Page 13 of Outfoxed

Once upon a time, when I’d been new in town and the outskirts had been a lot larger, I’d used the internet to find a place to live. I gave it a year before I forgot how to use a computer altogether.

Drawing a deep breath, I steeled my nerves and knocked.

A bent, old man with a crown of wispy hair answered the door, and he looked me over, his bushy brows rising. “What ya want?”

I pointed at the yellow fabric dangling from his window. “You renting out a flop?”

“I got a lease if ya got the money. Come on in, missy.” He backed up and held the door for me.

I stepped inside, cringing over the filthy state of my shoes. I bent to take them off, and he tapped the hardwood floor with his cane. Lifting my head, I stared at him. “Sir?”

“Don’t ya worry none about some mud. Gives me some work for later. Sit on down in the kitchen and tell me about why you need a flop.”

Honesty was the best policy, although I’d be telling a different truth. “I was paying six hundred a month for a place with no cellar in the outskirts.”

“That’s harsh. And ya can’t do the outskirts without a cellar. What you do for a livin’, missy?”

“I’m a waitress at McCoy’s,” I replied, relieved he didn’t press any more on my previous housing situation. “I do some work over at a martial arts school, too.”

“Martial arts? You don’t look like a martial artist.”

“I’m not. I just help the instructor.” In truth, I could swing a sword around with some expectation of doing serious harm, but I saw enough death from the storms. I didn’t need to add to the bodies. One day, I might learn how to use a sword properly, but I’d have to get a weapon first.

It took a lot more than what I made to get a good sword, and I hadn’t found one while salvaging. If I did find one, I’d be torn between keeping it and selling it.

A single good blade could pay for my rent for an entire month if I sold it for cheap.

The old man led me to a small kitchen with a table for two and gestured for me to sit down. I obeyed. My eyes widened when he flicked a light switch and light filled the room. The coffee maker on the counter drew my attention and held it.

He must have gotten his hands on a gas generator, as few places so close to the outskirts had electricity of any sort. I’d assumed any light had been from gas or battery-operated lamps.

“Can I tempt ya into a cup?”

Dignified women didn’t beg, but before I could stop myself, I breathed, “Please.”

He took two mugs down from a cupboard. “How do you want yours?”

“Black, please.” I never understood the desire to doctor a rare treat. If I wanted a cup of sugar and cream, I’d get that. Sugar and cream were both easier to get than coffee—and a hell of a lot cheaper.

While rare in Tulsa, some imported milk, and a few still owned cattle.

He handed me the plain mug, and I thanked him before trying a sip.

Little beat coffee after a wretched morning.

“I lease because I ain’t got any living family left, so if a swarm comes and gets me, well, my tenants can enjoy what they can of their lives until the swarms come and get them, too. The property I have has a cellar, but ya have to do some work to get to it; the last blow blocked the entrance. But it’s deep, it’s built solid, and it’ll be just what ya need. I put in air shafts and a pump last year, but ya have to make sure the vents aren’t blocked. They probably are. The cellar’s a thousand square feet, and it’s got pipes to the sewer, assuming they’re still clear. Never know these days. Last I checked, the building itself still stood, but it’s the cellar ya want. Anything in it is yours. I used it for storage once upon a time, but I’m too damned old and tired to be bothered with it anymore. And I’d have to dig it out. You look fit, and I bet given an hour, you can wiggle on down there and make it a nice little place for yourself.”

“What’s the catch?” I asked, unable to believe I’d finally gotten some good fortune in my day.

“Well, it’s in the outskirts. I’ll take your four hundred a month if you’re willing to tango with death.”

Four hundred saved me money each month, and I’d be able to have some of the luxuries I usually avoided. “And you’re sure you don’t want claim on anything in the cellar?”

“I’m sure, missy. I’ve the papers for the lease, and I’ve got a computer, so I can submit the documents to City Hall. I’ve even got a phone for internet, because they still maintain towers, and I’m just in range of one. You got yourself any identification?”

“I do, but it’s from the East,” I admitted. I had another two years before the card expired, and I didn’t know what I’d do at that point.

“That’ll work. I ain’t picky, and it’s not like I’m going to run your credit. What’s the point out here? You got a bank account or you run pure cash?”