Stuffed Giraffe

I pulled up right in front of the bar. I hadn’t even set the parking brake when a guy leaned down to my window.

“You can’t park here,” he said flatly.

I couldn’t tell whether he worked for the club or was just some self-appointed sidewalk guard, but whatever — have a nice day. I pulled out a hundred and held it out the window.

“I know. Mind keeping an eye on it for five minutes?”

Even I almost missed the quick motion with which the bill disappeared.

“Of course.” He stepped back so I could get out.

I worked my way past the impatient line of would-be partygoers. One last obstacle. Another hundred.

I don’t usually throw money around like this, but the client had agreed to cover all expenses. So why not do everything I could to be fast and efficient?

The moment I pushed through the glass door and the heavy curtain, the music slammed into me. The bass was cranked so high the floor vibrated under my feet. Some kid sat slumped on the floor by the bathroom door, barely conscious, but one of the bouncers was already heading his way. Gotta make room for the next paying customer. I held my breath as I passed — the smell that rolled out wasn’t meant for lungs.

The club wasn’t packed, but plenty of people were dancing — or whatever. The flashing lights showed snatched fragments of their lives, caught mid-motion. Free smiles. Hands where they didn’t belong. A plastic water bottle rolling across the floor. A stiletto heel crushing it.

A pretty but tired-looking bartender was stacking drinks in plastic cups onto a tray. Safety first.

I leaned closer over the counter, careful not to touch the sticky surface.

“Milo?” I shouted over the music.

She looked up, but not at me. Her eyes swept the crowd, then she pointed toward the far end of the room. I nodded and moved off through the dancers.

One of my favorite games — reflex training. Moving through a shifting crowd without touching anyone, without breaking stride, without looking unsure. And above all, without getting knocked over. Reading movement, slipping through gaps. Sometimes just a tiny change in rhythm or direction. The music helped. For me, that was dancing.

I spotted Milo halfway there, sitting in a booth between two girls. God knows what he was feeding them. I adjusted my course, narrowly avoiding an arm thrown into the air.

I was only a few steps away when he noticed me. He froze for a second, then quickly sent the girls off. By the time I reached him, he greeted me with a smile that was way too wide.

I grinned back, like I was sitting down next to an old friend.

“Milo.”

Milo was a leech. Too small-time to really mess with anyone. Too greedy to ever be loyal. But clever enough to gather scraps of information, piece them together, and sell them. Not to whoever paid the most — to everyone who paid.

“Johnny boy!” he boomed, his enthusiasm making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “Man, I haven’t seen you in forever.” Thank God. “What’re you drinking?” He waved a waitress over without waiting for an answer.

“Nothing. Parking meter’s ticking.”

He waved her off again and sent her away.

“Don’t tell me you came all this way just for me. I’m flattered.”

Flattering him wasn’t exactly the plan.

“You know I don’t come to places like this. But you’re hard to find anywhere else. I’m looking for a shipment.”

He leaned in, nose twitching slightly. Smelled money.

“What kind of shipment?”

“Stuffed giraffes. From Africa.”

Milo blinked rapidly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. I couldn’t blame him. I’d laughed too, at first. Still did, honestly — but when someone’s willing to pay this much for stuffed giraffes, you take it seriously.

“Giraffes? Nah. Haven’t heard of anything like that. What’s inside them? Drugs? Diamonds?”

Funny. Those were the exact two things that had crossed my mind. But it carried more weight coming from him. Now I knew he was hooked.

“Just keep your ears open. Let me know if you hear anything.”

“Sure, Johnny boy.” He grinned again, but the sure was too loose.

“They’re worth a lot to someone.”

“Oh yeah? You been to a motivational seminar or something? Can you be more specific?”

“Five hundred if you’ve got something solid.” I lowballed it on purpose — let him work himself up.

“For that, I don’t even get off my ass,” he said, disappointed.

“You don’t have to. Just listen.” I stood up. Milo wouldn’t just listen — he’d ask questions.

I slipped back through the crowd, pulling out a business card with nothing but a phone number on it. I borrowed a pen from the bartender and wrote on the back.

Mick

7 p.m.

I handed it back with the pen and headed for the exit. I didn’t need to look back. I knew she’d read it, and I knew she’d watch me leave. Girls like her know two kinds of guys. The kind who treat them like furniture — like I did when I walked in. And the kind who get drunk and think they’re every woman’s dream and try to pick them up. My message was simple. I saw you. Whether she’d call was up to her.

The heavy curtain fell behind me. The music dulled to a low murmur, then vanished completely as I stepped into the night.

The car key was already in my hand. I pressed the button. Nothing chirped. No lights flashed.

The road was empty, as was the sidewalk. Even the door guy was gone. A few cars sat parked across the street under weak lights. But mine was nowhere to be seen. I walked to the curb and looked around. No traffic.

This city had never been this quiet.

Silence.

The city was holding its breath. The distant hum I’d always taken for granted was gone too. I only noticed it because it stopped. No sirens tore through the night. There was always somewhere to be in a hurry.

“What the fuck?”

I stepped back to the door and yanked on it. Nothing. I slammed my fist against it once. Didn’t help, but it felt good. I pulled out my phone to call a cab and text a buddy in traffic control to keep an eye out for my car.

I didn’t have a cab number, so I tried Scott first.

Only silence answered.

Call ended.

I stared at the phone.

No Service. No data. No Wi-Fi.

Emergency calls only.

That was still a ways off. I needed to get somewhere with reception. Or at least find a cab. This was going to be a long night. I headed toward downtown.

I don’t know when I last walked more than a couple of blocks. But no matter how often I checked my signal at each corner, there was still nothing. Just a growing, unspoken tension tightening in my gut. I stopped again and looked around.

I’m alone.

My gaze drifted up to the windows. All dark.

Sure — it was night. People were sleeping. I checked the time. 2:13 a.m. It’s always darkest before dawn. I’d heard that somewhere before.

Farther off, small squares of cold white light glowed in a few tall buildings. Inviting. Like the city’s stars. I kept walking toward them. I shoved my phone into my pocket.

In the dark shop windows, my reflection fell into step beside me. Its wavering shape walked with stubborn strides, hands in pockets, hiding behind every frame.

Then, for a long while, there was nothing but stone, metal, and wooden doors. I sighed in front of the next reflective surface. My reflection stopped too, turned toward me.

“You got any idea what’s going on?” we asked each other, and at the same time we both pulled out our phones. I glanced at the screen.

1:41 a.m.

I looked up, stunned. My reflection was still staring at the phone. Then it slipped it into its pocket and walked away.

Above me, the streetlight flickered once.

Then everything went out.

Darkness.