Pernicious (31 page)

         
“Yes, I did. Make sure you give it back.”

         
Perry kissed him again, her tongue slithering inside his mouth.

         
“Come inside. I have something to show you.” She led him by the hand inside the house. “Have a seat and relax. I’ll take a quick shower and then I’ll show you my surprise.” She started to leave, stopped. “Give it to me and I’ll put it up,” taking off her T-shirt.

         
Neal handed her the gun.

         
“I hate to touch guns unless I just have to.”

         
She left the room, smiling ear to ear, with the gun on the T-shirt held out in front as if she were presenting a gift to a king.

         
Her strange behavior refreshed Neal’s anxieties of giving her a gun.
 
     

         
Perry returned minutes later wearing a red-and-black satin robe, an elaborate dragon on the back and a red sun in front, carrying three boxes. “This is for you,” laying them at his feet.

         
“For me?”

         
“Yes. Open the big one first.” He did. Inside was a satin robe, identical to the one Perry had on.

         
“Thanks!” Inside the second box were a pair of ostrich-skinned boots, size ten. “Damn! How did you”--Perry kissed him--“know my size?”

         
“I saw a pair at your place, thought you’d like these.”

         
Neal put them on and strutted for her. “How I look?”

         
“Edible. Now open the last box.”

         
Neal took the box, the smallest, and started to open it when Perry grabbed his wrist.

         
“Neal, I don’t want to come on too strong, like I’m desperate for a man.” Looking into his eyes: “I care for you…a lot…I really do!”

         
Neal swallowed. “I care for you, too.”

         
“When I care for a man, I’ll do whatever it takes to make him happy, bend over forward and backward for him. As you see, I’m not a stingy, selfish woman. What’s mine is his, unequivocally. By the same token, I’m nobody’s fool. If I’m willing to sacrifice all I have, I expect the same from my man.”

         
“What are you trying to say?”

         
“I make a lousy girlfriend, and I don’t accept bootie calls or hasty hookups. With me it’s all or nothing.” Pause. “Go ahead, baby, open it up.”

         
Inside the box was a smaller red-velvet jewelry box that contained a man’s diamond ring, a gold bracelet with Neal’s initials and a gold Rolex watch, his name engraved in back.

         
Neal felt like crying: he was that happy. Never in his life had someone--not his mother, father, ex-wife--realized his true substance, had understood that he, Neal Montgomery, was worthy of praise and worship.

         
He’d finally found someone who believed in him, someone who could correctly gauge his potential and translate it into monetary value.

         
“I love…” The word caught in his throat. “Thank you, Perry!”

         
Perry stood up. “Now,” she said, “the final gift, the most precious of all.” She undid the robe and let it slip to the floor. “Me!”

                                     
* * * * *

         
Not quite ten miles away, Tasha writhed fitfully in bed, in the throes of a nightmare.

         
She and Derrick were sitting in the front room, she, reading a
Vibe
magazine, Derrick watching cartoons.

         
Neal entered the room, a thick chain wrapped around his arm.

         
Tasha followed the chain to the neck of a huge rottweiler. “What is that?”

         
“A dog,” Neal said.

         
“No crap! I see that. What’s it doing here?”

         
“Her name is Pernicious,” Neal said. “She’s going to live with us. Ain’t she something?”

         
“Neal, we can’t have a dog in this apartment. Says so on the lease. You know I don’t like dogs and they don’t like me.”

         
“Honey, this girl is worth lots of money. She’ll give Derrick something to do. You’re always complaining he watches too much television. Now he can play with Pernicious.”

         
“Momma,” Derrick said, “can we keep her? Please?”

         
“No!”

         
Neal patted the dog on its large head. “She’s a rottweiler. Pure breed. I met her parents. Tasha, honey, did you know rottweilers, in medieval times, were used as guard dogs?”

         
“Neal, I don’t care if it flew in from Neptune, it’s not staying here. Take it out!”

         
Ignoring her, Neal released the chain.

         
Free to roam, the dog trotted into the kitchen and sat down, as if it were waiting for dinner.

         
“Neal,” she shouted, “you’re not listening, are you? I said take it out. Now!”

         
“Tasha, honey, sweetie pie, we can get rich selling her puppies.”

         
She snatched up a fly swatter and opened the front door. “Get out!” approaching the dog.

         
It just sat there, looking foolish, panting, dripping slobber on her floor. Enormous teeth. She smacked it--WHAP!--squarely on its face. With a yelp it got up quickly and sought cover under the kitchen table.

         
Tasha pulled back a chair and smacked its rump. WHAP! The dog howled. She smacked it again…and again. WHAP! WHAP! It ran to the far wall, realized it was trapped, and made a beeline for the front door.

         
She ran after it and smacked it again for good measure--WHAP!--just as it was going out.

         
“Good riddance!” slamming the door.

         
Derrick started crying and ran to his room.

         
“Look what you did,” Neal said. “You’re a mean woman! Mean!”

         
“Keep talking, Neal, and you’re next.”

         
The doorbell rang and Derrick reappeared at the door, turning the knob….

         
“Ask who is it first,” Tasha said.

         
Derrick opened the door…The dog stood there. It looked different. Eyes fiery red, glimmering. Brown and black coat shinier than before. Teeth much larger and sharper looking.

         
What’s that bubbling out its mouth? Soap suds?

         
Those fiery red eyes locked on Tasha…and then it growled.

         
Rabies!

         
“Close the door, Derrick!” Tasha shouted. Too late. The dog ran inside. “Get it, Neal!”

         
Neal dove and grabbed it. The two rolled across the floor, ending with Neal on bottom, his hand inside the dog’s mouth.

         
Neal yelled and yanked his hand free, blood squirting, three fingers gone.

         
“Get it, Neal!” He wasn’t listening, staring at his injured hand. “Worry about that later, Neal. Get it outta here!”

         
The dog barked, and Tasha froze. It sounded like a bark,
and
it sounded like her name. The dog jumped onto the couch, matching her height, and barked again. This time she was sure of it:
Its barking my name!

         
She hurdled Neal and ran toward the bedroom. The dog gave chase. In the hallway, it head-butted her bottom, knocking her down. Tasha rolled onto her back and started kicking at it, aiming for its face.

         
Get back! Get back!

         
Big mistake: the dog caught her loafer with its enormous teeth and started shaking its head this way and that, tossing Tasha in every direction, growling her name, flinging slobber.

         
Dear God, a rabid dog has my foot in its mouth!

         
The thought of several serum shots in her stomach drove her to fight back with all she had, kicking madly with her free foot while scooting her way into the bedroom.

         
A rabid dog has my foot in its mouth!

         
She kicked it in the eye and it released her foot.
Yes!

She kicked the door closed and the dog rammed into it, so hard she was surprised it didn’t come crashing down.

         
One minute, okay? Give me one minute!

         
She hopped to her feet, snatched the key from atop the dresser, slid to a stop in front of the foot locker…The dog slammed into the door again.

         
One minute!

         
Quickly, she opened the foot locker and dialed the combination on the metal case…Blam!…The dog tore through the door, ripping a large hole in the lower panel…Tasha flipped the lid open and suppressed a scream…The metal case was empty.

         
What the…!

         
She turned to see the dog midair, teeth first, diving toward her…
 

         
“Momma? Momma? Momma!”

         
Tasha looked up into Derrick’s eyes; he looked frightened. “What’s wrong?”

         
“You were screaming.”

         
“Was I?”

         
“Yup. Loud, too. You were having a bad dream, weren’t you, Momma?”

         
She laughed uneasily. “I guess I was.”

         
“Daddy said you can control bad dreams if you concentrate.”

         
“Where is he?”

         
“He left. He told me bad dreams are part of my imagination.”

         
“Really?”

         
“Yup.”

         
“May I have a hug?”

         
Derrick frowned. “Aw Momma, two in one week.”