Melancholy Baby

Spike took a business card from his pocket, and held it up. The card said Lewis Karp, Attorney at Law, with an address in Brighton.

“From your briefcase,” Spike said.

“Oh, shit,” Lewis said.

He looked at me.

“Well, hell, I mean, can you blame me not wanting Godzilla” — he nodded at Spike — “knowing where to find me.”

“You are dumb, even for a lawyer,” I said. “I have the registration number off your car. Do you think I wouldn’t have checked?”

Lewis shrugged.

“I dunno,” he said.

“We’re going to continue the investigation,” I said.

Lewis nodded.

“No one is going to bother Sarah Markham again,” I said.

“No.”

“If anyone does — you, Sal, the mystery lawyer, Britney Spears, anyone — it won’t matter. We will come looking for you.”

“I can’t control...” Lewis started.

“I don’t care. Spike doesn’t care. Do you, Spikey?”

“I want to visit with you again,” Spike said. “I like guys that will beat up a twenty-one-year-old girl without even knowing why.”

“If anything happens to her,” I said, “you are dead.”

Spike opened his coat wide enough so that they could see the big Army .45 he was wearing. Nobody said anything.

“Go,” I said.

The two men went to their car. Sal was walking uncomfortably. Spike and I watched them drive away.

“I’ll drive you to your car,” I said.

Spike looked at me as if he was about to say something serious.

“Spikey?” he said.

“I try to remain girlish,” I said.

Spike grinned. “Me too,” he said.

28

I wanted Spike to meet Sarah for future reference. So after I dropped him off at his car, he followed me back to my loft. I used my key to enter downstairs. But the loft door was bolted and I had to knock. There were quiet footsteps and then silence while Leonard checked us through the peephole.

“Who’s with you,” Leonard said from inside.

“My friend Spike, it’s okay.”

“What’s my name?” Leonard said.

“Leonard.”

The bolt slid back, and the door opened.

“Clever,” I said to Leonard. “If Spike were the enemy, I could have let you know by saying your name was Arthur or something.”

Leonard nodded.

“You all set now?” he said.

Rosie rushed down the length of the loft, and I crouched to say hello.

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you, Leonard.”

“Thank Tony,” Leonard said, and left.

Spike looked after him.

“What a fine-looking man,” Spike said.

Rosie did a couple spins and wagged her tail rapidly and made a little squeak. Sarah sat on the couch, smoking. She was staring at Spike.

“Fine,” Spike said.

I stood. Spike bent over and scooped up Rosie and gave her a series of rapid kisses on the nose.

“Everything okay, Sarah?” I said.

“Yeah. It’s okay. That guy Leonard doesn’t talk much.”

“Might be a good thing,” I said. “This is Spike.”

“He’s the one I’m supposed to call if you’re not here.”

“Who you gonna call?” Spike said, and put out his hand.

Sarah took it languidly.

“Girl,” Spike said, “you have a handshake like a noodle.”

Sarah shrugged.

“We found the men who beat you up,” I said.

“What happened?”

“We spoke to them firmly,” I said. “And they agreed not to bother you again.”

“You spoke to them?”

“Yes,” I said.

“The tough guy? The one with the tattoos?”

“Yes. His name is Sal Brunelli.”

“What did he do?”

“He bounced,” Spike said.

“What?”

I smiled. “Spike picked him up and banged him on his car.”

“You picked him up?”

“I did,” Spike said. “Actually, I’ve picked up quite a few men in my life.”

I smiled. Sarah stared at Spike. It might have been awe.

“What would you have done?” Sarah said to me.

“Without Spike?”

“Yes. I mean, you’re a woman.”

“Hear me shout,” I said. “I had a gun.”

“Would you have shot them?”

“As needed,” I said.

Sarah was silent. Spike and Rosie had settled on the couch beside her. Rosie was on her back, and Spike was rubbing her stomach. Sarah watched this for a moment, and then looked back at me.

“How can you do this?” she said.

“This?” I said.

“Be a detective and face bad guys and stuff... and you need a man to protect you.”

“Good heavens,” Spike said to Rosie. “A feminist conundrum.”

There was coffee left. I poured some.

“It’s good to know your limitations,” I said. “I weigh one hundred twenty-six pounds. Sal Brunelli, tattoos and all, weighs... what, Spike? You picked him up?”

“A hundred ninety-two and a half,” Spike said.

“That’s a significant disparity,” I said to Sarah, “but a common one. Most men are bigger and stronger than I am. So I need an equalizer.”

I put my coffee down and got my purse and opened it and took out the short-barreled .38 I carried.

“This is one,” I said.

Sarah stared at the gun. I put the gun back and walked over to Spike and touched his shoulder.

“And this is another. One reason I sometimes prefer Spike is that his, ah, equalizing capacity can be modulated. The gun tends to be pretty black-and-white.”

“You brought Spike with you so you wouldn’t have to shoot them?”

“Think of it this way,” Spike said. “I wasn’t there to protect her from them. I was there to protect them from her.”

“Did you have a gun, too?”

“Yes,” Spike said. “Most people I meet are not bigger and stronger than I am. But they might have an equalizer, too.”