Rachel Alexander 03 - A Hell of a Dog

total happiness. She was clinging on so tight, I had to wonder exactly which beans she was afraid Jeff would spill.
    Boris was sitting quietly now, stroking Sasha’s neck. How easily he’d gone into a rage, I thought. And then I had a psychic revelation of my own. For just a moment, there was a picture in my head, the way you remember a snippet of a dream before it blows away as quickly as it came. I saw a hand, maybe Boris’s hand, leaning down on that small shelf in the hotel bathrooms, the one they leave the extra towels on, the one that Alan Cooper had put the radio on so that he could listen to music while he soaked in the tub.
    Bucky had brought Alexi to the stage and had gone back to his seat.
    “I can’t understand a word he’s saying,” Audrey said. “Does anyone here speak Russian?”
    But before Boris got the chance to volunteer, her hands were up, stopping the laughter and letting us know we should remain in our places. “This is the time for me to explain how psychic communication with animals works. Or more accurately, how it doesn’t work. It doesn’t work in words, so language differences never become language barriers. The communication is done in pictures, things the dog imagines and sends to you and things you imagine and the dog picks up. I’ll ask you to close your eyes now—no, not you, Alexi, you can keep your eyes open.”
    There was laughter again. I looked around and saw everyone smiling, eyes closed. Audrey had won them over. Even Boris had his eyes closed.
    I closed my eyes and waited for Audrey’s voice to tell me what to do, but before she said a word, another picture came, an awful picture, Rick Shelbert turning pale as he struggled for air.
    I opened my eyes and thought about what Chip had said when I’d told him I’d been late because I’d stopped to powder my nose.
    You didn't do a very good job.
    He was right. I hadn’t.
    I had been hired to prevent the loss of life, and yet two people were dead. I thought about the elevator falling, the people not being warned. Maybe once things were set in motion, there was no way to stop them. Maybe all I could do, like the police, was make sure that whoever was doing this would be found out, that we could have the small but important satisfaction of knowing who and why. But that wasn’t enough. There had to be an end to this.
    “Is there an image in your mind now?”
    Her voice seemed to be coming from very far away.
    “If you have a companion animal with you, change the image so that you are picturing something pleasant that includes your pet, taking him for a walk in the park, feeding him a favorite treat, or playing a game he likes. One image. And hold that image. Now see if your pet starts to react in any way, but don’t open your eyes yet. Wait until you’re sure he’s got it.”
    Dashiell wasn’t impressed. He was lying on his side, snoring lightly. But sitting there and watching Audrey bonding with Alexi, I was formulating a mental image that got me excited, a way that, starting tonight, I could do my job better, a way, I hoped, to interfere with fate and prevent the next senseless killing.



I’VE BEEN HEARING RUMORS ABOUT YOU

    Ante up, people,” Woody said, breaking the seal on the deck and shuffling. “Ante. From the Latin, meaning ‘before.’ Come on, Boris. You know the American saying, A fool and his money are soon parted. Let’s go here.”
    I tossed my chip and heard the satisfying sound of plastic against plastic as each of my cohorts did the same, the chips landing on each other and then sliding off onto the green felt cover of the round table I’d asked Jimmy to have brought to my room after dinner.
    I’d gone out for the supplies myself, not wanting to leave the selection of junk food to an amateur. Boris had volunteered to supply the cigars. He’d brought vodka too, not knowing that I’d had the same idea. We had enough booze to fill a kiddie pool.
    I waited until all my cards were in front of me before picking them up.
    The other women had declined my proposition, each making her own lame excuse for not spending the night in a cloud of smoke. I didn’t care. It was the men I was after. If they were all together playing poker, I hoped they’d all be alive in the morning. Because even without the sort of hard evidence that was needed to change anyone’s opinion about what had happened to two of our male speakers, the knot in my stomach was telling me these cleverly orchestrated episodes