She was in her mid-forties, maybe. Hard to tell— no makeup around her wary eyes.
I gave her a paper bag. Inside was $31,450. Most of what I had left from the score with Elroy's phony paper.
I get up against it bad enough, I can always go in that basement.
145
Done, then. Loose ends all around, but they weren't mine.
Off cycle, somehow. Pansy wasn't in heat. Michelle wasn't ready to come home. Luke would need more work. Wolfe would find the freaks who built the bomb.
It would all happen without me.
I should have been glad to be out of it.
146
The next morning, I took Pansy, went back to the park. This time, I had an old army blanket with me, big sketch pad, charcoal pastels. I set myself up in a good spot, halfway up a rise, strong outcropping of rock to my right. Facing west, the sun behind me.
I propped up the sketch pad, swirled the charcoal over the paper a few times, my eyes sweeping the terrain. Pansy lay on her stomach, face between her paws, wrinkling her nose— the park didn't smell like her roof. Yet. I unzipped the gym bag I'd brought with me. Still-warm loaf of French bread inside, a bottle of water, slab of dark chocolate wrapped in white paper, pack of smokes. And a couple dozen of those little round cheese pieces they wrap in red string.
The white limo came into my field of vision, making the circuit. I could track it pretty well from where I was— no hurry.
I opened one of the cheese pieces, put it right in front of Pansy's snout. She ate it with her eyes, not moving. When there was a river of drool rolling down the slope in front of her, I said 'Speak!' in a soft voice. She delicately snarfed it up, ripping a divot out of the grass.
'Good girl,' I said, patting her. She snounted up against me, the sun sparkling baby rainbows over her dark fur.
A woman jogged by beneath us, hair flying loose behind her. Couldn't tell if it was Belinda— bad angle. Lots of bicycles, more runners. Mostly cabs on the road. Carlos wouldn't be back my way for a while.
I worked on my drawing, occasionally unwrapping another cheese for Pansy, looking around.
A woman's figure left the path, working her way up the rise toward me. Belinda.
'Hello, stranger,' she called our, pulling Walkman earphones off her head. She put them around her neck, covered them with the towel from her waist. Bounced up and sat down. Dressed the same way she was last time, fine sheen of sweat on her face, blue eyes lively.
'What's up?' she asked, indicating my sketch pad.
'Interpretive art. A hobby of mine.'
'Could I see?' Pushing close to me, perfume under the sweat. 'What's it supposed to be?'
'Just…patterns. Light, shadow…like that.'
'It's…I don't know what to say.'
'That's okay. Neither do I.'
Pansy watched her, not moving.
'Your dog…I never got her name.
'Betsy.' It just came out that way— I went with it.
'That's a funny name for such a big dog.'
'Oh, I think it suits her. Doesn't it, girl?' Making a gesture with my hand. Pansy put her head on my lap, still watching the woman.
'You remember me, Betsy?' she asked, reaching out to pat. I gave Pansy the signal— she took the pats. I felt her neck muscles under my hand. Steel cable.
I lit a cigarette. 'You never did call me,' she said, a teasing undertone in her voice, less than a challenge, more than an accident.
'Dinner, you said. I've been working nights.'
'Oh.' She arched her eyebrows, brushed some sweat from her pug nose— a gesture like you'd see in the ring.
'Nice day for a picnic, it looks like, you had some food.' Clarence's voice, materializing from somewhere behind us.
'Yeah, it is,' I told him. 'Sit down, join us.'
He folded himself onto the edge of the blanket, indifferent to the risk to his lime-green pants. 'This is Belinda,' I said to Clarence. 'Belinda, meet John.'
He extended his slim dark hand into her thick white one. They shook, smiling. I rummaged around in the gym bag, came out with the bread, broke off a piece, offered it to Belinda. She took it, bit off a nice-sized hunk with her small white teeth. Clarence took one too. I opened the water bottle. We each took a drink. Unwrapped some cheese. Clarence declined. Belinda took one. Pansy glared at her harder than ever. I unwrapped another half dozen pieces, pulled Pansy's head close to mine, whispered the word in her ear. She mashed the cheese like a compactor, licked her teeth to get the remnants.
