Den of Dark Angels

Chapter Four

Chapter FourAstria's dachshund, Goliath, met them at the door. Patrick glared at the little dog, who yelped and hid behind its mistress, a puddle of urine trailing behind. Patrick swore. He kicked at Goliath but missed. Astria knew the trigger spots from her karate and judo lessons, and bashed her boyfriend in the muscle at the side of his thigh. Patrick went down, swearing, and his thin biceps bulged under the black tee-shirt as he spread his hands to break his fall. A bottle of Red Stock beer crashed to the floor from the box on the hall table.

“Damn,” Patrick cried.“My beer!”

“Damn,” Astria repeated. “I missed. I tried for your groin.”

“You wicked… witch.” He laughed.

A tawny puddle of beer that matched the urine slithered over the white tiles. It had been another interesting evening with Patrick. Why couldn't he leave her puppy alone? Goliath was harmless, a little bundle of love that waggled its butt when the door opened, but Goliath hid when Patrick swaggered into the room.

Astria tried to make excuses for Patrick's behavior and failed. He was just plain mean. He'd been the same with Ingrid's Fergie, the loyal big dog that growled when it met Patrick, for what both the women felt was good reason. No one knew what Patrick had done to Fergie, but the beautiful retriever didn't like him.

“You had a good time at the Poe club tonight? You gonna help me up?” Patrick lay in the puddle of beer and flailed his arms.

“You're happy after an episode of violence, aren't you, creep?” But she put out a hand and hauled him to his feet, bracing herself against the table as the box of beer began to totter again. Patrick grabbed a bottle of Red Stock and tore the cap off with his teeth. He threw his head back and opened his throat, swallowing it in a few gulps.

“You're going to get sick,” she said.

“You proud of yourself, Brin? You took me down smart.” He grinned. “Forgive me, a*s-girl?” Patrick turned his profile to her. His smile was engaging. He reached out to Goliath, who cowered under the kitchen table. “I didn't mean it. You know how I feel about Goliath.”

“Yes. You hate him,” she said.

“He hates me, Astria. I don't know why.”

“Figure it out, Einstein.”

She began to clean up the urine and beer with a wet Swiffer and a bottle of bleach.

“You missed a spot,” Patrick said. She tightened her lips and bent over the mop. Goliath crunched on an Old Mother Hubbard treat it found in its bowl, keeping an eye on Patrick.

Astria was satisfied she had handled herself well that night at the Toby Jug Lounge, not so after coming home— but that ribbing earlier about being rich? Only rich kids have nannies. You little…witch. Yes, she had been brought up with nannies, international law firms and trips to Europe. Somehow, Astria had allowed herself since to slide down to the level of the water under the Centre Street Bridge, but she was buoyed by the memory of her fireman uncle and the nanny from Budapest, who had taught her never to show fear. The nanny knew pain and death, finally, in the end, but she remained fearless, and Astria smiled at the reminder.

Astria began to hum and planned the many ways to leave her lover.