hunter drew out a bleeding hand, sucked it. ‘Might as well be you gets eaten. What the hell you doin’ here? It’s dangerous. Can’t you read the signs?’
‘Cat hunting,’ said Damon. ‘Been after this one for weeks.’
‘Just remember he’s all mine,’ said the injured hunter.
‘Sure. Don’t care who does it. Just want to see it dead.’
‘You will. Come on, Kev. We’ll have a smoke while the kid has a go,’ and the two moved off to lean against their machines.
Very softly. ‘Tumbler. Tumbler. Come on Tumbler. Come on, puss. You can come to me, boy. Come on. It’s all right, I think,’ and the cat did. As quietly, as carefully as he could, Damon undid the front of his jacket, pushed the reluctant animal down into the opening, quickly zipped up again. Tumbler, less sure of rescue now than he had been, squirmed, wriggled, clawed and yowled a muffled yowl of protest.
‘Hey! What the hell?’ a yell from one of the two guys. ‘You bring that bloody cat back.’
‘Piss off,’ yelled Damon, over his shoulder, as he bent to pick up bag and brolly. ‘He’s mine. He’s all mine!’ and he sprinted as fast as Tumbler, bag and brolly would allow, racing away from the old warehouse. ‘Ow!’ he yelled. ‘For Godsake, cat! Be bloody grateful. I have just saved your life!’
Puffing, panting, run-out but well away from danger, he paused to catch breath, leaned against a lamp post. ‘It’s okay, puss,’ he patted his jacket. ‘We made it,’ and the cat settled into a vibration of purr that Damon could not only hear but feel. Damon glanced over his shoulder. No pursuit. But… he glanced again. Surely not. It couldn’t be. No. No, of course it wasn’t. No more than some strange trick of light – and yet he could have sworn he had caught sight of a flash of colour, of a deep, rich burgundy-red disappearing into the distance. ‘It’s okay, old woman, old Esther. It’s okay, wherever you are. I’ll be okay. So will your cat – but I reckon you know all that, anyway. Good Face Bad Face Good Face Bad Face,’ he murmured, stroked the cat, his cat, into a louder purr. ‘Good Face Bad Face… One Face,’ and, smiling slightly, he wandered along his way.