Baad Dog

by Sal Conte

  “Queenie, are you in the house?” she called louder.

  She started down the hall. Jackson had said he hadn’t let Queenie out, and even though reason told her he’d been lying, a small part of her felt that Queenie had let herself out.

  Is Queenie spying on me? Yes, it was a silly thing to think, but it was better than believing there was an intruder in the house.

  When Pam reached the corridor that lead to the garage, she saw that the door was ajar. Harry didn’t close it all the way, she tried telling herself, but she didn’t believe that either. What she believed echoed in her mind like crazy talk. Queenie had gotten out of the garage all by herself. Again. And was spying on her. Again. We need to get that thing out of our house once and for all, Pam thought, and there was no way she was going to let Harry talk her out of it this time.

  She started toward the door, and a foreboding began overtaking her. With each step she felt as though she were heading into winter. The house seemed to be growing colder. The goose flesh on her arms rose like seersucker; the fear resting in her belly began to roll like the tide. A thought emerged, that she was heading into a danger zone, and that once she arrived there’d be no turning back.

  Don’t open the door, a small, internal voice said.

  Pam stopped walking, and stood listening to the silence for several minutes. There is no danger, she reasoned. No intruder. If there was, he would have grabbed me by now. The sense of fear and foreboding she’d had was all in her head. Reason told her to go back down the hall and resume her bath, but something else, some other kind of reason told her she needed to look in the garage. If she wanted any kind of satisfaction, she needed to put eyes on Queenie, and see her standing by the work bench, hibernating.

  Pam continued moving toward the partially opened door, and as she neared it, the door slammed shut. Bam! Pam jumped back, releasing a soft yelp as she did. That is not the wind, she told herself. That’s not the fucking wind! She recalled when Queenie had gone into Jackson’s room and the door had closed behind her.

  Queenie had closed the door on her that day and was doing it again now. Pam wanted to turn back. The nerves rippling her gut told her to turn back. She didn’t want to confront the dog, but she had to. It was her lack of desire to face confrontation that had brought her to this moment in time, and if she were ever going to push past her fear of confrontation, she needed to do it now. This, she decided, was her watershed moment. She could not allow Queenie (or anyone, for that matter) to ride roughshod over her.

  Pam again moved toward the door, her footsteps falling with newfound determination. The foreboding returned, as did the internal voice, but Pam continued forward. This time the voice said that Queenie was waiting for her.

  So, what? She thought. What’s she going to do, attack me?

  Pam arrived at the door, placed her hand on the knob, but she did not turn it. Instinct told her she had now arrived at the danger zone, and once she entered, there’d be no turning back.

  She put her ear to the door and listened, half expecting Queenie to yank the door open and maul her. “You’re waiting for me, aren’t you?” she whispered to the door.

  The sound of the mechanical garage door going up shattered the silence that had engulfed her. Harry’s car was pulling in, and suddenly Pam felt like a fool.

  What are you doing out here? Harry would say when he discovered her on the other side of the door wrapped in a towel. And what would she say? Queenie was in the house and I came to confront her about it. Crazy talk.

  Pam tiptoed back down the hall to the bathroom. When Harry and the kids got in, they’d find her finishing up her bath, looking refreshed and seeming relaxed. As she entered the bathroom and closed the door, she wondered what they’d have discovered if they’d arrived home a half an hour later?

  *

  If you’re going to go crazy, just do it. Go to bed one night wondering if the IRS has figured out you cheated on your taxes; wondering if your children are ever going to get it together enough to earn college scholarships (Lord knows you can’t afford to put them through college at today’s prices); asking yourself if the five pounds you put on last Christmas can be hidden under a cardigan sweater. Drift off to sleep with these things on your mind; simple things, normal things, and wake up totally bat shit bonkers. No middle ground. A clean cut.

  Going insane this way may be hard on your family, but it’d be a whole lot easier on you. Going crazy the normal way, the slow way, the constantly asking yourself am I going crazy way can drive a person, well… crazy.

  Harry was seated in the Midas Muffler shop on West Olive in Burbank, asking himself that very question. Two hours earlier, he had been driving downhill on Barham Boulevard, headed for his network meeting with Barry Anger. He was pulling up to a stop light, hit the brakes, and continued rolling right on through. Fortunately for Harry, it was a light traffic day, and he’d avoided broadsiding the Mercedes that had started into the intersection.

  His brakes had failed, and Harry managed to limp the Lexus SUV into the repair shop before hightailing it the rest of the way to his meeting on foot, arriving just five minutes late.

  A leak in the brake line, he told himself. It happens.

  When he returned to the garage after his meeting, Harry was surprised to discover it wasn’t a leak at all. A small animal had chewed through the brake line underneath the car.

  “Probably a rat with really strong teeth. They’d have to be, those damn linings are zinc coated. Lord knows why a rat would choose to go to town on your brake line. It’s not like it smells like a tasty hunk of bacon,” the mechanic had told him. The mechanic’s name was Fred. Fred was a jovial guy who seemed to be a straight shooter.

  Fred told Harry he could patch the line back together for now, but Harry would need to replace it as soon as possible. “This is a temporary quick fix,” he said. “Just until you can get it to your own mechanic.”

  Harry was grateful he’d coasted into Fred’s garage and not the shop of some shyster out to gouge any poor schmo who happened his way. He had the cash to handle the cheap repair in his pocket. He’d throw Fred an extra twenty for being honest. A big repair bill was more than he could handle right now.

  Queenie had been in the garage all night, alone with his car.

  There, he thought it. It wasn’t a small animal that had chewed through his brake line. Okay, it was a small animal, but it wasn’t a rat. It was, Queenie, their mechanical dog.

  Yes, he knew it was ridiculous, insane, crazy to think, but there it was. Queenie was angry over being punished. The K9-233s are smart as a whip, both Archibald and Beth had said it. The K9-233 possesses a super computer, a learning computer. Queenie knew he was going in for the network meeting today. He’d spoken about it freely. Queenie had surveyed his car sitting in the garage and figured out how to get even.

  It was a thought right out of The Twilight Zone, something not to be shared, especially with Pam. If Pam had it her way, they’d be sending Queenie to the junk heap, when all she really needed was a tune-up. If what Harry thought was true, Queenie needed that tune-up now more than ever.

  But how could it be true? It was crazy to think. I’m not going crazy, Harry thought, and with that he decided to not even consider what he’d been thinking. It was too crazy to consider, and he wasn’t going crazy.

  *

  The drive to the San Bernardino mountains took two and a half hours. With two small children on board, the two and a half hours seemed like two and a half days. Harry and Pam threatened more than once that somebody wasn’t going to make it to the mountains alive.

  They stopped off at Emile’s Grocery in town to pick up a few things they’d left behind, and were both surprised to see Emile himself still manning the register. Emile had to have been close to eighty the last time they’d seen him.

  He looked to be making his last trip around the mountain back then, and yet here he was. His bald pate had more ugly red splotches than before, and the thick tufts around his
ears were now wiry gray sprouts, but his smile was as bright as ever and his eyes still shined.

  “Oh, my stars,” Emile said when Harry and Pam walked in with the children and Queenie in tow. “I thought you two love birds had given up on us mountain folk.” He laughed. “How the heck are ya?”

  Harry and Pam were both surprised he remembered them.

  “Why is he calling you a love bird, Mommy? You’re not a bird.” Jackson asked.

  “Because your parents used to come up here all the time when you were just a twinkle in their eye. And let me tell you something, they were very lovey-dovey back then, and it’s a good thing, else you two little munchkins wouldn’t be here.” Pam blushed as Emile stooped to address Jackson at his level. “The last time I saw you, you were knee high to a grasshopper.”

  “You met me before?” Jackson asked.

  “You were a baby. That’s why you don’t remember,” Ariel said, getting a word in. “Do you remember me?” she asked Emile.

  “Oh, yes. You are the princess,” Emile said and Ariel giggled. “And who’s this?” Ariel was holding Queenie on a leash. Emile smiled down at the little dog and scratched her atop the head.

  “Queenie. She’s our dog. She’s not a real dog. She’s a robot,” Ariel replied.

  “You don’t say?”

  Queenie allowed Emile to scratch her beneath the chin without complaint. She seemed like any friendly little dog. Emile gave her a quick inspection, marveling over the advancement in robotics. “Robots when I was a kid looked like a bunch of tin cans,” he said with a laugh.

  While they shopped, Emile caught Harry and Pam up on all of the changes since they’d last been to the mountains: “Some big developer is planning on knocking out the nine hole golf course and putting up condominiums. Condos in the mountains, whoever heard of such a thing?” He warned them that the small swimming hole near their cabin had become polluted: “Folks up here think the developer has something to do with it. Possibly another land grab. Either way, steer clear. It’s full of bacteria, and it smells.” He told them about the cold front that was supposed to be pushing in: “Might even be some snow. That’d be a blessing this time of year.”

  He helped them stock the car, and said goodbye, with a special farewell for Ariel and Jackson. “You kids don’t be strangers like your Mom and Dad. Come visit uncle Emile more often, okay?” They promised they would.

  Harry couldn’t help but notice how non-communicative Pam was the entire time they were at Emile’s. She wasn’t rude, but she remained aloof. He was hoping the trip to the mountains might loosen her up a bit, that being there might stir up memories of the old days when they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. So far, it wasn’t looking good.

  After they unpacked and got the kids settled, Harry took Queenie out for a long walk on one of the mountain trails. Harry loved their walks before Queenie started acting strange, and a long walk in the mountain air with his dog would allow him to free his mind, think more clearly, and plan out their future. Outside of the city, he wasn’t required to keep Queenie on a leash. It was a boy and his dog in nature.

  Harry noticed it was at least fifteen degrees cooler than back in LA. If the temperature continued to drop, it might be a good night for roasting marshmallows in the fireplace. The kids would love that.

  Harry’d been keeping a close eye on Queenie since the incident with the brakes. She seemed normal. While she wasn’t the eager, attentive Queenie he’d purchased (only a tune-up with the K9-233 mechanics could fix that) she didn’t seem to be the calculating vengeful monster he’d wondered about either. It was a rat that chewed through the brake line. I’m not going crazy after all.

  He also had time to think about the network meeting. Barry Anger and his associate, Mike something, seemed eager when they met with him, and nodded all the way through the presentation he gave reminding them why they’d chosen his show in the first place. But when the meeting was over, he didn’t get anything more out of them than a thank you and a handshake.

  “We’ll be in touch,” Anger had said.

  He’d called Catherine several times, but she hadn’t heard anything aside from they thought it was a good meeting.

  “Stop leaving me twisting in the wind,” Harry hollered into the mountain air. His voice echoed back to him.

  If his show got canceled, they’d have to move to the mountains, at least until they could get back on their feet. The cabin was paid for in full. They’d sell the house before they lost it. The money they’d get from the sale could go a lot farther up in the mountains where the cost of living wasn’t anything like in LA. There was a school nearby, and plenty of room for the kids to run around outside without him and Pam having to constantly worry about them. The mountains could be a nice place to raise a family.

  It was a good plan, a solid plan, but Harry knew he’d have to get Pam on board or their lives would be miserable. He was thinking of how to broach the subject without upsetting her more when he noticed Queenie was no longer trotting along behind him.

  “Queenie!” he called out. “Queenie, where are you?”

  Harry looked first up, and then down the mountain trail. Fear bubbled up in his belly and then quieted down. Queenie couldn’t have been scooped up and eaten by a hawk. Well, she could have been scooped up, but Mr. Hawk would be very disappointed when he discovered his little tidbit was made of metal, plastic, and fake fur. The same thing went for any animal that might have grabbed her. Queenie would make a lousy meal.

  Lousy meal or not, Queenie was his dog, and he was worried about her.

  “Queenie,” he called again, peering into the underbrush on the downslope. He didn’t think she could have slipped and fallen down the embankment. She was a computer dog for chrissake. He didn’t believe slipping down the slope was possible for a computer dog. On the other hand, he did think she might go investigating. She was a learning computer. Perhaps she was seeking knowledge about her new environment and had fallen into a hole and couldn’t climb out.

  Harry stepped off the road, easing down the sloping embankment into the underbrush. “Queenie,” he called out again.

  He heard rustling to his left, but when he looked there was nothing there. He moved back up to the road and began backtracking, searching the brush alongside the road. He searched for ten full minutes before giving up.

  “Queenie, I’m heading back,” he called out, his voice a soft echo off the mountain walls. Nothing. Harry started back down the road toward the cabin. If she didn’t turn up soon he’d put on his hiking boots, grab a grappling hook, and give the underbrush a thorough search. He was fully prepared to rappel down into one of the canyons if need be.

  “Won’t Pam be thrilled,” he muttered as he walked. Then, he caught himself because that was no way to think. Queenie was fine, off exploring her new environment. That was the comforting thought he was going with. Nothing had happened to her.

  He was nearing the path that led to their cabin when heard a rumbling in the wooded area to his left. He stopped. “Queenie?” he called squinting into the brush.

  The rumbling increased. It didn’t sound like a dog, or any other small animal for that matter. It sounded to Harry like beginnings of an earthquake, as if in any moment the ground would begin shaking violently. “Queenie, are you in there?” Harry called, louder. He began moving toward the wooded area to investigate.

  He was nearing the brush when he heard a more disturbing sound. Harry looked up just in time to see a giant spruce tree tumbling down. He turned to run, but was too late. The tree crashed down on top of him.

  Chapter Eight

  Harry was lying prone, floating as if in Limbo, like a bug trapped in tree sap. Harry surmised that he was either dead, or he was very lucky because even though he couldn’t see a thing, he didn’t feel any pain. Harry decided he wasn’t dead. The tree’s large and thorny trunk had missed him. He’d been knocked down by the tree’s long upper branches, and was now encased in them.

  Luc
ky. Yes, he was very lucky. Aside from being undead, he was entirely unhurt. He was also un-alone. There was movement in the branches just above his head.

  “Hello?” he called, his cry muffled by the foliage surrounding his face. The sound of his voice transformed the rustling into frenetic shaking. A large bird was in the branches just above his head.

  If it was a hawk or a large crow, it might attack out of fear. Wouldn’t that be just my luck. Having survived the fall without injury, Harry did not want to get mauled to death while lying on the ground. That would make for lousy conversation at his funeral:

  He survived a hundred foot tall tree falling on him only to have his brains pecked out by a bird trapped in the branches.

  Harry needed to get out now while the bird had quieted down.

  Snatches of daylight were off to Harry’s right, and he determined, that even though his arms were still pinned, if he rocked himself in the direction of the daylight, once he got going, he could eventually roll toward the tree’s thinner, outer branches, and freedom.

  Harry began leaning his weight to the right and then the left, the right and then the left. The commotion above his head started up again. Eyes, Harry thought. If the bird clawed or pecked at him now he couldn’t fight it off. He needed to close his eyes.

  Right-left, right-left.

  The rocking was working. He could feel himself being propelled farther and farther with each rock. Right-left, right-left.

  As he rocked, the commotion above his head grew in intensity. The bird let out a loud ca-caw, and then Harry was rolling along the trees branches and out onto the road.

  He was free of the tree, lying on the road staring up at the sky. His arms and face had suffered some scratches, but he was free.

  “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” Harry’s heart was jitterbugging in his chest. He was lying on the ground breathing heavily, but was unscathed. He drew in a deep breath, and exhaled with relief as he realized how narrowly he’d averted disaster.

  That’s when he heard rustling in the undergrowth, and soft footsteps crunching on the gravel coming up from behind the fallen tree. Harry looked up. Queenie was trotting toward him.