THE CRIBS IGNORE THE IGNORANT RAR HOW TO

A little shack in front of it, and an older Chinese man reading a newspaper inside. The lot should be there, right there, on the right-hand side of the street. At the next intersection, Sutter and Van Ness, she looked for the parking lot, but everything seemed changed, off, as if she'd appeared in a movie-set replica of San Francisco made by someone who had studied the city but had never really been there. She moved faster, knowing now was not the time to give anyone the finger. She could almost smell him: car grease, sweat, days of tobacco. This man seemed closer, his voice just over her shoulder. 'Hey, baby,' one of the men said, less than twenty feet behind her. 'I'll be fine,' she'd said, rolling her eyes as she turned away from him. She wished she'd listened to Dan when he asked if he could drive her to her car, but she'd been annoyed by his question, as usual. Now she was lost, even though she'd lived in the city her entire life. And after the poetry reading and book signing, Miranda had an apple martini with Roy, his wife, Clara, and Miranda's editor, Dan Negriete, at Zaps. Roy Hempel, the owner of Mercurial Books, sighed with relief when she pushed open the door and almost ran to the podium. 'Little sweet thing,' called another, 'don't you like us? We won't bite unless you ask us to.'Д¬lutching her purse, Miranda looked down each cross street she passed for the parking lot she'd raced into before the poetry reading. 'Hey, baby,' one of them said, half a block away. Now Post Street was deserted, as if someone had vacuumed up all the noise and people, except, of course, for the three awful men behind her. When she'd left the bar and said good night to the group she'd been with, there'd been people strolling on the sidewalks, cars driving by, lights on in windows, music from clubs, flashing billboards, the clatter and clink of plates and glasses from nearby restaurants. In the time it had taken her to walk from Geary Street to Post, Miranda had gotten scared.ДЄs she walked, her arms moving quickly at her sides, Miranda wondered where the hell everyone else was. She glanced back at them quickly three large men coming closer, their shoulders rounded, hulking, and headed toward her. These guys, though, were persistent, matching and then slowly beginning to overtake her strides.

THE CRIBS IGNORE THE IGNORANT RAR HOW TO

Men had been looking at her since she miraculously morphed from knobby knees and no breasts to decent looking at seventeen, and she knew how to turn, give whomever the finger, and walk on, her head held high. They must be boys, she'd thought, teenagers with nothing better to do on an Indian summer San Francisco night.Д«ut as she clacked down the sidewalk, tilting in the black, strappy high heels she'd decided to wear at the last minute, she realized these guys weren't just ordinary catcallers. At first, it seemed almost funny, the old catcalls and whistles-something Miranda Stead was used to. The men had been after her for a good three blocks. Rufus! he called out, barely getting the loud cry out of his mind before she yanked hard, and he passed out, nothing in his body but the empty spin of dead thoughts. He didn't want any part of her plan or her life. Before he hit the ground, she stopped him up short, and then wound the cord around him, pressing tightly, pushing his breath and life out of him as she worked up his body.ДЄs the feeling left his feet and legs and then torso, he woke up, saw the living room clearly. She pulled back with her hand, and he jerked and then began to fall forward.

I thought I didn't have anything left to teach you. All he wanted was to be with her, here, in this house, without the name of the other man, without Quain, in either of their thoughts. What he wanted to do now was to stop packing, to pull the woman to him and kiss her into quiet. The noose tightened, his breath harsh in his throat.

Let's not go through this again, shall we? The thought of the man scratched against his mind. The noose yanked tighter, but he flinched, hearing that name. He nodded, the silk cord yanking him back to his task. Her eyes glinted like wet obsidian, her lips like blood. That's right, she thought, her robe spinning around her as she put it on, her hair a dark drape behind her shoulders. With her, he would change the world and make it better, cleaner, more whole, more purposeful. He needed them all, didn't he? He wouldn't come back here, to this house he'd built on the hill overlooking the ocean. He could never disobey her he knew that in his blood and bones and mind.ДЄs if in a dream, he was putting together his belongings, things he needed. Her call was warm, dark like brandy, sweet and addictive. She beckoned him forward, and he followed her command, feeling it like a slick silk rope around his neck, a comfortable, accustomed noose that he had worn for two years.

The cribs ignore the ignorant rar