Trapped (Caged #2)(17)

Tria’s eyes got big as she glanced toward the bedroom and presumably toward Krazy Katie’s usual camping spot.

“Is she okay?”

“Fuck if I know,” I said with a shrug.

“I mean…is she starving or something?”

“I took her some of the leftovers from the past couple of days,” I told her.

“That’s why you haven’t been eating more than one serving all weekend? I thought Yolanda had been harassing you.”

“Nah, just saving a bit for her.” I shrugged.

“Good,” Tria said with a nod. “I can make extra today.”

“And that’s sweet and wonderful,” I said, “but not exactly pragmatic.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shit, Tria—it’s not like we have a ton to spare here.”

Tria looked glum as she sat down at the kitchen table. I got up and poured her a glass of apple juice and refilled my own. With her chin in her hand, she drank and considered what I had told her.

“You said her checks are there?” Tria suddenly piped up.

“Yeah.”

“Well, couldn’t we get them cashed?”

“Not unless you have an ID that says you’re her.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Tria shook her head. “I mean take her to some place where she can cash her checks, and then take her to the grocery store for food.”

“You want to take Krazy Katie on an outing to the store?” I raised my eyebrows at her, wondering if she had the slightest idea what she was suggesting.

“Well, if the social worker doesn’t get here, what else can we do?”

Tria ended up making extra breakfast, which I then delivered to Krazy Katie on the fire escape along with a fresh pack of smokes. She was more interested in the nicotine than the biscuits, but at least she ate a little bit.

After about ten more calls, I finally found out that Meredith Jones, the social worker assigned to Krazy Katie’s case, had moved out of state two weeks ago to take care of an ailing parent. She wasn’t expected to return to the agency. I also found out that Krazy Katie’s first name was actually Katherine, which was at least partially to blame for the insane amount of phone calls it took to get any answers.

All the other workers had too many caseloads, so she was on a waiting list for the next available one. I heard excuses about government cutbacks or a grant that wasn’t renewed or something—I didn’t understand what the dude was going on about. All I knew was that Tria was now completely insistent on taking Krazy Katie to the bank and grocery store.

I wasn’t so sure we’d survive the endeavor.

“I’ll go through the window and let you in,” I told Tria.

She nodded and turned to walk out to the hallway while I crawled back out on the fire escape and coaxed Krazy Katie inside the building. With her deposited at the kitchen table, I opened the door for Tria.

Tria’s eyes got pretty big when she looked around Krazy Katie’s apartment. I remembered my reaction the first time I came in and figured my face had looked about the same as hers.

Her original fervor in wanting to help seemed to wane as she walked through the doorway and saw one living room wall entirely covered with empty cigarette packs. It was a giant mosaic paying homage to the gods of Marlboro, Camel, and various other Phillip Morris affiliates. There wasn’t any discernible design or anything, but it reminded me of one of those pictures you were supposed to look at while focusing somewhere else, and then you could see other images in it. Except with Krazy Katie’s masterpiece, there wasn’t anything else to see.

There was a couch and a chair much like all the furnished apartments had in the living room but no cushions on them. They were destroyed when Krazy Katie started throwing them out the window at passing cars and buses years ago. In the kitchen, the walls were covered with those free calendars banks give out around the holidays, dating back around fifteen years. There had to be about ten for each year, so you couldn’t see any of the actual walls. Some of the calendars even seemed to be overlapping the years behind them.

I checked the fridge just to make sure no one had come in since I had last looked, but it was still empty.

“How about a little trip, loony?” I asked.

“Liam!” Tria said quietly.

As if Krazy Katie didn’t have ears.

“What?” I asked.

“Quit calling her names.”

“She doesn’t give a shit, do ya, fruitcake?”

Krazy Katie didn’t answer.

“It’s still not nice!” Tria chastised in a whisper.

“Neither is whispering like she can’t hear you,” I replied with a raised brow.

Tria pursed her lips but didn’t give me any more grief for the various pet names I had for my neighbor. I dug around in her mail until I came up with not two but three checks she hadn’t cashed.

“Krazy Katie, have you met Tria before?” I asked her.

She didn’t respond.

“Say hi.” I jerked my head toward where Krazy Katie was sitting.

“Hello,” Tria said. She tilted her head a little, trying to get Krazy Katie to look at her. I could see the tension in Krazie Katie’s shoulders at Tria’s scrutiny, and I took the opportunity to come up behind her.