Page 123 of Fire and Bones
Chuck’s cage was a split-level affair, with each elevation having platforms of mesh, wood, or plastic. The upper portion, apparently meant for sleeping, had corrugated tubing, a hollowed-out tree trunk, and hammocks hanging from the bars. The lower portion, designed for exercise and dining, had a workout wheel, more tubing, and a boatload of toys. A food dispenser and water bottle hung from one side.
Blue plastic ramps provided access from top to bottom.
Chuck was one pampered rodent.
But where the hell was he?
Drawing close, I spotted the creature burrowed into a mound of torn newspaper on the uppermost level. He remained where he was, observing my every move with large, dark eyes.
I had to admit that, with his velvety gray fur and big rounded ears, Chuck was one cute little mammal. I guessed his weight at maybe two pounds, his length at a little over a foot—ten inches of animal and four inches of tail.
Other than the fact that they came from the Andes, I knew zip about chinchillas. Should I speak to him? In English? Spanish? Quechuan? Out of luck on that last one, buddy.
I noted that the food and water dispensers were empty.
Chuck watched as I filled them, motionless amid his shredded Post.
“You good now?” I asked, turning to leave.
Chuck gave what could only be described as a bark.
Surprised, I pivoted back.
“You want company?”
Chuck flicked his tail, eyes never leaving my face.
I dragged a chair over to his cage and we discussed recent events. The Foggy Bottom fires. The tiny subcellar lady. The four upstairs DOAs. Deery. The Stoll brothers. The upcoming interview with Susan Lipsey. The broken icemaker that had rendered my home uninhabitable.
“I think the twins lied,” I said, testing how it sounded with the rodent.
Chuck’s whiskers twitched.
“Exactly. Why would they do that?”
I described my quarrel with Ryan and the ensuing period of noncommunication. Calculated. Seven days, now.
“Am I being childish? Is he?”
Chuck rendered no opinion.
“Should I be angry? Worried?”
If Chuck had a view, he kept it to himself. The chinch wasn’t much of a talker.
But he was a helluva listener.
It was past ten by the time I got back to my room. Knowing the next day would start early, I brushed my teeth, did a few other basics, and climbed into bed.
A green dot on the icon indicated a newly arrived text. Clicking on the app, I was surprised to see another unfamiliar number.
With some trepidation, I opened the message.
Dead serious. Drop it!
Below that decidedly unfriendly directive was the same ominous skull emoji.
As before, I tried entering the digits. As before, the number came up as a nonfunctioning line.