Hummingbird Salamander(52)

Imagine Silvina after the end of Unitopia.

Imagine what it might’ve broken. What, in the broken places, healed as resistance.

Imagine how, growing up, I didn’t dare keep a salamander in the house although I wanted to, let alone a real pet. Just for a day or two, catch and release. Because all I could think of is Shot’s fish.





[58]


Standing behind a carved wooden counter with the outline of a stylized mermaid’s body across the front … was “Ronnie.” It said it right there on her name tag. Which was good because I realized that, in the background research, I hadn’t ever found a photo.

“Ronnie” was a slim white woman. In her mechanic’s-style overalls. Rows of antique appliances behind her. So that was the “organic mechanic” part. No oil smell or anything else you’d expect.

This last dome was divided in half by the wall that housed vintage appliances, and an open, round door carved with vines led to a space farther back that looked spartan. A bench, a couple old chairs, some tools, boxes, and cans. Maybe someone else was back there, but I doubted it.

Ronnie had a wary look stitched on, which I doubted helped with customers. But, then, she couldn’t have any idea who I was. I liked that her nails were ragged and torn and her hands smudged, as she cleaned them with a rag. So maybe she did fix things. I liked the openness of her face and the light blue of her eyes. In some vague way, I felt I’d seen her before. Otherwise, I didn’t have an opinion.

“Are we alone?” I asked.

“That’s a strange question, stranger, don’t you think?” she said, putting the rag on the counter. The countertop was solid, so I couldn’t see anything hidden behind it.

“I mean, I’m curious how many visitors you get, with the center closed.”

Ronnie shrugged. “A couple a week. Most people call me. They don’t visit. I do house calls.”

“What do you tell them about Unitopia?”

Ronnie smiled. A tight smile. “What can I help you with?”

I didn’t like how she’d started to bend at the knees. Was already in the wrong mood or mode.

I pulled out the gun, pointed it at her. It looked so small in my hand. I’d surprised myself. Had thought out so many subtle ways of questioning Ronnie. This wasn’t one of them.

“Step away from the counter. With your hands where I can see them.”

I held the gun tight-in to my body so no one passing by could see it past my bulk. Hell, they probably couldn’t see Ronnie.

“I don’t keep any money here. There’s no safe or anything,” Ronnie said, hands in that universal “Don’t shoot” position. But calm, like she’d experienced this before or knew that it was coming. Or didn’t believe I’d shoot.

“Money isn’t why I’m here,” I said.

“I don’t think these parts will fetch much on the black market.”

As if she hadn’t heard me. I didn’t appreciate the fearlessness. Defiance in the stance. Best to get to the point.

“I want to know why your initials are scrawled on the bottom of a stand for a piece of taxidermy.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said. A little too quickly. Not what she’d expected.

“A hummingbird. Skillful job.”

“I wouldn’t know.” A cold, appraising stare. Like she was weighing the odds of a jail break.

“Silvina Vilcapampa.” Another client trick. If you want a reaction, strip out the context.

A rapid blink, a wince, no way to hide it.

“You know her?”

No response.

“You served two years for breaking and entering. As part of sabotage for an extremist environmental group.” Easy enough to get those records, once I had the name.

“They were going to poison a river for a mine.”

“Did you do that for Silvina, too?”

No answer. But I realized it was probably before she’d met Silvina—the thing that had gotten Silvina’s attention.

“And then you wound up here. Did Silvina set you up here? Did you run Unitopia?”

“No one ran this place,” she said. “It was a commune of like-minded freethinkers.”

“Who wanted to blow up things.”

“No,” she said, in a quiet voice. “We just wanted to be left alone.”

“Actually, not true. You wanted people to come here. You wanted to make more Unitopias.”

A wild, strange light turned on behind her eyes. “And why not?” Defiant. “Why did everyone have such trouble with that? Waystations for rebirth. Centers for resistance. Haven’t you read the news? Do you think we couldn’t have used it?”

“Except, on the side, you’re also a taxidermist,” I said. “Of extinct and endangered animals.”

“No!”

“Then why are your initials on the stand for a hummingbird?”

With some difficulty, I’d managed to get my phone out with one hand and show her the image.

She shrugged.

“Why would Silvina give this to me?”

That lit up her features, but I couldn’t read the emotion.

“She gave you this?”

“Yes. And a note saying I’m supposed to look for a salamander.”