The Ghost of Greenwich Village: A Novel (27 page)

Eve pulled back, startled. “Highball! What is it?” The dog brought her back leg forward and directed it into her ear and began to dig frantically. Eve prayed it wasn’t an ear infection, not at this time of night. She pulled Highball’s leg away and lifted up the shaggy ear to look inside. No sign of any irritation. But Highball began to dig again and to whimper piteously. Eve grabbed her face and looked into the deep chocolate eyes. What she saw was pure fear.

“What’s wrong?” cried Eve. Her skin was crawling, her forehead sweating.

And then she knew.

“Donald!” she shouted. “Get out—get out of there now!” No response. She held Highball’s face, searching her eyes again frantically, wondering if she could actually see Donald, knowing she wouldn’t. He wasn’t possessing the dog, just as he never possessed
her. He was simply poking around in the corners, like a homeless man in a garbage can. But it was enough to petrify Highball. “I mean it!
You. Leave. Her. Right. Now!
” Eve was shrieking in a voice she didn’t recognize. Thank goodness Mrs. Swan was still out of town or Eve would have woken the old woman up. The black and white tiles of the bathroom began to swim. Eve steadied herself by gripping the edge of the tub. “Out!”

Everything went still. She felt a familiar channel open, signaling Donald’s arrival. But something was different. Suddenly, she was aware of a hundred smells: the saltiness of a speck of dried olive stuck to the side of the tub from a bath-time martini, the metallic scent of aspirin in the medicine cabinet, even the bitter damp of the morning’s coffee grounds still in the machine in the kitchen.
Heavens
, she thought.
Is he bringing Highball with him?

Then suddenly, with a firm click, Donald was in and the smells disappeared. Eve looked into Highball’s eyes again and saw that the terror had been replaced by mild confusion. Eve collapsed against the wall, breathing hard, crushing the dog to her chest.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” said Donald, tickling her cerebellum. “The four-legged one is fine. Believe me, there’s very little in there to disturb. I must say the trip over knocked the wind out of me, though. Never tried anything like that before.”

“How dare you do that to her? What the hell were you thinking?” Eve demanded hoarsely, covering Highball’s ears.

“I simply had to stretch my legs,” Donald replied, with defensive nonchalance. “You’re never around when I need you and I was bored to tears. We were supposed to continue working, remember? You’ve been putting me off for days and—”

“Don’t! Don’t say another word,” hissed Eve, setting Highball down and marching into the living room. She grabbed the leash. “If you weren’t already dead, I’d—I’d—” She stepped into the hallway with the dog and slammed the door behind them.

   • • •

She was still breathing hard as she hustled Highball onto the street. Her heart pounded with outrage so hard it sent vibrations out to her extremities, through her skin, and into the air. The brownstones’ wrought-iron gates, the spiky shadows they threw onto the ground, the awning of the bakery on the corner—everything seemed to be humming, as if she were walking through a Van Gogh. Highball still looked anxious and walked tentatively, as though across a bed of nails.

In the kind of stupor that follows trauma, they made their way westward through the cold, still night. The moon hovered, its outline smeared across a sullen sky. The last few maidenhair leaves dusted the ground while the first Christmas wreaths adorned townhouse doors, as if fall and winter were clasping hands for a brief moment before fall let go and winter went on alone.

They turned onto Bethune. Eve’s head was throbbing, her mind flitting like a bird from branch to branch. Donald had shocked her with his indifference to Highball.

They marched on. When she looked down at her watch, she was stunned to see that twenty minutes had passed. Goose bumps invaded her flesh; in all the commotion she’d forgotten to put her coat back on. And she had no idea where they were now. Little West Twelfth? Gansevoort? Everything looked different, dreamlike. Remnants of chimney smoke from the evening’s fires perfumed the air like incense, and the trees stretched across to each other, creating a vaulted ceiling over the street like an al fresco cathedral.

Eve realized another sound had joined the click of her boots and the faint scratching of Highball’s nails on the sidewalk. The noise made its way in from the edges. Where was it coming from? Somewhere back and to the left, around the corner. She recognized the hollow clipping echoing up from the ground: a horse. A police horse, out on patrol.

The sound transported her. A horse on cobblestones: It was a sound you’d have heard on these streets two hundred years ago.
A lonely prance through empty streets, a fugue in the night. Eve let her mind wander with her feet, imagining she was on her way home from dinner at the home of, say, Willa Cather. Perhaps Robert Frost had entertained them with a poem—

Her trance was interrupted by Highball’s abrupt yank toward the curb. She pulled more forcefully than usual, and the leash, which was wrapped tightly around Eve’s hand, cut sharply into the soft place between her thumb and index finger. The dog crouched, arranged and rearranged her back feet to get them into proper position. While Eve would never relish this part of their relationship, she dreaded it far less than she once had. The key was not to think about what you were doing: Simply grab and go. Eve was just congratulating herself on this bit of vulgar wisdom when she glanced down. Highball’s run-in with Donald must have triggered some kind of shock to her system; the pile that was forming was three times its usual size. Eve reached for the sandwich bags she kept in a pocket attached to the leash and waited for it to end. At last, Highball shook her hindquarters daintily, and Eve bent over and began her work, though the Baggie seemed hardly capable of meeting the challenge.

The clip-clopping was almost upon them. But it sounded odd, as if the horse was laboring, or teetering on the edge of something. Suddenly, Highball gave a sharp yelp and tugged hard on the leash, almost pulling Eve over. The moon flickered and the shadows of the privet branches shot out like streamers. Eve turned, but there was no horse. Only a very tall man. A very tall man in high-heeled shoes.

“Your money.” Eve had to tilt her head back to take him in. His skin was pale, his hair spiky black. He was wearing leggings with a baggy sequined sweater under a wool peacoat. She stared at him, mute. “Look, are you retarded? Give me your money and do it fucking now.” He pushed up his sleeves, revealing a mean set of tracks going up his left arm and jagged scars across his wrist.

Eve willed herself to follow what was happening but it was
impossible. She was face-to-face with the Stiletto, a moment of crossed paths worthy of Dawn Powell. Eve wished she could see Chief Pell’s face at this moment. Not to mention Bliss’s.

In a movement, he crossed to her, spun her around, and put the knife to her back. She felt its tip press through her blouse, grazing her flesh. His sour breath wound its way up her nostrils and deep inside her brain.

“Stop fucking around.” He jerked her arm sharply upward, sending ripples of pain out from the socket. She felt like a roast squab, his for the pulling.

“I don’t have any money,” said Eve, craning her neck. Wasn’t anyone hearing this? “I’m—I’m just walking my dog and—” Highball. She was in danger, too. Eve dropped the leash and nudged the dog with her foot.
Run, girl, run
.

But Highball stood her ground and began to bark. The Stiletto kicked her hard. Highball yelped and then whimpered softly.

“That dog makes another sound and I’ll kill it.” He was sounding unhinged now, reckless. Like he didn’t know where this was going. “And as for you. No money, what good are you?” With a jolt, Eve felt the knife press into the flesh just to the right of her upper spine. Her skin gave momentary resistance before allowing itself to be pierced—just slightly, she thought. She cried out, but he slapped a hand over her mouth. It smelled of sweat and Chanel No. 5. Her eyes closed. Pain radiated out from the knife wound like the scorching rays of the sun. She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he was far too strong. This was it, she realized. It was all over. She threw her head back and looked up through the tree branches to the stars. Her knees gave way and she felt herself slipping into darkness.

Suddenly, the hand on her chin wasn’t his, but Penelope’s. They were on her bed, facing one another, the glass of water between them.

“You did this all by yourself? The pill—everything?” Penelope had asked.

“Yes,” Eve had said.

Penelope’s expression was pure wonder and tenderness. “There’s the girl,” she’d said softly. “There’s the girl.”

Eve’s eyes flew open.

Here’s
the girl.

She pulled free, barely noticing the knife’s twist on its way out. Then she stepped back and launched herself straight into the Stiletto’s solar plexus.

“What the fu—” He was on the ground, writhing beneath her. She reached for his neck and as she deflected his kicks and jabs she noticed that he, like dear Dr. Tang, had a mole on his face. A big, brown mole. It seemed to be growing and stretching, now covering all of one cheek. His neck twisted wildly, his body bucking like a rodeo horse. She almost went flying, but the more he struggled, the stronger she became.

He struck out and she felt her jaw explode, refueling her anger. Eve gripped his neck, pressing her thumbs deep into his Adam’s apple. He coughed and began to throw up. Tears mixed in with the vomit. “Stop … 
stuughugh
,” he said. He thrashed a moment longer, then seized up, looking directly at her. They locked eyes in a moment of spine-tingling, intimate madness.

Then, suddenly, he seemed to deflate like a punctured balloon and lay spent beneath her, his surrender hitting her like a double shot of whiskey. The world went swirly and she closed her eyes tight.

A shriek intruded. A black and white car came barreling around the corner and slammed to a stop in front of them.

“Freeze,” said a voice inside. A squat, olive-skinned police officer pushed open the driver’s-side door and leapt out. “Off her. Now,” she ordered, as her partner jumped out the other door. He was tall and angular. For some reason, he was aiming a gun at Eve’s head.

“You heard the officer,” he said. “Get up and back away with your hands in the air. Slowly. Four steps. Let’s go.”

Eve stood up on legs that felt like rivers and stumbled backwards. Her fingertips brushed the heavens and her breath came quick and shallow. From somewhere behind her, she became aware of yowling.

“That your dog?” asked the woman officer. Eve nodded. “Shut it up.” Eve came down beside Highball. She checked the dog’s rib cage, which seemed all right if tender, and whispered soothing nonsense in her ear, while the male officer strode over to the heap on the sidewalk.

“Uh, hello? Miss? You all right? Jesus, what’s that smell?” he asked, leaning over. Then he looked a little closer. “Oh my God,” he said, taking a step backward. “Oh my God. Oh my God!”

   • • •

Itching from the dressing the paramedics had applied to her wound, Eve sat in the back seat of the police car with Highball, whose chin lay on her lap. The emergency crew had been kind and attentive, even trying to wipe her sweating face. But Eve had waved them away; she couldn’t bear to be touched. The police insisted on taking her to the station as quickly as possible, so the paramedics gave her some aspirin and made the officers promise to bring her to the ER as soon as they were done with her.

Eve gazed out the open window, grateful for the air. They coasted along blocks she knew so well—there was Mark Twain’s home and Hart Crane’s—and yet everything looked different. Colors burned softer yet brighter. Traffic lights winked at the intersections. The corner playground rose up like a castle.

Gradually, snatches of the car’s conversation began to penetrate her swarming mind. “—did it. Nabbed the goddamn Stiletto—” “—in Crowley’s patrol car right
now
—” “—cannot believe it—” “—my collar—” “—excuse me,
my
collar—” “—
our
collar—” “—reporters—” “—call my wife—”

They pulled up outside a low gray building bearing a large insignia on West Tenth Street: the Sixth Precinct. Eve could see the
Stiletto out on the sidewalk, being hustled inside. He was bent in half, dragging his feet, which were encased in some kind of paper booties, while an officer held his black pumps aloft in a Ziploc bag and waved them at the throng waiting by the entrance. “Check it out, the Stiletto’s stilettos!” Flashbulbs and questions erupted: “How—?” “Where—?” “They’re holding the presses for this—” “When—?” “Who—?”

“Talk to
her
,” the officer said, pointing at Eve’s car. “But first she’s ours.”

The woman officer, Fernandez, got out of the car. She strode around the back and opened Eve’s door. “Miss,” she said, suddenly formal. “This way, please.”

Eve placed Highball gingerly on the sidewalk and took a deep breath. She swung her legs out of the car and felt an explosion of flashbulbs cover her with warm pops. Shading her eyes against the brightness, she placed one foot on the sidewalk, then the other. More pops came, showering her face and shoulders. She stood. Sound was drained from the world; the only noise was the liquid thumping of shutters clicking, bulbs bursting, and her own heart beating.
Flash
. Highball blinked. Eve strode toward the door, turning her head from side to side, her eyes rolling over the sea of eager faces.
Flash. Flash
. An earnest-looking young man tried to take her picture, but was pushed out of the way by those taller and stronger. Eve stopped in front of his lens. She turned and waited until he’d righted himself. She winked.

Finally, she arrived at the precinct door. As she crossed the threshold, several officers surged around her. Some smiled, others dipped their chins in respect. A few looked at her with what seemed like concern. Eve’s temples pounded and her skin burned. She clenched and unclenched the muscles in her jaw.

“Give us some room, guys.” Fernandez grabbed Eve’s elbow. “I’ll be the one taking you to meet the captain. Can I get you something to drink?”