The Dog Thief

by Marta Acosta

  “If I knew, I’d get my money back. He better not show his fucking face in town again.”

  “I don’t understand, Dawg. What do you think I said? I didn’t tell Ben about the dealing or...does this have to do with your wife? ” I looked around and saw a shovel on the ground about five yards away. Then I spotted Bertie in the back seat of Dawg’s car, his nose poking out the window. Bertie!

  “Dime bags and the job are the cover, but you know since Gizmo can’t keep a secret.”

  “Gizmo didn’t tell me anything. I’m not psychic.”

  “Yeah, you are.” When Dawg shook his head his thin silver hair flopped around. “You never lied to me, Maddie, so don’t start now. That’s what I love about you: how you always speak your mind and have this sense of not giving a good goddamn. So you didn’t tell Raymond, and you haven’t told Kenzie yet, because she’d have gone to the sheriff. But how long will it be before you tell someone? It was only a mistake! You understand about mistakes.”

  “I do, that’s why I know you’re making a big one now.”

  He kept the gun on me and said, “You’ve got to dig a hole. Get the shovel and start.”

  I remembered Edwin saying, Burying is for amateurs. “Where are we? Mt. Hale?”

  “No one here but us and Rafe and his crew by the crops. The IEDs make it nice and private.”

  I slowly walked to the shovel, watching Dawg. “Gizmo is what law enforcement terms ‘an unreliable witness.’ I never really believe everything he tells me, all these wild stories and he’s usually the hero of them.”

  Dawg laughed. “I love the crazy little bastard to death even though he doesn’t understand secrecy.”

  I struck the soil with the shovel. It was soft and gave way easily, which was not in my favor. The air was cool in the shade, and shafts of light illuminated dust thrown up in the breeze.

  “Tell me your version of things, Dawg, because Gizmo said you had no choice. You only did what you had to do.” I drove the shovel into the ground again.

  With his left hand, Dawg reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a small candy tin. He flicked it open and upended the contents into his mouth. He crunched for a long minute before swallowing. “I don’t like pills. Too many side effects. I prefer herb, though Los Tres Chuckies douse pesticides on the crops. Well, you’ve heard the Carozzos blather about the polluted creeks here. All I needed was another three months, maybe six, to build up my winnings and get the fuck out of Dodge. ”

  I stopped digging. “Sherry Rae.”

  “Keep digging.” He moved the gun in his left hand so he could take a pint from his other pocket. He unscrewed it using his teeth and took long gulps. “Did Gizmo explain how I got into this shit? I met Rafe at the casino. Funny guy with a million stories, very simpatico about the lottery, and he offers me this gig: help them wash their funds, and they’d help me stay in the game. First-class airfare, first-class parties, first-class rooms all over the world. I coulda had girls, too, but what girl compares to the one I have? It was a sweet gig.”

  “Gizmo doesn’t understand how Sherry Rae fits into all this,” I said, hoping the booze and drugs would make Dawg garrulous and inattentive. “It bothers him. He hates violence and it makes no sense to him why you did what you did.”

  “If he hates violence why does he always start fights with wiener dogs? Whatever. Towering Pines wanted to reclaim possession of the mountain, ancestral rights, sacred land and all, but they weren’t going to approach the feds until the situation was stabilized—no more grow fields and no encampments. Recreational weed legalization, and it’s gonna happen here, changes the game, so Los Tres Chuckies accepted the offer.”

  “If they agreed to the deal, why did they kill Sherry Rae?”

  Dawg began pacing. “I needed more time. So I followed her out of town. When I caught up with her, she wouldn’t listen to—she called me a bagman! She started walking away and wouldn’t stop, and I picked up a rock and...it was an accident.”

  “You put her on the Carozzos’ property.”

  “I was freaked and couldn’t think straight. I begged Rafe to help me, help a pal out, and it was his idea to leave her there just to fuck with Phin and Tessa. The gunshots and coins were supposed to make it seem like, I dunno, something else because the bosses would not be happy if they learn what happened...by accident. Rafe’s a good friend.”

  “I thought I was, too, Dawg.”

  I dumped another shovelful of dirt on the small mound.

  Dawg wavered on his feet and closed his eyes for a second. “It’s late.”

  “Will you take Bertie back to my house?”

  “I can’t. He’ll lead the sheriff back here, won’t he? We’ll be like the Egyptian pharaohs, Maddie, burying our favorite pets with us for the afterlife. You and your dog will finally be released from pain. You won’t have to fight the world anymore.”

  My calmness was an effect of whatever drug he’d given me. As Dr. Pete said, better living through chemistry. “I’d like to say goodbye to Bertie now.” When Dawg didn’t answer, I said, “You have to let me explain what’s happening, Douglas! He’s been confused enough in his life.”

  “Only if you promise not to sic him on me like you did on Raymond.”

  “That was another dog, not Bertie. I would never make Bertie attack anyone.”

  He sighed. “Okay. Lie face down on the ground. Then I’ll let him out.”

  “You know I have a problem with bugs.”

  “Now? Seriously?”

  “Always. Until the moment you take my life, Douglas O’Donnell, and the light dims from my eyes like those animals you couldn’t bear to put down. You remember what that’s like—the second when you know it’s over.”

  “Don’t be like that.” With his free hand, he swiped his eyes. “You know I like you.”

  “Liked. Past tense. Start talking about me in the past tense. Practice how you’ll tell Kenzie you’re sorry I went missing. It shouldn’t be a problem because you’ve always been able to chit-chat. It was so easy for you to be friends with everyone, Dawg. You could even be friends with me. I don’t have many friends, only my sister, Jaison, and Georgie. I counted you as a friend.”

  “What about the sheriff?”

  I thought of the weight of his arm over my shoulders, the way he smiled and the gravel in his voice. “He hates me less these days. As for Claire... I always seem to do the wrong things and piss off people. I thought you were mad at me so I made you a mix tape. It’s here.” I reached into my pocket and brought out the CD and held it toward him while keeping my other hand on the shovel. “I wrote out the playlist and I drew the cover, see? I can’t believe you’re going to kill Bertie, too. How can you, Dawg? How can you?”

  “Shit, Maddie, don’t make this harder than it is. Okay, stay there and I’ll get him.” He moved sideways like a crab, watching me as he went to the passenger door of his car and opened it.

  I shoved the CD in my pocket and considered my options. I had none.

  Bertie jumped out and trotted to me. “Say, boy.” I reached to scratch him behind those elegant dark ears. If I had to die today, it would be trying to get him to safety. My life might mean nothing in the big picture, but I knew in my heart that Bertie’s did. I let my fingers drop to the ground and clutched a handful of the soft volcanic soil, hiding it in my palm.

  Then a huge boom sounded from the forest and reverberated in the very soil beneath our feet.

  “What the fuck’s that!”

  “It’s only the guys clearing a field. I don’t have time for you to finish, Maddie.” His arm was shaking as he approached me. Every nerve felt naked as I waited for him to get close enough. “Sorry, hon.”

  The moment he grimaced and began to aim, I flung the dirt in his face. I picked up the shovel and swung it around to strike his knees, hearing him shout in pain. I dropped the shovel, signaled for Bertie to heel, and raced for the trees.

  The blast of the gunshot came a second after, but we kept movi
ng downhill.

  Dawg screamed, “Stop!” and ran after us.

  I heard an explosion so close and so loud the waves threw me forward and over the edge of an embankment as rocks and dirt erupted in a gravel cloud that rained down over us. I desperately grabbed at roots to stop my descent, losing my grasp, but then I tumbled against a tree trunk. Bertie scrambled down to me, trembling.

  There was no sound, no sound at all.

  “It’s okay, boy.” My voice was muffled in my ears, so I thudded my hand against my head as if trying to dislodge water. I waited for one minute, counting out the seconds by clenching my hands. A sparrow fell from the sky and lay there and then another sparrow fell.

  I stood and looked around.

  At first I thought the smell of smoke was from the blast, but it must have sparked a fire. The temperature was already rising as the undergrowth, dry from years of drought, began to burn.

  Think, Mad Girl, think! Dawg’s car was eliminated as an option since he might still be alive and armed and I didn’t want to be anywhere near those kerosene canisters he was hauling. We’d have to make our way down the booby-trapped mountain. I looked at my beautiful dog. “Come on, Bertie. We’ll do this together.”

  He knew from the explosions what to do. We moved slowly and carefully through the dense brush and brambles. When Bertie sat and barked, I froze in place. I crouched and squinted until I spotted the fishing wire stretched between two trees at ankle height.

  “Good boy, good Bertie!” I gave him a rub.

  I lost my sense of direction and said, “Home,” letting him guide me. I had no concept of time as the forest became both darker and warmer. We came to a trail wide enough for a jeep and marked with tire tracks. It was the fastest, yet most dangerous route downhill, and Bertie stopped several times to alert me to the fishing line triggers and half-buried grenades.

  Bertie panted and his back leg drooped. My mouth tasted of dust. I should have thought to bring water along instead of a CD.

  I felt rather than heard the pulsations of a helicopter’s blades. I peered up and saw a bright red flash of a firefighter helicopter piercing the smoke. “We’re here!” I shouted, “We’re here!” as the helicopter hovered away.

  They couldn’t see us. My thoughts whirled round about light and vision, and then I reached for the CD in my pocket. “We need light, Bertie. Let’s go to the light!”

  I moved as quickly as I could safely, searching for a clearing, and then I came to a small plateau with the remains of a camp. I sent Bertie forward to clear it, and I stood in the middle of the space.

  I kept looking from the sky to Bertie, waiting for him to react to a sound. When he gazed up, I held up the CD to a sun that now almost hidden in the ashen sky and angled the reflective side to signal three short flashes, three longer ones, three short ones, and I repeated this, S.O.S., S.O.S., as the whirlybird circled overhead.

  And then it flew away.

  My eyes were too dry to cry. I dropped to the ground beside my dog and put my arms around him. “Bertie, you did the very best you could and I’m so proud of you. I couldn’t ask for a better companion in life or in death.”

  I was holding him and wishing he wouldn’t suffer when his ears pivoted again. I jumped up with the CD in my hand, flashing S.O.S., S.O.S., and I shouted even though I knew they couldn’t hear me.

  The copter hung overhead and then a speaker announced, “Remain where you are. Remain where you are,” so loudly that I heard every word. And it flew off again.

  I was shaking with cold, hope, I didn’t know what, and the wait was so excruciating that I almost gave up and headed for the road, because the fire was moving too fast.

  Then another copter, marked with white and blue colors of the CHP, arrived. A rope ladder dropped and a man climbed down and said, “Let’s get you out of here.”

  “Take my dog first.”

  “You’re first, lady.”

  I coughed the thick smoky air. “Bertie is a veteran and a hero. Take him first, or I’m not going.”

  The medic’s eyes were invisible behind the shield of his helmet, and then he said, “You’re Midnight Runners!”

  He reached for Bertie, and I said, “Be careful of his ribs.”

  I watched Bertie, overcome with joy that he was safe. Seconds later, the ladder descended again and I climbed it and was pulled into the copter.

  The crew inside asked me questions that I didn’t answer. As the copter turned toward Coyote Run, I saw the brilliant orange flames and thick white and black plumes of the mountain on fire.

  Chapter 21

  FIRES ARE TERRIFYING, yet wondrous, consuming anything that can be consumed, transforming matter, sound and power, something that suddenly exists and increases in dimension and strength. Something that moves. Something that grows louder and bigger than imaginable. Something elemental. Majestic and pure. And what are we? Soft flesh and brittle bone, ego and delusion.

  Bertie rested his head on my knee and I stroked his fur as we whirled away from the mountain.

  The medic asked me something. I couldn’t hear him and mouthed, “Water, water!” and he handed me a bottle. I opened it, tilting it for Bertie to lap up. The water dribbled down to my trail boots. At least I’d worn the right shoes this time.

  They wanted to take me to the hospital by the lake, but I asked to go back to Coyote Run. The copter landed on the closest helipad, which was beside a parking lot at the Towering Pines Casino. A medic in scrubs stood beside Edwin Gallego, who seemed amused as I climbed from the copter with Bertie.

  Bystanders watched as the medic came forward and I said, “No, I’m okay.”

  Edwin said, “You heard Dr. Whitney. I’ll take it from here.”

  The crew in the helicopter waved to me and lifted off, swirling up grit, and I followed Edwin toward the casino. “Hear you been wandering in the woods again.”

  “May I use the ladies room without going through the casino proper, Dr. Gallego?”

  “Are we in some secret fake doctor club now? Your boyfriend is on his way.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend either.”

  “Sure you do. Your macho man sheriff. All we need is a construction worker for our disco band.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No one does. It adds to my existential crisis.”

  “I’ve been suffering from an existential crisis since I was ten and began to grasp the concept of infinity. Not infinity itself. No one can conceive of infinity.”

  “I’d enjoy discussing that with you sometime, but you’ve got to promise to use your inside voice.”

  I cupped my hands over my ears. “Sorry. I was near a grenade blast.”

  “But you didn’t get blown up.”

  “My dog led me.”

  Edwin smiled. “That’s a damn fine animal. How much do you want for him?”

  “I don’t own him. He’s my spirit guide. You don’t sell your spirit guide.”

  “Good answer.” Edwin walked past the entrance we’d used before and to another building and into an elevator. I leaned against the paneled wall, trying to keep from falling.

  When we reached the top floor, Edwin opened the door to an enormous pale blue and white suite and said, “Compliments of Towering Pines. I’ll send Olly D up when he gets here. Do you want anything from room service?”

  “A first aid kit, steak dinners with everything, and beer.”

  “How do you want it cooked?”

  “Medium rare for me and Bertie likes all steaks.”

  When Edwin left, I sat on the bed and slowly bent to unlace my boots. My knees were skinned and bleeding beneath new rips in my jeans. My hands were bruised and scratched, the nails filthy and broken, my eyes were hot and blurry, and every part of my body ached. Bertie collapsed on the floor and patiently let me examine his paws. I cleaned a gash on his paw with tissue paper and water.

  I made my way to the bathroom, stripped off my soiled clothes, and s
howered, keeping my eyes closed so I wouldn’t see all my new injuries. I wrapped myself in a thick guest robe. While I had showered, someone left a medical kit on the bedside table. I applied antibiotic ointment to Bertie’s paw and covered it in gauze. I slapped Band-Aids on the worst of my cuts.

  Then I lay on the thick carpet with Bertie.

  I recalled Dawg’s mood the day I’d brought in Ghost, how he told me his soul had troubles, and now all our conversations took a different meaning.

  There was a rap on the door. My muscles were aching as I got up and opened it. Olly stood there with a room service cart filled with covered dishes and said, “I intercepted this at the elevator. Nice of you to order dinner for me.”

  “I didn’t. Edwin must have done it. What time is it?”

  “Almost seven.”

  “Shit! I missed evening feeding.” I grabbed my jeans, and Oliver said, “Jaison is taking care of it, and Kenzie knows you’re here.”

  “She knows what happened?”

  “She knows there’s a fire on Mt. Hale and that you were lifted out of it. No one knows everything except for you. Sit and eat.” He placed the plates and drinks on a round dining table, and I set one of the steak dinners on the floor for Bertie.

  “Maddie, on the day you reported the body, did you feed my ham sandwich to Bertie?”

  “I fed a ham sandwich to Bertie. It was just sitting there.”

  “Just sitting there? It’s a sandwich—what else is it supposed to do?” he said. “That solves one mystery.”

  My hand was shaky as I picked up a bottle of beer. Olly took the bottle away and handed me a glass of water. “You’re dehydrated.”

  I didn’t realize how thirsty I was until I gulped down two glasses. “This is nice,” I said. “Now I know why Kenzie likes staying in hotels even though I tell her other guests leave copious quantities of bodily fluids.”

  “I thought you liked staying in hotels, too.”

  I chewed on a sprig of parsley and then finished the buttery mashed potatoes. I opened a beer and took a swig. “I suppose you mean the Country Squire. Hotels are convenient for sex with people you’d rather not take home. Which is how I know about the bodily fluids.”