Harcott had put a price tag on the handlebars. That annoyed Jovie almost as much as the theft.
"It's worth more than that," she said.
He looked up from polishing the headlamp. "There's room to negotiate."
"It's my motorcycle."
"Then you'll be familiar with its condition."
Her bike stood halfway down the warehouse's broad central aisle, between a marble fireplace and a counter crowded with clocks. Beyond it, eighteen-foot loading doors opened onto an empty yard. Harcott pulled the key from the ignition and put it in his waistcoat pocket. It still had her little rubber skull attached. Someone had stolen the bike and the jacket with the keys in it. Harcott hadn't even bothered to change the key ring.
Jovie set her helmet on the nearest table. She had walked home last night carrying it, in boots that rubbed her heels raw. She had imagined walking straight to the bike now and riding out while Harcott protested behind her. She had also imagined punching him. The two assistants coming toward her made both plans less attractive.
The man in the green apron had very large hands. The woman carried a roll of packing tape with its end already folded for the next box.
"We closed ten minutes ago," the woman said.
Jovie took the laser pointer out of her pocket.
The man laughed. The woman gave a startled snort, and Harcott, who had been watching Jovie's other hand, relaxed enough to smile.
"What are you going to do," he said, "mark the damage?"
She clicked the button and put the red dot on the concrete beside his shoe.
Behind her, the shadow that had squeezed through the open front doorway began to rise.
It came up shoulder first, a black slope lifting from the floor, then a second shoulder and a head with ears like steep roofs. Jovie stood very still as darkness uncurled past her elbow. The cat took one pace into the aisle. Fifteen feet tall on four paws, it stood beneath the high warehouse rafters without acquiring a single highlight on its body. Its eyes were yellow, its whiskers fine black cuts across everything behind them.
The red dot trembled. The cat lifted a forepaw and spread its toes, brandishing five curved obsidian claws. Their edges caught the light. As it lowered the paw, one claw went through the arm of a silk-covered chair with a small, expensive ripping sound.
The man's laughter stopped with his mouth still open. The woman took two quick backward steps, clutching the packing tape against her stomach.
"The key," Jovie said.
She had known the cat for roughly nine minutes.
It had found her in the service lane while she was using the pointer to coax an ordinary cat out from under a parked van. That cat had fled. Its reason became apparent when the van's shadow grew ears. Jovie had backed away, taking the red spot with her, and the enormous thing had followed, first as a shape sliding along the shaded wall, then as a body when it crossed a bright strip beneath a security lamp. It had stopped to scratch the brickwork. She had waited. She had tried the dot again.
By then she was beside Harcott's front entrance, where the light through the glass had shown her the motorcycle.
She had never successfully made the creature stop.
"Is that yours?" Harcott asked.
"The motorcycle? Yes."
"The other thing."
Jovie held out her empty hand for the key.
The cat stretched. Its rear rose, its shoulders sank, and the claw in the chair pulled free with a strip of silk attached. It shook the fabric off. The woman watched it land beside her shoe.
"That's going to need recovering," Harcott said.
"So does my bike."
He looked from the chair to the animal, then to the pointer. Jovie could see his throat working above his collar. She would have liked someone to take a photograph, preferably from an angle that included her good boots and the cat's entire head.
"I bought that machine this morning," he said. "I paid for it."
"You told me you hadn't seen it when I called."
"You said black."
"With flames."
"That machine is predominantly orange."
She moved the pointer without meaning to. The dot climbed his trouser leg. Harcott went rigid, and the cat's paw came up again.
Jovie snapped the spot back to the floor. The paw descended beside his foot hard enough to lift dust out of a crack. He backed against the clock counter, upsetting a row of price cards.
That had been much better than a punch. "Now," she said.
The man in the apron began edging toward the front door. The woman went the other way, to a table holding two porcelain swans. She gathered loose packing paper around the nearer one without taking her eyes off the cat.
Harcott kept his hands flat on the counter. "What did you pay for the pointer?"
"It isn't for sale."
"Neither was the motorcycle, apparently. Four hundred?"
"I want the key."
"And four hundred."
"Keep your money. You can take that tag off."
He didn't look at the handlebars. "The tag comes off when the pointer's on this counter."
For a moment she nearly walked over and ripped it off herself. The key first. Then she could have him remove it. Then perhaps he could carry her helmet while she adjusted the mirrors. A great many improvements were becoming possible.
The cat sat down with a dull thump. It tucked its tail around its paws and looked toward the packing table, where the paper crackled in the woman's hands. Jovie waggled the dot. One ear turned toward her. The rest of the animal remained interested in the swans.
"Stay there," Jovie told it, loudly.
It lifted a hind leg and began washing.
Harcott watched her for several seconds. She rested her pointer hand against her thigh to steady it.
"How long have you had it?" he asked.
"Long enough."
The woman peeled a length of tape. The cat stopped washing. Its head turned, following the sound.
"Don't," Jovie said.
The woman froze with the tape stretched between her hands.
"Not you."
"Then tell it," Harcott said.
Jovie skimmed the dot across the aisle. The cat's gaze dropped to it. She let out a breath, then became aware that Harcott had seen her do that too.
"Oh," he said.
"There's no 'oh.' Get my key."
He came a careful step along the counter toward her. "Five hundred. You walk out with the bike and five hundred."
"And leave you this?"
"Yes."
She pictured him using it on the next owner who came looking for a missing wedding cabinet or dining table. She also pictured the animal loose among his stock after he discovered the limits of his purchase. Both pictures made the offer harder to assess.
"No."
The woman set down her tape and lifted one of the swans. Paper fell from its wings, brushing the floor.
The cat lunged toward the rustle.
"Here!" Jovie threw the red spot across its path.
It twisted after the dot. The woman clutched the swan against her chest. Jovie dragged the light away from the packing table, across the aisle, and saw the dot run straight up the front wheel of her motorcycle.
"No, no, no."
She flung her wrist sideways. The dot shot under a tall cabinet. The cat whipped round to follow, its tail sweeping Jovie against the edge of the clock counter. Her fingers opened. The pointer hit the floor and rolled, the light still on, until Harcott stopped it beneath his shoe.
Jovie reached for it. He bent faster and came up with it in his hand.
"That's mine too," Harcott said.
The cat lay on its side with one immense foreleg thrust beneath the cabinet. Something wooden cracked inside. It withdrew its paw, examined it, and reached farther.
Harcott put the red spot on the open floor.
The cat's ears shifted. Its paw came out slowly. Harcott moved the light a few inches, stopped, then moved it again. The animal rolled onto its belly and drew its feet beneath it. The tip of its tail began to twitch.
Jovie stared at his thumb on the button. There was nothing special about that thumb. It had a broad, dirty nail.
"Give it back," she said, taking a step toward him.
He shifted the light between them. "Stand still."
Jovie stopped. "The bike, then. You said I could take it."
He ignored her. His eyes stayed on the animal as he teased the light closer. The cat advanced one paw, then another, belly low. A purr filled the aisle, deep enough that the little clock bells joined in.
Harcott smiled. "You should go," he said.
"I've got no key."
"You've got feet."
The dot landed on the toe of her boot. She jerked her foot back. The red spot followed it. Several paces away, the cat sank lower. Its pupils widened until the yellow was reduced to rims.
"Get it off me."
"Front door. Behind you."
She backed up, watching the shoulders bunch. Harcott kept the light on her boot. The leather looked very thin. There was a table behind her, and she caught her heel against its leg; her helmet toppled off and bounced across the concrete.
The cat sprang.
Jovie threw herself over the table. Its edge caught her stomach. She landed on a heap of rolled carpets as the cat's paw struck where her foot had been, splitting a table leg and driving it sideways. Her helmet rolled past its claws. She reached from the carpets and hauled the helmet to her chest.
Above her, the cat's face appeared over the tilted tabletop. Its nostrils opened. She could see into them, dark folds within darkness, and smell warm dust.
"Enough," Harcott said, and clicked off the pointer.
The cat looked toward him. Jovie stayed where she was. She heard Harcott take a step back. The cat abandoned the table and crossed the aisle, walking directly to his outstretched hand.
"No more," he said. He tucked the pointer into his fist.
It sniffed his fingers. He put his hand behind his back; the cat leaned over him, trying to see where it had gone. Harcott brought the hand forward again and braced it on the counter.
The cat laid a paw beside his arm. One claw unfolded through the loose cloth of his sleeve and into the counter beneath it.
Harcott pulled. His cuff drew tight around his wrist. The cat settled on its haunches, its face close to his hand.
Jovie climbed off the carpets. She had carpet fibres in her mouth. Her stomach hurt, one of the helmet's little vents had snapped off, and Harcott was attached to his own counter by an animal he had tried to use to chase her out. She took her time brushing down her spare jacket.
"Get it away," he said.
"I walked home in these boots last night," Jovie said.
The cat pressed its nose against his fist. He tried to open his fingers, but the pointer was trapped against the wood.
"I can't move my hand."
Behind him, the woman put down the porcelain swan with extraordinary care. She left it half wrapped and walked briskly toward the loading doors. The man in the apron was already gone.
"Don't leave," Harcott said.
"I'm going home," she said, and kept walking.
Jovie could have stood admiring the arrangement for a while. Then the cat stretched its toes. Wood splintered beneath the claw, and Harcott made a sound through his teeth that she did not want to hear again.
"The key," she said.
He fumbled at his waistcoat with his free hand. The little rubber skull appeared between his fingers.
"Put it here." She tapped the far end of the counter.
"Get this thing off first."
She waited. Harcott slid the key toward her. It stopped against the base of a clock. She took it and put it in her pocket.
"Now help me."
She set her helmet down. Coming around his free side, she leaned across the counter and reached along his trapped arm. Up close, the claw was thicker than her wrist. Its black surface reflected a curved, tiny version of her hand.
"Can you lift your fingers?"
He managed to uncurl two. She eased the pointer out of his grip. The cat's eyes followed it. Its nose came forward, almost touching her knuckles, and she had to resist snatching her hand away.
She clicked the light on and aimed along the aisle toward the loading doors. The red dot shone on bare concrete. The cat looked at it. Jovie moved it slowly toward the yard. The cat looked back at her hand.
"Why isn't it going?" Harcott asked.
"I don't know."
His face changed. She had preferred the earlier change.
"You brought it in here." He started to pull his arm back.
"Keep still."
She moved the spot faster. The cat blinked. She stopped. In the sudden quiet she could hear the clocks disagreeing with one another, and her own sleeve scraping the counter. The claw had made a hole through Harcott's cuff. There was room to slide the cloth free if the paw lifted even an inch.
Jovie looked toward the loading doors. A low empty crate sat just outside them. She drew the dot back across the yard and stopped it at the crate's corner, where it made a bright, broken shape on the rough wood. She tipped the beam around the right-hand corner, out of the cat's view.
One ear tilted.
She brought the dot out again. Barely an inch. Back behind the wood.
The cat's head lowered. Its paw rose off the counter.
Harcott wrenched his sleeve loose and stumbled away. Jovie kept her hand still, her arm aching, while the cat slid into a crouch. She let the dot creep from behind the crate.
The cat set off down the aisle.
She moved with it, leaving her helmet on the counter, and tried to keep the spot on the right side of the crate so the animal would pass on the right side of the motorcycle. But the cat went left, two quick steps toward the gap beside the marble fireplace. There it saw the dot past the far side of the bike, turned, and bounded over the motorcycle, cutting straight across toward the light.
A rear claw caught the flame-painted mudguard.
The shriek of metal made Jovie jerk her arm. Her bike rocked on its stand. She lunged, catching the handlebar with her free hand, and stood with the motorcycle dragging at her shoulder while the cat came down beside the loading doors.
An orange curl of paint and metal stuck up from the mudguard. She had spent a whole afternoon painting those flames, crouched on the pavement with her tongue between her teeth. The two sides didn't match. She had liked them better for it.
The cat turned its head toward the scrape. Jovie moved the dot into the yard. The cat followed.
She steadied the bike on its stand. Her hand wanted to go to the ruined paint, to feel how deep the damage ran, but the cat was looking back through the doorway. She hurried the light farther out over the concrete. This time it chased, cuffing the spot with a paw wide enough to cover the headlamp.
Jovie tucked the pointer into her left fist around the handlebar, took her helmet from the counter, and dragged it on. The fastening took two attempts. She got the key into the ignition. The engine caught on the third turn with the ragged cough she had heard in her head all day.
"You can't leave that out there," Harcott shouted.
She looked up. He stood behind the counter, holding his torn cuff closed. Then the engine drowned whatever else he was saying, and she had to look down at her hands.
With the pointer lying along her left forefinger, she could just manage the clutch with the others. She swung her leg over, kicked up the stand, and eased the bike past the counter toward the open doors. The tag on the handlebars beat against her wrist.
Outside, the cat crouched beside the crate. She rolled through the loading doors and into the dusk. The yard was clear to the open gate, with an empty service road beyond. She put the light well ahead of the front wheel.
The cat watched the motorcycle instead.
Jovie stopped with both boots down. The engine shuddered between her knees. Now that she had the bike beneath her, she could not bear the thought of abandoning it again; but the cat's eyes were on the wheel, and its tail was beginning that small, dreadful twitch.
She tipped her left wrist. The red dot hopped sideways, up the face of the crate. She let it creep around the corner and brought it out again with a twitch.
The cat's chin dropped.
Jovie eased the clutch out. The dot fled along the yard. She followed it slowly, trying not to shake, while the huge head turned to keep it in sight.
For several yards the animal did nothing.
Then it ran.
She felt the first stride through the soles of her boots before she got them onto the pegs. A black foreleg passed beside her, a paw struck ahead of the front wheel, and she flicked the spot farther away and opened the throttle. The cat bounded after it. Its tail swept over her helmet without touching.
At the gate she leaned into the turn, carrying the red dot out onto the empty road. The cat overshot, braked in a long skid, and came after her with its ears up.
Under her visor, Jovie began to laugh. The price tag tore loose and flew past her shoulder. Behind her the paws hammered faster, and she gave the bike more throttle.