Free A Murder of Crows by David Rotenberg

pattern of four stars?”
    She smiled but hid her eyes from him. He did not press the issue.
    â€œAnd that?” she said, pointing to the low horizon opposite the moon.
    Suddenly as if from nowhere a distinct pattern of stars appeared.
    â€œWhat does it look like, Decker? What animal?”
    Decker looked again and it was clear. “A scorpion.”
    â€œYes. With its tail raised. See its tail? Now follow it to its body and then its head. It is one of the most perfect of the constellations. And one of the few that we and the Europeans called by the same name.”
    â€œScorpio.”
    â€œYes. Do you see its body?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œCount three stars from the end of the tail. See the red star—the one that pulses?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIt is exactly where the heart is on a scorpion. A red heart that pulses.”
    Decker looked and felt his own heart beat in rhythm to the pulse of the red star of Scorpio’s heart.
    Then he looked at her and she was smiling. Nodding. Finally she said, “Yes, Decker, you are like the scorpion—crafty and potentially dangerous. And like the scorpion you have a strong heart, a heart that beats heavy in your chest.”
    Decker looked away from her as if she had suddenly seen into him.
    â€œWhy did you come back to Namibia, Decker? Try not to lie—you’re a very bad liar.”
    â€œTo allow my friend to get back his daughter.”
    She nodded her beautiful head slowly and said, “That is what you made yourself believe. But you came here to hide.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYes. But they have found you.” She indicated two men across the way. “I have a cabin for us in Etosha—you’ll like it there. It’s by the watering hole, and every day the animals from miles around come to drink. Your scorpion’s heart is beating, but it needs time in Namibia to strengthen.”

19
A CROSSING OF BORDERS—T MINUS 16 DAYS
    SETH WAITED HIS TURN IN LINE FOR U.S. IMMIGRATION. HE DID HIS best not to turn on his heel and flee. He knew why he was heading to the United States, but he couldn’t completely get over his antipathy to America.
    The immigration officer signalled him to come forward. He stepped onto the electronic pad and offered his palm for the hand scan.
    â€œPassport,” the man said.
    Seth gave him his passport.
    â€œPut your hand down. You’re a Canadian, no need for a scan.” Then under his breath, clearly for the benefit of the immigration officer in the next booth, he said, “Don’t ask me why.”
    The guy in the next booth chortled.
    The immigration officer opened Seth’s passport and slid it through the digital reader. As he did, a ding sounded in the Junction, and Eddie turned in his swivel chair and reached for his computer.
    â€œWhat’s the reason for your visit, son?” the immigration officer asked—no, demanded.
    Seth took out the treatment regime that had been sent to him by the San Francisco Wellness Dream Clinic. The immigration officer read the document quickly and then asked, “You have an address for this . . . clinic?”
    Seth pointed at the address on the bottom of the document, and the immigration officer typed it into his computer. Then he stopped. His cursor was hopping around his screen. “Hey,” he called to thenext booth. “Your computer okay?” After receiving an affirmative he turned back to his screen—and his cursor had stopped hopping.
    Back at home in the Junction, Eddie copied down the address, made a second check to be sure that it had been Seth’s passport that had dinged his computer, then found the address on Google Earth. As he did he said aloud, “What’re you up to, Seth?”

20
A DRUNKENNESS OF COPS: GARRETH SENIOR—T MINUS 16 DAYS
    THE RETIRED TORONTO HOMICIDE COP WAS SITTING IN THE living room of his home in Seaside, Florida—the house that a drug