The garage reeked of old, damp newspapers, garbage long left to mold, and wood reeking with decades of rain and rot.
The middle of the floor was empty. Jill wondered where the growling and barking had come from. She'd assumed in here. Now she knew that there was some kind of kennel nearby.
'You gonna travel, man?' the white punk said.
'Travel?'
'Yeah, you know, goin' somewhere.'
'Yeah, I guess so.'
'And you're tryin' to tell us,' the white one said, 'that the only money you got is what we found in your billfold.'
'I'm sorry, boys, that's all I've got.'
The black one kicked him again.
Peter knew he had at least one rib broken now.
'This here's our special place, man,' the white one said. 'Guys like you try'n hold out on us, we start bringin' the dogs in. One at a time.'
Peter thought of the quarter million he had stashed in the false bottom of his suitcase.
No way was he going to tell them about that.
No way.
They put on little shows for the neighborhood kids, they explained.
The little kids loved it.
They sure did.
Peter, they said, he was going to be tonight's entertainment.
They pitched him face down on the floor and then the white kid went and got the first dog.
Mitch got the call from dispatch just as he decided to go back to Jill's place and check it over. Maybe she was inside, injured or
'We located the car you were looking for.' The dispatcher then gave Jill's license-plate number and the location where the car had been seen.
Mitch broke several traffic laws getting there.
What the hell was she doing in that kind of neighborhood, anyway?
Jill stood at the front of the garage and watched as the dogsome variant on a Dobermanstalked Peter, backing him up against the walls, teasing him, tripping him, sniping and growling but not yet biting.
The punks loved it. They giggled a lot.
This was better than any horror show on HBO.
And every once in a while, one of them would say, as the dog seemed about to spring, 'Hey, man, you wanna tell us where you're keepin' the rest of your money?'
'Please,' Jill said. 'Please call the dog off.'
But they were losing their patience and their humor. They screamed at Peter, 'Where's your money, man?'
The dog jumped then, slamming Peter into the wall and then knocking him to the ground. He was all hunger and hatred, the dog, ripping, rending Peter in long bloody slashes.
'It's in his suitcase somewhere!' Jill screamed. 'Now pull the dog off!'
The black one went to get the suitcase. The white one stood with Jill, smiling. 'Too late, bitch. I couldn't pull him off now if I wanted to.'
'Peter! Peter!' she shouted.
But by now little human was left of his facethe flesh stripped away, one of his eyeballs torn free of its socket. The dog was now concentrating on Peter's throat. Peter used fingers, forearms, elbows to keep the animal's teeth from finding his Adam's apple. He rolled left, he rolled right, he kept his chin to his chest as much as possible, but in the end the dog was too fast and too strong.
He found Peter's throat and began the process of tearing it from his neck.
Instinctively, Jill started to lunge for the animalshe couldn't just watch Peter diebut as she took a step forward, a pistol shot could be heard even above the dog's slavering frenzy. At first the dog showed no effects from the shot, but then it abruptly stopped and collapsed onto Peter.
Mitch came in, the black kid in handcuffs trailing behind.
Mitch took care of the white one next, and let Jill go to Peter Tappley.
He wore a mask of blood, only one blue eye visible now, a flayed imitation of a man.
She knelt next to him, seeing both the man and monster in the bloody and now disfigured face. She tried to think of him at his bestwhen they'd first met so many years ago, when she'd been naive and desperate for lovejust as he'd been then. But then he'd become… something else.
She took his trembling handhis entire body was shakingand listened as he cried, 'Mother! Mother!' through the blood that was filling his mouth.
And then he was silent.
And still.
And after a time, there in the raw blood-spattered garage, the winter winds sounding like the ghosts of forlorn old men, Peter Tappley died.
CHAPTER 65
After the gawkers arrived to see what had happened, eager for the sight of blood, and then the squad cars came and the ambulance and then the crime lab van, Jill went over and sat in Mitch's car.
She wanted to be happy. On their way over to the garage, Peter had explained how Evelyn had set up Eric's murder so that Jill would be blamed. Doris learned of the plot afterward and would testify about it to the police.
Jill was free again.
And should right now be feeling very good about things.
Mitch got in the car, smelling of the cold night against the warm air of the heater.
'Hey,' he said. 'You're crying.'
'Yes, I guess I am.'
'You going to get mad if I ask you why?'
She smiled. 'Uh-huh.'
'OK. How come you're crying?'
She started to say something and then realized there was nothing she could saynothing at all.
He took her to him, held her with great gentle strength. A few gawkers, temporarily distracted from the juicy spectacle of a man ripped apart by a dog, watched them.
'How about if I say I love you?' he said. 'Would that make you feel any better?'
She laughed. 'Well, you could try, I guess.'
'I love you. There, did that work?'
'Well, it certainly didn't hurt anyway.'
'Then I'll do it every five minutes until we start to see some definite improvement.' He set his wristwatch. 'Got one of those teeny-tiny alarms, Every five minutes it'll remind me to tell you I love you.'
'Could we leave now?' She wanted to respond to his playfulnessshe knew how hard he was working to make her feel betterbut she couldn't.
