Michael Baden

by Skeleton Justice

  Manny fumbled with the rope. She had acted so quickly, she didn’t have time to notice that her arms and fingers were numb from being tied behind her for so long. Clumsily, she threaded the short length of rope through the bars. The dog snapped at her fingers, but she pulled them back in time. The rope dropped and she started again.

  “Hurry!” Travis called to her.

  Not helpful. Really not helpful at all. The dog continued barking, high, staccato yelps of fury and impatience. Every time he barked, Manny flinched reflexively, and the tying process stalled again. Finally, she got one knot tied, and she set about threading the rope through the cage again to reinforce her work.

  Ting.

  Such an innocuous sound, like playing the highest note on a piano. The lock clicked and released. The dog lunged against the cage. The door popped open partway. Manny slammed it shut and frantically tried to tie the second knot.

  The dog reared back and hurled his broad chest against the front of the cage. The door flew open, and the rope came free in Manny’s hand. The dog bounded right over her, heading straight for Travis.

  Jake could barely register the words coming into his ear through the phone, because his eyes were mesmerized by the action on the computer screen. The dog had Travis cornered.

  The director of the police K-o unit was on the line, claiming the greatest danger lay in struggling against the dog. Once his teeth clamped down, nothing short of death would get him to release. Struggle would provoke his fighting instinct. He would attack, biting and tearing, until his prey was vanquished. Playing dead might cause him to lose interest.

  And then what? Move on to his next victim—Manny.

  Normally, Jake found strength in knowledge, but what good did knowing this do? He couldn’t get the information to the people who needed it.

  Jake slammed the phone down and his eyes returned to the computer screen. What the hell was Manny doing? She was running toward the dog. Oh God—she was trying to save Travis.

  • • •

  Manny scrambled to get her feet under her, rubbing the long scratch on her leg where the dog’s nails had dug into her flesh as it bounded out of the cage. Across the room, Travis pressed himself against the wall, in the vain hope the plaster might open up behind him.

  The dog reached the boy in five strides and immediately went up on its hind legs. Instinctively, it sought Travis’s throat, but it wasn’t tall enough and snapped instead at the elbows Travis had raised to protect himself.

  Manny reacted as she always had when a bully terrorized someone small and defenseless. She ran up and kicked the dog’s rear hard, just as she had once kicked Johnnie Appleton in the ass when he was pounding little Barry Neufeld on the playground.

  The dog swiveled and snapped at her, but Manny was prepared now that she knew how fast the thing could move. She tore across the room toward the one spot that offered a chance of refuge—the window with its metal grille.

  She managed to climb up on it just as she used to scale the chain-link fence around the town pool when she was a kid. The dog arrived, enraged that she was just out of his reach. The metal cut into her fingers. She couldn’t hang here like Spider-Man for long.

  She looked down. The dog lay right beneath her, its eyes riveted on her legs. It exuded some prehistoric evil. But it wasn’t evil; it operated on pure Darwinian survival instinct. Kill or be killed.

  Not reassuring.

  “Travis, get up slowly and get both pieces of rope. Tie them together. Maybe it’ll be enough for us to use to subdue him.”

  But Travis didn’t answer. He sat against the far wall, shaking.

  Manny was in this alone.

  “What about this?”

  Sam had been calling out random bits of asbestos-related information while Jake sat transfixed by Manny’s predicament. He was astonished and impressed that she had managed to distract the dog from Travis. Her maneuver, whatever it was, had been out of the camera’s range. All he’d heard was screaming, growling, a thump, and a yelp. Then Manny appeared, streaking across the room and climbing up that metal window grille. His joy at seeing her safe didn’t last long. The opening in the window grille wasn’t big; her toes kept slipping out. Manny was supporting most of her weight with her arms, and he knew her upper-body strength wasn’t that great. Inevitably, she would fall off that grille, right onto the waiting dog.

  “Jake, does that sound likely?” Sam asked.

  “Huh? Say it again.”

  “I really might be onto something here. Asbestos was used in the manufacture of fire-retardant work clothes up until the 1960s. Then they started to realize that wearing asbestos next to your skin might be more dangerous than getting burned, so they switched to chemical retardants and other materials.”

  “Uhm …” Manny’s toes slipped off the grille and she flailed for a moment, then pulled herself back up.

  “Jake, seriously, listen. There’s an old factory in West New York called Fireproof Apparel. Here’s a story in the Business section of the Times: ‘Redevelopment of West New York Waterfront Stalled by Fireproof Apparel.’ It turns out the factory is so contaminated, they’re afraid to tear it down or remodel it because of the dust it will release. So it’s been abandoned for years. According to the article, even homeless people won’t squat there because it makes them cough.”

  For the first time in ten minutes, Jake’s eyes turned away from the live streaming video. “West New York is near Hoboken and Club Epoch,” he said.

  “Exactly. And not far from Paterson. And look at this picture. The building’s big enough that no one would hear them, or the dog. And look at the windows.”

  “All covered with metal grillwork.” He grabbed the phone. “Vito can have guys over there in two minutes.”

  Manny couldn’t hang on much longer.

  The sharp edges of the grille cut into her fingers. She could have borne that pain if not for the terrible ache in her shoulders and biceps. Somewhere around age thirteen she’d lost her tomboy sinew, and it wasn’t coming back. She pumped only enough iron to look good in a strapless dress, not to support her entire body weight for what seemed like hours.

  She needed a new strategy, but she had precious little to work with. Somehow, she needed to distract the dog without redirecting its attention to Travis. Then she could get down and … what?

  Distract and get down. That’s all that mattered at the moment, because if she waited one more minute, she’d simply fall into the dog’s jaws.

  Calling up the last ounce of strength in her right hand, Manny used her left to remove her large turquoise and silver earring. Clinging to the grille with one hand, she tossed the earring low and far. The dog reacted as predictably as Mycroft, chasing down the skittering object.

  Manny let go and jumped. The sweet relief chased every other fear from her mind—but only for a moment. She knew the dog would realize the earring held no interest as prey and would turn its attentions back to her. When it did, she had to be ready.

  She had already dismissed the rope and the cage as too far away to be useful. In one fluid motion, Manny grabbed the hem of the sundress and pulled it off over her head. Quickly, she twisted it into a long coil.

  Attracted by her movement, the dog spun around and charged toward her. Manny stood still, with the window behind her, watching the dog’s muscular legs propel it closer. At the last moment, she sidestepped.

  The dog reared and hurled itself against the spot where Manny had been standing. Manny used that instant to get behind the creature and loop the dress around its neck.

  She twisted and pulled. The synthetic fiber had much less give than cotton would have, and the garrote tightened. She struggled to maintain her balance and keep the fabric taut.

  The dog strained and wheezed against the unfamiliar restraint. Certainly he had never been walked on a leash, and for that Manny was grateful. A trained dog might have backed up to ease the pressure, but this dog continued to pull forward, cutting off his own air supply and mak
ing her work easier.

  The dog staggered and sank to its knees. Manny could sense Jake’s presence on the other end of the camera, coaching her. Don’t let go. It’s not over yet. Jake always scoffed at the way strangulation deaths were portrayed in the movies—thirty seconds of airway compression and the victim was dead. In reality, it took several minutes of total oxygen deprivation to bring about a human death. Manny didn’t know the canine equivalent, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She continued to pull, although her arms ached from the effort.

  The dog slumped onto its side and its eyes rolled back in its head. Still, Manny didn’t release the noose. She glanced over at Travis, hoping that he might see fit to come and help her now that the dog had weakened. But he sat curled in the corner, glassy-eyed. Shock had rendered him useless.

  The dog’s legs twitched involuntarily and a puddle of urine appeared from beneath its body. A good sign—it must have lost consciousness. Manny’s arms trembled with the effort of keeping the dress pulled tight. If she hadn’t spent all that time hanging from the window grille, she would have had more strength for this. She resolved to keep up the pressure for two more minutes. Under her breath, she counted, “One one thousand, two one thousand.”

  She reached 120 and cautiously loosened her grip. The dog lay immobile. Manny knew she should check for a pulse.

  She extended a trembling hand toward the carotid artery in the dog’s neck. Its fur was short and coarse, nothing like Mycroft’s. Scars from the many fights it had survived crisscrossed its neck and chest. Her fingertips hovered above the dog’s body; her eyes swam with tears.

  She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bring herself to touch this dog. Searching for his pulse would seem too much like petting him, scratching him under the chin the way she did with Mycroft and every other friendly dog who lifted a grinning muzzle to be caressed.

  Manny backed away from the dog’s body. She was tired, so tired. In a minute, they would look for a way out of here. But first she had to rest.

  Manny’s bravery stunned Jake. But the elation he should have felt at her amazing victory over the dog couldn’t take hold. His central nervous system hadn’t yet recovered from the shock of seeing the woman he loved go after that brute with her bare hands and a scrap of fabric.

  Manny seemed to have shocked herself. She sat a few feet away from the dog, her head in her hands, breathing in deep, shuddering gasps. Not an uncommon reaction to unbearable stress. But Jake had confidence that she would come out of it soon and start looking for an escape route from her prison.

  He hoped that Sam was right about the Fireproof Apparel building, although it was a long shot. Manny and Travis might be anywhere. But at least the pressure was off. With the dog out of the equation, it didn’t matter if the search dragged on for hours.

  Jake shifted uneasily as he watched the static scene on his computer screen. Were the Costellos still tuned in? They would be furious at the failure of their torture display. Furious enough to risk returning to the scene to unleash some other horror?

  “Get up, Manny,” he urged her through the screen. “Get up and start looking for a way out.”

  Manny sat crossed-legged on the floor. The only sound she could hear was the unsteady in and out of her own breathing. The current craze for yoga had passed her by—she preferred Pilates or exercising with her Wii fitness program. Nevertheless, she found herself focusing on her breathing, trying with all her will to bring it back to normal. Maybe then she could get up.

  Another sound entered her consciousness—a slight whimper from across the room. Travis. She’d nearly forgotten him.

  Manny looked up, to see him pointing limply. She let her gaze follow his finger.

  The dog was standing up.

  Manny scrambled to stand up, too, but her limbs responded as if they were controlled by some other brain.

  Time seemed to be moving in slow motion. The dog, never graceful before, floated through the air, coming closer and closer. She could no longer see her foot because her leg was inside a dog’s mouth. How odd. She thought she was having an out-of-body thinking experience. Dr. Suzanne Levine will never get me into my stilettos again.

  The pain she felt was real, not the sharp pain of teeth tearing her flesh but, rather, the shocking blow of a hammer swung at full force. That was odd, too.

  And here was another strange thing. Travis was running. Running right toward her, screaming. Running straight at the cage, which he picked up and swung at the dog. It didn’t like that. It opened its mouth. She rolled away.

  And then there was another crash. The door flew open. The room was full of men. A shot rang out, awfully close to her head.

  Manny dragged herself upright and scanned the faces in the room.

  “Where’s Jake?”

  “How’s your leg? Have another Percocet.”

  Manny averted her head from the pill. “Those things make me woozy. Just raise the pillow a little. Couldn’t I have a glass of Veuve Clicquot Rosé instead?”

  Jake scurried to the end of the sofa and fluffed the pillow under Manny’s bandaged leg. “How’s tha—” Her ear-to-ear grin stopped him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “It’s almost worth being eaten by a pit bull to see you doing this Florence Nightingale routine,” Manny said. “And look at this house. You must’ve had Heloise and Mr. Clean here while I was in the hospital.”

  “Sam and I did it all,” Jake said, looking around the spotless living room. “I thought the bowl of potpourri was a particularly nice touch for your homecoming.”

  “It would be nicer if the dried lavender wasn’t trickling out the eye sockets of the skull.”

  Jake took her hand. “I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am to have you here.”

  Manny evaded his gaze. “Well, I appreciate your taking me in. But it’s only for a few days. As soon as the doctor says I can walk unassisted, I’ll go back to my place.”

  Jake stroked her hair. “There’s no rush.”

  Sam entered carrying three mugs of coffee on a tray, followed by Mycroft, who bounded into Manny’s lap.

  “You’re serving from a tray now?” Manny asked, glad of the distraction. “What are you, channeling Amy Vanderbilt?”

  “Just living up to my surroundings,” Sam said. “You should see how nice my manners are when I’m invited to Buckingham Palace.”

  “Speaking of foreign travel, is it true the Costellos were intercepted at Kennedy Airport, waiting for a flight to Buenos Aires? I thought I heard that on the news when I was lying in my hospital bed, but they had me so doped up, I didn’t know if I was dreaming or not.”

  “You didn’t dream it,” Jake said. “That’s one upside of terrorism. No one can make a hasty escape from the country anymore. Airport security apprehended them as their carry-on bags were being screened. They’re in federal custody. Bail has been denied. And the government even added animal abuse charges. The killer pit bull survived both your assault and the police, and now he needs to be a ‘kept dog,’ courtesy of the Costellos.”

  “Justice. Travis Heaton and the Costellos trade places. Kind of like your shrimp story.” Manny inhaled through her nose, then exhaled though her mouth. “Who’s representing them?”

  “Why, do you want the job?”

  “No thanks, although I do have some free time now that all the charges against Travis have been dropped.” Manny sipped her coffee. “What about the Sandovals? Has Señora Sandoval had a complete nervous breakdown since she’s learned the truth about her family?”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Sam said. “She called while Jake was picking you up at the hospital. She sounded good to me—asked how you were, said she’d call again later.”

  “And the Vampire’s other victims? Were they really all watching Travis and me getting chased by that damn dog?” Manny asked. “Did it have the effect the Costellos were hoping for?”

  “They watched,” Jake said. “But I think their reactions are as different as t
hey are as people. Lucinda Bettis is the only one still in denial. The others may have some interest in learning more about their roots, or they may prefer to put it all behind them.”

  “That’s what drove Elena Costello crazy: She couldn’t accept that not everyone clung to their anger as she has,” Manny said. “She was right that we should never forget the victims of the Dirty War. But she let her anger destroy her.”

  Jake took her coffee cup from her. “That’s enough talking about the investigation. Why don’t you relax and watch a little mindless TV?” He handed Manny the remote control. “No CNN, no Fox News, no MSNBC.”

  “Yes, Doctor.” Manny snuggled up with Mycroft and began rolling through the channels. “Sorry, buddy—no Animal Planet, either.” They settled on a home-decorating show. Turn an old chest of drawers into a high-tech entertainment center … paint an Oriental rug on your wood floor. … Manny dozed off just as she was about to learn how to banish the musty smell from an antique armoire.

  Her painkiller-induced dreams churned with vivid scenes and choppy transitions, an art-house movie for one. Jungle animals sat on a jury; winding corridors led to rooms full of broken glass; an exam for which she had no answers was interrupted by the ringing of the school bell. The bell rang and rang.

  Manny sat up, hot and disoriented. There was no exam; the ringing was real. Looking out through the living room window, she could see daylight fading. Sam and Jake were nowhere around. She stretched to the end table and picked up the phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, is that Ms. Manfreda?”

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “Monserrat Sandoval. I hope I am not disturbing you, but I wanted to call and thank you.”

  “Hi, Señora Sandoval. I was just asking about you earlier. How are you? I know Paco has been very worried about you.”