"You know?" said the snake. "How's it gonna be the puppy learns discipline when the bitch don't know it? You tell me that, huh?"
"That's-"
He slapped her face. Not hard enough to sting, just a touch really. Worse than pain.
"You and me," he said, squeezing her arm. "We got things to talk about."
"What?" Panic tightened Karen's voice. "I'm just visiting from-"
"Shut up. And shut the goddamn baby up too-"
"I can't help it if-"
A hard slap rocked Karen's head. "No, bitch. Don't argue. You notice what we were eating back there?"
Karen shook her head.
"Sure you did, I saw you look. What was it?"
"Meat."
"Veal. You know what veal is, sweet-cheeks?"
"Calf."
" 'Zactly. Baby cow." Winking. "Something can be young and cute, go bah-bah, moo-moo, but it don't matter shit when people's needs are involved, you know what I'm saying?"
He licked his lips. The hand on her arm moved to Zoe's arm. Pulling.
Karen pulled back and managed to free Zoe. He laughed.
Tripping backward, Karen said, "Leave me alone," in a too-weak voice.
"Yeah, sure," said the snake. "All alone."
The long-fingered hands became fists and he inched toward her. Slowly, enjoying it. The park so silent. No one here, dangerous part of town.
Karen kept retreating, Zoe wailing.
The snake advanced.
Raising a fist. Touching his knuckles with the other hand.
Suddenly, Karen was moving faster, as if her ankle had never been injured.
Moving with an athlete's grace. Placing Zoe on the grass gently, she stepped to the left while reaching into the big, heavy denim bag.
All the things you had to carry.
Zoe cried louder, screaming, and the snake's eyes snapped to the baby.
Let's hear it for distraction.
The snake looked back at Karen.
Karen brought something out of the bag, small and shiny.
Reversing direction abruptly, she walked right up to the snake.
His eyes got very wide.
Three handclaps, not that different from the sound of his feet on the steps. Three small black holes appeared on his forehead, like stigmata.
He gaped at her, turned white, fell.
She fired five more shots into him as he lay there. Three in the chest, two in the groin. Per the client's request.
Placing the gun back in the bag, she rushed toward Zoe. But the baby was already up, in Doug's arms. And quiet. Doug always had that effect upon Zoe. The books said that was common, fathers often did.
"Hey," he said, kissing Zoe, then Karen. "You let him hit you. I was almost going to move in."
"It's fine," said Karen, touching her cheek. The skin felt hot and welts were starting to rise. "Nothing some makeup won't handle."
"Still," said Doug. "You know how I love your skin."
"I'm okay, honey."
He kissed her again, nuzzled Zoe. "That was a little intense, no? And poor little kiddie-I really don't think we should take her along on business."
He picked up the denim bag. Karen felt light-not just because her hands were empty. That special sense of lightness that marked the end of a project.
"You're right," said Karen as the three of them began walking out of the park. "She is getting older, we don't want to traumatize her. But I don't think this'll freak her out too bad. The stuff kids see on TV nowadays, right? If she ever asks we'll say it was TV."
"Guess so," said Doug. "You're the mom, but I never liked it."
A bit of sun came down through the thick trees, highlighting his black curls. And Zoe's. One beautiful tiny head tucked into a beautiful big one.
"It worked," said Karen.
Doug laughed. "That it did. Everything go smoothly?"
"As silk." Karen kissed them both again. "Little Peach was great. The only reason she was crying is she was having so much fun throwing food in the restaurant and didn't want to leave. And the eh-eh worked perfectly. She threw the rattle, gave me a perfect chance to get close to the jerk."
Doug nodded and looked over his shoulder at the body lying across the pathway.
"The Viper," he said, laughing softly. "Not exactly big game."
"More like a worm," said Karen.
Doug laughed again, then turned serious. "You're sure he didn't hit you hard? I love your skin."
"I'm fine, baby. Not to worry."
"I always worry, babe. That's why I'm alive."
"Me too. You know that."
"Sometimes I wonder."
"Some gratitude."
"Hey," said Doug. "It's just that I love your skin, right?" A moment passed. "Love you."
"Love you too."
A few steps later, he said, "When I saw him hit you, babe- the second time-I could actually hear it from the bushes. Your head swiveled hard and I thought uh-oh. I was ready to come out and finish it myself. Came this close. But I knew it would tick you off. Still, it was a little… anxiety-provoking."
"You did the right thing."
He shrugged. Karen felt so much love for him she wanted to shout it to the world.
"Thanks, babe," she said, touching his earlobe. "For being there and for not doing anything."
He nodded again. Then he said it:
"The things we do for love."
"Oh, yeah."
His beautiful face relaxed.
A rock. Thank God he'd let her go all the way by herself. First project since the baby and she'd needed to get back into the swing.
Zoe was sleeping now, fat cheeks pillowing out on Doug's broad shoulder, eyes closed, the black lashes long and curving.
They grew up so fast.
Soon, before you knew it, the little pudding would be in preschool and Karen would have more time on her hands.
Maybe one day they'd have another baby.
But not right away. She had her career to consider.
Karen Makes Out by ELMORE LEONARD
They danced until Karen said she had to be up early tomorrow. No argument, he walked with her through the crowd outside Monaco, then along Ocean Drive in the dark to her car. He said, "Lady, you wore me out." He was in his forties, weathered but young-acting, natural, didn't come on with any singles-bar bullshit buying her a drink, or comment when she said thank you, she'd have Jim Beam on the rocks. They had cooled off by the time they reached her Honda and he took her hand and gave her a peck on the cheek saying he hoped to see her again. In no hurry to make something happen. That was fine with Karen. He said "Ciao," and walked off.
Two nights later they left Monaco, came out of that pounding sound to a sidewalk cafe and drinks and he became Carl Tillman, skipper of a charter deep-sea fishing boat out of American Marina, Bahia Mar. He was single, married seven years and divorced, no children; he lived in a ground-floor two-bedroom apartment in North Miami-one of the bedrooms full of fishing gear he didn't know where else to store. Carl said his boat was out of the water, getting ready to move it to Haulover Dock, closer to where he lived.
Karen liked his weathered, kind of shaggy look, the crow's-feet when he smiled. She liked his soft brown eyes that looked right at her talking about making his living on the ocean, about hurricanes, the trendy scene here on South Beach, movies. He went to the movies every week and told Karen-raising his eyebrows in a vague, kind of stoned way-his favorite actor was Jack Nicholson. Karen asked him if that was his Nicholson impression or was he doing Christian Slater doing Nicholson? He told her she had a keen eye; but couldn't understand why she thought Dennis Quaid was a hunk. That was okay. He said, "You're a social worker." Karen said, "A social worker-" "A teacher." "What kind of teacher?" "You teach Psychology. College level." She shook her head. "English Lit." "I'm not a teacher."
"Then why'd you ask what kind I thought you were?" She said, "You want me to tell you what I do?" "You're a lawyer. Wait. The Honda-you're a public defender." Karen shook her head and he said, "Don't tell me, I want to guess, even if it takes a while." He said, "If that's okay with you."