Other People's Pets

by R. L. Maizes

  “You should get them pierced,” he says.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Only a little.” He sets her hand on top of his pants and shows her how to move it. Lying back, he closes his eyes and grunts. Then his pants are wet, and he’s quiet.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Better than okay.”

  La La stretches out alongside him, vaguely dissatisfied. Awake in parts of her body she isn’t used to noticing or naming, and certainly not discussing with a boy who’s still for the most part a stranger. “The fence gave me one sixty.” She reaches into her pocket and takes out cash, handing him another twenty.

  “You didn’t have to tell me.” He puts the money away.

  “I wanted to.”

  They kiss, Max pressing hard and biting her lip. She doesn’t know if she likes it, if it’s punishment or reward.

  “How’d you know how to pick that lock?” he asks.

  “My dad and me, we’re burglars.” It’s the first time she’s thought of herself that way. It’s something her father does. Something she got stuck doing with him. But now she’s done it without him, for pastries and beer, and to impress Max.

  “I guess I am, too.” Max’s phone pings in his pocket. “My father says I’m nothing. At least now I’m something. Maybe you’ll teach me to pick locks.”

  “Sure. But you better go. My dad will be home soon.”

  When he leaves, she misses the taste of salt on his chest and sugar on his lips. She closes her eyes and, imagining Max is still with her, touches herself.

  * * *

  They rob homes whenever they run out of money, meeting in front of the 7-Eleven, Leonard driving his brother’s car. La La directs them to cities and towns thirty and forty miles away. Sometimes she secretly chooses properties she’s been inside with Zev, the owners having replaced whatever was stolen. Her father always says a good home to hit is one you’ve already robbed, because you know the layout and have been successful. One family installed new security. When La La sees the alarm company sign, she steers the group to a neighbor. Several owners alter where they hide their valuables, choosing new, equally obvious spots. Lightning doesn’t strike twice, people figure, but it does.

  She always lies to Leonard and Tamara about how much the fence gives her, making up the difference to Max in her room. Mo never gets used to Max, hiding under the dresser whenever he arrives, the cat’s anxiety heightening La La’s fear that her father will catch them. Max has begun to unzip his pants and to present himself, scarlet and veiny, head like a little wool cap. At his urging, she tastes him, the soapy flavor surprising. Tiny hops on the bed, eager to join a game that involves hands and tongues, but La La orders him off and he sulks, ears back, La La feeling his affront at being treated harshly.

  Once, Max shoves her head down until, feeling him at the back of her throat, she chokes and pulls away. He comes on her face and hair, and she lifts her shirt from the floor and wipes the slippery stuff away. As always, he leaves her with a hot need that she satisfies after he’s gone.

  The next time the four of them meet, Leonard arrives at the 7-Eleven on foot. “My brother changed where he hides the key.”

  La La’s new driver’s license nestles in her wallet, and Zev is home, his aging Lexus in the driveway. “I’ll be back,” she says.

  In the living room, Zev is reassembling an antique padlock.

  “Can I borrow the car?” La La says. “The bookstore has some new stuff on animals.”

  He reaches for a rag. “I’ll drive you.”

  “I can drive myself. I’ll be there a while, and I don’t want you to have to wait.” Mo rubs against La La’s legs, but La La can’t be bothered to pet her.

  Zev wipes his hands. “Be careful, please. And get home in time for dinner.” He pulls the key fob from his pocket and holds it out.

  Grabbing it, La La starts toward the door.

  “Here,” Zev says, slipping a twenty from his wallet. “If you want to buy something.”

  La La shoves the money in her pocket.

  “How about a ‘thank you,’” Zev says.

  “Thanks,” she mumbles over her shoulder, letting the screen door slam behind her. Minutes later, she pulls up to the convenience store.

  Leonard and Tamara climb into the back seat. Max joins La La in front. “Nice car,” Leonard says. “What are you, rich?”

  “Why bother robbing houses?” Tamara says. “Just ask your daddy for money.”

  “We’re not rich,” La La says, pulling away from the curb. “My father’s a locksmith.”

  Tamara lights a cigarette.

  “You can’t smoke in the car,” La La says. “My father will kill me.”

  Tamara takes a deep drag and blows out a cloud.

  La La pulls over. “Get out if you’re going to smoke.”

  “What a bitch,” Tamara says, but she tosses the cigarette out of the window.

  La La drives to a neighborhood where she and her father worked a few months before.

  “What about that green house?” Leonard says, indicating a ranch with a three-car garage, lawn nicely kept, and little cover.

  “Say cheese,” Max says, pointing out security cameras.

  “Smartass,” Leonard says.

  A block later, Max points to a dark house, blinds down and circulars piling up on the driveway.

  “That’s a good one. When me and my dad were there, we found three thousand dollars in the back of a file drawer.” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, La La regrets them. But it’s too late to take them back.

  “Locksmith, huh?” Tamara says.

  La La looks in the rearview mirror. Tamara holds an unlit cigarette between her lips. Leonard plays with a plastic lighter, flicking it to life, letting it go out, and flicking it to life again. “So that’s how you learned,” Leonard says.

  La La can’t focus, and by the time they pick out a place, it’s late. They grab what they can, and La La takes it to the fence. When she pays Leonard and Tamara, she forgets to hold back any money.

  “The guy was feeling generous all of a sudden?” Leonard asks, staring at the eighty dollars La La gave him.

  Another mistake. Rattled, La La says, “He must have had a good day.” She decides to take a break from robbing houses.

  * * *

  Two weeks later, La La and Zev are eating dinner in the kitchen when there’s a knock at the front door. “Police!”

  Zev opens it to two uniformed officers. La La stands back in the entry to the living room.

  “I’m Officer Gregson, and this is my partner, Officer Maines,” the older of the two cops says. He lifts his hat to scratch his head, revealing a white buzz cut. “Mind if we come in?”

  “Yes,” says Zev.

  “We have a warrant.” Gregson pulls it from his jacket pocket and hands it to Zev, who examines it. “Are you Zev Fine? Is that your daughter, Louise Fine, also known as La La?” The officer looks toward La La.

  Zev ignores the questions.

  Glancing around the living room, Officer Gregson asks Zev, “Is that your Lexus in the driveway?” There’s irritation in the question, as if the officer himself would like such a car, but honest work doesn’t allow for it.

  “If you’re going to search, get it over with,” Zev says.

  “Any reason the two of you would have been in Cherry Creek on a Wednesday afternoon two and a half months ago?”

  “Don’t say anything,” Zev says to La La.

  “Two witnesses say your daughter told them you both robbed a house there. She knew the exact amount of cash that was taken.” The officer looks at La La. “Isn’t that right?”

  Pain gives Zev’s eyes a sunken look. “Don’t answer.”

  La La’s neck warms. Blood rushes to her cheeks. Three pairs of eyes take in her reaction, but she can no more control it than she can control the past.

  “Maybe you better sit down,” Officer Gregson says to her. “You, too,” he says to Zev. La La tak
es the opposite end of the couch from her father.

  Officer Maines looks at a curio cabinet. “Quite a collection of locks you have.” His thumbs loop in his belt. His thick fingers seem capable of violence.

  “I’m a locksmith,” Zev says.

  “Convenient,” the officer says.

  “Stay put while we have a look around,” says Officer Gregson.

  La La closes her eyes. Remembering the conversation with Tamara and Leonard, she wishes she were born a cat or dog without the ability to speak. She counts the beats of her rapid pulse. Tiny and Mo have disappeared.

  After a while, the officers return with a crowbar and lockpicks. They show them to Zev.

  “I told you, I’m a locksmith,” Zev says.

  “You did say that,” Officer Gregson says.

  They put Zev and La La in handcuffs.

  “Don’t say anything,” Zev repeats.

  He doesn’t have to worry. La La is too frightened to talk.

  La La spends the night in a juvenile facility, separated from her father, who’s locked up in the county jail. The next day, O’Bannon secures their release. Zev found the lawyer’s name in the yellow pages.

  “Your friends Leonard and Tamara got into some trouble,” O’Bannon says, looking across his desk at La La. Zev sits to her left. An interior window with a view of a secretary is to her right. It isn’t safe to look anywhere, so she looks at her lap. “Brilliant characters, those two,” the lawyer says. “They tried to burglarize a house at night. When the cop who lives there came downstairs with her Glock drawn, your man Leonard started to cry.” He isn’t her man, but there’s no point saying so. “In exchange for lighter sentences, they told the police about a house in Cherry Creek they say you robbed. It appears La La told them what was taken. When the cops originally canvassed the neighborhood, they learned a Lexus was parked around the corner at about the time of the burglary and people who match your descriptions knocked on a neighbor’s door and tried to sell them magazine subscriptions.

  “Leonard and Tamara are lousy witnesses. They’ll say anything to avoid jail time. And they have prior convictions. Leonard forged a few thousand dollars’ worth of checks, and the girl was caught shoplifting candy and makeup numerous times. But it doesn’t look good that the car and people matching your descriptions were seen in the neighborhood. Or that La La knew what was stolen. Luckily, they didn’t find much when they searched your house. The crowbar and lockpicks are of little help because entry was through an open window.”

  Acrid sweat dampens La La’s armpits. As the one who gave the information to Leonard and Tamara, she should take responsibility. She can say she robbed the house alone, using Zev’s car. O’Bannon described the possible consequences for her and Zev if they’re convicted. A minor without a prior criminal record, La La might be tried as a juvenile and face a lighter sentence. Eventually, her record might be expunged. Zev probably won’t let her take the blame, but she’ll never know because she doesn’t offer.

  To speak up is to risk her dream of college and veterinary school. Though she’s been neglecting her future, now that it’s in jeopardy, she discovers she hasn’t given up on it. Zev stole her childhood. What can she possibly owe him?

  “My daughter wasn’t there,” Zev says, though he knows it will change his life in ways he can’t control, and not for the better. Why did he ever make La La his partner? He thought she could help him avoid exposure by quieting dogs, and he longed to share that part of his life with someone he loved. When she refused to go out with him anymore, he was secretly happy, thinking they got away with all the jobs they did together. He imagined she’d go to college as if none of it ever happened. He thanked God he didn’t ruin her as he ruined so much else, his own life and marriage, and Elissa’s life, too, if she was to be believed.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees La La shaking her head, but he continues to look at the lawyer.

  O’Bannon taps his lips. “Bad idea. Noble. But a bad idea.”

  “She had nothing to do with it,” Zev says. “I did it alone. I’ll tell the district attorney that if they drop the charges against her.”

  “Go home and think about it,” the lawyer says. “Call me in a couple days.”

  “I don’t need to think about it. That’s how it happened.”

  Three weeks later, Zev agrees to plead guilty to burglary of a non-dwelling building, a Class 4 felony. The charges against La La are dropped. Since it’s his first offense, Zev is sentenced to four years’ probation and forbidden to work in people’s homes during that time. He takes a night job washing dishes at a restaurant, attacking the relentless grease while mulling the fact that he’s on the cops’ radar now and will have to be even more careful. He trades the Lexus for a used Mercedes and continues to rob homes during the day.

  La La applies herself to schoolwork, spending hours in her bedroom with Mo and Tiny, catching up on subjects kids her age have already mastered. Max drifts away, having little interest in studying. La La never returns to the 7-Eleven or sees Leonard and Tamara again.

  Stuck on a chemistry equation one afternoon, La La walks a mile and a half to Dr. Bergman’s office. The receptionist lets her wait in the doctor’s office, where diagrams of animal anatomies and an enlarged photograph of Dr. Bergman with two Boston terriers hang on the walls. It’s been a while since La La has been to the clinic, and she’s happy to discover she isn’t overwhelmed by sensations. Instead, they linger at the edge of her awareness, waiting for her to draw them into focus. Babies—she isn’t sure what kind—shiver. A paw burns, perhaps from a cut.

  As soon as he has a break between patients, Dr. Bergman joins her. La La looks for a sign that he’s angry about all the times he stopped by the house only to find she wasn’t there, but his face is untroubled. He missed a spot shaving, and the shadow on his chin makes La La happier than she’s been in a long time, though she can’t say why.

  She describes the difficulty she’s having with her schoolwork. “You’re probably too busy to help.” Grasping the strap of her backpack, she waits to be turned away.

  “After all the help you’ve given me, I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t reciprocate. Let’s see if I remember any of this.” He pushes aside patient charts and prescription pads to make room for her textbook. Sitting next to her on the client side of the desk, his knees pressing against the pine, he demonstrates where she went wrong solving the equation. He reviews more of her work, correcting mistakes she didn’t know she made.

  When she stretches, he laughs. “Not as interesting as animals.” He retrieves two bottles of apple juice from a small refrigerator in the corner of the room, one for each of them. “Stop by once a week, and we’ll go over your work. While I’ve got you, I’ll tell you about my patients.” Siamese kittens are in for their first appointment—the shivering she felt—as well as a dog who tangled with metal landscape edging.

  Grateful for the doctor’s help, La La nearly confesses everything. But worried he’ll think she isn’t fit to be a vet, she thanks him, instead.

  9

  WINTER 2016

  Wearing an oversize T-shirt that reads WELL ADJUSTED—something she bought for Clem that he left behind—La La checks to see if she missed any calls from her mother. Since she sent Elissa money, her mother e-mailed another picture of her cat, Buster. She also requested a photo of Blue, and then complimented La La on adopting a special needs dog. As happy as that made La La, she wishes her mother would call.

  The television is tuned to Cat Whisperer, a reality show about an animal behaviorist who helps cats get along with their people. The starchy smell of the noodles she had for dinner hangs in the air, accompanied by the musty odor of cardboard boxes from the move that she still hasn’t unpacked and the mildewing carpet. Under the dining room table, Blue chases dust balls.

  When the behaviorist mistakes a physical ailment for a psychological condition, La La wants to shake him. Instead, she e-mails the network to complain.

&
nbsp; Three weeks have passed since Tank threatened her. The memory of him coming toward her, sweaty and agitated, is never far from her mind, but she’s betting he won’t reveal her activities to the police and call attention to himself. He’ll buy what he needs on the street, stealing the money from Nat’s purse or taking it from their joint accounts, making an excuse if Nat notices.

  When the phone buzzes with an e-mail, La La hopes for good news. My wireless service was cut off while the phone was broken because I stopped paying the bill, Elissa writes. I owe three hundred dollars more.

  Slipping to the floor, La La weaves her fingers through Black’s fur. With her other hand, she types a reply. Mom, If you don’t mind my asking, what’s my real name? When Elissa says Louise, La La will have proof. Then she’ll give her mother all the money she needs. Steeling herself, La La touches Send.

  She watches another episode of Cat Whisperer. As the behaviorist explains to a couple that they’ve failed to bond with their calico, an e-mail from Elissa arrives: I’m looking forward to talking to you. La La tries to scroll down, but that’s all there is.

  Rough sounds escape from her throat as one by one she deletes the e-mails from ElissaOnMyOwn. Blue hops over and noses her elbow. When petting the dogs fails to soothe her, she dials Clem’s number. “I thought I found—,” she says when he picks up, but her throat tightens too much to continue.

  In the background, country music plays. “Found what?”

  She tries again. “I found—”

  “Oh, God, did one of the dogs run away?” A heavy door closes and the music disappears.