As Dog Is My Witness (35 page)

When we got down to the serious part of the
evening—gifts—my children were as attentive as they ever get,
sitting in the living room, near the non-functional fireplace,
anticipating the great bounty that was soon to be theirs.

They, of course, had forgotten that this was their
Uncle Howard giving the presents. Leah, given the store-wrapped box
to open (with the store’s logo on the paper), could barely contain
herself, until the ritual shredding of the paper revealed a Barbie
doll. Leah gave up Barbie roughly two years ago, and now disdains
the brand (and, to be fair, dolls generally), calling it “dumb.”
This particular Barbie was dressed as a flight attendant, which
suits my daughter about as well as working at Disney World would
suit Marilyn Manson.

“Thank you,” she said by rote, and her aunt and uncle
bought it as sincere. Leah’s eyes were already glazed over as she
estimated what she might be able to exchange the gift for on
Thursday. I groaned inwardly, thinking about what toy stores were
going to look like the day after Christmas.

Ethan’s gift was a subtler affair. For one thing,
those on the autism spectrum tend to be very,
very
specific
about the kinds of gifts they like. We actually ask Ethan to
compile a written list of acceptable gifts each year, and he does
so with great care, spending considerably more time on that than he
does on his homework. Howard and Andrea, because they’d been in our
house for a week, had certainly had access to the list, but had
chosen, in this case, to ignore it.

They had bought Ethan “Trouble,” a hopelessly
juvenile game for a twelve-year-old, and one which, knowing Howard,
had been purchased with an eye toward economy rather than true
affection.

“It’s ‘Trouble,’” Ethan, ever the diplomat, grumbled.
“I think I had this when I was five.”

“Oh, my,” said Andrea. “Dylan assured us it was
something you’d adore.” Dylan, seated to the left of his mother,
smiled a truly evil smile. I hoped Abby had gotten him a bag of
three-day-old calamari.

Alas, my wife is a far nobler person than I am, since
she’d bought Dylan a PlayStation 2 game cartridge with characters I
didn’t recognize on the cover. Ethan’s eyes practically popped out
of his head when he saw it, and Dylan must have realized how
serious a prize he’d won when his grandparents had decided to
provide him with an aunt, because even he couldn’t mask his
enthusiasm thanking Abby for the gift.

Ethan looked like he might actually go off in a huff
and chew nails, but he bravely kept it together, and I made a
mental note to tell my son how proud I was of him for doing so.
There have been times when he would not have held in his surely
growing resentment of his cousin.

“It’s funny,” Howard said. “We were going to get one
of those for Ethan, but Dylan said he’d like the board game better.
Besides, do you know how much those video games cost?”

“Yes,” I said. “We do.”

Gifts among the adults followed, after Dylan,
grumbling that he couldn’t play his game on Ethan’s antiquated
system, and Ethan, grumbling in general, left to argue elsewhere.
Leah, who loves to see people get presents, stayed.

While we were exchanging boxes, Warren ambled in, no
doubt after checking the clock. It was a half hour later than he
and Abby usually left for their evening walk. Warren, an Asperger’s
dog at heart, does not happily abide changes in routine.

Abby had given Andrea a pair of very nice earrings
(at least, everyone seemed to agree they were very nice—the whole
earring thing has never made much sense to me), and Howard a warm
sweater to get him through the Minnesota winter. Abby’s brother and
sister-in-law had given her a new cookbook, which could be seen
either as gift or message. Abby chose “gift,” and I left my vote
uncast.

“I feel awful, Aaron,” Howard said, “but we seem to
have forgotten to buy a present for you.” This neither surprised
nor angered me, since I’m a very mature and evolved person—also
because the cheap crap that Howard buys is hardly worth mourning
over. Leah, the thrill of gift-giving having passed, went up to her
room to further consider her upcoming Barbie exchange.

“I’ll tell you what, Howard,” I said. “We’ll call it
even if you take Warren for his walk tonight.”

Howard looked as if I’d asked him to clean out a
Superfund site with a cotton swab. “Excuse me?” he said.

“With Kevin Fowler still on the loose, Lieutenant
Rodriguez warned me not to go out or to let my family outside
tonight,” I told him. “I think it might be dangerous for Abby to
take the dog, and worse for me.”

“It’s okay,” Abby said. “I’ll go.”

“No, you won’t,” I insisted. “There’s no way I’m
risking you. I’ll let the dog have multiple accidents in the house,
but I’m not letting you go out there until Rodriguez says it’s
okay. I can’t call Barry Dutton on Christmas Eve and ask him for a
police escort for my wife and dog. It makes the most sense for
Howard to go.”

Howard’s eyes registered inconvenience, annoyance,
and, yes, a little fear. “So you’re saying I’m not family,” he
attempted.

“No, I’m saying that Kevin Fowler in all likelihood
doesn’t even know I have a brother-in-law, certainly doesn’t know
what you look like, and probably isn’t bright enough to be watching
the house, if he even knows which house to watch.” Howard sat back
farther on the couch, cementing himself to the cushion in a defiant
gesture, as if to say: “Just
try
to get me off this
sofa!”

“I really don’t think there’s danger,” Howard said.
“You should go if you’re worried, Aaron.”

I was about to respond when my wife, with pure fury
on her face, stood up and pointed at him. “Howard Stein, you get
your butt off that couch and walk the dog this instant. It’ll take
you ten minutes and cost you nothing. I will
not
jeopardize
the man I love most in this world because you don’t want to be
inconvenienced!”

Andrea’s eyebrows may actually have been orbiting
around her head at this point. Howard, astounded by the outburst
from his little sister, stood and walked to the door, where
Warren’s leash is kept, and picked it up.

Warren, puzzled by the change in routine, didn’t come
to Howard immediately, but with the leash in his hand, Howard
seemed the most logical choice, and the dog approached after a
moment. Howard turned to open the door, but I stopped him. I think
he looked a little relieved, like I was going to absolve him of his
sudden responsibility.

“Here,” I said, and handed him a plastic bag.

Howard scowled, put the bag in his pocket, and led
the dog out the front door into the impossibly cold night. He
seemed to be adding drama to a task that, as Abby pointed out,
would only take him ten minutes.

The problem was, he wasn’t back in ten minutes. He
wasn’t back in thirty minutes, either.

“
D
on’t you think we should
call the police?” Andrea asked, pushing aside the curtains and
looking out the front window.

“And tell them what?” I asked. “That a grown man has
been walking the dog for half an hour?”

“Does he have his cell phone?” Abby asked her
sister-in-law.

Andrea shook her head. “No. It’s charging. He wanted
it fully charged before we got on the plane.” I wanted to point out
that they make you turn cell phones off on planes. In my opinion,
Howard was trying to get a phone charge using someone else’s
electricity (ours). But I reconsidered, thinking it unwise to speak
ill of the missing.

Abby shot me a look of real worry, and I stood up.
“That’s it,” I said. “I’m going out to find him.”

“Aaron! You can’t!” Abby walked to me and looked me
in the eye.

“Well, I can’t leave him out there, and I’m sure as
hell not letting you go. Don’t worry. I’ll take
my
cell
phone, and I’ll dial 911 in advance. If something happens, all I’ll
have to do is hit ‘send.’ Okay? If I don’t find Howard in ten
actual minutes, I’ll come back and go looking for him in the
car.”

Abby thought about it. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

I had quick flashes of Kevin, holding a knife to
Howard’s neck, lying in wait for me. In truth, I was more concerned
about Warren’s safety, but still, I was concerned.

“Abigail,” I said, “he’s your brother.”

“You’re my husband. I’m not going to risk losing both
of you.”

You probably noticed that Andrea hadn’t offered to
search. After the way we’d coerced Howard, I was afraid to ask her,
thinking she’d probably decline.

“You’re not risking me,” I told Abby. “I’ll be back
in ten minutes.” I put on my coat and gloves.

“That’s what Howard said.”

“Yeah, but Howard discounts everything. He probably
meant ten minutes marked down from fifty.” I checked my coat pocket
for the phone—it was there. “Don’t worry.”

Abby walked me to the door and kissed me, then kissed
me again. I held her as long as I could, then opened the door.

“I’ll be back,” I said. I didn’t have the heart to do
my Schwarzenegger impression.

The first thing my brain registered was
COLD
!
Then came dark, but that wasn’t as bad. The streetlights were on,
and a number of houses on the block had lit Christmas
decorations.

I had no idea where Howard might have taken the dog,
so I decided to follow my usual route, and headed toward Edison
Park. I knew the park would be closed, but Howard didn’t
necessarily know that.

En route, the usual hazards presented themselves. A
patch of ice was on the hill heading down to the park, possibly
from water someone had dumped after last-minute Christmas cleaning.
There was debris from other dogs whose owners weren’t the fine
citizens Abby and I are. And there was a wind in my face that made
it hard to keep my eyes open.

But no brother-in-law and no dog were in sight.

I reached the edge of the park, where there’s an open
field, and looked in. The streetlights in the park were not turned
on (the cops think this deters teenagers, when in fact it attracts
them), so it was hard for me to see very far. I decided to risk
calling.

“Howard? Howard!” Nothing.

“Warren,
come
!” It was worth a shot. I turned
the other way.

“Warren!”

“No,” said a voice behind me. “But I’m here.”

Before I could move, a hand was on my mouth.

A hand with no glove.

A hand with a bandage on it.

Kevin Fowler’s hand.

Then Kevin’s right arm circled my waist as best it
could, with the coat and all the shirts underneath, and held me
close. Then the left hand came off my mouth, and I felt it in my
back. Holding a gun.

“This isn’t some little deringer that’s nice and
painless,” he said. “This is a Glock. This will hurt. Do you
understand?” I nodded. “Good. So I don’t have to tell you not to
yell.”

“What did you do with my brother-in-law and my dog?”
I asked.

“You have a brother-in-law and a dog?” Swell. I was
going to get killed for absolutely no reason at all.

“What good is this going to do you, Kevin?” I said.
“The cops are after you already.”

“Yeah, thanks to you,” he sneered, pushing me toward
the blackness of the park. Against my will, I began to walk. “So I
might as well get the revenge I want, right, Tucker? They can’t
execute me twice.”

“Michael Huston was a contract killing,” I told him.
“You might only get jail time.”

“Life in prison? I’d rather be executed,” Kevin said.
All you death penalty-as-deterrent types, you might want to
highlight the previous two lines.

If I were Harrison Ford, or even Keifer Sutherland, I
could use that nifty move you’re always seeing heroes use when
there’s someone behind them with a gun. They elbow the guy in the
ribs, make him drop the gun, win the ensuing fistfight, and march
him off to jail, or drop him (via his own clumsiness) off a
conveniently placed cliff. Unfortunately, being neither Harrison
nor Keifer, nor having their writers working for me, I knew that if
I tried to elbow Kevin in the ribs, he’d shoot me. If I got past
that, and he dropped the gun, he’d kick my ass in the ensuing
fistfight.

Then, he’d shoot me.

I had no choice but to walk deeper into the park. My
eyes were adjusting to the dark, but it was still very hard to see.
Finally, behind trees to shield us from the street, Fowler stopped
me and held me tightly from behind. I felt the frigid barrel of the
gun against my left temple, yet Leah crying for Daddy didn’t flash
before my eyes. Nothing flashed before my eyes. It was too
dark.

But my cell phone rang.

It startled Kevin enough to hear the phone in my coat
pocket that he flinched for a second, and then I felt him being
pulled away, from right to left. I spun, and saw, about fifteen
feet away, a huge shadow. The shadow, in a form approaching human,
was pummeling something on the ground. Over and over, a tremendous
fist flew through the air and hit something near the ground. I
gained my footing, and ran toward the shadow, pulling my cell phone
out as I ran.