Heir of the Dog

by Judi McCoy

  Closing her eyes, Ellie spun in a circle. Then she stopped turning, raised her arm, and pointed. Opening her eyes, she kept her arm rigid as she walked toward the wall of ceramic jars. Her index finger landed on a squat black container painted with puppies of all breeds and sizes.

  Viewing her choice as a sign from above, she grinned. Gary had liked dogs, and he’d been crazy about Rudy. If this was where he wanted to “rest in peace,” he’d get his way. Best of all, this jar cost less than most of the other options.

  “Has madam made a decision?” came a voice from behind. “Or do you need more time?”

  Ellie caught herself before answering “Madam has a headache” and said instead, “I’ll take this one.”

  Mr. Blackman strode to her side and slid the reading glasses dangling from a chain around his neck onto his cherry red nose. “You want this container for Mr. Veridot?”

  “Uh . . . yeah.” Did he think she wanted it for someone else?

  “Oh.”

  Uh-oh was more like it. “What’s wrong? Is the jar out of stock? If so, the floor sample will be fine.”

  “The container is available, but . . .” He pointed to a sign she hadn’t noticed tacked on the wall next to the row, which read: FOR YOUR BELOVED FOUR-LEGGED FRIEND. “As you can see, this shelf is reserved for the remains of cats, dogs, and other family pets.”

  Squinting, she saw that each jar was imprinted with bunnies, birds, cats, or dogs. There were also a couple decorated with lizards, fish, even snakes and mice, and a few more with steak bones and dog biscuits.

  “I guess I didn’t read carefully enough,” she said aloud. “It’s just that Gary liked dogs and—” She closed her eyes and picked this one? “And I know he’d find this jar endearing.”

  The mortician raised a finger to his chubby chin.“There is no right or wrong in making this type of decision, but it is my duty to point out certain things to my customers. If you believe this is the correct container—”

  “I’m sure Gary would like it . . . if he were still alive.”

  “Then he’ll enjoy it now. Shall I fill it with his remains and seal it, as well?”

  “Yes, please. How long will it take?”

  Mr. Blackman glanced at his watch. “Thirty minutes should do it. Would you like to wait or pick it up later?”

  “Do you do the actual . . . um . . . transferal?”

  “Not personally, no. It’s handled by a staff member.”

  “Could you answer a few questions for me while I wait?”

  “Of course. Just let me get my man started. Follow me to a seating area, and I’ll join you shortly.”

  Left in a tastefully furnished room done in sedate yet boring black, gray, and white, Ellie sighed. The reality of considering what people wanted done with their remains was daunting. She couldn’t imagine shouldering this task for her mother or anyone she cared about and made a mental note to talk to Viv and Georgette about how they wanted to be laid to rest. The judge had already told her his will was being taken care of by his sons, but she wasn’t sure what her mother or her best friend had planned.

  And she also had to think about Rudy. Granted, most owners outlived their pets, but life in Manhattan, anywhere really, couldn’t be taken for granted. Her pooch was probably correct. She had to contact Sal and ask him to draw up a will giving directions for the care of her remains, her possessions, and most of all, her canine pal.

  Several minutes passed. Then, smiling his Santa Claus smile, Mr. Blackman walked in and sat across from her. “All taken care of. Now what is it we need to discuss?”

  “Is there some way I can find out where the remains of Gary’s family are?”

  “Through a family attorney, I would imagine.”

  “I suppose the family had one, but I thought maybe you had some connections and could do the legwork for me. I’d be willing to pay for your time, of course.”

  “Well, in that case, I’ll see what I can do.”

  That evening, Ellie scarfed down dinner, left Rudy at the apartment, and caught a taxi to her second self-defense class. Mentally preparing for what would transpire in the next two hours, she climbed the dingy steps to Phil’s gym. She planned to pay strict attention during the lesson, and get her—er—get Sam’s money’s worth, even if she ended up black-and-blue over every square inch of her body. No way would she give Detective Dreadful another reason to accuse her of being soft or cowardly.

  On her side trip to the ladies’ locker room, she noted a circle of women chatting on the red mat, while a couple of men watched from the weight machines spaced around the gym area. After storing her tote in a locker, she followed a woman back to the training room and took a spot on the fringes, hoping Phil would be prompt.

  Moments later, he appeared, followed by a striking blonde Amazon with a killer body and six-pack abs. Phil didn’t speak to her directly, just said a general hello, introduced the woman as his wife, Patty, and led them through ten minutes of bends and stretches to loosen their muscles. Then he called Patty front and center.

  Ellie shuffled from foot to foot, wincing when the woman was put in several obviously painful positions. To her credit, Patty extricated herself from each one and even managed to get the better of her husband with a few quick moves. The words “joint lock” and “hapkido” were bandied about as Phil explained the techniques they would practice, and, except for Ellie, all the women seemed to know what he was talking about.

  When the Amazon walked to Ellie’s side, she glanced Patty’s way, not sure if the woman was hanging around to keep an eye on her husband or because she enjoyed playing the would-be victim, but it was probably the latter. Any idiot could see that Phil was devoted to his “ball and chain” as he’d laughingly referred to his beautiful wife.

  “You the new student? Ellie?” Patty asked, smoothing her long blond ponytail.

  “That’s me. Ellie Engelman.” She held out her hand, and Patty gave it a shake.

  “You look like you can take care of yourself.”

  “I can. Sort of.”

  The Amazon smiled. “Nothing like a positive attitude.”

  “I’m just apprehensive.” She nodded toward Phil and Roseanne, a petite brunette with delicate, elflike features. “A girl could get hurt doing some of those things.”

  “Phil would never do anything painful to a woman on purpose.”

  “And you know this because . . .”

  “Because I met him when I wrestled. He tried to break into the sport, but he was too soft. When he switched to career management, I hired him.”

  “You were a professional wrestler?”

  Patty’s baby blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “The Viking Vixen, at your service. Phil wanted me to change my name to Chyna, but that was already taken. And other than Melmac, we couldn’t come up with a better moniker.”

  Ellie blinked. If the woman was making a joke, it was totally lost on her.

  “China. Melmac. Get it?” Patty asked, still smiling.

  “Uh, sure.” Ellie scanned the group, noting that Phil had moved to his next victim, Marielle, a graying grandma-type who weighed at least two hundred pounds. Instead of flipping Marielle onto her back as he’d done to Roseanne, he put her in a choke hold and demanded she pass him her pretend handbag. Marielle responded by jamming the sole of her sneaker into Phil’s kneecap and taking off at a run. After receiving high fives from a few of the girls, the grinning grandma resumed her place in the circle.

  Phil next approached Jolene, an attractive bottle blonde with snapping brown eyes. Jolene had been in the locker room when Ellie arrived. Married with two kids, this was one of her three nights out for the week while her hubby babysat.

  The other women, Lorna, Mary, and Phyllis, were preparing for their moment, as well, but Ellie got the impression they were a few lessons ahead of Marielle, Roseanne, and Jolene and wanted to be shown more advanced techniques.

  At the sound of a shriek, she zeroed in on Jolene, now on the floor between Phil�
�s feet. “That a girl,” Phil said as he helped her to stand. “Practice that kick and hold with Roseanne, because next turn I want to be the one on my ass. Lorna, you’re on deck.”

  He raised a brow and glanced in Ellie’s direction. “Watch and learn, Red, because your shot is coming.”

  Red? What had she done to earn such an insulting nickname? Her hair was a honeyed russet, not red. It was probably Phil’s way of getting her goat, so she’d toughen up when he showed her a move. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be his victim in no time. Something she was not looking forward to.

  “ ’ Scuse me for saying so, but you’re white as a sheet. You aren’t gonna hurl, are you?”

  Whipping her head around, she locked gazes with Patty, whose blinding smile mirrored that of a toothpaste model. “I’m not planning on it, but I don’t believe in violence,” Ellie answered, hoping she didn’t sound like a total wimp.

  Patty snorted. “Honey, this class is not about violence. It’s a course in self-defense, plain and simple. Besides, like I said, my husband would never deliberately harm a woman.”

  “Maybe so, but I had my first lesson on Saturday.” She winced as she raised her knee and displayed her black-and-blue thigh. “And this is what I came home with.”

  “That bitty bruise?” The woman scoffed. “Shit, I get worse than that when Phil and I arm wrestle, though I like it better when we spar. That’s when I really get to strut my stuff.” The Amazon flexed her muscular arms and lowered to a crouch. “The first thing you need to learn is how to take a fall. You wanna go a round or two just for giggles, and I’ll demonstrate?”

  Patty made it sound as if Phil was a regular cupcake. If she had to tangle with someone, she’d chose the bantam boxer over this bloodthirsty giantess any day. “I think I need a little more experience first.”

  “Okay. Suit yourself,” Patty muttered, disappointment lacing her tone.

  At the sound of a thud, Ellie swung her head around in time to see Phil struggle to his feet. “That was a good one, Lorna,” he said to the forty-something dark-haired woman. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

  Bummed she’d missed Lorna’s moment of glory, Ellie could tell from the woman’s smile she was proud of herself. Then Phil reached out a hand to congratulate her, and Lorna took it, but instead of a shake, he pinned her arm behind her back and jammed his opposite forearm under her chin.

  “Here’s a repeat lesson, ladies. Remember what I said about complacency leading to a dangerous situation? The bad guy is always looking for a way to take you down.”

  “Come on, girls,” Patty encouraged. “What should Lorna do to get out of this potentially harmful position?”

  “Elbow jab and instep stomp?” asked Roseanne.

  “Joint lock!” roared Jolene.

  “Lorna, if I was for real, I’d already have you up against a brick wall. You wouldn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of executing a flip.” He stared out at the surrounding women. “Pay attention and remember what you were taught.”

  When he tightened his hold on Lorna, the woman opened and closed her mouth. Then she shot from under Phil’s arm, grabbed his wrist with both hands, snapped it down and up, and pinned it to his back. Ramming her knee into him from the rear, she dropped him to the mat.

  From the sound of Jolene’s cheer, Ellie assumed that was a joint lock. She smiled at the round of high fives. It was nice to see women being so supportive of each other, even if engaged in violence; and it was violent, no matter what Patty said.

  Phil scrambled to his feet, gave Lorna a back slap, and moved to his next victim while the woman came to stand at Ellie’s side. “That was great. How many lessons have you had?”

  “This is my sixth,” Lorna answered, panting. “It took me a while to get started. I don’t like being mean.”

  “Me, neither, but someone thought I should take classes, so here I am.”

  “Your husband?”

  “Not married.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “Uh . . . not exactly.”

  Lorna’s brown eyes twinkled. “Oh, I see. He’s a friend.”

  Ellie guessed Ryder was her friend, but the word didn’t quite match their history. “It’s complicated. Sometimes even I don’t understand the relationship.”

  “I know where you’re coming from. Men can be a pain in the ass. Who need’s ’em?”

  Instead of commenting, Ellie decided she’d better stay alert. Phyllis had taken Phil down on the last move, which meant she was next.

  Their instructor dusted himself off and stood in front of her. “Nice to see you again, Red. I was afraid you wouldn’t be back after our first go round. You ready for the next step in your training?”

  “Ah . . .”

  “Okay, first we’ll go over what we did the other day.” Phil stepped around her and put her in a choke hold. “You remember this one, don’t you?”

  Ellie envisioned his stance, very close to the one Phyllis had just gotten out of. She might not be as tall as Patty, but she topped Phil by a good three inches.

  He tightened his forearm. “Time’s a-wastin’.” He jerked his arm. “You’ll be out of breath in a couple more seconds.”

  Inhaling, she tried the elbow jab and instep stomp, but Phil twisted and drew back his leg. “Sorry. Not fast enough.”

  A couple of women jumped up and down, waving their hands like demented grade-schoolers begging to be called on for the right answer.

  “Jam your heel into his shin!” one shouted.

  “Grab a finger and snap it like a twig!” yelled another.

  Too distraught to think rationally, Ellie struggled with no particular plan in mind. But she was able to bend over and raise Phil up onto her back, which left his feet dangling in the air. Then she jumped hard to dislodge him. When that didn’t work, she dropped to her knees, flipped to her back and pinned him under her. If she couldn’t shake him loose, maybe she could crush him into submission.

  When Phil stopped wriggling, she stopped bouncing. He wheezed, then began to vibrate as though he was in the throes of a seizure. His arms fell to the side, and she rolled to freedom, terrified she’d brought on a debilitating attack. Panting, she rose to her knees. She didn’t know the first thing about CPR, but she’d give it a try if . . .

  It took her a few seconds to catch on. Phil, the big idiot, was laughing his head off.

  As were the men now ringing the mat, while the women held their stomachs in an effort to stem their mirth. Ellie glared at them, realized how she and Phil must have looked, and gave an embarrassed grin. On the bright side, if she were attacked, she could always amuse her assailant until he let her go.

  Patty held out a hand and helped her stand. Then she threw an arm over Ellie’s shoulder and hugged her—hard. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen my honey fall apart during class. You’re a stitch and a half.”

  Heat rose to Ellie’s cheeks. Great. She’d always dreamed of being comic relief in a life-threatening situation. Could she be any more lame?

  In the meantime, Phil righted himself and faced her. “Okay, Red, how about if we start with baby steps? Eye gouging, biting, things that might work if the bad guy was a novice.” His smile grew condescending. “You know, girly stuff.”

  Girly stuff! Why didn’t the man just say she was a wuss, a wimp, a poor female unable to stand up for herself or see to her own safety. Maybe Sam was right. She was a coward.

  Ellie bit her lower lip. She would not cry . . . maybe.

  Phil shook his head, as if he thought her pathetic. Then one of the men shouted, “Aw, poor widdle baby. You hurt her feelings, boss.”

  The taunt made her angry. She was sick and tired of being coddled and worried over. Damn Sam and damn the rest of them.

  Crouching, she waggled her fingers. “Okay, tough guy. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 19

  Sam propped himself near the entrance to Phil’s gym, called his sergeant, and clocked out for the night. He’d been on du
ty forty-eight hours straight. He needed a decent meal, a shower, and sleep, in that order.

  He detested cleaning up after gang violence—all cops did. It was hell when young lives were wasted fighting over areas of the city in which no sane person wanted to live. But “turf” was the only thing these kids thought they had. Too bad they didn’t want to hear that the best way to “own the streets” was to get an education, make something of themselves, and teach their younger brothers and sisters to do the same. The entire scenario made him angry and mean.

  So why was he here, waiting for a woman he didn’t deserve? A woman who had successful and snooty lawyer types calling her for dates. A woman who had just inherited a bundle and would probably be filthy rich when her mother died. A soft touch who would jump at the chance to put her own life on the line to rescue an abandoned cat or dog. Ditto a homeless man.

  He saw the dregs of humanity, Ellie saw only the good. She wanted nothing to do with violence, wouldn’t even admit it existed, while he knew the truth. They lived in a violent world where no one was safe, and that truth made them as different as sinners and saints.

  And there was no confusion to which category Ellie belonged.

  Most of the time she enjoyed lighting his fuse and watching him explode. Knowing that, he’d been a fool to come here when he was in a foul mood. Hell! Even if he was in a good one. But his body and his mind came alive when he and Ellie were together, as if being with her was the real reason for his existence. No doubt about it, he was a selfish bastard, using her because she made him smile, made him believe in the good things life had to offer.

  Unless, of course, she was chattering about canine rights or the rights of street people, and how she could take care of herself. Which was a joke, because Thompson Veridot was out there, waiting for the opportunity to kill her. Sam felt the guy’s presence in his bones just as Gary probably had when he wrote that damn note. A note that, according to Ellie, made her honor bound to do as Gary asked.