When we got down to the serious part of the evening—gifts—my children were as attentive as they ever get, sitting in the living room, near the non-functional fireplace, anticipating the great bounty that was soon to be theirs.
They, of course, had forgotten that this was their Uncle Howard giving the presents. Leah, given the store-wrapped box to open (with the store’s logo on the paper), could barely contain herself, until the ritual shredding of the paper revealed a Barbie doll. Leah gave up Barbie roughly two years ago, and now disdains the brand (and, to be fair, dolls generally), calling it “dumb.” This particular Barbie was dressed as a flight attendant, which suits my daughter about as well as working at Disney World would suit Marilyn Manson.
“Thank you,” she said by rote, and her aunt and uncle bought it as sincere. Leah’s eyes were already glazed over as she estimated what she might be able to exchange the gift for on Thursday. I groaned inwardly, thinking about what toy stores were going to look like the day after Christmas.
Ethan’s gift was a subtler affair. For one thing, those on the autism spectrum tend to be very, very specific about the kinds of gifts they like. We actually ask Ethan to compile a written list of acceptable gifts each year, and he does so with great care, spending considerably more time on that than he does on his homework. Howard and Andrea, because they’d been in our house for a week, had certainly had access to the list, but had chosen, in this case, to ignore it.
They had bought Ethan “Trouble,” a hopelessly juvenile game for a twelve-year-old, and one which, knowing Howard, had been purchased with an eye toward economy rather than true affection.
“It’s ‘Trouble,’” Ethan, ever the diplomat, grumbled. “I think I had this when I was five.”
“Oh, my,” said Andrea. “Dylan assured us it was something you’d adore.” Dylan, seated to the left of his mother, smiled a truly evil smile. I hoped Abby had gotten him a bag of three-day-old calamari.
Alas, my wife is a far nobler person than I am, since she’d bought Dylan a PlayStation 2 game cartridge with characters I didn’t recognize on the cover. Ethan’s eyes practically popped out of his head when he saw it, and Dylan must have realized how serious a prize he’d won when his grandparents had decided to provide him with an aunt, because even he couldn’t mask his enthusiasm thanking Abby for the gift.
Ethan looked like he might actually go off in a huff and chew nails, but he bravely kept it together, and I made a mental note to tell my son how proud I was of him for doing so. There have been times when he would not have held in his surely growing resentment of his cousin.
“It’s funny,” Howard said. “We were going to get one of those for Ethan, but Dylan said he’d like the board game better. Besides, do you know how much those video games cost?”
“Yes,” I said. “We do.”
Gifts among the adults followed, after Dylan, grumbling that he couldn’t play his game on Ethan’s antiquated system, and Ethan, grumbling in general, left to argue elsewhere. Leah, who loves to see people get presents, stayed.
While we were exchanging boxes, Warren ambled in, no doubt after checking the clock. It was a half hour later than he and Abby usually left for their evening walk. Warren, an Asperger’s dog at heart, does not happily abide changes in routine.
Abby had given Andrea a pair of very nice earrings (at least, everyone seemed to agree they were very nice—the whole earring thing has never made much sense to me), and Howard a warm sweater to get him through the Minnesota winter. Abby’s brother and sister-in-law had given her a new cookbook, which could be seen either as gift or message. Abby chose “gift,” and I left my vote uncast.
“I feel awful, Aaron,” Howard said, “but we seem to have forgotten to buy a present for you.” This neither surprised nor angered me, since I’m a very mature and evolved person—also because the cheap crap that Howard buys is hardly worth mourning over. Leah, the thrill of gift-giving having passed, went up to her room to further consider her upcoming Barbie exchange.
“I’ll tell you what, Howard,” I said. “We’ll call it even if you take Warren for his walk tonight.”
Howard looked as if I’d asked him to clean out a Superfund site with a cotton swab. “Excuse me?” he said.
“With Kevin Fowler still on the loose, Lieutenant Rodriguez warned me not to go out or to let my family outside tonight,” I told him. “I think it might be dangerous for Abby to take the dog, and worse for me.”
“It’s okay,” Abby said. “I’ll go.”
“No, you won’t,” I insisted. “There’s no way I’m risking you. I’ll let the dog have multiple accidents in the house, but I’m not letting you go out there until Rodriguez says it’s okay. I can’t call Barry Dutton on Christmas Eve and ask him for a police escort for my wife and dog. It makes the most sense for Howard to go.”
Howard’s eyes registered inconvenience, annoyance, and, yes, a little fear. “So you’re saying I’m not family,” he attempted.
“No, I’m saying that Kevin Fowler in all likelihood doesn’t even know I have a brother-in-law, certainly doesn’t know what you look like, and probably isn’t bright enough to be watching the house, if he even knows which house to watch.” Howard sat back farther on the couch, cementing himself to the cushion in a defiant gesture, as if to say: “Just try to get me off this sofa!”
“I really don’t think there’s danger,” Howard said. “You should go if you’re worried, Aaron.”
I was about to respond when my wife, with pure fury on her face, stood up and pointed at him. “Howard Stein, you get your butt off that couch and walk the dog this instant. It’ll take you ten minutes and cost you nothing. I will not jeopardize the man I love most in this world because you don’t want to be inconvenienced!”
Andrea’s eyebrows may actually have been orbiting around her head at this point. Howard, astounded by the outburst from his little sister, stood and walked to the door, where Warren’s leash is kept, and picked it up.
Warren, puzzled by the change in routine, didn’t come to Howard immediately, but with the leash in his hand, Howard seemed the most logical choice, and the dog approached after a moment. Howard turned to open the door, but I stopped him. I think he looked a little relieved, like I was going to absolve him of his sudden responsibility.
“Here,” I said, and handed him a plastic bag.
Howard scowled, put the bag in his pocket, and led the dog out the front door into the impossibly cold night. He seemed to be adding drama to a task that, as Abby pointed out, would only take him ten minutes.
The problem was, he wasn’t back in ten minutes. He wasn’t back in thirty minutes, either.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Don’t you think we should call the police?” Andrea asked, pushing aside the curtains and looking out the front window.
“And tell them what?” I asked. “That a grown man has been walking the dog for half an hour?”
“Does he have his cell phone?” Abby asked her sister-in-law.
Andrea shook her head. “No. It’s charging. He wanted it fully charged before we got on the plane.” I wanted to point out that they make you turn cell phones off on planes. In my opinion, Howard was trying to get a phone charge using someone else’s electricity (ours). But I reconsidered, thinking it unwise to speak ill of the missing.
Abby shot me a look of real worry, and I stood up. “That’s it,” I said. “I’m going out to find him.”
“Aaron! You can’t!” Abby walked to me and looked me in the eye.
“Well, I can’t leave him out there, and I’m sure as hell not letting you go. Don’t worry. I’ll take my cell phone, and I’ll dial 911 in advance. If something happens, all I’ll have to do is hit ‘send.’ Okay? If I don’t find Howard in ten actual minutes, I’ll come back and go looking for him in the car.”
Abby thought about it. “No. It’s too dangerous.”
I had quick flashes of Kevin, holding a knife to Howard’s neck, lying in wait for me. In
truth, I was more concerned about Warren’s safety, but still, I was concerned.
“Abigail,” I said, “he’s your brother.”
“You’re my husband. I’m not going to risk losing both of you.”
You probably noticed that Andrea hadn’t offered to search. After the way we’d coerced Howard, I was afraid to ask her, thinking she’d probably decline.
“You’re not risking me,” I told Abby. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.” I put on my coat and gloves.
“That’s what Howard said.”
“Yeah, but Howard discounts everything. He probably meant ten minutes marked down from fifty.” I checked my coat pocket for the phone—it was there. “Don’t worry.”
Abby walked me to the door and kissed me, then kissed me again. I held her as long as I could, then opened the door.
“I’ll be back,” I said. I didn’t have the heart to do my Schwarzenegger impression.
The first thing my brain registered was COLD! Then came dark, but that wasn’t as bad. The streetlights were on, and a number of houses on the block had lit Christmas decorations.
I had no idea where Howard might have taken the dog, so I decided to follow my usual route, and headed toward Edison Park. I knew the park would be closed, but Howard didn’t necessarily know that.
En route, the usual hazards presented themselves. A patch of ice was on the hill heading down to the park, possibly from water someone had dumped after last-minute Christmas cleaning. There was debris from other dogs whose owners weren’t the fine citizens Abby and I are. And there was a wind in my face that made it hard to keep my eyes open.
But no brother-in-law and no dog were in sight.
I reached the edge of the park, where there’s an open field, and looked in. The streetlights in the park were not turned on (the cops think this deters teenagers, when in fact it attracts them), so it was hard for me to see very far. I decided to risk calling.
“Howard? Howard!” Nothing.
“Warren, come!” It was worth a shot. I turned the other way.
“Warren!”
“No,” said a voice behind me. “But I’m here.”
Before I could move, a hand was on my mouth.
A hand with no glove.
A hand with a bandage on it.
Kevin Fowler’s hand.
Then Kevin’s right arm circled my waist as best it could, with the coat and all the shirts underneath, and held me close. Then the left hand came off my mouth, and I felt it in my back. Holding a gun.
“This isn’t some little deringer that’s nice and painless,” he said. “This is a Glock. This will hurt. Do you understand?” I nodded. “Good. So I don’t have to tell you not to yell.”
“What did you do with my brother-in-law and my dog?” I asked.
“You have a brother-in-law and a dog?” Swell. I was going to get killed for absolutely no reason at all.
“What good is this going to do you, Kevin?” I said. “The cops are after you already.”
“Yeah, thanks to you,” he sneered, pushing me toward the blackness of the park. Against my will, I began to walk. “So I might as well get the revenge I want, right, Tucker? They can’t execute me twice.”
“Michael Huston was a contract killing,” I told him. “You might only get jail time.”
“Life in prison? I’d rather be executed,” Kevin said. All you death penalty-as-deterrent types, you might want to highlight the previous two lines.
If I were Harrison Ford, or even Keifer Sutherland, I could use that nifty move you’re always seeing heroes use when there’s someone behind them with a gun. They elbow the guy in the ribs, make him drop the gun, win the ensuing fistfight, and march him off to jail, or drop him (via his own clumsiness) off a conveniently placed cliff. Unfortunately, being neither Harrison nor Keifer, nor having their writers working for me, I knew that if I tried to elbow Kevin in the ribs, he’d shoot me. If I got past that, and he dropped the gun, he’d kick my ass in the ensuing fistfight.
Then, he’d shoot me.
I had no choice but to walk deeper into the park. My eyes were adjusting to the dark, but it was still very hard to see. Finally, behind trees to shield us from the street, Fowler stopped me and held me tightly from behind. I felt the frigid barrel of the gun against my left temple, yet Leah crying for Daddy didn’t flash before my eyes. Nothing flashed before my eyes. It was too dark.
But my cell phone rang.
It startled Kevin enough to hear the phone in my coat pocket that he flinched for a second, and then I felt him being pulled away, from right to left. I spun, and saw, about fifteen feet away, a huge shadow. The shadow, in a form approaching human, was pummeling something on the ground. Over and over, a tremendous fist flew through the air and hit something near the ground. I gained my footing, and ran toward the shadow, pulling my cell phone out as I ran.
After a moment, the shadow stopped punching and rose. And rose. And rose some more. I looked up, my eyes adjusting.
Finally, I could see that the shadow was Biggest. He looked down to make sure the supine figure of Kevin Fowler was not conscious. Believe me, it wasn’t.
What did you think—that I was going to get shot? Haven’t you noticed this is all written in the first person?
“Oh my god,” I said. “All this time, you’ve been protecting me from him.”
Biggest turned to me, smiled, and spoke, with, of all things, a remarkable upper class British accent. “Quite something, wasn’t it?” he said. “I saw you back there on the bluff, you know, but I couldn’t make a move while he had the gun in your back. Once he moved it, and the cell phone rang, I could get him away from you with no problem at all” (he pronounced it “a-tall”).
“You can talk,” I said. It was the best I could do.
“Quite,” he said. “Well, I suppose we should do something about our friend back there.”
“Yes,” I answered. It was hard not to emulate the accent. “I’m going to have to call the police.”
“That’s actually not what I’ve been told to do,” Biggest replied. “I’m supposed to bring him back to our ‘mutual employer.’” By “our,” he meant himself and Kevin.
“I realize that,” I said, “but I can’t allow it, I’m afraid.” In another minute, I’d be inviting him in for tea and scones. “Procedure, and all that, you know.”
He looked down at me from the rarefied air he breathed up there. “I could insist.”
“You could, and I’d be at a loss to resist, but I don’t think your employer would look upon that very kindly.”
Biggest nodded. “Quite right. Very well, then, we’ll play it your way. But you do realize I’ll have to make myself scarce before the police arrive.”
I nodded. “Naturally. Do you think I have to worry, or will he remain unconscious for a sufficiently lengthy duration?”
Biggest, who had knelt to pick up Kevin’s gun, put it into his parka pocket. I noticed he was wearing gloves. “Not to worry,” he said. “He’ll be out quite some time, I should think.”
He started to turn, and I touched him on the arm, because I couldn’t reach his shoulder. He turned back.
“I didn’t thank you,” I said, stumbling over the words.
“A pleasure.” He smiled, actually tipped his hood at me, and ambled off.
I picked up the cell phone, which had started ringing again. It was Abigail.
“Aaron, I was frantic! Are you okay?”
“It’s all over now, honey, and I’m fine. Just another day at the office, but with guns. I’m calling the cops, and that’ll be it.”
“Guns! What . . . ?”
“Don’t worry,” I told Abby. “I’m absolutely fine. But I didn’t find Howard.”
“That’s what I was calling to tell you,” she said. “He showed up here five minutes ago. Said it was such a nice night, he decided to take the dog for a good long walk.”
“Figures.”
“You’ll be home soon? I’m still a little
scared.” So she did love me, after all.
“As soon as the cops let me go, I’ll be home, Abby.”
So I called the Midland Heights police, and Officer John Crawford and his new partner were there in seconds. “Merry Christmas,” I told them when they arrived.
Crawford assessed the scene: me, with no weapon, standing over the comatose figure of Kevin Fowler, who had clearly been pummeled to a bloody pulp. Then he looked at me again.
“Okay, here’s my guess,” he said. “He fell on a rock seventeen times.”
“You don’t think I could do that to him?” I tried my best to sound insulted.
He looked at me for a very long time. “No.”
“Would you believe I found him like this?”
Slightly shorter pause. “No. You called 911.”
“I did, but because I found a guy lying in the park.”
“You told them you were being attacked.”
“Oh, yeah.” He had me there.
“So what happened?” Crawford said without a smile, but then he’s never smiled in my presence.
“He was threatening me, and another guy beat the crap out of him, but he left.”
“Who was the other guy?”
“I have no idea,” I answered.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The cops kept me for a while, and then Rodriguez called, and he kept me for a while. Though I got home relatively soon afterward, most of the rest of the family had already gone to bed. Abby, who had stayed up for me, made the wait worth waiting for, and that’s really all you need to know.
I slept in Christmas morning, and when I finally dragged myself out of bed at ten-thirty, I was still a little groggy. It had been something of a rough week.
So, with a surreal feeling, I walked into my kitchen and saw a man who looked a lot like Howard Stein entertaining my family with what seemed to be a very amusing anecdote.
As Dog Is My Witness Page 24