The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club

by Duncan Whitehead

  Kelly frowned. How long would she have to wait? When would the decision be made as to whether or not her contract been accepted? When could she rid herself of the thorn in her side just yards from where she stood? She had been told she would have to wait and that when the time was ready, she would be notified. Well, she was becoming impatient. This Billy guy had to go.

  Heidi had enjoyed her first afternoon in a week with her fellow lady dog walkers. She missed the bitchiness of their afternoons, whether aimed at their fellow residents or each other. Heidi knew that all was not well between Carla and Cindy, and enjoyed being a spectator to their verbal sparring. It made her smile. It was futile, though, she thought, bickering and fighting over Elliott Miller. He would never become mayor—not if she, Heidi, had any say in things. She wondered when the contract would be accepted and how much time Elliott actually had left. Stephen had warned her that things could take a while and that there was no guarantee, despite his connections, that the contract would be taken straightaway, if it all.

  Heidi was unconcerned, though. She had marked him, and sooner or later his time would come, she was sure. She brushed aside thoughts of Elliott for the time being and concentrated on the new matter at hand. Cindy had persuaded her to find some task her young nephew Billy could perform. There were several things that needed doing about the house and in the garden, and she would spend the rest of the afternoon compiling a list of jobs for the boy.

  Cindy had returned home from the park, with Paddy following, exhausted and out of breath, behind her. Billy was vacuuming. The boy never ceased to amaze her. He was truly an angel. He explained that it had been his intention to spend the whole afternoon tidying up his aunt’s home, but he’d become distracted by the task of scouring the Internet, looking for pharmaceutical companies with whom he could hopefully liaise in order to arrange a contribution of drugs and medicines for those poor, sick Indian children.

  Cindy demanded that Billy put the vacuum cleaner down and put his feet up. She would make him a sandwich, and he really shouldn’t overdo it, she told him. If poor Kelly next door could catch a rare strain of some sort of food poisoning virus while in France, heaven only knows what he could have gotten in India. Billy’s ears pricked up the moment his aunt mentioned France.

  “Oh, really?” he said, trying to sound unconcerned. “Where in France was she?” suddenly worried that maybe he too had contracted some awful disease and that, unbeknownst to him, was spreading inside of him at that very moment.

  “Paris,” replied Cindy. “She stayed in a fantastic hotel too. Five stars, she said, near the center—Hotel Bonaparte, very famous place, she said, or something like that.” Billy froze. That was the same hotel where he had spent that one night with Jerry Gordonston, the famous model. What if there were an epidemic, and the source was that hotel? He would need immediate medical treatment. But how could he explain it if he had caught the exact same rare disease? Billy wasn’t listening as his aunt continued to talk.

  “Well, I have managed to find you your first work,” she said as she entered the den with a ham-and-cheese sandwich. Billy dragged himself from his thoughts.

  “What? …Oh, sorry, I was miles away,” he said. Cindy patted her nephew on the head.

  “You have a lot on your mind, those poor kids and everything. I was saying that I have found you your first job. With my friend Heidi—you know, the one I told you about?”

  Billy nodded.

  “Well,” Cindy continued, “she’s making a list of jobs she needs doing and, well, I said you could start tomorrow.”

  Billy nodded once more; however, he was more concerned with getting himself to a doctor and even more worried about the symptoms and effects of the illness he was now convinced he was carrying. Cindy noticed that Billy hadn’t eaten his sandwich; he usually devoured his food the moment it was placed in front of him.

  “Have you lost your appetite?” she asked, pointing to the untouched sandwich. Billy smiled weakly at his aunty.

  “No. I was just thinking,” he began, “about that poor girl next door. You don’t by any chance know her symptoms, do you? And how bad off she is?”

  Cindy smiled. That was so typical of Billy, more concerned about others than for himself. He didn’t even know Kelly, had never even met her, and here he was, worried sick for her.

  “I’m not really sure. Tom, her husband, the one who picked you up at the airport, told me she has an awful rash and is very blotchy.” Cindy sighed. “It’s such a shame because she’s such a pretty girl,” Cindy stood up. “Hold on. I think I have a picture of her somewhere. I’m sure Tom took a snapshot of us last month when we were out in the yard together. You sit there while I go and find it.”

  Billy didn’t move. His mind was racing. He couldn’t afford to be quarantined. It would mean his whole plan would be ruined. He hoped that the virus wasn’t air based, that it couldn’t be contracted by touch; if that were the case, then he’d be fine, he was sure. He hadn’t eaten anything at the hotel, he was positive. All he had done was lie in the bed, screwing (a few times, granted), but he was positive he had eaten nothing during his brief stay at the Hotel Bonaparte, and anyway, what were the chances of Jerry Gordonston contracting the virus? She had seemed fine to him.

  Cindy returned clutching a photograph. She gazed at it while she held it in her hand. “She is so pretty, you know she really should think of modeling, I know she wants to, but I think she’ll probably just end up stuck at Macy’s until she has kids.” Cindy handed the photo of herself and Kelly, arm in arm, to her nephew.

  Carla was annoyed that he had not so much as called her since their time together. She was more than annoyed; she was furious. Of course, she knew he was busy, but the fact that she hadn’t even seen him in the park, which she’d hoped she would, had just increased her frustration. Was he avoiding her? Was he having second thoughts? Surely he hadn’t just used her for sex. He didn’t seem that type. She glanced at Walter, who was sleeping on his favorite cushion. She couldn’t take Walter back to the park, in the hope of just casually bumping into him; the poor dog was exhausted. No, she had to sit it out. There was no way she was going to call him. She would give it a few more hours.

  Elliott picked up the receiver and began dialing. Before he pressed all the numbers needed to complete his call, though, he replaced the telephone receiver. What would he say? How could he call her out of the blue and ask her to come over? He didn’t want to appear too eager. He gritted his teeth. He missed her since he had last seen her, and he needed her there. He decided he would wait. Maybe a day or two more. The last thing he wanted to do was upset anyone, especially not any of his neighbors.

  Veronica was delighted that Doug had done so much work in the house that day. She could see that he was exhausted, and let him sleep on the sofa. She collected Katie in her arms and carried her into the dining room. Doug’s laptop sat on the dining room table. Veronica noticed that he was still logged in, and for no other reason than curiosity she bent down to read the open page that lit up his computer screen.

  Veronica took a deep breath. Doug had kept this quiet. She had no idea that he was in so much trouble. She suddenly realized that maybe things were as bad as Doug had said. Doug had been keeping a journal in secret. Usually he was very good about closing down his computer, and he was highly sensitive about her even touching it. He must have been so tired, thought Veronica, that he just fell asleep and didn’t have the chance to log off from his diary. Veronica scanned the page again; she could hear Doug stirring in the den, so she read as quickly as she could.

  I realize now it was a stupid thing to do. Taking so much money from them was a mistake. Of course, they’ll come looking for me, and God knows what these people will do. It isn’t the amount I stole, even though that’s a substantial sum. It’s the mere fact that I’ve broken their trust. I knew the consequences, yet I still did it. I’m sure that it’s only a matter of time befor
e they come looking for me.

  And I know they’ll find me. My first priority has to be my family; whoever they send mustn’t harm them. These are serious people. They wouldn’t think twice about having me killed. It was easy, transferring money into my offshore accounts, filtering small amounts from the accounts I was administering. How was I to know that one of the companies was a front? How was I to know that?

  They tricked me, finding out where I lived, through my own greed, when I was asking for work. I should have known they would be reading my emails, and now they know where to find me.…

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Veronica turned quickly and in the process almost dropped Katie, whom she was holding. Doug’s face was like thunder.

  “Nothing,” she lied, “I was just wiping the table.” Doug eyed his wife suspiciously before closing his laptop.

  Then his face relaxed into a smile. “I see,” he said, ignoring the fact that she had no cloth in her hand. Doug lifted the computer from the table and put his arm around his wife. “And how was your day?” he asked, kissing Veronica on the forehead and stroking Katie on the cheek.

  Cindy was being as quiet as she could be. Billy had not looked at all well. As soon as she had handed him the photograph of Kelly, he had begun to shake. He had also gone deathly pale, despite his tan. She had ushered him off to bed without any argument. The poor boy. It must be the stress of it all, trying to organize so much for those unfortunate Indian villagers. Never mind, she thought, as she collected his plate and untouched sandwich and carried it back into the kitchen. Paddy raised his head and Cindy threw the sandwich in his direction. The Irish terrier caught it in his mouth and swallowed it whole.

  From the kitchen window Cindy could just see into her neighbor’s yard. Tom was out in the garden, cutting his lawn and tending to Kelly’s flowers. They were a good couple, she thought. He was such a saint. She wondered what sort of husband Elliott would make. Would he and Cindy have the same sort of honest and trusting relationship as her young neighbors? Soon she would know, once Carla was gone and out of the picture. Cindy wondered how long it would be before she got news. As far as she was concerned, the sooner the better.

  Elliott decided that he would not call her. He would put what happened behind him. She wasn’t suitable. He really needed to find someone a little less pushy, maybe even a little younger.

  Carla knew that he wasn’t going to call. If he were going to, he would have called by now. Once again she had been used by a man and discarded. Well, it was the last time. She picked up her telephone receiver and began to dial. She had guessed this might happen and had already made tentative arrangements. Now was the time to finalize things.

  Billy lay still in the spare bedroom of his aunt’s home. The bed was comfortable, and he pulled the sheets tightly around his body. There was no doubt about it—it had been her, Jerry Gordonston. He had been duped, tricked, fooled, and now he was carrying some sort of disease. That whore, how could she? He’d have to avoid her at all costs. The last thing he needed was her wrecking his plan. He’d just have to lie low. Hopefully, he hadn’t caught her messed-up virus, and hopefully she would remain quarantined for the duration of his visit. He wondered what else she might have given him. No matter what, he was going to avoid her like the plague.

  Tom finished pruning his wife’s roses and stood up. It had been a tough day at work, and he’d hoped that she would be feeling better. The fact that her condition had worsened was terrible news. It meant that he would have to get up earlier than normal the next day and walk Shmitty as well as prepare dinner and collect some groceries. Tom sighed, and as he did, he saw Cindy staring blankly through her kitchen window. He waved, but she didn’t notice. Oh well, thought Tom, as he entered his home, she must be daydreaming.

  Ignatius Jackson was dying. He knew it and had known it long before the doctors had told him the cancer inside him was slowly eating away at his body. It had been the Agent Orange in Vietnam, he knew. The very fact that he’d survived so long was a miracle in itself. The old man lifted himself from his easy chair and made his way over to the collection of medals hung on the wall of his living room. Purple Heart, Vietnam Service Medal, Snipers Medal, Silver Star, Distinguished Service Cross, and Gallantry Medal—all proudly framed and presented. He was a hero, and in all fairness they had treated him like a hero; they’d found him a job at the Pentagon, and he had been promoted up the ladder, higher than he had ever expected.

  Ignatius sighed. At least May hadn’t lived to watch him die. In a way, it had been a blessing that she died first, and not by some illness that slowly and painfully ate away at her insides. Her death on the interstate had been sudden and quick, and the doctors said she’d died instantly. Ignatius closed his eyes and recalled the day he had received the news of his wife’s death. She was on her way back from a nearby town after visiting her sister. The other driver had been drunk, he was told, and claimed he hadn’t even seen her car before he ploughed head on into it.

  Chalky looked up at his elderly master, and Ignatius smiled. The dog was one of his few pleasures in life. Walking him in the park around the chipped-wood path was an important part of his day. There was the baby, Katie, whom he enjoyed seeing. Her smile brightened his day, and he liked the young man who spent so much time with his child. It was an odd neighborhood. He smiled. He’d heard that Betty Jenkins had been asking questions about him, trying to find out his name. His minister had told him on Sunday that she had been making inquiries about the church’s biggest donor. Ignatius had just smiled and nodded.

  The old man also smiled to himself when he recalled his recent trip to the supermarket. It was amazing what went on in this place, he thought. The secrets that people had, the lies they told, and the ghosts from the past that always seemed to come back to haunt you when you least expected it.

  Chapter 16

  The Director read his most recent communiqué again. Not that it affected his decision; it really just confirmed what he already knew. Because his decision had already been made, he lent no credence to this message. He had spent many hours reviewing each contract. Each one had its pros and cons. Price was not a factor in his final decision; it was practicality and what was best for the Organization.

  He leaned back in his plush leather chair and raised a pen to his mouth, tapping it against his lower teeth. It would happen tomorrow. He had already set the wheels in motion, and there was no turning back. The contractor would be receiving his instructions any minute now, and that would be that. The Director wondered what the three people who had been reprieved, albeit only temporarily, would think if they ever had any idea how close they’d come to being killed. Of course, now that he had their details and the details of the persons who had organized their contracts, there was no guarantee that they would continue to live. Their details would remain on file and, depending on how the contractor felt about operating in the same location again, the Director would choose a second contract for processing at the right time.

  The Director stood up from his chair, went to his window, and looked out onto the world beyond. Tonight was someone’s last night on earth. Usually, the contracts didn’t affect him; usually, it was just business. But there was something different about this one. Maybe it was the fact that when he’d made his final decision, there had been a choice. Maybe it was the fact that they were all so closely linked. He didn’t know, but it just felt…odd. He sighed as he surveyed the view from his office window and wondered if the target knew that tomorrow would bring death. He wondered how the target would spend this last night on earth. He sighed again. May God have mercy on this person’s soul.

  He took a long draw on his cigarette and tasted the menthol tobacco. He really needed to cut back, he thought as he stubbed the cigarette out with his foot. It was an expensive habit he meant to quit. He had received his final instructions earlier that day and had done what he always had, irrespective of location or targ
et; familiarized himself with the area and identified his victim. He had already checked his equipment and begun the advance preparations, as the dirt-stained spade in the trunk of his car confirmed. He was focused and professional. He had done this many times before and had no doubt of his own ability.

  He had driven around the neighborhood several times. It was late, though he had seen some movement: an old man walking his little white dog. The old man had waved to him, and out of politeness he waved back. He watched though, as the old timer approached the park gates. The last thing he needed was for the half-dug hole he had just finished to be discovered. Luckily, the old man had not entered the park; it seemed as if his old dog had just needed a late-night toilet trip.

  The contractor shifted his car into gear and took one final look at the park; he had the padlocks, so he could dictate which entrance would have to be used, and he was ready. As he slowly edged away from the curbside, he marveled at how peaceful the neighborhood was. He shrugged before disappearing into the night.

  Chapter 17

  Billy yawned and stretched. He checked the alarm clock and closed his eyes. It was too early for this. Why had he even suggested it? He knew though, if he were to hide in the house all day, avoiding Kelly, the only chance he would get to smoke a cigarette would be in the morning. His suggestion that he take Paddy on an early morning walk had been one of desperation. Billy dressed quickly and checked that his cigarettes were in his jeans pocket and that he had his Zippo to light his menthol-flavored smokes.