The Dog Who Knew Too Much (27 page)

Now that I was letting in the dark thoughts I'd been avoiding, something else occurred to me. I'd assumed Paul was on his way to see me at the studio. What if he'd been on his way
from
the studio, after being told by Avi that I wasn't there? What if Avi had followed him out?

But why? I searched my mind and couldn't think of a time I'd mentioned him to Avi. If he'd view Paul as a threat to our master/slave relationship, how did he know? And then I remembered the first time we'd met. Avi had picked up the scent of Lisa's perfume from her scarf. Surely he'd noticed the stronger scent of chlorine. Surely he'd understood its significance.

Did he want to make sure that this time nothing would distract his new apprentice from her studies? Like Lisa's father, was he able to give Lisa anything under the sun, except her freedom?

Zen, I'd read in one of Lisa's books, is simply a voice crying, Wake up, wake up. That was exactly what I had to do, before it was too late.

If I had something to ask Avi, there was no time like the present. I looked up at the studio windows. The lights were still on. I got up, walked across the street, and, taking a couple of deep breaths, prepared to take the stairs, as Lisa always had.

35

I Could See His Aura

She was standing in the doorway, a thin woman in a worn-out coat. “You going in?” she said, pushing her brown bangs off her sallow face.

I nodded.

“I usually clean of a Sunday, when no one's here,” she said, the keys in her hand, “but my sister's daughter is getting married, thank God.” She opened the door for me. “You people work so late,” she said, “no one else in the building. The old man was just leaving when I got here,” she said, ringing for the elevator.

I walked in but didn't turn on the lights. Instead, out of habit I guess, I took off Lisa's jacket and changed to her shoes, then, standing in the center of the studio floor, slowly began to do the form. Stepping into White Stork Spreads Its Wings, my right arm bent, my wrist above my eyes, so that I would be able to see the enemy, all I could see was myself reflected in the mirror, wearing Lisa's shoes, Lisa's black workout clothes, and Lisa's bracelet. It dangled heavily from my wrist, reminding me of the weight I had taken on, the obligation to see this through and find out why Lisa, and now Paul, were dead.

Instead of paying attention to what I was doing, I thought about Stewie Fleck, of how guilty he'd acted.

But then I remembered three dogs I was training years ago. When the owner came home and found something wrong, he'd shout, Which of you hoodlums did this? One never looked guilty, even if she was. One only looked guilty if he'd done it. And one always looked guilty, no matter who tore the pillow, ate the defrosting chicken, or left a dump on the rug.

Hadn't Janet managed to keep alive the resentment she'd felt for Lisa when she'd come to the school and immediately become Avi's favorite? Lisa had stolen not one but two treasures from Janet. Then she'd tossed them both away, the way the alpha dog might take the best bone, only to drop it a moment later, having taken it as an object lesson, just to prove he could.

Push, push, that's a dog's world, a way of finding out who's who and what's what. Is that what Janet thought Lisa had done, taking Paul and then throwing him away? And did Janet change her rationale with the second killing, leaving the person who stole from her alive to suffer the sting of loss, as she had?

I heard the whine of the elevator. My spine straight, my eyes forward, I moved from my center, continuing the form as the door opened and a moment later closed again. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, just standing there watching me. I finished the form, slowly lowering my arms as I came back to my full height, then turned to face him.

“What are you doing here so late?” I asked. “Couldn't you sleep?”

He shook his head.

“Me neither,” I told him.

He looked awful, pale and tired. His shirt looked as if he'd slept in it. His hair hadn't been combed.

“Do you come here often, this late?” I asked, thinking about what the cleaning lady had told me.

“No,” he said. “I saw you.”

“You saw me?”

“In the courtyard. I often s-sit there. It's so peaceful,” he said, his voice flat, his arms hanging down at his sides. “I saw you sitting there. Then I saw you c-come up here. So I f-followed you.”

A chill passed through me, as if maybe a window had blown open, letting in the cold night air. But I could see them in the mirror, and they were all closed and latched. Still, I was so cold I thought if I didn't do something fast, I might start shaking. So I did something. Like a dog, I pushed.

“It must be hard for you,” I said. “You must get so frustrated. And so lonely.”

“It's not so bad when I have someone to talk to,” he said, no emotion showing on his face. Or was it just too dark to see?

“Too bad there's ho one else to share the load?” I said, picturing the little girl with a round face, like Howie's, the pretty little girl who was clearly her mother's favorite. “No other siblings?”

Howie blinked.

“What about your sister?” I asked, hackles up, teeing up on him now.

“What do you m-m-mean?” he said.

“Your mother said—”

“No. She told you about
that
? She's a liar,” he shouted. “It was
her
fault, not m-mine.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Didn't
she
tell you already?”

“Do you think I'd believe
her
? Come on, Howie. Talk to me.”

“I was only seven,” he said. “She can't hold me responsible. It was
her
job to watch her, not
mine
.”

“But she'd been drinking?”

“A lot,” he said, taking a step closer.

“Had she passed out?”

“I don't
know
. I was playing with my miniature cars, on the floor. I had my
back
to them. I didn't
s-see
. I was only a kid, for chrissake.”

“And your mother? What did she say happened?”

“
She
was the one should have been watching. But she blamed
me
. She said I could have prevented it, if I wasn't such a d-dummy. That's what she told the p-p-police. ‘My son was supposed to be watching her.' She'd never told
me
that. She never.”

“And exactly what was it that happened when no one was watching?” I asked, even though part of me didn't want to hear the answer.

Howie took another step toward me.

“She must have climbed up on the s-sill,” he whispered, his face alive now, “and somehow the cord of the Venetian blind must have gotten wrapped around her neck. And then she lost her b-balance and fell out. At least th-that's what the p-police said happened. It was very tragic.”

In the dark, I thought I saw him smiling.

Was it after that tragic accident that his father had left the first time?

“I guess that's why we live on the ground floor now.”

Had little Howie stopped playing with his miniature cars long enough to speed his baby sister on her short flight to nowhere?

Had he done the same for Lisa? Surely it wouldn't have been the first time a man killed a woman because if he couldn't have her, he'd make damn sure no one else would either.

With Lisa gone, he'd latched on to me.

And sitting in the courtyard one afternoon, he'd seen Paul on his way to the studio. Surely Howie would have understood the significance of that, and the threat implied in it. Wouldn't the thought of losing me make him beside himself with rage? Mightn't it even make him furious enough to kill?

Don't ask me why, but even as I wondered if I'd be able to defuse the bomb that I myself had armed, I made things worse. Once set in motion, some things are impossible to stop.

“So, Howie, were you also present the night that Lisa lost her balance?”

“She had no right to do that to me. She had to be punished.” He looked at the windows, then back at me. “How else would she learn?”

Had Lisa been writing to him, because he'd cried so when he'd heard her plans? Had he left and come right back, his tears turning to rage on his way down the stairs? Was it Howie, then, not Lisa, who had opened the window, Howie saying he couldn't go on without her friendship? And then what? Had he climbed up on the sill? Of course. And Lisa, her heart pounding, had run across the studio floor in her street shoes to stop him.

He was just standing there, between me and the door, so close I could feel the heat of his body, his eyes as glassy as if he were a dog with rage syndrome. In the dark I could see his aura, red and shooting out around him, like those telescopic photos of the sun. Howie Lish was looking like something that was about to explode.

36

I Don't Believe You, He Said

Suddenly Howie came to life, grabbing both my wrists in one big paw and, with the other, slapping me hard in the face. “B-bitch,” he said, “you're just like h-her, only pretending you care.”

“You're wr-wrong, I
d-do
care,” I said, desperation in my voice. Now I was the
hikavater
.

T'ai chi, Avi had said, teaches you who you are, and when you know yourself, you can understand others. But I've always known who I am, a person who sees the world through dog-colored glasses. Now I remembered those magazines under Howie's bed. And I knew who he was, too.

My cheek was on fire, and fear had risen in my throat like a bad meal. No one else here, I thought, pushing the fear away. Rely on yourself.

“Ooo, you like it rough,” I said. “You have no idea how that turns me on.”

“What did you say?”

“Holding me so that I can't get away, slapping me around, it really turns me on,” I told him, looking right into his eyes. I began to laugh. “I mean, it
really
turns me on.”

He stopped moving.

I was standing in the middle of the studio, my hands numb from the pressure on my wrists, and the only sound was Howie Lash's heavy breathing.

“Couldn't we do this with less on?” I said, hoping he'd think I was trembling from desire and not fright.

“I don't b-believe you,” he said.

“Try me,” I told him.

I felt the grip on my wrists loosen a little. I could see the beads of sweat on his cheeks, and running down his neck.

“Let me take my clothes off, slowly, while you watch,” I said, someone playing kick-the-can with my heart. “And then you can take yours off, Howie. And I'll watch.”

He tightened his grip again.

“You've been thinking about it, haven't you?” I asked him. “I have. Ever since the massage.”

Howie smiled. “Go ahead,” he said. “Undress.”

“I can't, with you holding me. Plenty of time for that later. We have all night, don't we?”

And then I was free, but Howie was so close and the door so far away.

As slowly as if I were doing t'ai chi, I pulled Lisa's black sweater over my head and dropped it onto the floor.

I could feel Howie's breath on my bare skin.

I unhooked my bra, holding it out to him on one finger and then letting it slip into his big hand.

“You, too,” I said, stepping back one step and slipping off Lisa's leggings. “I want to see you, Howie.” And as a final sign of good faith, I slipped my underpants down and stepped out of them.

Howie dropped the bra and began to undress, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off. Then he opened his pants and let them drop and began to pull down his underwear. Looking in the mirror, I could see the big, white moon of Howie's ass shining back at me. I could see myself, too, no longer in black, naked now, except for Lisa's t'ai chi shoes and her heavy, silver bracelet hanging from one wrist like a handcuff.

Howie's erection had popped loose and was staring me in the face; his pants and shorts were around his ankles. As he lifted one foot to jettison them on the pristine oak floor of the studio, I remembered Avi telling me that in martial arts, unless doing something gives you a clear advantage, it's better to do nothing at all. For a moment, that's what I did—nothing. Then slowly I reached out for Howie, as if to embrace him, slipping my hands around his sweaty neck, and using a martial art even older than t'ai chi, I too lifted a foot, driving my knee as hard as I could into Howie's naked crotch. And when he'd doubled over, folding at the waist, his head coming forward, I lifted my knee a second time, even harder, and heard it crack against Howie Lish's forehead.

That's when the door opened and Avi walked in, Ch'an trailing behind him.

37

He Seemed to Be Smiling

He looked slowly from my head to my feet. Too slowly, if you ask me.

“Ah,” he said, focusing on Lisa's black cotton shoes. “You've been practicing. Excellent.”

He seemed to be smiling, but it was too dark to be sure.

He turned away and headed for his office, Ch'an padding along at his side. “I forgot my keys,” he said, “good, good, they're on the desk.” I heard him dialing as I quickly got dressed.

I looked down at Howie. His eyes were still closed and there was a large red bruise on his brow. “Thinking,” O. J. Simpson had once said, “is what gets you caught from behind.” I'd say in his case, and Howie's, it was
not
thinking that had done them in.

After the police left, taking Howie with them, Avi and I sat on the couches and talked until the sun came up. Then I made a phone call and headed home to change to my own clothes, pick up Dashiell, and get the car.

A thin dusting of sand, carried by the wind, covered the street where I parked the Taurus. When I opened the car door, Dashiell headed straight for the ocean, and before I'd locked the car, he was out of sight.