Dagger Key and Other Stories

You tell him your name’s Carl, thinking it would be unwise to tell this madman your actual name. His face tightens, he swallows dry. Managing his pain, you suppose.

“I met her five years ago,” he says. “She wasn’t my type, but there was something about her. You know what I mean. Once you hook up with her, it’s like an addiction.”

You say, “Yeah,” to keep him moving along, certain that his experience with Abi—if, indeed, he had one—could have nothing in common with yours, though his reference to addiction strikes a chord.

“She lived in the same house, wore the same clothes. Looked the same. Nothing ever changes for her. Anyway, I moved in with her. Just like you.”

“How do you know that? About me moving in?”

“Because I been checking you out, Carl,” he says, giving the name a sardonic emphasis. “You want to be Carl, that’s fine with me. But don’t think…”

You zip up the backpack, scrape back your chair.

“Hey! Where you going?” Reiner grips your forearm, but you shake him off. You’ve heard enough to validate your judgment. The guy’s a flake, possibly a dangerous stalker.

“The thing she does when you fuck,” he says. “The thing with your lower back? You don’t want to let her do that anymore.”

That surprises you. Angry at Abi for using that trick, one you’ve come to relish, with another man, and angry at Reiner for forcing you to confront what seems, against ordinary logic, an intimate betrayal on her part, you ask, “Why not?”

“She’ll turn you into a cripple, man. Before she did it to me, my spine wasn’t a fucking corkscrew. I could walk more than ten steps without having to stop. That shit she makes you eat…all that fucking seaweed and algae and herbs. I think that’s tied with it. I think it makes you susceptible. Or maybe there’s drugs in it and that’s how she keeps you under control.” He grabs your arm again as you try to stand. “It’s the truth!! I was her first…”

The waitress materializes and you order another Americano, tell her you’ll pick it up at the counter. She asks Reiner what he’s having and he says impatiently, “Nothing, okay?” and glares at her until she walks away. “I was the first,” he goes on. “But she’s done it to six other guys. There might be more, for all I know. Here…” He two-fingers a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and pushes it toward you. You unfold the paper and look at the six names and addresses written thereon. One, belonging to someone named Phil Minz, sticks in your mind, because it’s in a building where you used to live.

“She must have fucked it up with me,” Reiner says. “Punched the wrong buttons. Or maybe she just needed more practice, because the others are all in wheelchairs.”

“I have a class,” you say.

“You’re not hearing me!” Reiner slaps the table, frustrated. “I used to be into it, man. Way she’d slip her hands down there and start poking around. I was like all…” He puts on a show of panting rapidly, like a dog. “I couldn’t wait for her to set me off. And then this one day, it was like she hits me with the A-bomb. I was fucking drooling. In a stupor. Jesus couldn’t have made me feel any better. The next morning, I was all seized up. Not like I am now. It got worse over a period of about six weeks. But she did it to me. The doctors, they can’t say what happened. When I tell ’em, they don’t come right out and laugh, but…” Reiner leans back and rests his cane across his knees. “You’re not laughing. You know what I’m talking about.”

His manner seems rational, though what he’s telling you does not. Yet you’ve had a recurrence of back trouble since you and Abi became lovers, and you’ve been blaming it on too much sex. “Why would she do that?” you ask. “Even if she could…which I’m not buying.”

“You want to understand her motivations, ask her. I thought maybe she’d messed up with me. Y’know, like it was some kind of dangerous technique and she went too far. But six other guys, that tells me different.”

You stand and shoulder your pack.

“C’mon, man! Talk to her! If it’s bullshit, what’s the fuck’s the harm in talking?”

The waitress pops back over and cautions you to keep it down or you’ll have to leave.

“I’m leaving,” you say.

Reiner struggles to his feet. “You want to end up like this…or worse? Do you?”

You make silent apology to the waitress, slip her a couple of dollars.

“What do you think I’m doing here?” says Reiner as you head for the door. “I’m trying to break you two up? I want to spare you from suffering my fate? I’m crazy but well-intentioned? Fuck you! I want you to make the bitch pay! After that you can fucking die!”

That night before making love, lying with Abi in bed, you tell her about Reiner and show her the list of addresses. Her silence makes you feel contrite, as if you’re confessing, as if you’re guilty for having listened to Reiner. When you’re done, when she says, “I’m sorry,” it’s like she’s bestowing a benediction.

“What’re you sorry for?” you ask. “Some whacko running around saying shit? I shouldn’t even have told you.”