Rachel Alexander 05 - The Wrong Dog

Sorry

    It must have been close to two in the morning when I realized I couldn’t do anymore. I turned on the shower and adjusted the water so that it was as hot as I could stand it, something to get the kinks out of my shoulders. My arm was hurting, too. Maybe it was going to rain. Or maybe it was because I’d ignored the advice of my doctor. I’d been chopping food, hauling three exuberant dogs around, not resting at all, and not elevating my arm, as I was told I should.
    I put on the kettle before getting into the shower, thinking how nice it would be to sit on the couch for a few minutes, dogs all around me and a cup of tea warming my hands, then my insides. It was too late and I was too tired to take the dogs around the block. Instead, I shooed them out into the quiet garden and, remembering the visitor of the other night, I closed the door. With three dogs in the yard, I didn’t think he’d show up again, but with city rats I couldn’t be sure. They were as bold as politicians, and just as appealing. And if our friend did show, the dogs would chase him. They were terriers, after all. I just wanted to be sure they didn’t chase him in. Better safe than sorry.
    I must have had some energy left, maybe just the nervous kind, or maybe I sang show tunes while I let the hot water beat down on me because I had done all the thinking I could stand for one day. My head ached. My legs felt wooden. My eyelids were as heavy as anvils. I stood there singing my heart out, my voice echoing off the tile.
    There was a blue terry robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. I slipped it on, tied the belt, and opened the bathroom door.
    I didn’t see him immediately. I was towel drying my hair, heading for the kitchen, thinking about that cup of tea. But then I heard him, the same raspy voice I’d heard the other night.
    “Turn around,” he said. “Face the garden.”
    Heart pounding, I did, seeing the dogs I’d locked out all staring in, staring at the man who was behind me.
    “So it’s the super again,” I said. “What is it this time? Here to fix the plumbing?”
    “I’ve been asked to tell you it’s time to go back to your own house and mind your own business.”
    “Yeah?By whom?”
    “What?”
    “Who the fuck asked you to remind me to mind my own business?”
    “That’s none of your business.”
    “But it is my business. It’s what I get paid to do. But you and whoever sent you already know that, don’t you?“
    “We know everything we have to know,” he said. “You’d be surprised by what we know.”
    “Perhaps I would,” I said, taking a small step to the side so that I could see his reflection in the glass, stopping when he began to shout.
    “Don’t turn around. If you see me, I’m not going to have a choice anymore. I’m going to have to kill you. I have a gun.”
    “A gun? You mean you’re going to shoot me? I thought poison was your specialty.”
    Dashiell began to bark.
    I could see Joe’s right arm, hanging down at his side, the weapon in his hand. He wasn’t brandishing it. He was subtle. You had to give him that.
    He took a step toward me and that put him directly beneath the hall light, giving me a better look at him. And at what he was packing.
    “Still deciding?” I asked. “Well, one way or the other, I wish you’d get on with it. I don’t have time to waste with you. I have work to do here.”
    I could hear his breathing now, a familiar sound, one I’d heard on my answering machine a few days ago when he’d hit redial to find out who Sophie had called last, waiting a moment to see if I’d pick up.
    Beyond the glass, Dashiell was hopping mad. At last there was work with his name on it, important work, and through no fault of his own, he couldn’t do the only thing he knew he should. It was what I wanted, too, to dispatch this asshole so that I could get some rest.
    “Get him,” I shouted, lifting my aching arm and pointing toward Sophie’s bedroom.
    I saw Joe turn his head, confused. Then I saw his hand begin to rise.
    I was already turning when I heard it, a metallic ripping sound, nails scrabbling across wood, the answering machine hitting the floor, and then Joe moved faster than I’d ever seen a human being go. He wheeled around and opened the apartment door, slamming it behind him. Dashiell hit the door a moment after that and when I opened it for him, both of us mad enough to kill, the hallway was empty. Except for a wrench lying at the side of die