Cold Day in Hell

by Richard Hawke

  He was good. It was almost creepy how good he was, almost as if he were crouched behind her as she sat at her computer, whispering into her ear, deftly guiding her hands, guiding her thoughts. Sometimes that was precisely what he wrote:

  I’m there with you. I’m in the kitchen at the moment, fetching a glass of warm water. Hang tight, I’ll be right back in. I want to hold it up against your neck.

  And a few seconds later:

  Okay, I’m back. You can feel it, can’t you? It’s not too hot, just a little warm, right? Good. Why don’t you take my other hand and give that lovely breast of yours a soft touch. You know where. That place we both like.

  And damned if she couldn’t feel it. The slight warmth on the back of her neck, almost like a breath. And somebody’s fingers running very lightly over her…

  SHE WANTED TO meet him. Yes, it was probably a stupid idea. It would probably ruin everything, but what the hell? She wanted it. Maybe it could be fun. God forbid, maybe it could be cataclysmic.

  She broached the subject.

  Does Lucky Dog want to come out and play?

  It had been a frustrating evening. Nikki and Tina had gone clubbing and ended up in an argument. Over a boy, no less. A hard-bodied Honduran named Victor. They met him at the Vault. Correction. Nikki met him at the Vault. The two were already on the dance floor when Tina came back into the club. She’d gone outside to make a phone call. Victor was hot. Awesome moves, he had Nikki spinning like a top. He lifted her clear off the floor, a rock-solid arm around her small waist. He had dark lashes, cocoa skin, an almost feminine mouth. He’d been into Nikki, she could tell. But something screwed up somewhere. Nikki skipped off to the bathroom to sharpen her makeup, and when she came back, Tina and Victor were practically screwing right on the dance floor. Twenty minutes later, they were practically screwing in the dark hallway on the way to the bathrooms. Nikki purposefully hip-checked Tina as she passed by the two of them, and Tina followed her into the bathroom and nearly tore her eyes out. Nikki had left the club and ended up at Sugar. The cute bartender was there. So was his girlfriend. It looked to Nikki like the breakup wasn’t a whole lot in evidence. The bartender set a Cosmo in front of her. “Six dollars.” She left the drink on the bar.

  Lucky Dog didn’t respond for nearly five minutes. Great, Nikki thought. Three strikes and I’m out, now I’ve chased him away. She was just about to send a follow-up telling him she hadn’t meant it, when up popped his response:

  Do I have this right? You want to take me out for a walk?

  Her heart skipped its next beat. She typed: Only if you promise to heel.

  A minute later: Pull hard enough on the leash, baby, I’ll do whatever you want.

  Nikki stared at the screen for a long minute. The cursor blinked urgently. He was waiting. She tried to imagine him, but no image came to mind. She had never put even a fantasy face on Lucky Dog. He was a cipher, something strictly in the ether. If she shut down her computer right now, she could keep it that way. They could still play online. They could keep doing their silly things to each other. His hands could still get to her only via her hands. She could remain in complete control. In her darkened apartment. Alone.

  She thought of Tina and Victor. The cute bartender and his girlfriend. She ran a hand across her flat, firm tummy.

  Well, screw this.

  She typed: Your town or mine?

  Lucky Dog responded: I’m already here, sweetheart.

  In New York?

  That’s a fact.

  Get out. I don’t believe you.

  Would you like me to prove it?

  Yes. Prove it.

  A minute passed, and then he wrote back, asking what part of the city she lived in.

  Tribeca.

  What time do you leave for work in the morning?

  Around ten.

  Perfect. E-mail me right before you leave. I’ll tell you what to do.

  Getting bossy, aren’t we?

  Pause: You ain’t seen nothing yet.

  In the morning, she did as he had requested. He instructed her to go to the drama section of Ruby’s Books on Chambers Street and look through the copies of Shakespeare’s As You Like It. She followed the instructions. Ruby’s was only a couple of blocks past her subway stop. Nikki felt considerably self-conscious the entire time, trying not to be too obvious about looking over her shoulder as she approached the store and made her way to the drama section. He must be watching. But where is he? There were only three other customers in the store, an old lady and two gay guys, and none of them was paying any attention to her. There were four copies of the play on the shelf. The first copy of the play she leafed through had nothing in it that she could see. When she pulled the second copy off the shelf, a small envelope fell from it. Inside was a note and something small wrapped in tissue paper. The note read: And how exactly do you like it?

  The tissue contained a slender chain to which was attached an aluminum dog tag. The word BITCH was inscribed on it. Nikki clutched it to her breast and burst into laughter.

  She kept the dog tag in the pocket of the white coat she had to wear on the job. Her fingers ran over it so much she was afraid she might wear down the word. At four the following morning, Nikki hopped online.

  Okay. Where?

  He wrote back: Tribeca Animal Hospital on Lispenard Street .

  What???!!!

  Ten o’clock tonight.

  Are you nuts?

  Wait and see.

  She gave it one more thought, then typed her response. She lifted her index finger, gave it a kiss and hit send.

  MARSHALL FUCKING FOX.

  At five minutes past ten, a tan Lincoln Town Car pulled to the curb in front of the Tribeca Soho Animal Hospital. The back door opened, and for Christ’s sake, Marshall Fox-the real Marshall Fox-was sitting there, prairie-wide grin and all. Nikki was speechless. What were the chances? Who in the world was ever going to believe a coincidence like this? Tina would freak. Or wait. Was someone putting her on? Was this all an elaborate hoax? She looked closer. Maybe it wasn’t really Marshall Fox at all. Maybe it was just someone who looked a ton like him.

  “Come here,” he said, and he waved her over.

  She finally found her voice. “You’re Marshall Fox.”

  “Do you know what else I am? I am one lucky little dog.” He reached his hand out. “Now come on over here. I’m not going to bite.”

  Three hours later, he’d be proving himself a liar on that count.

  Fox and Nikki rode aimlessly around Manhattan, drinking champagne and snorting lines of what Fox promised was the highest-quality pure cocaine. He was, if this was possible, even more charming and funny and sexy in person than he was on television. Nikki was amazed. He sounded like Lucky Dog. He really did sound the way he had in his e-mails. His e-mails. Marshall Fox. The real Marshall Fox.

  “I’m going to spend the entire night pinching myself,” she declared as he filled her glass with more bubbly. “ Marshall fucking goddamn Lucky Dog Fox!” For the tenth time that night, she placed her fingers against his cheek. “You’re still real. I am blown away.”

  At midnight, he had her between his legs. He watched Columbus Circle go by outside the tinted car windows as he hummed to himself, one hand lazily stirring the woman’s blond hair. Yessir. Lucky, lucky dog.

  She had to know. She insisted on knowing. What in the world was going on here?

  He explained. No, it had never crossed his mind to go dipping into the anonymous world of cyber-flirting and cybersex, not until the purported Marshall Fox Internet exchanges had erupted to become all the rage. He had found it amusing; witness his use of the craze on his show for a while there.

  “Did you notice about when I stopped doing those bits?” he asked.

  Nikki told him that the show was usually over by the time she got home. “I mean, I love it and all. I just don’t get to see it all the time.”

  “We phased out a couple of months ago. I’d finally gotten curious and gone
online. I knew most of the sites. My staff had been monitoring them all. I pulled the plug on the bits soon after you and I started going back and forth. I told my producer it was time to let it drop.”

  The Town Car was cruising slowly up Central Park West. Nikki knew that the celebrity was separated from his wife and that he was living in one of these buildings here somewhere. She eyed him with suspicion. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you? Hooked up with someone like this.”

  He raised his right hand. “I swear. Never. This is the very first time.”

  She smoothed her skirt. “What if I really had been a dog? I mean, you know.”

  “I knew you weren’t, sugar. I checked you out.”

  She thought a moment. “Ruby’s.”

  “I was parked outside. I got me a nice long look as you came up the block. Did you feel the binoculars on you?”

  She giggled. “You’re a freak.”

  “I liked.”

  “Well, still, I could be a certified psycho. You know how this town is.”

  Fox proceeded to tell her her full name, where she was born, her current address, where she worked, where she went to college, her Social Security number, even the date of her breast implant surgery and the name of the clinic that had performed the procedure.

  Nikki’s jaw dropped. “Explain.”

  Fox pressed a button on his armrest. “Danny? Miss Rossman thinks you are a shit for snooping into her life the way you did. I think she’s right. Though she does have to admit, you did great work on such short notice.”

  The driver twisted around and gave a thumbs-up through the thick glass pane. Nikki saw his eyes drop down to her legs before they returned to the road.

  Fox explained, “Danny followed you after you left the bookstore. I couldn’t exactly do it.” He laughed. “Jesus. We’re really talking cloak-and-dagger here, aren’t we? Anyway, he got hold of your name at Bloomingdale’s and then hustled to get all the rest of it. The man is good. No better assistant in the world. I’m sorry about the invasion of privacy. But hey, all’s well that ends well, as Billy Shakes likes to say.”

  Fox’s apartment was in the San Remo on Central Park West. He directed Danny to take the two of them there, and Nikki stayed the night.

  “We can do this straight or we can do this wild,” Fox said as he walked her through the spacious living room. “I’m not going to force anything on you. You’re very sweet, and God knows you’re very sexy, and I really do want to gobble up your sweet little ass. But I’m not going to push anything. I’m just happy that you’re here. You, me and no paparazzi. You can’t imagine how good it feels to have a secret. You’re gold to me, lady.”

  Nikki remained silent as Fox began unbuttoning his shirt. He stepped closer to her. “Give me your hand, sweetie. I think we’re going to be fine.”

  SEVEN NIGHTS SCATTERED throughout three weeks. Seven insane nights. Marshall Fox was a bad, bad boy, no question about it. Bad, bad, and good, good. Fox had a lot of ideas about how to spice things up in the bedroom-or, on one occasion, on the building’s rooftop garden. He was a fantastic lover, even without the toys he liked to bring in on the action. It could get rough sometimes before it was all over, sometimes more than Nikki might have preferred. But look who it was. He was famous. And he was choosing to do all this stuff with her.

  And besides, the sex was-yep-cataclysmic.

  He’d asked her that first night not to tell anyone what they were up to. “I need one damn thing to call my own, sweetie. Let’s make that you.”

  THREE WEEKS AFTER their first date, the body of Cynthia Blair turned up dead in Central Park. She had been strangled and her body had been left at the base of Cleopatra’s Needle just behind the Metropolitan Museum. Nikki didn’t have a phone number where she could call Marshall. Even if she had, she wasn’t sure it would have been the right thing to do. But he wasn’t responding to her messages on his Lucky Dog e-dress. She felt like she was a million miles away from him.

  Nikki watched Fox on television and she cried. He looked so lost. It was absurd to even try to do the show, she thought. Look at him. She wanted to hold him and comfort him. Poor baby, he was in such pain. She thought about just showing up at his building but decided that might be wrong. She’d just have to wait and hope that he still wanted to see her. At his request, she’d gone out after their last date and purchased that plaid wool skirt he’d jabbered on about. He’d wanted it for one of his games. Call me, she implored the television set. I’m here, honey. I’ll do anything you need me to do for you. Anything. You’re the boss. I’ll make you forget everything. I can do it.

  Nine days after Cynthia Blair’s murder, he contacted her. E-mail. He wanted to see her. That night.

  I need normal. Well, okay, you know me better than that. What I don’t need is all the crap that’s been going on this week. I need a break. I need a lucky break. You’re the one, babe. No one else in the whole damn world.

  She wrote back immediately: Yes!

  Excellent. Danny’ll fetch you at ten. And let’s go with the schoolgirl look. A little virgin sacrifice is good for the soul.

  21

  FRESHLY BATHED, Nikki headed down the steps at 9:50. Mrs. Campanella on the third floor was taking a bag of kitchen trash downstairs.

  “Look at you, all dolled up. It’s my bedtime, and here you are going out dancing.”

  Nikki offered to take the trash from her neighbor and throw it in the can outside the building’s front door. The woman waved her off.

  “This is my exercise for the entire day, honey. The doctor says I need to keep active. I might still be climbing back up these stairs by the time you get back from your date.”

  Nikki remembered that she had forgotten a sympathy card that she had bought for Cynthia Blair’s family. She wasn’t certain if it was right to ask Marshall to deliver it for her. She had signed it with her initials, followed by “Someone Who Cares,” but she wondered if what she was really doing was trying to score points with Fox. Still, she did feel horrible about what had happened to the woman. Nikki climbed the stairs back to her apartment and fetched the card. It was in a pale blue envelope. Mrs. Campanella was nearing the first floor by the time Nikki made it to the bottom.

  “Have a good night, honey. You’d better take an umbrella. They’re calling for rain.”

  Danny was leaning up against the Town Car when Nikki emerged from the building. He took her in with an approving look. “Boss man’s going to be one happy camper to see you. He’s been a real pain in the ass the whole week.”

  Nikki found Fox in a black mood when she arrived. No surprise. He looked haggard. She handed him the sympathy card. “Maybe it’s stupid.” Fox didn’t say a word about it. He set the card on a small table in the hallway. He seemed distracted, but he tried to pretend that he was fine.

  He made them martinis, and they took them out on the balcony. There was a slight rain falling. They remained under the overhang of the balcony above. From up this high-the apartment was on the twenty-sixth floor-the shadowy silhouette of Cleopatra’s Needle was just visible. Fox said nothing but stood sipping his martini, looking out across the tops of the trees toward the stone obelisk. Nikki wanted to touch him, to set her fingers on his arm, but she didn’t dare. His face was impassive, a granite frown. After nearly a minute, he spoke.

  “Believe it or not, it’s not Cynthia that’s got me all cranked out. It’s my wife. It’s Rosemary.” He drained his martini. Nikki took the empty glass from his hand. Fox’s gaze stayed aimed toward the far side of the park. “I spent the afternoon with her before heading off to the studio. It wasn’t exactly what you’d call a pretty afternoon. That woman…I should give her that dog tag of yours. You’ve got no idea.”

  Nikki’s hand went to her memento. “She’ll have to fight me for it. It’s mine.”

  Fox’s expression loosened. “Listen. Whatever you do, don’t ever challenge Rosemary. I’m serious. You’re a sweet kid. Rosemary’d rip you to pieces.”

 
; Nikki remained on the balcony while Fox went back in to put together another martini. She couldn’t imagine how he must feel. He’d never said anything to her before about his former producer, though she knew from some stuff she’d read somewhere that the professional relationship had ended on a kind of ugly note. That has to hurt, she thought. You work closely with someone, things end badly, and then she’s killed. No chance to patch things up. She looked out across the park again, over toward where the body of Cynthia Blair had been discovered nine days before. A shudder went through her as she imagined the woman vainly battling off her attacker. Did she see it coming? Did she have time to call for help, to let out a scream? Jesus, Nikki thought. In the middle of the night, this part of the city can get pretty quiet. She thought of Marshall lying in his bed asleep. Or no-awake. Lying awake and hearing a faint distant scream coming in on the night air. You hear that kind of thing all the time and don’t really think anything about it. City noise. You don’t think that someone you know is making the last sound they’re ever going to make or that-

  “Hey.”

  A splash from her drink ploinked onto her wrist. Fox stepped up behind her. Nikki turned around and looked up at him. Backlit from the living room, Fox’s face was in shadow, his eyes black and absent in their deep sockets.

  “That’s a nice skirt, little girl.” There was something absent as well from his voice. His tone was low. Robotic.

  Nikki tried a curtsy. “You like it?”

  Fox lifted the glass from her hand and finished off the drink, then casually tossed the glass aside. It shattered on impact.

  “Little girl like jewelry?”

  He pulled something shiny from his pocket and held it up. Light from the apartment glinted off its surface.

  Nikki took the handcuffs from him and gave him a coy smile. “Aw. You shouldn’t have.”