The Tailor's Razor

8. Home Invasion

A few days later
On a leafy row of beautiful brownstones, E 71st St., Upper East Side, Manhattan

Madison definitely had some of the old blood in her; she'd bewitched Taylor. At least that was how he tried to excuse his behaviour. Anyone would find it difficult to refuse a beautiful girl offering to pay for their ticket to New York with their dog to boot. However romantic it seemed to the reformed convict it was difficult to forget that he was, in truth, tagging along the warpath of a grieving daughter. He'd learnt long ago to beware the song of a broken bird, but there was something strong and furious about this girl; he swore she was different, without the inevitable neuroses that so many wild girls suffer from. A delusional girl on home soil is dangerous enough, but in a foreign land? That was risky business.

Luckily for Taylor, though, Madison seemed to stay alert for the flight. She even piqued up when they landed, telling him all about Scarsdale on their way to the family manor. Half the time Taylor hadn't the foggiest where he was, confessing he'd never set foot in the USA before. She assured him she was a local expert and consummate native; if her family had been in America any longer they'd be Algonquin!

Not that those tracking-skills would be of any use in this concrete jungle, but she kept her eyes sharp on the trip to Manhattan and directed both man and dog to get off at the stations on 125th and 68th streets. It was all gobbledygook to the old boy; why they didn't just give them names like George and Commonwealth was beyond him! Regardless of the actuary's catalogue it was a beautiful stretch of country with all the brownstones blooming in the sunlight. Mahdo was enamoured by the cacophony of smells and raced back and forth, trying to collect as many scents he could before Taylor called him back. It was a fire hydrant, so rare in Australia, that distracted him from the master's holler.

"Mahdo! Get over here!" the dog came lolloping over, eventually, and looked up at Taylor sheepishly. The old boy just grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, "When I call you, you come! Understand?" cowering, the dog winced as Taylor smacked him on the back of his head.

"You're awfully rough with the big, beautiful boy," Madison said softly, holding out her hand for Mahdo to lick.

"It's cos I love him," he shrugged, turning to face the door, "Now see this, girlie? Could you hold the dog for me so he doesn't run off? Cheers. Now, what we've got here is a pretty basic single-circuit electrical alarm."

Madison scoffed, "Who'd you learn that from? Nikola Tesla?"

"You know I wasn't always a wanky journalist," Taylor assured her, reaching into the duffle bag they'd brought.

"You used to be an outlaw, didn't you?" she smirked

"The worst of them," Taylor fiddled with the shonky alarm Harrison Torquil had chosen to save a bit of pocket money.

"You ever gonna tell me what you did before you went to gaol?"

"You might start agreeing with your old man; think I really am no good for you."

"You can't agree with a dead man."

Furrowing his brow Taylor watched as the alarm case flashed green, "Voilà."

Pushing the door open Taylor smirked at the trust Torquil had invested in doing away with lock-and-key. Madison furtively checked the street before leading Mahdo into the townhouse, only to be dragged down the hallway. He was big beast, desperate to explore, and there was no amount of laps she could've swum that would've strengthened her arms enough to hold him back. Letting Mahdo go he skidded on the hardwood floor, scratching it to oblivion. It was a carpenter's nightmare: there wasn't enough resin in the world to fix the finish on those boards.