Even by Andrew Grant Page B

above my head. I was glad they’d gone with him. With them all out of the way I could start to look around. I’d never been in a cage like that before. I wanted to know how it was made. Where its weaknesses were.
    “Don’t you know what these things are?” a female voice said. It sounded harsh and irritated. I looked around and saw my neighbor had stood up. She was tall. Five eleven, allowing for the heels. It hadn’t been so obvious when she was curled up.
    “They’re dog cages,” she said. “Made to hold big, angry dogs. Dobermans and Alsatians, for God’s sake. And you think you’re just going to claw your way out? Some fingernails you must have.”
    “Have you seen any dogs around here?” I said.
    “I didn’t say I’d seen dogs. I said these were dog cages. Which they are. Look.” She pointed with her right foot to a metal tag attached to the mesh low down at the side of her cage. It said HOUND COMPOUND INC .
    If these were dog cages, where were the dogs? I’d had more than my fill of trouble with them in the past, and there was no room in my plans for them now. Especially not big, angry ones. I scanned the rest of the basement. There were no leads or bowls or baskets. No packets or cans of dog food. No dog paraphernalia of any kind. No dog hairs on the floor. No smell of dogs. And no sound of barking.
    Maybe the dogs were dead.
    Maybe a previous owner had left the cages behind.
    Or maybe these cages hadn’t been bought with dogs in mind.
     
    A door banged above us, then I heard footsteps on the stairs again. The three guys reappeared. The older one was carrying a rectangular tray. It was brown plastic with fake wood grain like they use in cheap cafeterias. Two items were on it. Something tall and square wrapped in shiny white paper, and a small bottle of Coke. It was plastic. There was no cutlery.
    The driver took the tray and the older man fished in his pocket for the keys. He motioned for me to move back then opened the door. The driver put the tray down just inside the cage. He moved slowly and kept his eyes on me until he’d stepped back out and fixed the padlock into place.
    “There you go,” the older man said. “Enjoy.”
    “Thanks,” I said. “Maybe I will. Then what?”
    He studied me for a moment, as if deciding whether to answer.
    “Someone wants to speak to you,” he said, finally.
    “Who?” I said. “When?”
    “Someone important. They’re on their way now. Be here soon. Better eat. Might not get the chance, later.”
    He stayed and looked at me levelly for another few seconds. It didn’t seem threatening. More like he was curious about me. Then he turned and led the others back upstairs.
    I picked up the tray, took it to the back of the cage and sat down. I took a mouthful of Coke—nice and cold—and then unwrapped the white paper package. A sandwich was inside. The largest sandwich I’d ever seen in my life. It was fully three inches thick. There were two large chunks of white bread crammed with dozens of slices of pastrami and big wedges of Swiss cheese. Mustard was dripping out between the layers. Fitting it into my mouth would be quite a challenge.
    “This is huge,” I said to the woman. “Like some? There’s plenty for both of us.”
    She came across to the boundary of the cages and had a look.
    “Don’t like pastrami,” she said.
    I shrugged and picked up the sandwich.
    “Suit yourself.”
    The woman waited until I’d finished eating and then moved down inside her cage so she was level with me. She leaned forward and took hold of the wire. Her hands were close together, about shoulder height, and I could see her wrists were bound with the same kind of cable tie as mine.
    “Same jeweler?” I said, raising my arms. She smiled.
    “Sorry about before,” she said. “If I was rude.”
    “Don’t mention it.”
    “ ’Cause I could really use a friend right now. Think we could be friends?”
    “No. I shouldn’t think so.”
    “Oh. Why