Limits of Justice, The by John Morgan Wilson Read Free Book Online

Beethoven by comparison. I told her to shut up. She barked louder, faster.
    There was nothing in my fridge suitable for human consumption, let alone for a dog of Mei-Ling’s background and temperament. I went straightaway down to the house with Mei-Ling scampering after me, her nubby legs negotiating the wooden steps with a kind of accelerated waddle. While I knocked on the back door, she spread her hind legs on the grass and peed. The door opened and Maurice was there, freshly showered in a silk Japanese kimono, his long white hair drawn back into a ponytail and bound with a lavender plastic barrette. With an assortment of gemstone rings on his fingers, and a dozen bracelets of silver and gold on his slender wrists, Maurice was a wonderful mix of crafts and cultures, slim and artful by self-design. Behind him, reading the sports page at the kitchen table in his boxer shorts, Fred was just as beefy and sloppy through ambivalence and self-neglect. They were the classic married couple, strengths and weaknesses, contrasts and balances, yin and yang, and somewhere in the middle a long-term love and respect that had kept them together as steadfast companions.
    “Benjamin! How nice to see you up and about!”
    “Good morning, Maurice.”
    He wagged a finger at me.
    “Frankly, we’ve been worried about you.”
    “Stop worrying, I’m doing fine.”
    That drew a more skeptical look.
    “I do have a little problem, though.”
    I glanced over my shoulder at Mei-Ling, who trotted across the patio, sniffed once at Maggie’s bowl of dry food, and just as quickly turned up her nose.
    “My goodness, a darling Lhasa apso! I didn’t realize you were fond of small dogs.”
    “I’m not. That’s the problem.”
    Mei-Ling glanced up at Maurice in the doorway, then bounded past him into the house as if she owned it.
    “Her name’s Mei-Ling, by the way.”
    I explained the situation, mentioning Charlotte Preston’s death and how I happened to have Mei-Ling by accident.
    “Not to worry, Benjamin. She can stay awhile, until she’s placed with one of Miss Preston’s friends or relatives. I’m sure Maggie will share the yard and house.”
    “Two females?”
    “Maggie’s in her elder years. She just wants company now.” Maurice winked. “Kind of like Fred and me, just two old maids fussing about. Though please don’t tell him I referred to him as an old maid. He still thinks he’s the gay version of Mickey Mantle.”
    Maurice invited me in for breakfast, but I told him I had plans.
    “You’re going out?”
    “Templeton and I have a lunch date.”
    He clapped his hands, causing his bracelets to jingle.
    “Splendid, Benjamin!”
    “It’s just this once. I owe Templeton a meal.”
    Maurice pursed his lips primly.
    “Of course—just this once.”
    I reached into my pants pocket, pulled out the roll of hundred-dollar bills, peeled off five. “Here’s the rent for the month. It looks like I’ll be solvent for a while.”
    “Not a problem, Benjamin. You know you always have a home here, whatever your circumstances.”
    “You and Fred have been awfully indulgent with me.”
    He pushed at my chest with a playful hand.
    “Nonsense, you’re family, you know that.” His tone became more formal, his manner a tad proper. “Though we were relieved when all those tequila bottles stopped filling up the recycling bin.”
    From inside the house, Mei-Ling’s sharp bark could be heard, then Fred’s gruff voice asking what the hell had gotten into the kitchen. I weeded out some smaller bills, change from my lunch the day before, and pressed them into Maurice’s hand.
    “Here’s a little extra for dog food. Get a big bone for Maggie while you’re at it. And one for Fred to keep him happy.”
    The sly wink again.
    “Oh, he knows where to go for that when he wants it.”
    Mei-Ling reappeared in the doorway. She sat on her haunches, looking up with pleading eyes, as if she were starving and on the verge of collapse. When she began