Its Crow

“They're smart, really smart. You'd be surprised at what these things can do.” Veronica smirks, as we down Rocket Fuel shots as fast as our funds allow. By this time I've kind of lost track of the conversation a little, not even sure what it is that she is referring to. She is far better at absorbing alcohol than I am. Three sheets to the wind and rapidly losing my bearings I grin and nod, not sure if my lips are pulling the right shape or not.

Awoken by a violent start, slick from my own sweat from pulling the covers over myself five hours before and losing consciousness, I jerk to, and feel my brain trying to get all hands on deck to make sense of my change in orientation, from horizontal to vertical. The violent start was triggered by a thumping sound and that thumping sound happens again: the door, the front door. I open the portal that is the front door. There stands Veronica, looking crisp and cool, a covered mesh cage sitting at her feet. “Jesus, look what the cat dragged in... Or should that be drug?” Her nose piercing seems to twinkle in appreciation at her own joke; the star spangle that comes from it makes me wince involuntarily.

“Heeeyy.” was about the best I could manage, any more investment in cognitive processes deemed not worth the effort by my hippocampus-oblong-nutella-whatever.

“So here it is. I know I'm putting it into good hands, even if they are somewhat shaky.” Veronica looks me directly in the eye, perhaps to ease my shaking hands or make them worse, I'm not sure. “It's a he I believe. At least that's what I'm guessing. Could be wrong, I've been known to mix my genders before but nothing bad came of it.” Just a tiny glimmer from the nose piercing this time.

“What is it again?” The throbbing begins in earnest, I can feel my temples bulge with each squirt of blood from my heart, nausea churns below.

“You know, people pay big bucks to get their hair all smooshed up on one side of their head like that, and yet you got yours for nothing. Nice job.” A car horn bleeps meekly in the background. Veronica half turns, then turns back to me. “It's the crow silly. Remember? Last night? You agreed to look after it – him - I think.”

“I.... Sure. I do. It's -”

“Gotta go, the car is not mine so it's not going to wait.” Her blinding white runners spin around and leave with her. She opens the door to the car “There's plenty of info on the vagaries of crows, how to love them.” She blows me an air kiss and bends down to get into the car, hitting her head on the roof guttering “Ow, fuck. Fuck. Is that on omen?” I hear her ask the driver of the car as it reverses out.

I manage a shower with no sudden moves and the water seems to somehow get inside my brain and dissolve the evil webbing that squeezes at my synapses. I bring the cage onto the back deck and take a cursory quick peek, and promptly forget to breathe. The thing we sometimes see vaguely at the top of a power pole, silhouetted like a witch on a broom is a far cry from this beautiful beast of black mercury. Viewed up close nature is second to fucking none in design and execution. Its topaz yellow eyes and hook-hard beak turning sleek into stealth, claws for clutching; nothing wasted or overblown. I take the cover off the cage to show the world to the crow, and the crow to the world; neither of them flinch. I take a picture of it on my phone and it watches me compulsively, head flicking its tiny adjustments to allow the eyes the best vantage point to understand what I am doing; I feel like I am being evaluated for any indiscretions. I check the web and see that I can feed this bird almost anything. It seems odd - although in keeping with nature's efficiency I guess - crows are the garbage disposals of the bird world. I find some old dry crackers that I opened months ago and lost sight of. They're dry crackers but soggy. The crow scoots across as I tentatively open the cage door, eyes my fingers intently in their every twitch and flick. I toss three crackers onto the bottom of the cage. It makes no effort to move on the crackers.

So, I'm at work, my hangover is nearly history, a BLT should finally nail it. Just as I enter the deli that serves BLTs on rye I receive a text message. I wrestle the BLT, an English breakfast tea and my phone over to a table, then have to shuffle along as the coffee cups I thought were empty aren't and the owners come back with cake on plates. The guy is talking absolute BS to his date and she swallows it whole, or seems to. I want to tell her that the guy is a posing douchebag and doesn't work for Chase bank because I've seen him in a UPS uniform, but I let them go. She'll figure it out soon enough.

I look at my phone, the text message: 'C C'. I don't recognise the number, but I kinda do at the same time. I decide to let that one slide, guessing that message or the messenger will become apparent. I look out at the street, see a dark apparition on a power line on the opposite side of the road. It's eyeballing something, I recognise that look now, the way it makes incremental but slightly jerky adjustments of its head.

My phone lights up, same number, new text: 'C C ARK'.

I message back: 'I'll call you now' – That usually stops knobs being stupid.

Then straight back: 'P1zZ@ Wan P1zZ@'.

'Pizza?' I reply.

'Yas Wan P1zZ@'

A waste of time and money but I keep it up: 'Margerita?'

'N0 5tuPit P3ppr0nI'

I look at the number again and try to place it. I text 'Where do you live?' - as if someone would be dumb enough to answer.

'@ Fi3nDs HauS'

'You mean friend right? Not fiend?'

'5am3 5am3'

'No. Different.' I reply. I sit for a good while, eat the BLT, drink the tea; the crow has left the power line. My mind wanders. I get back to work just in time to see my boss close the Asian Dating website as I approach his desk. I pretend not to have noticed by looking at my phone screen as he looks up. He bluffs and blusters, tells me what items need to be packed next, sent out. I've never had an interest in what people I work with do in their private lives. It's the last thing I want to know. I'd like to tell everybody that I work with this, so that they don't sneak about or bail me up in a breakroom or corridor in the false belief that they have information that I'd be interested in, and if I stick with them I'll learn what it is. I simply don't care.

The mysterious pepperoni messages have subliminally worked their magic on me. Now it's me who wants pepperoni. I call ahead to my favourite pizza shop and get them to set some aside for me so that I can pick it up on my way home. Famished, I don't even bother turning the lights when I get inside. I eat three quarters of the pizza in one go, then remember the crow in the cage out the back. I stop what I'm doing, get up and peer through the sliding door into the murkiness, but even then I spot the problem. “Fuck, Veronica is gonna kill me.” The crow is gone. Not only the crow but the cage as well. I go to unlock the sliding door but find that it's not locked. I slowly slide the door open trying to be as noiseless as I can, not easy on something that has received no maintenance. I step down from the deck and see the cage on its side; there's a large clattering sound and I duck as a hard outline comes at me with a rushing vortex, but it makes directly for the sliding door. “Is that a band omen? A crow in your house?” I sit on the edge of the deck and search the web for 'How to catch a crow.' Pretty much all advice is to not to attempt such a risky undertaking unless one of you doesn't mind sustaining serious injury in the process. I turn around and look into the dark haze inside, sharp outlines just visible. “Hey. Hey! That's my pizza! Lay off!”. It's scarfing down my pizza like there's no tomorrow. I look back down towards the cage and see two whole crackers on the ground. I spot the third cracker away from the cage a little, with guano deposited smack bang in the middle. “Note to self: No more cheap meals for Mr Crow.” I smile at my own cordial inanity. As I look back inside, the crow has landed on the lightshade hanging above the kitchen table and is making easy work of severing the power cable. “Hey! No dude! No!” The crow alights from the shade as it dangles precariously on the few remaining intact strands of.... Bam! It's down, knocking the bottle of Tabasco onto the floor. The crow is lost to the bowels of the house. I walk to the sliding door and tentatively stick my head inside, unsure if this creature is just messing around or the situation has grown serious. Up till this moment the crow hasn't made a noise, not a single peep. Now though it starts up a slow frog sound, then another, then it runs them together, louder and louder. The cackling inside the house is deafening - something else that we don't notice when animals are far away outdoors - and I can't figure out where it's coming from, the cacophony echoing off the hard interior of glass and tiles. Abruptly it stops. I sense an opportunity “I tell you what crow- are you listening?” I begin, sounding stupid even to my own ears “I'll make you a deal. No more crap food, ok?” I lean a little more forward, somehow assuming that I have the bird's attention. “Whatever I eat, you eat. No more soggy crackers.” I hear a brief subdued cackle and then feel a windburst above my left ear. I look back outside and the crow is outlined on top of the over-turned cage.

Five days have passed since I brought the pizza pepperoni home. The odd text messages keep coming and now I recognise the number - it's my old Nokia phone, which last time I looked was in some odd drawer of some odd cabinet at home, mixed up with stapleless staplers and plastic wall hooks too small for anything useful. Before I head home I send a message to the Nokia: 'You like Taco Bell?'

'Yas, Wan T@c0 b3ll'