‘There’s no cape.’ The bells on the door of Dreaming of Electric Sheep hadn’t even finished jangling when Bart greeted me with the news.
‘What?’
He shoved half a sandwich, which looked to be solely filled with bacon, into his mouth before answering. ‘There’s no cape,’ he mumbled.
‘Why? Why is there no cape?’ I walked over to the counter that Bart was stationed behind. ‘There was going to be a cape.’ I poked the counter with my finger. ‘An awesome cape. A cape that you said you could trick out in ways no cape had ever been tricked out before.’
‘That I did,’ Bart said, lowering his voice, sending me a warning dart with his eyes over to a teenage boy browsing the comic book section. The kid’s hands were holding a glossy edition, but his eyes were on us. ‘It’s not done.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know.’ He brushed some crumbs off his chest. ‘Queenie hasn’t called me back.’
I closed my eyes. Of course, Queenie was to be the seamstress in this operation. I shook my head back and forth. ‘I thought something was up with her.’
‘Something?’ he snapped back. ‘What something? What did she tell you?’
‘Nothing,’ I said, moving a hand over my face. ‘It was more of a feeling.’
Bart cocked his head to the side and leaned forwards, staring awfully intently at me with his left eye. ‘What kind of a feeling?’
‘I don’t know,’ I stammered. ‘Just a feeling that maybe something wasn’t right between you two.’
Bart furrowed his brow and leaned back. ‘Elaborate.’
‘There’s nothing to elaborate on! It was just a feeling!’
‘But something had to have given you this feeling. Something she said or did,’ he added quickly. ‘You’re not a psychic, you know.’
‘I know!’ I crossed my arms over my chest.
‘I thought she hadn’t called because …’ he trailed off, biting his lip. ‘But now there’s this feeling of yours.’
I closed my eyes and shook my head. ‘I don’t know what to tell you.’
‘But this doesn’t make sense. I will have you know I am a perfect gentleman when it comes to Queenie,’ he said with an angry nod. ‘Even when she brought out that cheese grater in bed, I—’
‘No!’ I shouted, putting up my hand. ‘Wait, a cheese grater? Really? What do you do with—’
‘At any rate,’ he said, cutting me off, ‘not that you asked, but I’m sure it’s nothing. It will all be fine.’ He got up and slowly walked around the counter towards the teenage boy with the comics. Wow, he was actually going to serve a customer. That was new. He really must be upset. Not, you know, whole life’s dream falling apart and not a cape in sight to make it better upset, like I was, but upset. ‘She may not want to admit it, but we have something real.’ Suddenly Bart reached into the kid’s backpack and pulled out a comic. He carefully smoothed its cover and placed it gently back on the rack. The kid’s panicked eyes darted about the store. Bart then picked up another comic, rolled it carefully into a tube, then whacked the kid on the head. ‘Get outta here,’ he said, pointing towards the door. ‘And don’t come back until you’ve got money and a decent-fitting pair of pants.’
The kid quickly scurried out of the store.
‘I don’t believe it,’ I muttered. ‘Un-freaking-believable.’
‘What?’ Bart asked, looking confused. ‘He had an early X-Men. I hit him with Billy Ray Cyrus’s comic book debut. It could be considered a collector’s item, but I still feel dirty having it in my shop.’
‘Not that!’ I shouted.
‘Then what?’
‘I have been running all over town trying to stop just one crime! Just one!’ I yelled putting up my just one finger. ‘And you! You do it without even trying!
Bart shrugged. ‘Okay, maybe it’s time you tell me what happened to your nose.’ He then moved back behind the counter and pushed a metal stool in my direction. I shuffled over and sat down before launching into my story. A few minutes later, when I was through, Bart shook his head and said, ‘What do you have planned for tonight? Incite holy war? Blow up the moon?’
‘It’s not like I planned it that way.’ I blinked my eyes a few times. They were feeling all watery again.
‘Yeah, no.’ He sucked air in between his teeth. ‘It didn’t have a planned sort of feel to it.’
‘Bart?’ I asked, planting my chin on my hands. ‘Do you think I’m a bad person?’
‘What?’ he asked. ‘Where did that come from?’
I shrugged. ‘All the strippers at the Beaver think I’m judgey, and I think I might be racist because I really believed that all Russians drank vodka, you know, like all the time.’
‘I see.’ He picked at something at the side of his teeth. ‘Okay, well, first let me say, I resent you for dragging me into this girl conversation, but, now that I’m in it, no, I don’t think you’re a bad person. I mean, you are definitely judgey and probably racist—and your co-workers most likely prefer the term dancer—but, in your defence, you’re the daughter of a white billionaire. How could you not be those things?’
I blew air heavily out through my lips. ‘So, that makes it okay?’
‘No, not at all.’ He scratched at the stubble on his chin. ‘But … well, let’s just say you’re getting better all the time.’
‘You are a terrible friend,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘We are terrible friends.’
‘You’re welcome.’
I sighed. ‘Anyway, forget all that.’ I waved a hand in the air. ‘We need to start figuring out what’s going on with Ryder. She’s not herself. She never would h—’ I stopped when I realised Bart was patting me on the shoulder. I straightened up with a snap to my spine. ‘What are you doing?’
He patted me a few more times. ‘There. There.’
I back-slapped him on the arm.
‘Ow,’ he said, rubbing the spot. ‘You know I bruise easily. It was a gesture of sympathy. I’m trying to be a better friend.’
‘I know what it was!’ I practically shouted. ‘But I don’t like what that pat was implying. I don’t need sympathy. What I need is help getting to the bottom of the what’s wrong with Ryder.’
‘Or,’ Bart said, drawing out the word, ‘you need help accepting that maybe Ryder’s not that into you. I feel like we’ve been down this road before.’
‘What!’
‘Look,’ he said, exhaling dramatically, ‘you have to admit, the fact that she took you on as her apprentice was pretty out there. Not so out there when she needed access to your father, but now that she doesn’t need that access …’
‘You … you … too!’ I yelled. ‘I can’t believe you’re saying this right now! You were there! At the prison! When we were all working together as a team?’
‘Look. I don’t want to accept it either,’ he said, shaking his head while looking up at the exposed industrial beams of the ceiling. ‘After Queenie, Ryder is the most phenomenal woman in the universe. But that’s just it. We don’t fit into her world. And I’m including myself in this,’ he said, patting his chest, ‘and you know how much I think of myself.’
‘No. No.’ I shook my head side to side so violently that I had to grip the counter. ‘I refuse to accept that.’
‘Come on, Bremy. She pretty much told you to get lost. You haven’t heard from Choden. I just think it’s time to accept that it might be over,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Do you want to order food? I’m still hungry.’
‘I’m not breaking bread with you, you traitor of dreams! I’m too angry to eat.’ But we both knew that wasn’t true. ‘That being said, if you’re ordering, I got a flyer for this new place.’ I reached around and slid the leaflet I had gotten in the mail from my back pocket and passed it to Bart.
‘I can see why you don’t want to face this.’ He pushed his stool to the side and moved over to grab his phone. ‘But if you take some time and really think about it Bremy, I think you’ll realise—’
‘Stop!’
Bart froze.
I scuttled forward and peered at the back of the flyer. ‘I think I’ll realise that I am an idiot!’
‘That’s kind of a given. But what’s wrong with Tex Mex Asian?’ he asked. ‘I’ve seen you eat worse. I know I have. In fact—’
‘Not that!’ I yelled, peering closer. ‘This is not just a flyer! It’s a note! From Choden!’
‘What?’ Bart turned the flyer over to see where I was pointing. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘There,’ I said, pointing at the little smiling cartoon Buddha saying, Hope to see y’all soon. ‘That’s Choden.’
‘Wow,’ Bart said slowly. ‘Maybe I should have taken your whole racism confession more seriously.’
‘No! Don’t you get it? Where East Meets West?’ I said, slapping my chest. ‘I’m West!’
‘That is so far-fetched even far-fetched needs a telescope to see what you’re talking about.’
I snatched the flyer out of his hand. ‘No, Choden knows how I think! I like food. I like little cartoon men.’ Tingles were running all over my body. ‘And I must have gotten like a dozen of these. And look!’ I said with a gasp. ‘Numbers!’
‘Bremy, I—’
‘But what do the numbers mean? One, nine, zero, zero, ‘I said, pyramiding my index fingers and tapping them against my chin. ‘Nineteen hundred. Nineteen hundred.’
Bart flipped the flyer over again. ‘Not that I want to feed into this delusion,’ he said. ‘But it could be a time.’
‘What time?’ I asked quickly. ‘One thousand nine hundred is not a time.’
Bart rubbed his forehead. ‘Okay, now you’re hurting me. It’s military time.’
‘The military has its own time? Can they just do that?’ I asked. ‘I mean, I know time is relative—’
‘Seven o’clock, Bremy! It’s seven o’clock!’
I jumped then slapped him again on the shoulder. ‘Good work, Bart!’
‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I will not let you put this one on me.’
I beamed a smile from ear to ear. ‘I knew it! This is fabulous! I told you Ryder was into me.’
He squinted his eyes. ‘I worry about you. You know that, right?’
‘Aw, that is so sweet, Bart,’ I said, still looking at the flyer. ‘I worry about you too.’
We both sat back down on our stools for a moment, not saying anything. Bart then made a face and pulled out a bag of chips from under the counter. ‘Right, well, seeing as you have lots of time before you go chasing rabbits, tell me more about this feeling you had when you saw Queenie.’
***
I only got lost twice following Bart’s directions to the restaurant. Eventually I ended up standing in front of a rectangular building with a large sign, above a wall of windows. It was a flashing neon sign, actually. First, it outlined a cowboy with a lasso wrapped around what looked like a frightened Asian cook. Then the lights flipped and it was an Asian cook throwing knives at the cowboy. Sheesh, and people say I’m offensive. Part of my brain told my feet to get moving towards the door, but they didn’t seem to be listening. ‘Are you nervous, girls?’ I looked down at my feet, but they didn’t answer. I nodded with understanding. ‘Me too.’
It was silly. There was no need to be nervous. I was going to open the door, spot Choden’s smiling face, listen to his apology, and then get everything back on track. So why did I feel like I had a belly full of frogs? It was probably because my head was bursting with What ifs. What if Choden was playing good cop to Ryder’s bad? What if he was going to be the one to dump me gently? What if he was just trying to clean up his aura by apologising? What if he wasn’t in there at all? What would I do next? And did this place sell pie?
No. No way. Choden was in there, and nobody was dumping me. Not Pierce. Not Choden. Not Ryder. Besides, who said anything about dumping? I took a deep breath and rolled my shoulders. I then jumped up and down a few times and flailed my arms around to shake the nerves out my fingers. As I was jumping, I scanned the row of booths lining the wall of windows that peered onto the street. No sign of Choden.
It didn’t mean anything. I couldn’t see all of the booths from this vantage point.
I let out the breath I was holding. This was ridiculous. I just needed to go in.
I hopped up the few concrete steps that led into the building. The layout was very much like that of a diner, which made sense, given that it was one. There was a store-length counter with stools, and small tables filled the rest of the space between the booths lining the walls.
I nodded at the grumpy-looking cook with the greasy apron and made my way down the centre aisle. My eyes tracked from one side of the space to the other. Deserted. I felt my shoulders slump. Maybe it had all been wishful thinking. My feet slowed their walk down the aisle. Maybe Bart was right. Maybe I had been looking for signs where there were none. I slowed my steps even further. There was just one more booth at the end I couldn’t quite see. I passed empty table after empty table. Maybe I was as delusional as everybody seemed to think I was.
Last booth. It was shielded by a coat rack. I took one final step forward, peeked around, and … empty. All empty.
‘Hello Child.’
‘Wah!’ I spun around. There, sitting in a booth that had been empty just moments ago …
Choden.