Charm City

by Laura Lippman

  One: the men in the salmon-under-shit car wanted Esskay, whom Spike expected her to protect. She had to find a safe place for the dog, someplace with no connection to Spike. Then she had to make Tommy tell her whatever he knew.

  Two: she and Crow, usually so conscientious, had forgotten the whole safe sex routine tonight.

  And three: she hadn’t thought about this until now, because she had been thinking about Jack Sterling all along.

  Chapter 16

  “Did you get her blanket?” Tess asked Crow the next morning. “And the kibble? What about her Teddy bear?”

  “I got everything,” he assured her, slamming the trunk of his Volvo. “Even the Teddy bear. I know Esskay considers him her own personal boy toy.”

  “Everybody needs a little Crow. And it’s toy boy. Girls have toy boys. Think about it.”

  Toy boys, smart ones, had their uses. Last night, after a skittish Tess had gone to the window a third time to check for the two-tone Buick in the empty alley below, Crow had demanded an explanation. It was Crow who had come up with the idea of asking one of Tess’s friends, someone who considered himself forever in her debt. That was Plan One. Tess had figured out Plan Two, how to force Tommy to talk.

  They drove south in silence, heading toward Annapolis, then veering down Route 2, into one of the old summer towns along the Chesapeake’s western shore. These villages had once seemed remote, appropriate only for August-desperate escapes from Washington and Baltimore. Now the houses here were considered within commuting distance of both cities and tear-downs were common, as shacks made way for million-dollar mansions. A few rough cottages still stood along the South and West rivers, but only a hardy soul would consider them tolerable in the winter. Darryl “Rock” Paxton, the nationally ranked sculler who Tyner always held up as a role model for Tess, was the very definition of a hardy soul.

  Some people chose to live close to work; Rock had chosen to live close to his workout. He had found the cottage a few months ago and used his savings to buy it. The house needed much in repairs and updates—a new roof, siding, double-hung windows to keep out the drafts. The long, twisting driveway from the main road had lost most of its gravel and was little better than a dirt trail. Those things could wait. Rock’s only improvement project so far had been to clear the overgrown path to his dock. It gave Tess a pang to realize she wouldn’t see Rock on summer mornings along the Patapsco any more, now that he had this place.

  Today’s workout behind him, Rock was waiting for them in his kitchen, a homely room furnished with one table, two chairs, and an elaborate array of coffee-making accessories. Despite the coffee consumed on the way down, Tess and Crow quickly accepted Rock’s offer of a fresh cup. Rock was famous for his coffee.

  “Today’s selection is Jamaican Blue Mountain, prepared in a French press,” he said. If ever lost his job as a researcher at Johns Hopkins, he could always try Donna’s, Baltimore’s answer to Starbucks. The three stood with their steaming cups, watching Esskay amble from room to room. The cottage had only four rooms and there wasn’t much for a dog to sniff, although Rock’s futon provided some momentary interest. Inspection finished, Esskay came back to stand between Crow and Tess. Simple but intriguing, she seemed to be saying. Now let’s go.

  “She’ll want to sleep with you,” Tess told Rock. “She jumps into my bed, and that’s a foot off the floor. There’s no way to keep her out, unless you lock her in another room, and then she cries.”

  “No problem. She’ll keep me warm.”

  “We never did get her a new leash to replace this chain. If you do, I’ll pay you back. Did I tell you she tears up trash when she’s lonely? And she needs ointment for those bare patches, at least for a little while longer.” Tess felt a strange sensation in her throat, an itch at the back of her eyes. Crow took her hand.

  “It’s not forever,” he said.

  “I bet you’ll be back to pick her up before the first race of the spring season,” Rock said. In Rock-speak, this was the shortest time span imaginable.

  Tess hugged her friend, marveling as she always did at the aptness of his nickname. In every sense, he was the most solid man she knew. He was so hard and competent that people often made the mistake of assuming he needed nothing from others: he was Rock, he was an island. Tess, who knew more than she wanted about the circumstances of his broken engagement last fall, thought Esskay might prove good company in the short term. And with the dog here, she would have incentive to visit him, something she had neglected to do since he had moved from the city.

  Rock and Esskay stood on the back porch as Tess and Crow climbed into his Volvo. Tess tried not to turn her head, stealing a quick, final glance through her eyelashes and hair. The dog looked puzzled, glancing at Tess and Crow in the car, then back at Rock, who had placed his hand on her collar. Ever so slowly, in her ever so tiny brain, Esskay was realizing that something was amiss. They would be down the gravel driveway before she figured it out. By the time they reached Baltimore, she would have forgotten she had ever known anyone but Rock.

  “He’ll have to build a fence or keep her on a leash all the time,” Tess muttered, more to herself than to Crow.

  “She couldn’t be in a better place, or a safer one. You know that.”

  Esskay cocked her head to one side, as if saying “What? What? What?”

  Don’t be a sap. You’ve never been stupid about animals. Don’t start now.

  Rock’s hand rested on the dog’s collar, but he hadn’t curled his fingers around the fabric. So he wasn’t ready for Esskay’s quick surge as the Volvo started rolling down the driveway. Rock was strong and fit, but he wasn’t a sprinter, and he wasn’t as fast as Esskay, now trotting after the Volvo. The dog was moving at twenty mph, Tess judged. Maybe twenty-five. At any rate, she was right on their bumper.

  “Greyhounds can reach speeds of up to thirty-seven miles per hour,” Crow said.

  “I’m more interested in what speeds you can reach right now.”

  “I can’t go any faster on this driveway. But don’t worry. Once we’re on the highway, she’ll give up.”

  The car’s speed had notched up to thirty now. Esskay still kept pace. She did not seem angry or upset, just determined. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth, giving her an antic appearance. She was enjoying the chase. This was a game, the dog had decided. They would never really leave me. She looked a little like a kangaroo, the way her rear legs kicked up behind her as she ran. She took the driveway’s twists and turns better than the Volvo did, cutting sharp on the corners.

  “Stop the car, Crow.”

  “Don’t worry, I see her, I won’t clip her. We’re almost to the highway.”

  “Stop the car now.”

  The Volvo was still rolling when Tess threw open the passenger door and leaped out. Esskay jumped up, placing her paws on Tess’s shoulders, ready to be congratulated for her effort. Crow braked and put the car in park, but Esskay ignored him, intent on licking Tess. Rock arrived a few seconds later, panting much harder than the dog.

  “This gives me some ideas for cross-training,” he said, when he caught his breath. “I’ll take her back to the house and you can be on your way. I promise I’ll hold tighter this time.”

  “She loves you,” Crow said wonderingly, and Tess could hear a trace of bitterness in his voice. “She loves you.”

  The dog licked her from chin to eyebrow. Her breath was nothing short of awful, but it was familiar to Tess now. She almost liked it.

  “Look, if Esskay wants to stick it out with me, I guess I have to take her home. We can walk her after dark, turn the terrace into a dog run, get a bodyguard. We’ll figure something out. If Spike wanted me to take care of this dog, there must be a reason.”

  Smugly now, the dog took her position in the backseat, insisting on standing, just as she had the first night Tess had taken her home. But this time, Esskay was more firmly rooted, holding her stance on the turns. A week ago, a day ago, even five minutes ago, Tess had firmly beli
eved dogs could not smile. Yet this one was practically leering in her delight.

  “So much for Plan One,” she told Crow. “Still up for Plan Two?”

  “Sure,” he said, eyes on the road. “It doesn’t seem fair, though.”

  “Plan Two?”

  “The fact she loves you more than she loves me. You’ve hardly done anything for her, while I was reading books and making special meals and pulling bones out of her throat. She should love me best. But I guess that’s how it works, sometimes.”

  “Sometimes,” Tess admitted.

  At the Point, Crow parked near the delivery door. While he rang the bell, Tess crouched out of sight behind the car. After a few minutes, Tommy came out, blinking in the morning sun. Although he wore what appeared to be sleep clothes—a dingy white T-shirt and Carolina blue sweat-pants with a crotch that bagged to his knees—he had taken the time to put on his ankle boots, the zippered ones that wouldn’t slip off his thin ankles.

  “We don’t start serving for a couple hours, buddy,” he told Crow between yawns. Luckily, they had never met, although Spike had checked Crow out when he and Tess had first started seeing each other. “You and your collitch friends can come back at noon.”

  “But Mr. Orrick, you won the television set in our fraternity raffle,” Crow said with sunny sincerity. Tess was impressed. She hadn’t known he could lie as well as she could.

  “I won a TV?”

  “Big-screen,” Crow said, gilding the lily. Tommy could be had for a Walkman, or an old transistor radio. “You are Spike Orrick, aren’t you? I wasn’t here the night you bought the raffle ticket, but my fraternity brother said I would find you here.”

  “Oh, sure, sure,” Tommy said excitedly. “Now I remember.”

  “We’ve got it back at the frat house. I thought I’d take you over so you could get it today. Do you have time now?”

  Tommy practically ran to the car, settling himself in the front passenger seat. Esskay, who had finally stretched out in back, stuck her head between the bucket seats and licked his neck.

  “Hey, where’d ja get this dog—” Before Tommy finished, Tess had slipped into the passenger door and plunked herself in Tommy’s lap, fastening the seat belt over both of them. Crow roared out of The Point’s parking lot like an experienced getaway driver.

  “What the fuck are you doin’, Tess? This is kidnapping.” Then, as an afterthought, “Damn, you’re a big girl, ain’cha?”

  “We’re taking you down to my Aunt Kitty’s place and we’re going to keep you there until you tell us what happened to Spike and what Esskay has to do with it.” She curled her hands over his, so he couldn’t pinch or tickle her. Tommy was not above fighting dirty.

  “I don’t know anything,” he whined, pulling his head to the side so he could breathe. Esskay licked his forehead with increasing interest, perhaps trying to decide if Tommy might be a good substitute for her Teddy bear, left behind at Rock’s. Certainly, he was larger, with more surface area to lick.

  “This is kidnapping,” Tommy repeated. “That’s a feral offense.”

  “Luckily, Kitty isn’t dating anyone in law enforcement right now, so who’s going to know? And with your only real friend in a coma, who’s going to care? You remember, your good friend Spike, whose big-screen TV you were about to take for yourself.”

  “I just wanted it for the bar, to help business. By the way, I’m adding torture to those charges. This dog stinks.”

  “As you once said so memorably, Tommy, that’s like the pot telling the kettle to get out of the kitchen if it can’t stand the heat.”

  Chapter 17

  You couldn’t call Tommy tough, but he had a stubborn streak, and that could be almost as good under the right circumstances. For most of the morning, he sat sullenly and silently in Kitty’s kitchen. Tess sensed his dignity had been offended by her ploy, which had been predicated on Tommy not being a serious physical threat. To make him feel better, she tied him to his chair with a pair of Kitty’s silk scarves, although she doubted he would try to run and knew she could catch him if he did. His zippered ankle boots would slow him down on the cobblestones of Fells Point.

  “Would you like something to eat?” Crow, although fortified on doughnuts, had prepared a large breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon, hopeful the smell of food would entice Tommy into talking. But food had never interested Tommy. He ate only enough to balance his beer intake.

  “No, thank you, I’m maintaining just fine,” he said, giving Tess a wounded look. Laurence Olivier couldn’t have delivered the line with more gravitas.

  “A coma’s a serious thing,” Crow told Tommy, pushing the plate of eggs a little closer.

  “Uh-huh. Serious as a heart attack,” said an unmoved Tommy.

  “And what if Spike never comes to?” Crow asked. “These guys may not go away. They may hurt Tess, or her parents. They seem to be pretty dangerous guys.”

  “The dredges of society,” Tommy agreed.

  Tess leaned over and whispered in Crow’s ear, “This is hopeless. We’re going to have to pull out our big gun.”

  Crow left the room and Kitty returned in his place, red curls bouncing, bright red high heels dancing across the wooden floors. Just looking at her, Tommy flushed a shade even darker than her shoes. He had never actually spoken with Kitty—he had always been too tongue-tied to dare. But Tess knew he had noticed her. All men did.

  “Good morning, Tommy,” Kitty said, as if it were perfectly normal for him to be tied to a chair in her kitchen. “I hear you’ve been doing a great job running The Point in Spike’s absence.”

  Tommy nodded curtly. Even with his pillow hair and baggy baby blue sweats, he had an odd dignity.

  “He’ll be so proud of you when he hears.” Kitty leaned over Tommy, her mouth deliriously close to his ear, her long skirt brushing against his ankles like a friendly cat. “I really do think he’ll wake up, that he’ll be with us again. People do come out of comas, you know, sometimes with remarkably few ill effects. There’s still so much we don’t know about the brain.”

  “I have read that myself,” Tommy said, his thoughtful tone suggesting he gleaned his medical news from the New England Journal of Medicine, instead of the Weekly World News.

  “What worries me is how Spike is going to feel if he finds out you refused to tell Tess what she needs to know,” Kitty said. “I’m sure you think you’re protecting him by not sharing his secrets with Tess, but I can’t imagine Spike wanted Tess endangered.”

  Tommy looked confused and troubled. Suddenly, this conversation was headed somewhere he didn’t want it to go.

  “But she kidnapped me!” he protested. “She used brute force!”

  “Only because you wouldn’t talk to her when she visited you at The Point that last time. And now these guys are following her, because they think she has whatever it is they want. Maybe because you told them that.” Kitty was at eye level with him now, her mouth so close to his it must have hurt a little. “What if they hurt her as badly as they hurt Spike? Do you want to be the one to explain that to him? Do you want to be the one to tell me something has happened to my niece?”

  Tommy looked at Kitty and licked his lips, helplessly enthralled. “Okay,” he said at last. “But I’m gonna tell Spike how Tess tricked me. He wouldn’ta liked the way she squashed me like a bug. I almost smothercated.”

  Kitty kissed him on his sweaty forehead, then went back to the store, as Tess untied the scarves at his wrists and ankles. Tommy made a big show of rubbing his wrists and forearms, as if his bonds had been tight ropes instead of loose, silken scarves.

  “So where did Esskay come from?” Tess asked.

  “I swear on my mother, I don’t know the answer to that. Two weeks back, Spike showed up with this dog, looking like Monday’s meatloaf on Friday.”

  “Come again?”

  “You know. He was all gray and lumpy looking. Said he had met with this guy he knows, and the guy wanted him to have the dog?”

>   “What guy?”

  “Jimmy Parlez. It’s a French name? As in parlez the English, you know?”

  “Why did Monsieur Parlez give him a greyhound?”

  Tommy shook his head. “Spike wouldn’t tell me nothin’. He said ignorance was piss.”

  “Bliss. Ignorance is bliss.”

  “You sure?” Tommy wrinkled his forehead as he thought about this. “Anyways, the only thing he did tell me ’bout was the numbers.”

  “Numbers? I knew this had to do with book-making.”

  Tommy shook his head. “Uh-uh. Spike don’t run no street numbers no more. Can’t compete, what with the state doing Pick 3, Pick 4, and all those gimmicky instant win games. He’s down to a sports book now, a little action on Pimlico.”

  “And on dog races?”

  “Tess, there are guys who come into The Point and put money down on how much a bushel of crabs is gonna cost on July fourth, but nobody around here is gonna bet some greyhound race in Florida or New Hampshire when ya got stakes races right down the road. Now, tell that dog to come to me.”

  He waggled his fingers, but Esskay ignored him until Tess placed a piece of the dog’s namesake bacon in Tommy’s hand. Gingerly, he held the crunchy bite out to the dog, who snatched it with such alacrity Tommy almost lost part of a finger. He clambered on top of the chair, but Esskay only became more agitated, leaping around him wildly until Tess gave her another piece of bacon.

  “I’m a little scared of dogs?” Tommy confessed unnecessarily.

  “Don’t worry, she’s harmless unless she thinks you’re a piece of food,” Tess assured him.

  He climbed down from his chair and tentatively began scratching behind Esskay’s ears. As the dog relaxed under his touch, he pulled the left ear back and turned it inside out, exposing the ghostly pale interior, the way one might turn a little leather glove.

  “All racing dogs have tattoos here, like ID numbers. That way, the tracks can keep track of ’em. But the numbers also mean you can trace ’em back to their trainers.”