Richard Hawke - Cold Day in Hell

Why, I bet you can even do tricks.

He also preferred four in the morning for his online dalliances. He wrote that he was always awake at that hour and enjoyed corresponding with her while the rest of the world slept. Nikki deduced from the comment that he must be located somewhere on the East Coast. When she put the question to him, he responded: I’m Marshall Fox, remember? Where else would I be writing from ?

Right. Of course.

They got into a rhythm. At four on the nose, Nikki would shoot out a one-word command.

Speak.

Within seconds came the response.

Woof.

And off they went. Lucky Dog was a riot. So long as they were just bantering back and forth, he kept his postings short. He knew how to make her laugh. He was quick. He picked up on little things she’d mentioned and shot them back to her with his particular skew. They could have been talking in a bar. More than once she found herself wishing that they were.

He was good. It was almost creepy how good he was, almost as if he were crouched behind her as she sat at her computer, whispering into her ear, deftly guiding her hands, guiding her thoughts. Sometimes that was precisely what he wrote:

I’m there with you. I’m in the kitchen at the moment, fetching a glass of warm water. Hang tight, I’ll be right back in. I want to hold it up against your neck.

And a few seconds later:

Okay, I’m back. You can feel it, can’t you? It’s not too hot, just a little warm, right? Good. Why don’t you take my other hand and give that lovely breast of yours a soft touch. You know where. That place we both like.

And damned if she couldn’t feel it. The slight warmth on the back of her neck, almost like a breath. And somebody’s fingers running very lightly over her…

SHE WANTED TO meet him. Yes, it was probably a stupid idea. It would probably ruin everything, but what the hell? She wanted it. Maybe it could be fun. God forbid, maybe it could be cataclysmic.

She broached the subject.

Does Lucky Dog want to come out and play?

It had been a frustrating evening. Nikki and Tina had gone clubbing and ended up in an argument. Over a boy, no less. A hard-bodied Honduran named Victor. They met him at the Vault. Correction. Nikki met him at the Vault. The two were already on the dance floor when Tina came back into the club. She’d gone outside to make a phone call. Victor was hot. Awesome moves, he had Nikki spinning like a top. He lifted her clear off the floor, a rock-solid arm around her small waist. He had dark lashes, cocoa skin, an almost feminine mouth. He’d been into Nikki, she could tell. But something screwed up somewhere. Nikki skipped off to the bathroom to sharpen her makeup, and when she came back, Tina and Victor were practically screwing right on the dance floor. Twenty minutes later, they were practically screwing in the dark hallway on the way to the bathrooms. Nikki purposefully hip-checked Tina as she passed by the two of them, and Tina followed her into the bathroom and nearly tore her eyes out. Nikki had left the club and ended up at Sugar. The cute bartender was there. So was his girlfriend. It looked to Nikki like the breakup wasn’t a whole lot in evidence. The bartender set a Cosmo in front of her. “Six dollars.” She left the drink on the bar.

Lucky Dog didn’t respond for nearly five minutes. Great, Nikki thought. Three strikes and I’m out, now I’ve chased him away. She was just about to send a follow-up telling him she hadn’t meant it, when up popped his response:

Do I have this right? You want to take me out for a walk?

Her heart skipped its next beat. She typed: Only if you promise to heel .

A minute later: Pull hard enough on the leash, baby, I’ll do whatever you want .

Nikki stared at the screen for a long minute. The cursor blinked urgently. He was waiting. She tried to imagine him, but no image came to mind. She had never put even a fantasy face on Lucky Dog. He was a cipher, something strictly in the ether. If she shut down her computer right now, she could keep it that way. They could still play online. They could keep doing their silly things to each other. His hands could still get to her only via her hands. She could remain in complete control. In her darkened apartment. Alone.

She thought of Tina and Victor. The cute bartender and his girlfriend. She ran a hand across her flat, firm tummy.

Well, screw this .

She typed: Your town or mine ?

Lucky Dog responded: I’m already here, sweetheart .

In New York?

That’s a fact.

Get out. I don’t believe you.

Would you like me to prove it?

Yes. Prove it.

A minute passed, and then he wrote back, asking what part of the city she lived in.

Tribeca.

What time do you leave for work in the morning?

Around ten.

Perfect. E-mail me right before you leave. I’ll tell you what to do.

Getting bossy, aren’t we?

Pause: You ain’t seen nothing yet .

In the morning, she did as he had requested. He instructed her to go to the drama section of Ruby’s Books on Chambers Street and look through the copies of Shakespeare’s As You Like It . She followed the instructions. Ruby’s was only a couple of blocks past her subway stop. Nikki felt considerably self-conscious the entire time, trying not to be too obvious about looking over her shoulder as she approached the store and made her way to the drama section. He must be watching. But where is he? There were only three other customers in the store, an old lady and two gay guys, and none of them was paying any attention to her. There were four copies of the play on the shelf. The first copy of the play she leafed through had nothing in it that she could see. When she pulled the second copy off the shelf, a small envelope fell from it. Inside was a note and something small wrapped in tissue paper. The note read: And how exactly do you like it ?

The tissue contained a slender chain to which was attached an aluminum dog tag. The word BITCH was inscribed on it. Nikki clutched it to her breast and burst into laughter.

She kept the dog tag in the pocket of the white coat she had to wear on the job. Her fingers ran over it so much she was afraid she might wear down the word. At four the following morning, Nikki hopped online.

Okay. Where?

He wrote back: Tribeca Animal Hospital on Lispenard Street .

What???!!!

Ten o’clock tonight.

Are you nuts?

Wait and see.

She gave it one more thought, then typed her response. She lifted her index finger, gave it a kiss and hit send.

MARSHALL FUCKING FOX.

At five minutes past ten, a tan Lincoln Town Car pulled to the curb in front of the Tribeca Soho Animal Hospital. The back door opened, and for Christ’s sake, Marshall Fox -the real Marshall Fox-was sitting there, prairie-wide grin and all. Nikki was speechless. What were the chances? Who in the world was ever going to believe a coincidence like this? Tina would freak. Or wait. Was someone putting her on? Was this all an elaborate hoax? She looked closer. Maybe it wasn’t really Marshall Fox at all. Maybe it was just someone who looked a ton like him.

“Come here,” he said, and he waved her over.

She finally found her voice. “You’re Marshall Fox.”

“Do you know what else I am? I am one lucky little dog.” He reached his hand out. “Now come on over here. I’m not going to bite.”

Three hours later, he’d be proving himself a liar on that count.