Three More Dogs in a Row

by Neil Plakcy

  “What are you trying to tell me, boy?” I asked. “Does this adjunct have something to do with the case? Something about grading? Pottery?”

  He shook his big golden head and settled on the floor beside me. I read through the form, trying to make a connection to people at Crossing Manor, and got nowhere. Did potters use potassium? I Googled it. I discovered that potassium chromate was occasionally used as an acid-green colorant in raku pottery. But potassium chromate was very different from potassium citrate or potassium aspartate, and I doubted some rogue potter was killing people at Crossing Manor.

  “I don’t get it, boy,” I said. “What is it about this form?”

  He looked up at me with his big brown eyes, and I noticed again, as I often did, how his pupils covered most of the eye, with little white around them. “Of course!” I said. “It’s a form. A form like the ones from Crossing Manor. Maybe if I search for the form I can find some online.”

  Rochester rolled over on his side and went back to sleep, and I searched online for copies of the D-10 form Marilyn Joiner had been filling out. I found one on a woman’s website, which detailed the death of her late mother at Valley Manor, one of the corporation’s facilities in Nevada. She had been able to get hold of her mother’s complete medical records and uploaded them.

  It was more than a single form; there were pages of information required, including the complete medical history of the patient, copies of recent charts, and interviews with staff personnel.

  The woman had circled several places on the PDF, with notes like “lies” and “who do they think they’re kidding?” scrawled in places.

  I didn’t know the specifics of her mother’s case, but it was clear that there were some real discrepancies on the form. I saved it as an example for Rick, and then wrote up an email for him. I suggested that he subpoena the D-10s from the past year at Crossing Manor to look for patterns. “I could probably get this stuff for you, but you know, that would be wrong,” I wrote. Then I hit send and shut the computer down, before I could make myself into a liar.

  26 – Open House

  When I woke the next morning I was alone – no Lili beside me, no dog on the floor. I looked at the clock and realized I’d slept past Rochester’s normal walking time. When I went downstairs Lili was on the sofa with the Sunday paper, Rochester snoozing by her side.

  “He’s already been fed and walked,” Lili said.

  “You’re an angel.” I leaned down to kiss her.

  “Muffins on top of the fridge for breakfast.” She handed me the front section of the paper and went back to reading.

  As I ate my muffin, I read about unrest in Russia’s outlying regions, terrorist threats in the mountains of Afghanistan, monsoons in Bangladesh and a viral epidemic in West Africa. At least Stewart’s Crossing was a safe corner of the world.

  When I checked my email, I found a message from Rick. He’d already put together the subpoena I suggested, for the death records from Crossing Manor, but was waiting until Monday to put it before a judge. He said that he’d add the D-10 forms to the request and thanked me for the information.

  Around noon, I took Rochester out for a walk. It was cold but the sun was out, and I began to sweat beneath my heavy coat. Annie Abogato, a Realtor friend of Gail’s who I often saw at the Chocolate Ear café, was running an open house down the street. She was a thirty-something mom who occasionally dog-sat Rochester for me, a cheerful blonde with shoulder-length hair and a taste for pink clothing. Her scarf and gloves were both pink, as were her rubber snow boots.

  She was showing a young couple the yard as we walked by, and she waved to me. “Steve, do you have a minute?”

  I walked up to them.

  “These are the Canninos,” she said. They were both in their late twenties; he was a hefty guy with a wrestler’s build, and she was a very pretty woman who could have been a model for plus-sized clothes. “This is my friend Steve. He can tell you what a great community this is for dogs.”

  “What kind of dog do you have?” I asked.

  “A Great Pyrenees,” Mrs. Cannino said. “It’s hard to find a community that doesn’t have rules against a hundred-pound dog.”

  “River Bend is the neighborhood for you. Lots of big dogs, and a couple of empty lots where dogs can run. Everybody’s friendly and the security staff does a great job.”

  Rochester put his paws up on Mr. Cannino’s thighs and though I tried to tug my dog down, the guy didn’t mind. We talked for a couple of minutes and then Rochester and I continued on our walk, darting around several cars parked on the street.

  One disadvantage to the neighborhood that I hadn’t mentioned was that River Bend was shoehorned into an area around a nature preserve, so the developer had to maximize the utility of the land—which meant narrow streets. If several homes had guests parked in front, Sarajevo Court could become a real obstacle course.

  I pulled off my scarf and put it in the pocket of my parka, and pulled the zipper down an inch to cool my throat. The sun was sharp, the sky a cloudless blue.

  Rochester and I had circled the block and were on our way back home when an old black Chrysler with a smashed-in fender cruised past us, then stopped right in front of our driveway. A bad place to park; not only was he blocking me from getting out if I needed to, but there was a big SUV parked just ahead on the other side of the street.

  The driver’s door popped open and a wiry guy in a black leather jacket got out. As we approached, he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it.

  Rochester began to bark. I had become such a softened suburban homeowner that my first reaction was that I hoped whoever the guy was, he wasn’t going to put out that cigarette in my driveway. It wasn’t until we got close to him that I realized it was Jimmy Blackbridge.

  Rochester sensed my adrenaline rise, and tugged forward on his leash, still barking. I told him to sit and then said, “What do you want, Jimmy?”

  “You know who I am.”

  Rochester rested on his haunches beside me, on full alert. “Of course I do.” I heard a tapping noise and looked up. Lili was in the bedroom window with a cell phone in her hand. She was watching the tableau in front of the house.

  “Then you know you gotta butt out of my business,” Jimmy said. He kept his right hand in his jacket pocket, using his left to take his cigarette out of his mouth.

  One of the many things I learned in prison was that you can’t show weakness to anyone. As soon as you do, you’re as good as dead.

  “What I know is that you have to pull your piece of shit car away from my driveway and get the fuck out of my neighborhood.”

  He looked surprised. Behind him, I saw Merlys in the front seat of the car. “Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me what the fuck I should do?”

  Good. I had him on the defensive. “You ever hear of the Stand Your Ground laws?” I asked. “You’re on my property, and you’re threatening me. I could kill you right here and no court in the country would convict me.”

  Halfway down the block behind Jimmy, I saw Annie Abogato and the Canninos were watching us, too.

  “You don’t even have a gun,” Jimmy scoffed.

  “Don’t need one.” Though my nerves were on edge, I forced myself to smile. “I’m not some pussy who needs a gun to do my business. I did my time in California and I learned a few things inside.”

  Merlys leaned out the driver’s window. Her hair was still in that ridiculously tall beehive and she had to twist her head to get it outside. “Get in the car, Jimmy,” she called.

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he said to her. Then he turned back to me. “So, you got balls. Mine are bigger than yours, guaranteed. And I ain’t here to mess you up. Just to tell you to stay out of my business. Forget you ever knew that loser Logato.”

  “Why? Because you killed him?”

  Jimmy glared at me. “You stupid or something? What the fuck did I just tell you? This got nothing to do with you.”

  Behind Jimmy, I saw Anni
e talking on her cell phone. Mr. Cannino said something to his wife and moved quickly toward us.

  Jimmy began to remove his hand from his pocket. My adrenaline spiked because the bulge against his jacket pocket had the shape of a gun. What kind of a dumb ass was I, anyway, taunting an ex-con who might have killed someone?

  I pulled on Rochester’s leash and tried to step back, but he strained forward and slipped his collar. He was the picture of grace as he launched himself at Jimmy, snarling in a way I’d rarely heard from him.

  “Rochester! No!”

  He ignored me and tackled Jimmy just as Jimmy pulled the gun from his pocket. But Jimmy stumbled backward from the pressure of eighty pounds of golden retriever, and the gun flew out of his hand, skittering across the asphalt pavement.

  Jimmy landed on his back in the street, with Rochester on top of him. I lunged forward and grabbed the gun, a 9-millimeter similar to the one my father had left me. Rick and I had spent some time at the local shooting range, and I was comfortable around firearms. Jimmy’s gun fit nicely in my hand.

  I planted my feet and used a two-handed grip to aim the gun at Jimmy. But with Rochester on top of him there was no way I was going to shoot.

  Merlys jumped out of the car and hurried to Jimmy. She wore the same fake leather trenchcoat I’d seen at the funeral, and a pair of stiletto boots in with tiger-striped fur around the tops.

  Jimmy was struggling to push Rochester off, but it was a futile effort. Once my dog had a goal in mind nothing could push him away.

  “What’s going on?”

  I looked up to see Mr. Cannino approaching. “Little disturbance,” I said. “You’d be best to stay back.”

  While my attention was distracted, Merlys pulled a switchblade out of her trenchcoat pocket and popped the blade. “Put the gun down or I stab this into your damn dog’s neck,” she said.

  “Are you stupid?” I asked her. “I could shoot you dead long before you could do anything with that knife.”

  My hands trembled but I focused on holding the gun steady. In the distance I heard the high keening of a police siren. Merlys was beside Jimmy with one hand on Rochester’s collar and the other holding the knife. He barked and growled at her, but he was also trying to keep Jimmy immobilized, and Merlys was stronger than she looked.

  “Hurt my dog and I swear to God I will kill you,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “You’re crazy!” Merlys said. “Jimmy just wanted to talk to you. I told him you were asking about Felix at the funeral, and he had me go back inside and get your name. We looked up your address, just to talk to you.”

  “How’d you know which name was mine? I never introduced myself to you.”

  “You came with that vet. And your name was the only one that wasn’t Spanish besides hers.”

  I heard an engine behind me and the screech of brakes, but I didn’t want to take my eyes off Merlys. “You put the knife down, and I’ll put the gun down,” I said.

  She was considering that when I heard Rick’s voice behind me. “Police! Everybody stand down!”

  I didn’t turn around because I didn’t trust either Merlys or Jimmy. “If you get the knife from Merlys, Rick, then I’ll put the gun down and kick it over to you,” I called over my shoulder.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rick approach slowly, his gun in his right hand, his badge in his left.

  “You hear him, Merlys?” I asked. “You throw the knife down, I give up the gun. Everybody walks away safely.”

  Rochester barked to underscore my point.

  “You all are crazy,” she said again. She tossed the knife aside and raised her hands above her head. I could see this wasn’t her first time at the rodeo.

  I lay Jimmy’s gun on the ground and kicked it over to Rick. He pocketed his badge, picked up the gun and popped the cartridge. He put the gun in one pocket, the cartridge in the other. Then he walked over to where Rochester sat on top of Jimmy.

  “Rochester. Let him up, boy,” Rick said.

  Rochester hopped off Jimmy and loped back over to me. “Good boy,” I said, and I scratched him behind the ears. “But you can’t go doing stuff like that. You could get hurt.”

  “You’re one to talk,” Rick said.

  “You gotta arrest him,” Jimmy said, as he stood up. “I was just here talking and his dog attacked me.”

  “We’ll sort it all out down at the station,” Rick said. As a police car came screaming down the street, Mr. Cannino returned to his wife and Annie. So much for showing what a great place River Bend was. I doubted she’d make that sale.

  “How did you know to come here?” I asked Rick, as he pulled a pair of plastic cuffs from his belt.

  He nodded toward the house. “Lili was watching and she called me because she knows the kind of trouble you get into. Fortunately, I wasn’t far away.”

  Lili came out and took hold of Rochester’s leash. Jimmy and Merlys kept arguing and complaining as they were frisked and cuffed. They both insisted that they hadn’t planned to hurt anybody, just to talk, and it was my actions, and my dog’s, that had escalated the situation.

  “How come you ain’t cuffing him?” Jimmy asked. “He’s the one who was holding a gun on me.”

  “Because he’s the homeowner and you’re on his property,” Rick said. He called for a tow truck to take away Jimmy’s car, then had the uniforms take Jimmy away. “Steve, you have to follow me down to the station. Without the dog. I’ll need a full statement from you.”

  Rick took Merlys with him in his truck and I followed. When I got to the station I had to wait over an hour while Rick took statements from Jimmy and Merlys. When it was my turn he led me into the interview room.

  “You really are a dumb ass,” he said, as I sat down. “You know what kind of a record that guy has?”

  I shook my head. “I figured he was a low-life like Felix used to be.”

  “He has a sheet as long as your arm. And two outstanding warrants for assault. I called down to Philly to have somebody come pick him up.”

  “Did he say anything about Felix?”

  Rick held up his hand. “First things first. I need you to start from the beginning and tell me the whole story.” He pulled a hand-held digital recorder from his pocket and put it on the table between us. He pressed a button, stated his name, the date and time, and the reason for the recording.

  I began with the spoofed email message and then discovering Jimmy’s identity from the guy at Paws Up. As a green light on the recorder blinked, I described finding Jimmy’s picture online, with Merlys beside him. How I had recognized Merlys at the funeral and approached her.

  “Did you make any comments of a threatening nature to Miss D’Agostino at that time?” Rick asked.

  It took a second to realize that was Merlys’s last name, and then another moment to reconstruct our conversation outside the funeral home. “Nope. If anything, she’s the one who said that Jimmy had threatened to fuck Felix up.”

  “That’s not the way she describes your encounter,” he said. “Did you tell her that you believed Jimmy Blackbridge had killed Felix?”

  I shook my head.

  “You have to speak for the record,” Rick said.

  “No. All I said was that I knew Felix and Jimmy had a beef.”

  “She says you did, and that she and Jimmy came out to your house today to tell you that Jimmy had nothing to do with Felix’s death.”

  “She’s lying, then.”

  He asked me a couple more questions and then shut off the recorder. “I spoke to Detective Holland in Philly. He said they have a witness who saw a Caucasian male fleeing the shootout where Felix died. He had her look at Yunior Zeno but she swears it wasn’t him. From her description, it might be Jimmy. Holland’s going to put him in a lineup.”

  “So Felix’s family was wrong,” I said. “It wasn’t Yunior who killed Felix.”

  “Yunior Zeno is a bad guy, Steve. Even if he didn’t kill Felix, he’s the one who got him to that house
. There’s a lot of fault to go around. And some of it falls on you.”

  “On me?”

  “You put yourself and Rochester in danger, not to mention your neighbors and anybody visiting. Can you imagine what kind of chaos we’d have had if Jimmy had started shooting? Or Merlys had taken that knife to your dog?”

  I looked down at the scarred, stained table. “I thought I was getting better,” I said. “I resisted my impulses to hack. I’ve really been trying.” I looked up at him. “What’s wrong with me, Rick? Why do I keep getting into trouble?”

  He shook his head. “I’m a cop, not a therapist,” he said. “But maybe you want to talk to one.”

  27 – Boys’ Night

  By the time I left the station night had fallen. The street lights on Main Street were off, and most of the holiday decorations were down, removing the comforting glow of colored lights. I kept thinking about what Rick had said. Did my emotional problems stretch farther than just computer hacking? Why did I keep putting myself and those I loved in danger?

  I reached beside me to pet Rochester and realized he was back at home. I wanted to rest my head against his golden fur, listen to his heartbeat. Just be with him, and Lili.

  It was hard to stay focused on the drive. My hands shook, my mouth was dry, and I had the beginning of a headache. When I finally pulled into my driveway, I shut the car off and rested my head on the steering wheel.

  Rochester began barking and I forced myself get out of the car. The cold air hit me with the strength of a hammer blow, and I had to steady myself against the door frame. Lili opened the front door and Rochester rushed to the gate, up on his hind legs. Before I opened it I leaned forward and kissed his nose, and he licked my face.

  “What happened?” Lili asked as I opened the gate.

  I reached down to pet Rochester. “That was Jimmy Blackbridge and his girlfriend Merlys,” I said. “He might be the one who killed Felix.”

  She took my arm and led me into the house. “Sit down and I’ll make you a cup of tea,” she said. She helped me take my coat and scarf off. I stroked Rochester’s back as I heard the clatter of cup and saucer, the faucet and the ding of the microwave. Lili returned with a mug of tea and a small plate of chocolate-chip cookies.