“Chloe,” he said, “you’re a beautiful, exciting woman — but I’m a working cop with three homicides to solve.”
“Suppose you didn’t have all those homicides to solve?” she asked.
“I’m also a married man,” he said.
“Does that mean anything nowadays?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Please,” he said.
“I said okay,” she snapped. And then, her voice rising, her words clipped and angry, she said, “I don’t know anything about George’s Wednesday night parties, or the whore’s either. If there’s nothing else, I’d like to get dressed now.”
She folded her arms defensively across her breasts, and pulled the robe closed around her crossed legs. She was sitting that way when he left the apartment.
The dog was sitting just inside the locked double doors, the keys hanging on his collar where she’d put them. She’d been late bringing Santo his breakfast, but she seemed happy and excited this morning, and her exuberance frightened him somewhat. As he spooned cornflakes into his mouth, he watched her pacing the room, and he remembered that she had been this way just before all the other times she’d done things to him. The time with the needles, and then when she’d burned him with the cigarettes and when she... when he woke up that time and... and the... the little finger of his right hand was missing, she had... she had doped him first and then... then had cut off his finger while... while...
“Eat your breakfast,” she said.
She hardly ever doped him in the morning, it was usually dinner, she usually put something in his food at dinnertime and then... did what... did whatever she... she... but this morning she was higher than he’d ever seen her, pacing the room, walking back and forth from the locked entrance doors to the closed bathroom door, passing Santo where he sat eating from the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch.
“Drink your coffee, too,” she said, “drink it while it’s still hot. I made you hot coffee. Why don’t you ever appreciate any of the things I do for you?”
“I appreciate everything you do,” he said.
“Oh, yes, certainly,” she said, and laughed. “Which is why you tried to run away.” She laughed again. “And did run away. Don’t talk to me about gratitude.”
“Did run away?”
“Well, you’re never going to run away again, don’t worry about that.”
“Are you talking about the time Clarence—”
“No, no, no, no,” she said, and laughed too heartily, and a shiver ran up his spine. “Not dear Clarence — no, stay, Clarence — not your good friend Clarence, who pinned you to the ground that time, do you remember that time, is that the time you mean? No, not that time, I mean the first time, don’t think I didn’t know you wanted to leave me, don’t think I didn’t realize it.”
“I told you I wanted to leave.”
“Be quiet!” she said. “Drink your coffee. I made hot coffee for you. Drink it!”
“Is there something in it?” he asked.
“Why? Are you afraid of what I’ll do to you when you’re asleep?” she asked, and laughed again. “Do you know what happened to the old man in his sleep last night?”
“What old man?” Santo asked.
“The keeper of the keys,” she said, “the man who fixed the locks, do you remember the man who fixed the locks?”
“I never saw him,” Santo said.
“That’s right, you were unconscious, weren’t you? Someone put something in your food. You never met the poor man, did you? Clarence met him, though, didn’t you, Clarence?”
The dog, at mention of his name, began thumping his tail against the floor.
“Yes, Clarence,” she said, “good dog, you’re the only one who knows now. You and Santo. The only ones who know.”
“Know what?” Santo asked.
She laughed again, and suddenly the laughter caught in her throat like a choke, and her face sobered, and she pointed her finger at him and said, “You shouldn’t have left me, Robert.”
“Robert?” he said. “Hey, come on, I’m—”
“I told you to be quiet! I should have hidden your clothes. You wouldn’t have been able to leave without your clothes. Couldn’t have left here naked, could you, Robert?”
“Listen, I’m... I’m Santo. Now cut it out, you’re—”
“I said be quiet!”
He closed his mouth. Just inside the door, the dog growled.
“Take off your clothes,” she said.
“Listen, I really don’t feel like...”
“Do as I tell you. Or do you want the dog to help you? Would you like to help him take off his clothes, Clarence?”
The dog’s ears sprang suddenly erect.
“Would you like to help Robert take off his clothes?” she asked. “Would you, sweetie? Or shall we wait till he’s unconscious, shall we wait for that?”
“You did put something in the coffee, didn’t you?” he said.
“Oh, yes,” she said, laughing merrily. He hated when she laughed that fucking merry laugh of hers. “Something in the coffee, and in the milk, and in the orange juice, something in everything this morning.”
“Why?” he said, and rose from the couch. He felt nothing yet, perhaps she was lying. Those other times, all the other times, he’d become dizzy almost at once, but this time he felt nothing.
“Why?” she repeated. “Because you know, don’t you?”
“What the fuck is it I’m supposed to know?” he said.
“That you’re here. That you’re here where you’re supposed to be instead of running off leaving a bride of six months, you rotten bastard, I’ll cut out your heart this time!”
“Listen, you’re getting me mixed up with—”
“Be quiet, can’t you please be quiet?” she said, and covered her ears with her hands.
“You didn’t really put anything in the food, did you?”
“I said I did, why can’t you believe anything I say to you or do for you, I’m trying to save you, don’t you realize that?”
“Save me from what?”
“From leaving here. From disappearing. You mustn’t leave here, Robert. You’ll disappear if you leave.”
“All right, I won’t leave. Just promise me that if you put anything in the food...”
“Yes, I did.”
“All right, then promise me you won’t... you won’t do... do anything to me while I’m...”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I will.”
“You’ll promise?”
“Promise?” she said. “Oh, no, Robert, you mustn’t leave,” she said. “Not now. Look,” she said, and reached for her handbag and pulled the pistol from it, the same pistol she’d showed him long, long ago, so long ago he could hardly remember, the cornflakes and orange juice she’d said, large black pistol in her hand, “look,” she said, “I’m going to kill the dog,” she said, “look, Robert, because the dog the dog knows you’re here, he’ll tell them, Robert, they’ll come take you take you away, Robert, I’m going to kill the dog,” the room going out of focus as he rose from the couch, hand outstretched to her, “and then I’m going to take off your clothes, all your clothes, you’re going to be naked,” she said, the gun coming up level, “see the gun, Clarence,” the dog’s tail thumping against the floor, “strip you to your skin,” she said, moving toward her, his hand reaching, reaching, his mouth opening and closing around words he could not form, “strip your skin,” she said, “strip you naked,” she said, and the gun exploded once, twice, and he saw the back of the dog’s head splattering against the massive wooden door in a shower of gristle, bone, and blood before he fell flat to the floor, trying to say don’t cut me don’t burn me don’t hurt me don’t please don’t please...