Retribution (17 page)

"Sorry to bring the two of you down here."

"It's all right, Bev. Is there a problem?"

The bank manager took her by the elbow and drew her into her cubicle which was only partially open to the long ell-shaped bank and lobby. "I'm really not sure."

Jagger reacted to the strain in the woman's voice by dropping his head and whining edgily, pushing against Charlie's leg. Mary glanced down at him, frowning, but Charlie just ignored him. "What do you need from me?"

"I need an okay for a twenty-five-thousand-dollar cashier's check from your account."

"What?"

Mary Saunders' head jerked up and she swung her gaze across the bank, blinking.

Charlie swallowed. "Who ordered the check?"

"Federico Valdor. He's waiting at the nook at the other end of the bank. I told him I would have to check availability of funds to make a draft like that, that most of your money was in CDs."

Mary sat down in one of the cubicle chairs. "Valdor is here?"

"Yes, Mom… I saw him the other night." Charlie held onto the harness grip so tightly she could feel her fingernails cut into the palm of her hand.

Her mother looked at her, the corners of her mouth drawn into fine lines. "He has balls."

Beverly Ackerman shifted weight awkwardly. "Then there is a problem? I have him listed on your painting account, but limited to five thousand. And any drafts out of there have always been signed by you. I checked."

Charlie sighed. "I'm going to go talk to him."

Mary put her hand up. "Not without your father!"

"Let me handle this, please."

Her mother's mouth opened, then closed, with a small exhalation of sound, but she made no other protest as Charlie ordered Jagger out of the cubicle. The dog's nails clicked on the marble tiles of the lobby and Valdor heard them coming. He stood up, his face washed in surprise, which he quickly smoothed away, much as he unconsciously and quickly smoothed away wrinkles in his suit as he awaited them.

"Charlie. I should have wondered what the delay was."

"Valdor, you know you're not authorized for my personal account."

"The escrow account is all but empty. There's very little happening with your paintings right now, Charlie; resales are all I can expect to get directly, and the licensing rights statements have not come in yet. I was just pulling out an advance against my commissions."

"You could have asked."

"And face an inquisition from Quentin and you?" He shrugged, not even rumpling his elegant hand-tailored shirt with the movement.

Jagger lowered his head and a deep rumbling started in his chest and began to burble out his throat. Valdor shot a wary glance down at the dog.

"You can't wait thirty days?"

"If I could, do you think I would subject myself to this?"

"Do you have a gambling debt?"

Valdor raised a thin eyebrow and declined to answer.

"My paintings don't bring in those kinds of earnings any more."

"New ones would."

They stared at one another, Charlie feeling uneasily as though he were a hunter and she some kind of cornered prey. "I am not painting any more. We've discussed this a million times."

"I've earned that money. I made you what you are… were."

"You have been living well off me for twelve years. You have other clients."

"Don't make me beg, Charlie." Valdor took a step forward, and Jagger's growling increased in volume. Valdor's face paled.

"Then tell me the truth." She was too tired for this, too tired to argue, too tired to cope with him. Her bones felt cold and aching.

"I owe money to… people I shouldn't." He swallowed.

"And you thought robbing me would solve that problem?"

"I'm not robbing you. I've worked hard for you for years—"

"This is my account, Valdor. My money, my earnings after you and taxes take their cut. Twenty-five thousand dollars is a big chunk of it."

His hand twitched slightly. "I haven't any choice."

"You can sell the paintings you own."

His mouth twisted bitterly. "They're too valuable. I may need them later. All of this could have been avoided if you would just start painting again." His eyes glanced away, and she realized then he'd already sold them. He'd squandered everything.

She lowered her voice, anger snaking through it, "All of this would have been avoided if you could have stayed away from the casinos!"

"I could sooner stop breathing."

"That sounds like that may have to be one of your options." She took a deep breath. Jagger shook at her knee, quaking with the same deep emotion she did. "I don't owe this to you." She turned her head slightly and raised her voice. "Beverly." She looked to make sure she had Ackerman's attention. "Cut that check. But make it for five thousand. He isn't authorized for any more, and after today, he isn't authorized on my account at all."

"For the love of God, Charlotte—"

She stared coldly at him. "Five thousand. Take it or leave it."

Beverly Ackerman appeared from her cubicle and keyed her way behind the counters, opening drawers and busying herself.

"Thank you, Charlotte," Valdor said with difficulty.

She looked back at him and felt her eyes narrow slightly. "And I want you to terminate our contract."

"Now?"

"Yes, now! Sit down, grab a piece of paper, and resign from the contract. You're a thief, and I caught you red-handed, and I want nothing, absolutely nothing, more to do with you!"

"Charlie, don't treat me like this…."

"Me? Treat you? How many paintings have you sold and not reported commission on? How many checks did not even get this far? How far will you stoop to pay your debts?"

He raised a hand and it hung there, palsied, trembling, as if operating with a will of its own, framed by the expensive French cuff and jacket sleeve, then he moved forward to sit down at an empty desk and do what she asked.

With a snarl, Jagger lunged at him.

The harness whipped through Charlie's cold fingers. It jolted her forward and she let out a cry as it yanked away from her, pitching her nearly face first to the bank floor, and all she saw was the golden-red flash at the corner of her eye and the vicious snarl as Jagger went for Valdor.

"My God!" gasped Bev Ackerman as Charlie hit and sprawled upon the marble tiles, one knee cracking down and her wrists taking the rest of her fall. Jagger moved in a blur; his teeth sank into Valdor's wrist and the man let out a scream, high and effeminate, of sheer terror and pain.

Charlie shouted, "Jagger!" her throat going raw with the violence of her cry. The dog hesitated a moment, then braced himself, teeth locked into Valdor's arm, paws spread for traction on the slick floor.

"Federico, don't move!"

He stood gasping with pain, his face gone gray-white, the dog pulling his wrist slowly and inexorably down. "Charlie" he wheezed, and tears began to stream down his face, "call him off, for God's sake."

"Jagger, down!" She grabbed a nearby chair seat and tried to pull herself up, but her leg had gone numb at the impact and though pain shot through it, it was still numb, unresponsive, as she tried to claw herself back onto her feet.

The dog's ears twitched, but the menacing growl kept rumbling from low in him, primeval, muffled by the sleeve in his jaws. Jagger took another bracing step, catching himself on a chair pad under the desk and finding solid traction at last. Charlie drew a sobbing breath.

Behind her, Mary said, "Beverly, don't use that on him."

Charlie twisted her face around, to see Beverly holding a taser in her hand. The breath left her lungs as if she'd been punched.

"Don't kill him."

Valdor looked up and swayed, beads of sweat popping out on his chalky forehead. "Do it!" he pleaded.

"Charlie, I can't let your dog rip someone apart." Bev Ackerman's hand shook.

"You know Jagger— I bring him in with me every time I come. He's let kids climb all over him, he's never so much as whined in protest. Bev, that thing could kill him."

Valdor let out a sound, not so much a groan as a stifled shriek as Jagger set himself and took a firmer grip.

The bank manager's face stayed pale as she advanced from the counter toward them, the device in her hand aimed at the golden retriever.

"I'll get him," Charlie promised. "Just let me get him." She snapped her fingers. Jagger flinched, rolling his caramel eyes. He pulled at Valdor, who gave a squeak of pain.

"Charlie, for the love of God, he's hurting me."

"Jagger! Down!" She pulled herself up the back of the chair with arm strength alone, climbing as though it were a ladder, holding onto it for dear life… her independent life, Jagger's life…

She snapped her fingers again and shrilled out, "Release!" and added one last time, "Down, boy!" And then bit her lip hard, to keep the sobs welling up in her throat from choking her voice away entirely, muffling her next words. "Good boy."

A ripple moved through his fur at her words. Jagger shook his head one last time, Valdor moving with him, trying to keep the teeth from rending him, his skin so pale, the tears streaming silently down his thin face.

Then the dog let go and dropped to the floor, his tail down and stiff, his gaze steady and relentless on Valdor. Bev Ackerman inhaled deeply, leaned back against the tellers' counter and dropped the taser there and blinked at Charlie.

She took a deep breath and groped for the harness. The hand grip slipped into her fingers and palm, cold, hard, familiar. Jagger's ears flicked and he backed up against her, once more under her control. Charlie stared at Federico Valdor.

"Take your check," she managed. "And get out!"

Valdor wrapped his hand around his wrist, crimson slowly seeping into the ripped fabric. "My wrist. My suit."

"You've been compensated." Charlie swallowed. "That check should more than cover it."

Glaring, he sidled to the desk where her mother had sat as if frozen, the check blank in front of her where Bev Ackerman had placed it. Mary looked at Valdor as if newly awakened. He grabbed at the check as Mary Saunders signed it, her own face pale, her eyes darting first to Charlie for approval before taking up the pen. He snapped the paper crisply in his hands, torn cuff sagging from his wrist.

"This all could have been avoided, Charlie."

"How?" she said, and the bitterness in her voice surprised her most of all.

"Paint again. It's in you, you know it is, it never left."

"It was cut out of me!" Her voice quavered. "Get out before I call the police."

Charlie turned her back and heard, but did not watch, Valdor race for freedom out the bank doors and into the late afternoon. She lowered herself into the seat of the chair she'd been clinging to and heard her mother cross the lobby and Jagger put his head on her knee.

"Charlie," her mother said softly, tentatively. "Are you all right?"

She could hardly breathe as she wrapped her arm around the dog and felt his heart pounding in his chest, twinning the beat of her own heart. "I don't know, Mother," she sighed and began to sob.

The skies had begun to gray late in the day and the air felt heavy with moisture. John left his office and stood for a moment, then laughed, catching himself much like the Alsatian Flint, three pens away, nose to the wind, wondering if it would rain. The rainy season was tailing away with little measurable rainfall to anticipate between the spring and late fall. But he could smell it now, on the air, and in the ache in his leg where the bullet had lodged in his bone, and the dogs could smell it, most of them at the back of their pens, under the roofing, their noses between their paws, and their tails curled around themselves for warmth. He wondered if it would really rain, thinking of the tourists scurrying away from the amusement parks, their faces damp with bewilderment. Below the canyon, light faded quickly, the ocean churning dark and gray, rising up to meet the sky. He would feed the dogs extra tonight, for this kind of weather went straight to their stomachs, telling them hard times might be ahead, to eat and prepare for it. Actually, what lay ahead was a smoggy and hot, dry summer, and their deeper instincts were already making them shed their coats in preparation for it. He could not, however, argue with the immediacy of their stomachs. John grabbed a stripping comb off a nail on the nearby pen post, pulling tufts of hair out of it and letting them drift on the breeze, watching them trail away like dandelion seeds.

Flint paced back and forth in the front of his pen, his charcoal and black coat still lush, his dark-brown eyes appraising John and then returning to the matter at hand which was nothing that Ruby could discern with his meager human senses. Coyotes, perhaps, on the other side of the hills or maybe it was the coming storm or perhaps a young possum had been in the sheds again, eating at the dry kibble stored there. Whatever it was, Flint in his confidence knew he could handle it, and did not look to share his anxiety or triumph with John.

John sauntered to the exercise yard and opened its gate. He could let Flint run with any of the dogs. Flint exerted a quiet dominance over all the other dogs Rubidoux had currently, and there would be no fighting. The Alsatian had merely to curl his lip, revealing his ivory fangs, or lower his tail, and the others dropped into subservience immediately. Hans, across the kennel, flung himself at his door, whining in anxiety to get out and run. The youngest of all John's charges, Hans needed the exercise and companionship. John decided to let the two run together.

As he approached Flint's kennel, the dog watched him with confidence, and a friendly wave of his tail. John released the latch, and Flint bounded out, gave him a quick slurp across the back of his hand and raced to the exercise yard. Hans gave him a bit more trouble. John had to bury his fingers in the shepherd's ruff and collar to make sure Hans stayed with him and entered the yard. When he released him, Hans took off with a joyous yelping bark and launched himself right at Flint. The older dog stayed his ground and took the full weight of the shepherd, scarcely moving, letting out a low growl and raking his jaws across Hans' flank as the other rolled to the ground, still wiggling in excitement. The shepherd quickly went to his back and stayed there a moment till Flint made a noise deep in his throat and trotted off. Hans got to his feet and loped after him, safely behind, but close enough to have been a part of Flint's pack, if Flint had a pack. John laughed at how quickly Hans contained his enthusiasm and watched as the dogs settled into a jog, examining the yard, its grass, its smells, its scent posts, the trees in the corner.