Tales of the City 03 - Further Tales of the City

back at the airstrip,” he said. “Give a holler if you need me.”
    “Thanks,” said DeDe, looking genuinely grateful. “You’ve been very kind.”
    “No sweat. You leaving tomorrow, by the way?”
    “I think so,” said DeDe. “Can I let you know later?”
    “Sure. Nana will take good care of you.”
    Nana was his grandmother, a rotund and wrinkled crone who reminded Mary Ann of the dried apple dolls sold at the Renaissance Pleasure Faire. Having little command of English, she simply smiled at them toothlessly when she arrived with mugs of steaming cocoa.
    Mary Ann made an exaggerated bow to show her appreciation. “How lovely,” she said, addressing Andy Omiak.
    “We don’t get much company,” he grinned. He turned to his grandmother, speaking to her in their common language. The old lady looked at Mary Ann, giggled, and scurried out of the room.
    “So,” said Andy Omiak, “maybe you’d better tell me what this is all about.”
    An awkward silence followed. Then DeDe said: “Someone has kidnapped my children.”
    The Eskimo Scout frowned. “Someone you know?”
    “Yes.”
    “But … why?”
    “He wants them for himself,” she replied. “He’s crazy. We think he plans to take them to Russia.”
    “Have you notified the mainland police?”
    “No,” said DeDe. “No one.”
    “Why not?”
    “It’s complicated,” DeDe replied. “If he knows we’re involved with the police, he might hurt the children.”
    “You must be very worried,” said Andy Omiak.
    “I’m desperate.”
    “And you want to find out if he’s taken them to Big Diomede?”
    “Yes.”
    The Eskimo started to speak, then stopped, looking away from DeDe. “I could get into a lot of trouble,” he said at last.
    “I’m afraid I don’t …”
    “If I help you … you can’t tell anybody.”
    “I promise you,” said DeDe.
    Andy Omiak leaned closer, speaking in a furtive tone. “I can take you,” he said.
    “To …?”
    He nodded. “I’ve done it before.”
    Mary Ann looked up from her cocoa. “Wait a minute. You don’t mean …?”
    “It’s all right,” said the Eskimo. “It can be done.”
    “Without being shot at?”
    Andy Omiak grinned. “It’s possible.”

Anna and Bambi
    M RS. MADRIGAL WAS PREPARING BAMBI KANETAKA’S tray when Michael bounced into the kitchen.
    “What’s for din-din?” he asked, lifting the lid on a covered dish. “Mmmm … parakeet … my favorite!”
    The landlady snapped at him. “It’s five-spice chicken, Michael! And I’ll thank you not to be so flip!”
    Michael ducked his head repentantly. “Hey … sorry.” Mrs. Madrigal placed a pink rose in the bud vase on the tray. “I’m worried about her,” she said. “She seems to be getting … desperate. I’ve told her time and again that we mean her no harm, but she just won’t relax.”
    “I’m surprised your brownies didn’t do the trick.”
    “She wants out,” said the landlady. “Period. She even promised she’d keep quiet about DeDe if I’d set her free.”
    “You don’t believe that, do you?”
    “I can’t afford to,” replied Mrs. Madrigal, “not if there’s the slightest chance of endangering those children. Besides, if I release her before there’s some resolution, we’ll only be in worse trouble. We need proof that we had a good reason to … detain her.”
    “Good point,” said Michael.
    Mrs. Madrigal lifted the tray. “I suppose things will work themselves out. They always do. I can’t help worrying, though.”
    Michael looked at her earnestly. “We’re in this together, you know. Brian and I have talked about it. If they haul you off to jail, then they’re taking us, too. And we’ll insist on the same cell.”
    The landlady smiled back at him, then pecked him on the cheek. “I’m sorry I barked at you, dear. This is all a bit new to me. I feel like such an outlaw.”
    Michael winked at her. “But you are, Blanche … you are.”
Somewhat more at peace with herself, Mrs. Madrigal descended the stairs to the basement.
    She listened for a moment outside the door, then set the tray down on the floor and undid the padlock. Bambi was sitting in the rumpsprung armchair that the landlady had retired when Mona moved to Seattle.
    “Suppertime,” chimed Mrs. Madrigal, trying to sound cheerful without patronizing her. She placed the tray on an ancient laundry hamper that Burke Andrew had left behind.
    Bambi didn’t stir.
    “I checked the TV listings,” said the landlady.