Killer Image

by Tyson, Wendy

  “I don’t do dogs, Maggie. I’ll get you some rope and you can tie him—”

  “Please? Pleeeeease?”

  “No.”

  “Come on, Allison. Please?”

  Just then the dog broke free of Maggie’s grasp and ran into the house.

  “Get him!” Allison slammed the door shut, leaving Maggie outside. Then she remembered Maggie and opened it again. “Come in here and get him! Hurry!”

  Maggie called, “Here Brutus! Brutus, come!”

  “Brutus?”

  Maggie shrugged. “That’s what the collar says!”

  Allison could hear the dog in the kitchen. “Get him!” Allison ran for the powder room and locked herself in. Her hands shook. She had to get hold of herself and then call Animal Control. What the hell were Maggie and some dog doing here anyway? Her heart pounded itself right into her throat. She couldn’t breathe.

  Allison pressed her ear to the door. Silence. What was she going to tell Hank McBride if Brutus ate Maggie? I’m sorry, but I hid in the bathroom while a wild dog mauled your daughter? She had to get out of there. She willed her hand to the doorknob and turned just as she heard a tap on the door.

  “You can come out now,” Maggie said.

  Allison opened the door a crack and peeked out. She saw Maggie but no sign of the dog.

  “Is he outside?”

  “Sure.”

  Allison tucked her robe around her waist and pulled the belt tight. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to be calm, and opened the door. Still no Brutus, a good sign. But then she saw a granola bar wrapper on the floor near the kitchen. She was bending to pick it up when she saw a yogurt container. A few feet from that was an empty meat wrapper—she recognized the brown paper that once covered the hamburger she’d pulled out for dinner. Her head started to pound again.

  “The truth, Maggie. Where is he?”

  Maggie’s lips turned up in an apologetic smile. Then Allison heard it: the slurp-chewing of a wild boar. She followed the sound to the kitchen. The dog was eating out of her newest All-Clad pan—raw beef, cinnamon granola, All-Bran and yogurt.

  “He was hungry, is all.” Maggie went into the kitchen and pulled out a chair. “He must’ve been half-starved.”

  Allison grabbed the doorframe. She wanted the dog out of her house. “Hand me the phone.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m calling Animal Control.”

  “You can’t! They’ll put him to sleep.”

  “He’s obviously unhappy, Maggie. Look at his teeth. He can barely breathe. He needs to be taken care of. “

  As though he understood her, Brutus put his head up and looked at her. A black paste of ground food stuck to his jutting lower teeth. Breathing and eating seemed to be competing needs and he choked and snorted his way through the food in his mouth as he stared at Allison. She looked away, half-convinced he was pleading with her, too.

  Maggie stood in front of the phone, blocking it with her body. “No way, Allison. Just listen to me. Please?”

  Maggie took the receiver off the wall and, phone in hand, crawled over to the dog. She put her arms around his neck and nuzzled his head against her own.

  “Maggie, be careful! Not while he’s eating!”

  Maggie ignored her. Brutus licked her cheek and then returned to the bowl. Allison had to admit, despite his disgusting table manners, he didn’t seem vicious.

  “Now will you listen to me?”

  “Fine, talk.”

  Allison pulled out two kitchen chairs, placing one between herself and the dog. She sat on the other while keeping a watchful eye on Brutus. “But keep that mutt over there.” She sniffed. “He smells like the local dump.”

  “He’s homeless. What would you expect?”

  Allison glanced at Maggie’s arm, alarmed. “Did he bite you?”

  Maggie shook her head. “He was standing in the middle of traffic when my friend and I were driving to school. We stopped. I chased him through the woods and cut myself on a branch or something.” Maggie’s eyes started to water again. “He was shaking when I found him.”

  Allison steeled herself against Maggie’s tears. She had a dog in her house. No dogs were allowed in her house, especially not huge, teeth-baring dogs in need of doggie deodorant and an orthodontist. No way. This was simply another of Maggie’s attempts to manipulate.

  “You should have brought him to your house.”

  Maggie snorted.

  “Why bother? Daddy hates animals. He would never let me keep him. He would have had my mom take him to the pound or he would have shot the dog himself.”

  Allison cringed at her last statement. She could certainly picture Hank being less than accommodating. But then, she didn’t want to deal with the dog, either.

  She remembered Vaughn’s phone call, the fact that Hank had contacted her earlier that day. She hadn’t called him back. And now Maggie was here, not in school and injured by her run-in with Brutus.

  She doubted this was the direction Hank McBride wanted to go in either. She saw her fee for this deal slipping away and along with it, her reputation and the money for her parents’ care.

  Maggie said, “He’s so sweet.”

  Allison looked again at Brutus. “He’s not that sweet.”

  “You don’t know him yet.”

  “Yet? Oh no, Maggie. I draw the line here. No dogs.”

  “Wasn’t it you who told me people have the ability to shape their future? If you want to get over your fear of dogs, you can. You have that power. Please? Look at that face! Please, please, please?”

  “I am looking at that face. Even if I wasn’t scared of him, I’d be worried about disease and fleas. There’s something wrong with his fur.”

  The dog stopped licking the pot and sat next to Maggie, his flank against Maggie’s side. Making what sounded like a contented grunt, he sprawled on the floor, his head in Maggie’s lap. Maggie stroked his ears.

  “Please? Just for a few days? It will give me time to find him another home.”

  “Doesn’t he have a tag? Just call his owners.”

  Maggie fingered the metal circle that hung from the dog’s collar. “I can only make out his name. The metal’s worn away.”

  It did look as though he’d been panhandling for quite some time. Still, Allison said, “We should call the AASPCA to see if anyone’s lost him.”

  Maggie just stared at Allison, a soulful pleading in her eyes.

  “Oh, for goodness sake, Maggie. I have a life here. I work round the clock. There’s a reason I don’t have kids or pets...or plants, for that matter. You don’t even like me. Why would you want to trust me with a dog?”

  “I like you a little bit.”

  Allison looked at her, trying to decide if this was manipulation on Maggie’s part or the expression of real feeling. What she saw surprised her. While Allison had no doubt that Maggie wanted something—namely, help with the dog—there was also genuine warmth and trust in her eyes. Allison felt her resolve melting.

  “Come here, let’s clean you up.” She walked over to the sink, careful not to turn her back to the dog, and pulled Neosporin and Band-Aids from a cabinet. These she laid on the counter. “Roll up your sleeves.”

  She washed Maggie’s hand first. The scratches seemed superficial: a few long trails of dried blood covering thin lacerations. The arm was worse. A chunk of skin was missing, and the area around the wound looked red and puffy.

  “You need to keep an eye on this. When was your last tetanus shot?”

  “Like I know.”

  “This could get infected. Tell your parents you need a trip to the doctor.”

  “Um, no.” Maggie cocked her head to the side and rolled her eyes. Her dyed-black hair had blue highlights in the morning light.

  “Then I’ll tell them.” Allison cov
ered the wound with triple-antibiotic cream and a bandage, the whole time keeping one eye on the dog in case he decided a pot of raw meat wasn’t enough sustenance for one morning.

  “You can’t tell Daddy. I will be so dead for skipping school.”

  “I’m sure the school called your mother. She probably already knows—”

  “Even if they did, she won’t tell. She’s afraid of upsetting my father. Everyone’s afraid of upsetting Daddy.”

  “You saved that dog. They’ll be proud of you.”

  “Yeah, right. If you haven’t noticed, Allison, Mr. Conservative Values is less about helping others and more about appearances. He doesn’t want that ugly dog saved any more than he wants to turn me loose to the media. Anyway, I told you. He hates animals.”

  “There’s still your arm to take care of.”

  “Will you keep Brutus for me? I know it’s a lot to ask, but I don’t have anyone else to turn to.” Maggie’s eyes were teary. “Please?”

  Allison looked from Maggie to the dog. He did seem harmless enough, certainly nothing like her father’s wolf-dog, Thor. Maybe Jason would take him. She could put him in the basement until Jason arrived. What would an hour or two hurt? And it would make Maggie happy. She seemed so worried about the animal, and it was nice to see a human side of her.

  “I’ll make you a deal. If you tell your parents you hurt your arm and get them to take you to a doctor—use whatever story you want—I’ll try to find a temporary home for Brutus until we find his owners.”

  Maggie smiled. “Deal.”

  As though on cue, Brutus let out a low, long fart. He looked quite pleased with himself afterwards, rolled over onto his side, gave a wheezy sigh, and closed his eyes again. Maggie laughed.

  “Nice. All that All-Bran,” Allison said. “Anyway, so how did you know where to find me?”

  “The Internet. You can find all sorts of stuff if you know what you’re looking for.”

  True, Allison thought. No one had privacy anymore. “Who drove you here?”

  “A friend.”

  “And where is said friend?”

  “At school.”

  “So I guess you need a ride back?”

  Maggie nodded. Allison eyed Maggie’s clothes to see whether a spin in the washer was required first. Despite the uniform, Maggie had managed to accessorize à la London underground: that pentagram necklace, black Doc Martens, anarchy-symbol earrings and her signature bed-head hairdo. Mud streaked the white Polo and pleated skirt. Nothing a little warm water and soap couldn’t handle.

  “Let’s get you upstairs and cleaned up. You can’t go to school like that. And you certainly can’t go home like that. Your mother will know something’s up. You smell like a barnyard and there’s dog hair all over your skirt.”

  Maggie looked down at her uniform. “So what do you suggest?”

  “I’ll give you some sweats. We’ll throw your uniform through the rinse cycle, and then I’ll drop you off at school.”

  “In the meantime?”

  Brutus farted again. The sound startled him, and he jumped up in surprise. Maggie giggled.

  Oh Lord. “You can bathe that dog. If he’s bunking with me for a few hours, he needs to smell less like Eau de Waste-Treatment Plant and more like Johnson’s Baby Shampoo.”

  Fifteen

  “I can’t take him, Al,” Jason said. “My apartment doesn’t allow dogs.”

  “Since when does Jason Campbell follow the rules?”

  “Since I like having a roof over my head,” he said over the phone. “Would you prefer I live there again?”

  “No.” She answered quickly—too quickly—but the fact was, the question gave her pause. Allison tried to decipher the tone in Jason’s voice. Was there even a hint of wanting, or was it just Jason being playful? Not that it mattered. She’d made her choice. They both had.

  “Well, what am I supposed to do with him? If I send him to the AASPCA, Maggie will have a stroke.”

  “Maybe he has an owner out there.”

  “Maggie and I called every shelter in a fifty-mile radius. No one has reported him missing.”

  “Then it looks like you’re a dog owner.”

  Allison watched Brutus. She’d made Maggie barricade him in the kitchen before she’d dropped her off at school, but he wasn’t looking too thrilled about being corralled. The dog paced back and forth restlessly, head down, tail between his legs. Even Allison knew a non-wagging tail meant an unhappy dog.

  “That’s not an option, Jason. I’m far too busy to care for a dog.” At the sound of her voice, Brutus walked over to the where she stood and sat, looking at her expectantly. “Besides, he wants to eat me.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  She glanced at the clock: 11:14. “No, I’m not. I’m standing here staring at this dog. Soon he’ll have to go to the bathroom. Then what will I do? If I try to put him on a leash, not that I own one, he might bite me.”

  She didn’t like the panic in her voice, but she couldn’t hide it. She wanted to add that she was still in jeans, hadn’t showered, had a headache-medicine hangover and needed to meet with a Third Circuit judge in forty-five minutes. But Jason already viewed her as an anal-retentive freak of nature, and she wasn’t about to give him more ammunition.

  “Mia,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “I’ll call my mother. She has the space, and she loves animals. Maybe she’ll take him for a few days.”

  “There’s one little problem with that plan. She won’t talk to me, remember?”

  “Don’t take it personally, Al. She’s just a little sensitive after everything with Bridget and then the divorce.”

  “I think not returning a single phone call in two years is a pretty good indication of her feelings toward me, Jason. We both know she thinks I abandoned you.”

  Jason didn’t respond. Rather than entertain the thought that he, too, felt Allison had abandoned him, she said, “If your mother will take him, I’d appreciate that. I’m desperate.”

  “I’ll give her a call. For now, don’t show your fear, Al. Dogs can smell it. It’ll only get you into trouble.”

  Judge Norman Lint sweated. Public speaking terrified him, and by the end of any speech he would be drenched: armpit stains, collar ring, a damp nest of white hair against his reddened forehead. The man had made it through two years on the bench of the prestigious Third Circuit only by using a mix of Paxil, behavioral therapy, and weekly sessions with Allison. She had no idea how he’d gotten through law school or managed a successful twenty-year stint as a litigator. Even with the meds and an audience of only one, Allison had a tough time keeping him calm and focused.

  “Norman, remember to breathe. Find one person in the room and focus on his or her face...Good, now speak like you’re only talking to me... And breathe. That’s it. If you feel yourself starting to panic, take a deep breath and focus on your point person...Deep breaths. Good!”

  Allison placed a hand on her diaphragm. “Here, Norman. Deep belly breaths.”

  Norman stood six inches shorter than Allison, and his small-featured, mustachioed face tilted up toward hers. She tried to ignore the starry-eyed wanting in his eyes. For a shy man, he certainly wore his heart where you could see it. At least he wasn’t staring at her feet today. She’d dressed casually in charcoal capris, a white sweater set and ballet flats to remove any temptation. She hoped she’d remembered to put away her extra pumps. Last time they disappeared after his session.

  After a moment, Norman said, “Labor law has changed over the years. There was a time when the Third Circuit heard cases...” In his typical monotone, the judge gave the short speech he had prepared for today’s session.

  Allison usually suggested fun, easy topics like a hobby or sport, but Norman insisted on providing her with in-depth educational spiels about the legal sy
stem. She smiled. “Good, Norman. Very interesting.”

  From the other side of the closed door, Vaughn’s voice rose above Norman’s. “You can’t go in there, Congressman. She’s with a client... no, Congressman. I’m afraid she’s busy. Hey—”

  The door flung open with a bang and the doorway was suddenly filled by Hank McBride’s unwelcome presence.

  “Ms. Campbell, what in damnation were you thinking?” He stopped when he saw the judge.

  Vaughn’s angry face hovered behind Hank. He mouthed, “Sorry.”

  Allison was livid. Behind her, she heard Judge Lint’s breathing go from slow and steady to quick and labored. She had to get Hank out and Norman calm. They’d recognize each other, of course, both being powerful men traveling in a very tight Philadelphia political circle.

  Confirming her thoughts, Hank said, “Norman.”

  The judge nodded, but his cheeks were bloated and his face beet red. That telltale sweat was already beading across his forehead.

  “Out, Congressman. Now.”

  Hank looked from Allison to the judge and back again, considering, it seemed, whether to back down. Allison pointed toward the door. She made no attempt to hide her anger. “I’ll see you when we’re finished here.”

  Vaughn placed his hand on Hank’s shoulder, but the man shrugged it off. After a final glance at Norman, Hank left the room with Vaughn at his heels.

  Allison turned her attention back to the judge, who stood, back against the wall, arms clutching his chest. “I’m so sorry, Norman. Remember to breathe. Good, good, straighten up. That’s it.” She helped the judge to the couch and handed him tissues to blot his face. “Part of public speaking is learning to roll with the unexpected, so consider that a good lesson.”