Night Freight

"The same way you just came in."

"The door was locked. I locked it this morning—"

"I'm good with locks."

A thread of fear had begun to unwind in Re

"What's the idea?" he said. "What do you want?" Dan was looking around the room. "This is a nice apartment. Really nice."

"I asked what you want."

"Comfortable. Warm. Everything in good taste."

"None of the furnishings is worth stealing," Re

"I'm not after your money, Mr. Re

". . . So you know my name."

"From the mailbox downstairs."

"If you're not a thief, then what are you?"

"A salesman. That is, I used to be a salesman. Sporting goods. At one time I was the company's top man in California."

"I don't—

"But then one of the bigger outfits bought us out and right away they began downsizing. They said my salary was too high and my commissions too low, so I was one of the first to be booted out."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but—"

"I couldn't get another job," Dain said. "Everywhere I went they said I was too old. Eventually I lost everything. My wife and I had been living high and on the edge and it didn't take long, less than a year. House, car, all my possessions of any value—everything went. Then my wife went too. I ended up with nothing."

Re

"You can't imagine how bad it was," Dain said. "The first year I tried twice to do away with myself. But gradually I came to terms with my situation. Developed a new outlook and started to put my life back together. A long, slow process, but it's going to work out. It's definitely going to work out."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it, but that doesn't explain what you're doing in my apartment. Or give you any right to be here."

Dain got slowly to his feet. Re

"Quite a view from here," he said. "You can see a lot of the park. On clear days I'll bet you can see the ocean, too."

Re

"What about the park?"

"That's where I've seen you before. Panhandling in the park."

"I don't do that," Dain said in an offended tone. "I've never once resorted to panhandling."

"All right. Wandering around over there then."

"I've seen you in the park too. Several times."

"How did you find out where I live?"

"I followed you the last time. Yesterday."

"Why? Why me?"

"You were always alone, whenever I saw you, and I wanted to find out if you lived alone."

"Well, now you know," Re

"I've been existing in one of the camps, yes. I hate it. I hate being homeless."

"I'm sure you do. It has to be rough—"

"You have no idea how rough, Mr. Re

"I believe that. And I'm sympathetic, I truly am. But I think you'd better leave now."

"Why?"

"Why? Because I don't want you here. Because you're trespassing. Because you won't tell me why you broke in or what it is you want."

"I did tell you," Dain said. "You weren't listening."

"All you told me is that you've started to put your life back together, and I can't help you with that."

"But you can."

"How? How can I?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Not to me. Do you want me to call the police?"

"Then leave. Just leave, right now. I don't want any trouble with you."

Dam looked at him in silence. A sad, waiting look. No, not sad—hungry.

"Go away," Re

Dain said, "You're the one who doesn't understand, Mr. Re

"For God's sake, what does that have to do with me? This is my apartment, my home—"

"Not anymore," Dain said.

Understanding came to Re

He didn't quite make it to the door. And the scream didn't quite make it all the way out.

Dain sighed, a deep and heartfelt sigh. "It's good to be home," he said, and went into his bathroom to wash the blood off his hands.

I like cats. Better than dogs and much better than some humans, in fact. You might not think so when you finish reading "Tom," but the story grew out of a wry glimmer of understanding of the cat psyche—my wife and I are owned by two and we've been owned by others over the years—rather than out of any aversion. I have no illusions about the cute and cuddly little buggers; if my cats could manage it, especially on those days when their food bowl doesn't get filled on time, Decker's fate could very well be mine.

Tom

Decker was so absorbed in the collection of Fredric Brown stories he was reading that he didn't see the cat jump onto the balcony railing. He felt its presence after a while, and when he glanced up there it was, switching its tail and staring at him.

At first he was startled; it was as if the cat had materialized out of nowhere. Then he felt a small pleasure. Except for birds and two deer ru

He closed the well-worn paperback and returned the cat's stare. "Well," he said, "hello there, Tom. Where'd you come from?"

The cat didn't move except for its switching tail. Continued to watch him with eyes that were an odd luminous yellow. Otherwise it was an ordinary Felis catus, a big butterscotch male with the u

A minute or so passed—and Decker's feeling of pleasure passed with it. There was something strange about those steady unblinking eyes, something in their depths that might have been malice . . .