The Animal-Lover's Book of Beastly Murder (14 page)

Rose gathered him quickly under her jacket, and walked into the driveway. She could feel Eddie trembling, maybe with relief. When Rose reached the corner, she saw that the car had gone.
Her
car. She’d have to find a taxi. Or walk to the roadhouse. No, that was too far. A taxi. And she’d left her handbag with her money in the car. Christ! She pressed Eddie’s body reassuringly, and walked on, looking for some promising intersection where a taxi might be cruising. Where was Jane? Back at her own apartment? At the roadside place? What was the taxi driver going to say if she had no money to pay him? Rose couldn’t tell the driver to go to the house of one of her friends, because she didn’t want any of her friends to know about Eddie, about Jane, about what she’d been doing for the last weeks.

She had no luck spotting a taxi. But she did come to a shopping center—supermarket, dry cleaning shop, drugstore, all that—and she had some coins in her jacket pocket so she went into the drugstore. With Eddie holding on under her jacket, Rose looked up a taxi company and dialed. The shopping center was called Miracle Buy. She gave that name.

In about five minutes, a taxi arrived. Rose had been standing on a little cement island in the parking area, keeping a lookout for the taxi, because taxis weren’t always painted in bright colors in neighborhoods like this.

“Can you drive to Red Cliff, please? Corner of Jefferson Avenue and Mulhouse.”

They were off. Seventeen miles at least, Rose supposed. She didn’t think Jane would have driven to the steakhouse, or have been able to find it. Jane wasn’t a good driver. But she could have found her way home, and probably had. Rose had a key to Jane’s apartment, but that was in her handbag too.

The taxi reached Jefferson and Mulhouse.

“Can you wait one minute? I want to speak to a friend, then I’ll be back.”

“How soon?” asked the driver, looking around at Rose. His eyes moved over her, and Rose could see that he thought she had no pocketbook, therefore no money. “What you got there, a
monkey
?”

Eddie had stuck an arm, then his head out of Rose’s jacket before she could push him back. “Friend’s pet,” Rose said. “I’m delivering him. Then I’ll be down and pay you.” Rose got out.

Rose didn’t see her own car. There were lots of cars parked at the curbs. She rang Jane’s bell, one of four bells in the small apartment building. She rang again, three short rings, one long, which was her ring by agreement with Jane, and to Rose’s great relief, the release button sounded. Rose climbed the stairs, and knocked on a door on the third floor.

“It’s Rose!” she said.

Jane opened the door, looking a bit frightened, and Rose went in.

“Here’s Eddie. Take him. I need some money for the taxi. Give me twenty or thirty—or hand me my bag.”

“Anything happen? Anybody following you?”

“No. Where’s some money? You brought my bag up?”

Eddie had scampered on to the sofa, and was sitting on his haunches, scratching his sooty head.

Rose went down with her handbag, and paid the driver. He said the fare was twenty-seven, though he had no meter, and Rose gave him three tens. “Thanks very much!” Rose said with a smile.

“Right!” He drove off.

Rose didn’t want to go back to Jane’s, but she felt she had to say something. Make a speech and end it, she thought, and now was as good a time as any, and thank God, the taxi driver hadn’t said anything more about Eddie. Rose gave her special ring again.

“What happened with the silverware?” Rose asked.

“Tommy just took it. I called him right away—I’m sorry I got scared back there, Rosey dear, but I
did
. Breaking a window is nuts!”

Rose was relieved that Tommy had come and gone. He was a skinny, red-haired man with a stutter, inefficient looking, but so far he’d never made a mistake that Rose knew of. “Don’t forget to give Eddie a bath, will you?” Rose said.

“You always like to do that. Go ahead—Don’t you want a coffee? It’s easy.”

“I’m leaving.” Rose hadn’t sat down. “I’m sorry, Jane, but I think I’d better pull out. You said yourself—I did the wrong thing today, breaking a window.”

Jane looked at Rose, braced her hands on her hips, and glanced at Eddie on the sofa.

Eddie was nervously examining the nails of his nearly hairless left hand.

“If something happened,” Jane said, “it’s better if you tell me. I’m the one who has to face it.”

“Nothing
happened
. I just want to quit and—I don’t want any share of today’s, thanks. I’ll—You left the keys in my car? Where is the car?”

“What happened with the taxi driver?”

“Nothing! I paid him and that was that.”

“He saw Eddie?”

“Well, yes. I said he was a pet I was delivering. I’ll be off, Jane.—Bye, Eddie.” Rose felt compelled to cross the room and to touch Eddie’s head.

Eddie glanced up sadly, as if he had understood every word, and began nibbling his nails.

Rose moved towards the door. “Don’t forget to bathe him. He’ll be happier.”

“To
hell
with him!” said Jane.

Rose went down the stairs, as scared and shaky as she’d ever felt ringing somebody’s doorbell, or waiting in the car while Jane did her job. She’d ring up Hank. Hank White his name was, living somewhere in Greenwich Village. She hoped she could dig up the number somehow, because she didn’t think it was listed under his name, and she might have to ring other people to get it. He’d come, if it concerned Eddie. She realized she was worried about Eddie. And Hank was the only person she could tell this to, because Jane kept Eddie hidden from her friends, kept him in a locked closet when anyone came (even Tommy), and spanked him later if he’d chattered. Rose found her car finally. The keys were in the dashboard. She drove towards her home, which was an apartment in a town about eight miles away.

Jane washed her face and combed her curly, blonde-rinsed hair by way of pulling herself together, but it didn’t help. She picked up a paperback book and flung it at Eddie in a backhanded gesture. It caught Eddie in the side.

“
Ik-ik!
” Eddie cried, and leapt a couple of inches into the air. He turned a puzzled face towards Jane, and braced himself to jump to one side or the other, in case Jane tried to strike him again.

“You’ll damn well stay in your closet
tonight
!” said Jane, advancing. “Starting now!”

Eddie wriggled easily from her outstretched hands, and leapt to the frame of a picture over the sofa.

The picture fell, Eddie landed on the sofa again, and seized an icebag that had been lying there for some time. He hurled the icebag at Jane. It fell short. “
Chi-chi-chi-chi-chi!
” Eddie chattered without stopping, and his round eyes had gone wide and pink at the outer edges.

Jane was determined to catch him and stick him away. Suppose the cops for some reason suddenly knocked on the door? Or broke in? What kind of trail had that dumb Rose left behind? All Rose had to her credit was a nice face and a fast car. Jane picked up the end of the madras counterpane that covered the sofa, intending to throw it over Eddie and capture him, but Eddie leapt to the center of the room. Jane pulled the counterpane all the way off and advanced with it.

Eddie threw an ashtray at close range and hit Jane in the cheek with it. The ashtray fell and broke on the floor.

Jane got angrier.

Now Eddie was on the drainboard in the kitchenette, brandishing a paring knife, chattering and squeaking. he picked up half a lemon and threw it.

“You little
insect
!” Jane muttered, coming towards him with the counterpane. She had him cornered now.

Eddie dove straight for Jane, landed with four feet on her left arm, and bit her thumb. He had dropped the knife.

Jane cried out. Her thumb began to bleed, the blood oozed and dripped. She picked up a straight chair. She’d kill the little devil!

Eddie dodged the chair and at once attacked Jane’s legs from behind, nipped into one calf and sprang away.

“Ow!” Jane yelled, more with surprise than pain. She hadn’t even seen him go behind her. She looked at her injury and saw that he’d drawn blood again. She’d fix
him
! She closed the one open window so he couldn’t escape, and went for the paring knife on the floor. She felt inspired to sink it into his neck.

Eddie jumped on to her bent back, on to the back of her head, and Jane toppled over. She hurt her elbow slightly, and before she could get up, Eddie had bitten her nose. Jane touched her nose to see if it was still all there.

And Eddie dived for the doorknob. He supported himself on one hind leg, and worked at the top bolt, turning the little knob. If he could turn the big knob at the same time, the door would open with a pull, but he had to abandon his effort when he heard Jane’s steps close behind him. Eddie sprang down just as the knife point grated against the metal door.

“
Chi-chi!
”

Jane had dropped the knife. Eddie picked it up, ran up Jane’s hip and shoulder and struck her in the cheek with the knife point. He used the knife as he had seen people do, sometimes with stabbing motions, sometimes sawing, and then suddenly he flung the knife away and leapt from Jane’s shoulder to a bookcase, panting and chattering. Eddie smelled blood, and this frightened him. Nervously Eddie threw a book at Jane, which came nowhere near hitting her.

Jane was aware of blood running down her neck. Absurd that she couldn’t catch the little beast! For an instant, she felt that she couldn’t breathe, that she was going to faint, then she took a deep breath and gathered her strength.

Plock!
A book hit Jane on the chest.

Well, well! One swat with a chair would do for Eddie!

Jane reached for the straight chair which had fallen on its side. When she had it in position to swing, Eddie was not on the bookcase. Jane felt his fast little feet going up her back, started to turn, and had a glimpse of Eddie with the counterpane in his hands, climbing over her head with it. Jane lost her balance and fell, stumbling against the chair that she was lowering.

Eddie skipped from one side of the hump on the floor to the other, pulling the thin cloth over his enemy. He seized the nearest object—a conch shell from the floor near the hall door—and took a grip with both hands. He came down with this on the woman’s slightly moving head under the counterpane. Eddie slipped and rolled over, but he kept his fingers in the crease of the shell, and struck again with it. The
crack
was a satisfying sound to Eddie.
Crack! Crack!
He heard a dreary moan from the heap.

Then for no reason, as he had dropped the knife for no reason, Eddie dropped the conch shell on the carpet and gave it a nervous kick with a hind foot. He allowed himself a few chatters, and peered about as if to see if someone else were in the room with him.

He heard only the
tick-tick-tick
of the clock in the bedroom beyond the hall. He was aware of the blood smell again, and withdrew some distance from the counterpane. Eddie sighed, exhausted. He loped to the window, fiddled with it for an instant, and gave it up. It had to be raised, and it was heavy.

It was growing darker.

The telephone rang. There flitted across Eddie’s mind the familiar image of Jane or someone picking up the telephone, talking into it. Once Eddie had been told or allowed to do this, and he had dropped the telephone, and people had laughed. Now Eddie felt fearful and hostile towards the telephone, towards the hump on the floor. He kept looking to see if the hump stirred. It did not. He was thirsty. Eddie leapt to the drainboard, looked around and felt for a glass of water or anything with liquid in it, which he always smelled before drinking, but he saw no such thing. Using both hands, he turned a tap and cupped one hand and drank. He made a perfunctory effort to turn the tap off, didn’t quite succeed, and left it trickling.

The telephone stopped ringing.

Then Eddie opened the refrigerator—a little uncomfortably because he had been scolded and slapped for this—and seeing no fruit in the lighted interior, scooped a handful of cooked stringbeans from a bowl and started to nibble them, kicked the door shut with a hind foot, and loped off on three legs. He felt at once tired, flung the beans down, and jumped into a rocking chair to sleep.

When the doorbell rang, Eddie was curled in the seat of the rocking chair. He lifted his head. The room was quite dark.

Suddenly Eddie wanted to flee. The smell of blood was uglier. He could open the front door and go, he realized, unless the woman had put on the special lock which required a set of jingling keys to open. She kept the keys hidden. Eddie had succeeded only once with a key, somewhere for fun, with Jane and Rose. Keys were usually too stiff for him to turn.

Buzz-buzz
.

It was the downstairs bell, different from the apartment door which gave a
ting
. Eddie was not interested in the bell, he simply wanted to escape now. He sprang to the doorknob again, and seized the smaller knob above with his left hand. It turned, but the door did not open. Eddie tried again, turning the doorknob also with his feet. Then he pushed the doorjamb, and the door swung towards him. Eddie leapt down and loped silently down the stairs, swinging himself out at the turnings by one of the balusters. Downstairs the door was easier—he thought—and he could also slip out when the next person came in.

Eddie jumped up to the round white knob, slipped, and then tried turning it while standing on his hind feet. The door opened.

“Eddie!
Ed
-die!
What
the—”

Eddie knew the voice. “
Chi-chi!
” Eddie jumped onto Hank’s arm, flung himself against Hank’s chest, chattering madly, and feeling that he had a long and desperate story to tell. “
Aieeee!
” Eddie was even inventing new words.

“What’s goin’ on, eh?” Hank said softly, coming in. “Where’s Jane?” He glanced up the stairs. He closed the door, settled Eddie more securely inside his leather jacket, and climbed the stairs two at a time.