Rivers of Orion by Dana Kelly (best detective novels of all time txt) 📗

with that,” Mike groaned. “Why don’t you tell her to call a cab like everyone else? You’re not her personal chauffer. She lives in the area. She could be home in twenty minutes.”

“You know I’m not going to do that. Besides, I already said yes.”

“I have class today,” grumbled Mike.

Orin laughed, “No you don’t! You never take Friday classes.”

“I was thinking about adding one.”

“Six weeks into the semester? Come on, Mike. Come with me! It’ll be good to see Torsha again. See if Nimbus can come. How long has it been since the four of us did anything together?”

“Not long enough,” he mumbled into his pillow. “I need sleep.”

Orin’s tone softened. “Look, Mike, I have to surrender the truck. I can’t afford the payments anymore, and today’s the drop-dead date. This is my last ride.” A lengthy pause followed. “You still there?”

“Well, that sucks.”

“Believe me, I know.”

After a moment, Mike answered, “All right, I’ll come. Nimbus is recharging, so I don’t know if he’ll be able to make it, but I’ll ask him.”

“Thank you. I’ll pick you up at the Red Raptor.”

“Sounds good.”

Orin donned his orange jacket, slid his phone into a sleeve pocket and hurried out the door. He descended to the parking level and soon reached his pod. Upon arriving, he spotted a child-sized figure, barely visible under his truck. He squatted low to get a better look. “Hey there,” he said. “You might want to move.”

Slim and decidedly caracal-like in appearance, the tatterdemalion felinin curled against the vehicle’s reactor. “No,” it purred. “Warm here.”

Orin sighed. “You need to move.”

It smiled sleepily. “Later.”

“No, now,” Orin insisted.

It pointed a lengthy claw his way. “You take transit. Warm here.”

Wearing a stern expression, Orin stated, “This isn’t a debate. You have until the count of three to vacate. One… Two…”

It stepped into view and hissed, “Mean! You mean!”

“It’s my truck, not your home!”

Lowering its golden eyes, the creature whispered, “Warm like home.”

“Hey, I’m sorry. I can only imagine what you’re going through, but…” A pang of sympathy crossed Orin’s face. “Look, you can stay in my pod until I get back, okay?”

“Pod not warm,” it breathed, and it slinked away.

Orin opened his mouth to call after it, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. His shoulders sank somewhat, and he returned his attention to his truck. Carefully, he pulled off the polyester cover and folded it neatly. He stored it in his toolbox and paused to regard his vehicle.

Aggressively large and matte black, it had tall wheel wells and a sleek, extended cabin accessible from two massive doors and a small passenger-side door. A chrome roll bar butted up against the back window, where a set of covered flood lights perched. From the truck’s door handles and hood latches, pinpoint lamps cast cones of blue light. Mounted to the grill, a hazy blue glow seeped continuously from the truck’s logo plate.

With a bittersweet sigh, Orin opened the driver’s side door and climbed inside. The engine started with a reverberant growl, and the reverse alarm sounded as he backed up. A moment later, he rumbled past rows of parking pods.

Upon reaching the gate, Albert waved, and Orin rolled down his window. Albert said, “Don’t usually see you this close to the end of my shift. Getting an early start?”

“Rescuing a friend,” Orin replied.

“That’s nice of you.” Albert glanced toward the lifts before returning his attention to Orin. “Sorry to ask, but there’s still one of those protos loose in the parking garage. Their smell is much less when they’re alone, and it makes them tricky to find. Don’t suppose you spotted it on the way out, did you?”

“No, sir. No felinins that I saw.”

“You sure?” He leaned back in his chair. “Truck like that has to have a mighty warm reactor, perfect for a wayward proto on a cold autumn night, like tonight.”

“I’m sure,” Orin replied.

Warmly, Albert laughed. “All right, then. You have a good morning, now.”

“You too,” said Orin, and he exited the garage.

Driving around the block, he reached the crowded food court at the heart of the dormitory towers. Like ivy, neon signs climbed the nearby walls. Tiny pillows of steam and smoke rose from a dozen carts, attended by their cooks. At the opposite end, the community’s most impoverished gathered at a rundown breakfast bar, waiting for it to open.

He parked and slipped through the crowd, headed for the crimson doors of the Red Raptor. The savory scent of pork, bacon and egg dumplings wafted from within, teasing his senses. Sidestepping a man sound asleep on a bench, he nearly bumped into Mike.

Wearing a smile, Mike held up a stacked pair of Red Raptor boxes and a cardboard beverage caddy. Steam rolled in wisps from two plastic lids. “What took you so long?” Black, close-cropped hair outlined his tawny-brown skin.

“There was a felinin camped out under my truck.”

He passed Orin the drinks. “What did you do?”

Orin shook his head. “I convinced it to leave. I guess I should’ve told it where to find the nearest homeless shelter, but I didn’t think of that until I was on the road.”

“Shelters are off limits to them,” replied Mike.

“Why?”

“Urban Ministry downgraded them to ‘minor intelligence’ status. Now, hundreds of thousands of the poor creatures are suddenly homeless, and winter’s only a couple months away.”

“The hell with the Urban Ministry,” snapped Orin. “All those bastards care about is scratching each other’s backs! Is there anything Falcon can do?”

Mike glanced away. “Not unless they petition for citizenship.”

“On Monday, I’ll talk to someone in the Civil Rights Club. Maybe they’ve got some ideas.”

Taking a moment to adjust his jacket, Mike regarded Orin curiously. “Not that I’m complaining, but since when did you start caring so much about felinins?”

Orin shrugged. “Since tonight, I guess.”

Mike teased. “There’s hope for you yet, my friend.”

Orin squinted. “What’s that’s supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” said Mike. “Don’t worry about it. Where’s the Beast?”

“Close! I got parking on Ohio. Is Nimbus here?”

“Yeah, but he picked up a repurposer somewhere in the crowd,