Don't Order Dog (3 page)

“Seriously Jeri – who the hell is this guy?” Allie yelled toward the kitchen from the balcony of the third-floor apartment.

“I told you, I have no idea,” Jeri yelled back, uncorking another bottle of Pinot Gris. It was Sunday afternoon, and Jeri and her best friend Allie were enjoying their weekend ritual of drinking, lounging and marathon sessions of girl talk. She strolled back onto the balcony with the sweating bottle of wine in hand and dropped lazily into her chair.

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Allie said, her glass of wine perched in one hand, the two letters in the other. “Some guy is hop-scotching around the world taking pictures of himself in a Joe’s Last Stand t-shirt. You’ve never met him – or at least you don’t think you have – but he writes like he knows everything about you. Oh, and he’s also apparently in love with you. Does that sound about right?”

Jeri leaned over and poured more wine into her glass as Allie waited for an answer. The two of them had been best friends since the day Jeri had answered a “roommate wanted” ad in the college paper. She’d shown up at the tiny rental house on Leroux Street, exhausted and emotionally numb after a sleepless night of breaking the final cord of a pitifully frayed relationship with her live-in boyfriend. Jeri still vividly remembered the moment Allie had answered the door – her tall, thin body dressed only in a t-shirt and tiger-skin panties as she stood casually drinking a beer. Allie had looked Jeri over through the screen door with a sympathetic smile. “I’m not going to ask,” she’d said flatly, “just make sure you don’t give the asshole your new address.” Now, years later, she didn’t need to look at Allie to know what she was thinking.

“Yeah,” Jeri replied with a sly grin, “that sounds about right.”

“I’m glad you’re finding this so funny Jer, because personally I think it’s more than a little creepy.” Allie kicked her feet onto the balcony’s railing and sank deeper into the cushions of the chair. Her short blonde hair framed her alabaster face as she frowned. “I mean, what if he’s some kind of serial stalker or molester? What if he shows up at the bar one day and says ‘Hi Jeri, remember me? I’m that creepy stalker guy. Want to grab some dinner?’ What are you going to do then?”

Jeri suppressed a laugh as she stared out at the picturesque afternoon. The distant slopes of the San Francisco Mountains shimmered like copper as the quaking aspens relinquished their summer colors to fall. A checkered sky of giant billowing cumulous clouds floated overhead, the sun casting their undulating backs in silver-gray light. And around her, shaggy, army-green spears of
ponderosa pines stretched upward to frame the serene valley landscape. “God, it is so gorgeous here today,” she said with a sigh.

“Don’t change the subject,” Allie replied irritably.

Jeri reluctantly broke her stare from the view and turned to her friend. “What do you want me to do, Allie? It’s not like I asked for this. It’s not like I can write this guy and tell him to stop. And honestly, what’s the danger in it? What has he said that would indicate harmful intentions to anything other than his own liver?” Jeri paused as Allie rolled her eyes. “Besides,” she continued, “his letters make me laugh.”

“I knew it!” Allie said with an accusing tone as she bolted upright in her chair. “I knew it! You actually like this guy!”

Jeri laughed reflexively. “Come on, Allie – can we be reasonable here? We’re a long way past high school. I just said that his letters are funny. What the hell does that have to do with anything romantic?”

“It has
everything
to do with being romantic,” Allie said as she jabbed at Jeri with her wine glass, swirling the Pinot Gris dangerously close to the rim. “Don’t you see that? Every guy out there knows the best way to get a girl’s attention is to make her laugh, because then we become
intrigued
.” Allie drew out the last word slowly, like a teacher speaking to a first grade class. “And god knows, once we become intrigued, we want to learn more, which means now we’re
interested
in the guy, whether we want to admit it or not.” She paused and leaned in closer. “And once were interested… well, then we’re
fucked
.”

Jeri stared at her friend, trying desperately to maintain a straight face. As ridiculous as it seemed, she knew that this was Allie’s best effort at heartfelt advice. “Fucked, huh? Do you mean that literally, or figuratively?”

Allie sat back and threw her hands in the air.
“Does it matter?”

Jeri shrugged and took a long sip of her wine. She was beginning to question why she’d even shown the letters to Allie in the first place.

“He’s doing everything right, Jeri,” Allie continued with a tone. “He’s setting the intrigue trap that every woman falls into.” She reached over and picked up the Polaroid from the second letter, studying it for a moment. “Even these damn photos; do you honestly think they aren’t meant to make you want to know more?” She tossed it onto Jeri’s lap.

Unlike the lush tropical location of the first photo, the scene in the Polaroid from the second letter was eerily empty. A midday shot of white desert sand and flawless blue sky filled the background. As in the first photo, her mysterious writer stood in the foreground, but this time his back was to the camera. In his right hand he held a small sign over his shoulder. A one-word message was written with heavy marker in the same precise handwriting as the letters – “Hell.” Next to the sign, the man’s dark, short-cropped hair looked disheveled and chaotic, exposing just a hint of his unshaven face. Jeri was sure she could see the edge of a wide smile in that thin, seductively hidden profile, but she was not about to mention this to Allie.

“Maybe,” Jeri replied.

“Maybe what?”

She handed the Polaroid back to Allie. “Maybe he wants me to be intrigued. Or maybe he just can’t find anyone to take a good photo.”

Allie shook her head and quickly shoved the letters and Polaroids back into their battered envelopes. “Fine, whatever. Just do me a favor and hold on to these. I’m sure the authorities will want to examine them when you go missing.”

“Can we drop this subject?” Jeri asked as she refilled Allie’s wine glasses.

“Consider it dropped,” Allie retorted curtly.

“Thank you. And for the record, if I ever go missing, I’ll make sure you’re the first to know.”

“That’s not funny… at all.”

Jeri hooked her feet onto the railing and leaned back into her chair, her long legs stretched in front of her. She took a sip of wine and closed her eyes, letting the cool sweet flavors of fruit slowly slide across her tongue. The autumn sun found a window in the clouds and drenched them both in radiant golden warmth. “Maybe so,” she said as a smile stretched across her face. “But I can think of far worse things than disappearing for a while.”

The large bl
ack Mercedes rolled to a stop.

“So… what now?” he asked from the back seat.

A pair of small petulant eyes glanced back at him through the rearview mirror. His driver was a dark, corpulent man with thinning hair and a severe expression. Despite the air conditioning that blasted through the front console, his wide head and thick, hairy neck were covered in beads of sweat that trickled down to the white cotton thobe that covered his rotund body. And he farted; a condition that he seemed completely unashamed of since the beginning of their short drive together.  “Wait,” he replied tersely. “They’ll signal.”

“Sounds good,” he replied to the driver, nodding his head. He gazed out through the Mercedes’ heavily tinted windows at the stark landscape outside. The long, two-story buildings that lined both sides of the street were nearly mirror copies of each other. Bleach-white and stripped of anything ornate or memorable, they appeared intentionally designed to be forgettable. Four white doors punctured the first floor façade in regular intervals on each side, a tiny window next to each. It was clear the windows were not designed for aesthetics, but as a functional means of surveillance. The windows along the second floor were slightly larger versions of those on the first, as if teasing the idea of normalcy. Viewed under the raw, harsh light of the late-morning sun, he realized the buildings – if not the entire area in general – gave off a serious ‘fuck-you’ vibe. It was the kind of flagrant aura of bad energy normally reserved for morgues, strip joints and most of downtown Philadelphia.

A sudden movement caught his attention. 

The second door of the building to his left slowly cracked open, forming a vertical crease of black in the stark white façade. As he watched, a hand appeared from the dark interior and quickly waved before vanishing.

“There,” his driver muttered, nodding his head towards the door. The small gesture caused his body to quiver like a massive ball of gelatin. A low growl bellowed from beneath his thobe. The driver gripped the leather steering wheel and leaned forward, groaning with effort.

“Right, well that’s my cue,” he replied as he opened the back door and slid out of the plush interior and into the full heat of the sun. He closed the door and immediately heard a precise metallic
click
as the large vehicle dropped into gear and sped off. A cloud of sand and dust followed in its wake as he watched it leave. Assuming complete faith in the plan given to him, the Mercedes and its flatulent, cotton-wrapped driver would be back in ten minutes to pick him up.

He walked casually across the wide empty street and paused just outside the door, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his khaki pants. A moment later the door cracked open again, then quickly widened enough for him to enter. He smiled and stepped cautiously into the black void before him.

Cool air immediately licked his skin as the door closed behind him. The sound of a heavy deadbolt clicked loudly. He took off his sunglasses and looked around. The cramped room contained only a small, flimsy black conference table and a handful of outdated chairs. Its bone-white walls were heavily scarred with smudges and dents. Beneath it all, a hideous spread of cerulean blue shag carpet worn by years of traffic laid sadly.

“Nice place,” he remarked, smiling at the two men sitting at the conference table.

Behind him, the man who had shut the door gestured for him to sit down. He then moved towards the other side of the table and stood rigidly behind his two seated colleagues.

He sat down at the table and quietly studied the faces across from him. Their dark Middle Eastern features notwithstanding, all three of the thirty-something men looked similar enough to be brothers.

“Thank you for coming,” the man standing behind his two colleagues said without smiling.

“It’s my pleasure,” he responded, his voice warm and sincere.

“May we get you a coffee or tea?” The man seated to his left asked with a smile. He appeared to be the youngest of the three, with large, intelligent eyes and boyish, coffee-colored features. Unlike his somewhat malnourished looking colleagues, the man’s well-muscled frame was apparent under his crisp white dress shirt.

“No, thank you… I’m fine,” he answered, returning the smile.

“Then let’s begin,” left-seat replied sharply. With that his colleague seated next to him produced a large manila envelope from an unseen case beneath his chair and gently placed it on the table. His dark hand lingered on it protectively. “Four subjects in four cities,” left-seat said as he pointed to the envelope. “The details of each are contained here.”

He glanced at the envelope and nodded. “Cause?” he asked politely.

“Our preference would be accidents for at least two,” standing-man responded, his deep brown eyes studying him closely. “Of course, we leave some discretion to you. Certainly you know more about this than we do.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t necessarily say that.”

“We were certainly impressed with your work in Assam.” left-seat said with another brilliant flash of teeth.

He glanced at left-seat with surprise. “Assam?”

“We apologize for not telling you before,” standing man replied, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Assam was a test. We wanted to see exactly what we were paying for first.” 

The three men smiled collectively.

“I see,” he replied, feigning surprise. “Well, I’m glad we’ve met your standards. Of course, Assam was just a typical assignment. We’re capable of much more, should the need arise.”

In truth, Assam had been anything but typical. It had taken more than two frustrating, rain-soaked weeks before everything had fallen into place. The fact that he’d pulled it off at all was incredible. And the last minute use of a tuk-tuk and an untraceable fire-accelerant was, in his own humble opinion, rather brilliant. If his craft was ever recognized as an art form, Assam just might go down as his
ceiling of the Sistine fucking Chapel
.

Left-seat composed his face and continued. “The subjects include three males and a female. One Middle-Eastern, two Caucasian, and one Asian. Photos and your requested details are contained in the envelope.”

“May I?” he asked, reaching his hand for the envelope.

“Of course,” left-seat said, turning to his colleague and gesturing for him to slide the envelope across the table.

He opened the envelope and quietly studied the information. Everything appeared to be in order; the photos and personal details of the four subjects were organized just as specified. Satisfied with the material, he closed the envelope and smiled at the three men who represented his latest corporate client.

“Great, well I think I’m all set then,” he said warmly.

“Do you have any questions?” standing man asked, a noticeable look of relief on his face that the meeting was almost over.

He nodded with a somber expression. “You’ve read my stipulations, correct?” he asked, pausing to look at each of them.

The three men nodded together.
“Then you understand the absolute necessity of the on-sites? The sample collections?”

“We do,” left-seat answered firmly.

“Very well,” he replied, standing from the table. “Gentlemen, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your time in our beautiful city,” left-seat said as he stood up from the table, visibly pleased to be done with the meeting.

“Very much so,” he responded, smiling at the sound of his own lie.
He slipped the manila envelope into his shirt pocket as standing man walked to the door and unlatched the deadbolt before peering into the street. A white-hot shaft of sunlight fell across the carpet.

“Your car is waiting for you,” left-seat said as he shook his hand, his dark eyes friendly. “Our most sincere thanks again.”

He nodded and walked to the door, pausing in the narrow alcove as standing man stepped aside to allow his exit.

“By the way,” he said, turning to the three men, “I’m no expert, but it seems to me that if you really wanted to keep this meeting secret, you might have opted for a less conspicuous vehicle.” He pointed through the cracked door at the large Mercedes once again parked in the middle of the vacant street. 

Standing man’s puzzled face suddenly broke into a grin. “Mercedes? Ha! Everyone has a Mercedes here.” He laughed as he turned to his colleagues.  “It is like having, what… a Toyota in the U.S.?” His two colleagues nodded affirmatively. “Bentley, Bugatti…maybe the latest Maybach. Those cars might get noticed. But Mercedes? No, no one here looks twice at them.”

“Right…
of course,” he responded.

Standing man opened the door and briefly patted him on the back. “Do a good job for us again and we’ll bring you back to celebrate,” he said with a broad smile. “Take you out on the town… show you an excellent time… whatever you desire.”

“Sounds great,” he replied as he put on his sunglasses and stepped out into the intense arid heat. He looked back and grinned. “Tell your driver to have your finest Toyota ready for me.”

The laughter of the three men was cut off as the door swiftly closed behind him.

He opened the back door of the Mercedes and sank heavily into the soft leather of the seat. A feeling of calm fell over him as the automatic transmission clicked into gear and the car sped down the narrow alley and back towards the hotel. He closed his eyes as the air conditioner whirled to life, ignoring the sound of the driver’s bowel as it again grumbled threateningly from the front seat.