Outrun the Moon(73)

“No, I can’t let you. Let’s go.” I pull her toward the street.

We don’t even step off the curb before Burkhard says in an indulgent voice: “Well, if it’s that important. I’ll take the ring, and you can have the beef.”

Elodie hands it to him, too quickly in my opinion. I bet we could’ve wangled some salted pork out of him as well. The man drops the ring into his shirt pocket. “Follow me.”

She puts her mouth close to my ear and whispers, “It’s paste, you idiot.”

I nearly smile but catch myself in time.

The iron scent of meat hangs heavy in the shop, and flies buzz around the carcasses now that the ceiling fans have ceased running. Burkhard says a few words to the man with the sock cap in a language full of hard sounds. I think it’s German.

The man grunts, then grabs a pole with a hook. I only spot two split sides, and one is definitely bigger than the other.

I point to the bigger slab. “We’ll take that one.”

Burkhard’s thin lips part, and I think he’s going to argue again, but to my surprise, he nods and points at the chosen piece. The German hooks our slab and sets it on the counter.

“And we’ll need a receipt,” Elodie says primly.

With an exaggerated sigh, Burkhard scratches up a receipt while the German begins to work a sack over our meat.

“Aren’t you going to cut it for us?” I ask.

“That’ll cost extra.” Burkhard passes the receipt to Elodie, who tucks it into her purse.

“My butcher never charges extra for cutting!” I protest.

“Today, it’s extra. See all these flies? We’ve got to get our product cut before we get maggots.”

“How much to cut it?” I ask.

“A dollar.”

Now that’s looting. “But we just gave you an heirloom ring!” I almost stamp my foot, feeling more indignant than I have a right to feel. It’s the principle of it.

“I don’t usually accept jewelry for my meat. I’m doing you a favor.”

Elodie shoots me a warning glance and folds her arms. “Fine. Please have your man deliver this to Alvord Lake.”

Burkhard snorts. “That’ll be another dollar extra. And seeing as you don’t have it, I guess you’ll have to carry it yourself.”

“Carry it?” Elodie explodes. “No one said anything about carrying it. I don’t want it anymore. Give me back my ring.”

The German heaves up the quarter-carcass and brings it around the counter to us.

“Sorry. We have a strict no-return policy.”

I fix Elodie with a hard look—we need this meat—but before I can protest further, the German drops the burlap sack in front of us. We catch it, but only barely. It must weigh more than either of us.

He salutes us with the tip of his broom. “Good day, ladies.”

Elodie fixes him with a piercing look. “This will be the last time my shadow crosses your doorstep.”

“Me too,” I agree emphatically.

We stumble out into the hazy sunlight, dragging the carcass. This might be the first time Elodie and I have ever agreed on anything.





33



WE HAUL OUR LOAD ACROSS THE STREET.

The uneven weight of our burden requires us to constantly adjust our holds. To pile on the agony, I’ve developed sore spots in my boots from all this walking on uneven streets.

People stare as we pass. Let them. We have our receipt, thanks to Elodie’s quick thinking. In fact, if it were not for her, we would not have our main course at all. I just focus on not dropping my end. The burlap has developed wet, bloody marks where I’ve been gripping it.

“You had to pick the heaviest one,” Elodie pants.

“You were going to give it back!”

Elodie stops to wipe her bloody palm on her dress. “Can you blame me? This is the most revolting thing I’ve ever done.” She blows hair out of her face. “There is no way I am eating this tonight.”

“Tell that to your stomach in a few hours.”

We rest at the foot of the path into Golden Gate Park to catch our breath. We’ll never get back to camp at this rate. “How about we take the shortcut up that hill instead of zigzagging around? Or is that too challenging for you?”

“What is challenging for me is hearing you boss everyone around nonstop for the past two days. It’s enough to put anyone in the nut hatch.”

It didn’t take long for us to return to bickering.

Up the hill we go, each step a labor, and I immediately rethink the decision to take the direct route. But Elodie seems determined to plow ahead, and I would rather jump into a barrel of leeches than back down first.

There’s not a lick of shade on this knoll, and the smoke-filled air is too warm, like the inside of an oven. I would give a year of my life for a drink of water. But on we climb, bearing our burden as if this were the last side of beef on earth, and we, its chosen protectors.

A fly buzzes around my head, and I try to blow it away. So intent am I on shooing the damn fly that I step on a loose rock and stumble. I grab for something to steady myself, but there’s only the carcass, and Elodie. With a yelp, I fall backward, pulling the engine and the cargo with me.

Before I can form a clear thought, I’m tumbling down the hill.