Got to Kill Them All & Other Stories

by Dennis Etchison

  Two cars were parked in the driveway now. He threw away his popsicle stick before he opened the kitchen door but the mother turned around from the cutting board and grabbed him.

  "Are you deaf or something? Answer me!"

  The knife waved in front of his face.

  "Just like your dad!"

  In the living room, his father sat on one end of the couch, squeezing his hands together so hard that the knuckles were white. Two women leaned against the cushions at the other end. The older one crossed herself when she saw him. His father stood up.

  "Hey, Little Mike. Did they find him?"

  The boy shook his head.

  The father smiled.

  The boy ran to him and put his arms around his waist.

  "Give Gramma a kiss," said the older woman.

  "Go on."

  The boy clung to him and buried his face.

  "He's all tired out," said the man, stroking his head.

  "He's lucky to be alive," said the older woman.

  "Oh, Cecilia…"

  "All this time, right here in the house!"

  The man tried to laugh but his mouth twisted crookedly. "Old Red wouldn't hurt anybody."

  "Only Loretta!"

  "We don't know that for sure."

  "Tell it to Linda!" Her hands began to tremble and she turned to the younger woman. "Isabel!"

  "Huh?"

  "Go set the table."

  The young woman blinked thickly. "Linda did it already."

  "Then help your sister with the cooking."

  "She's done."

  "I said go!"

  The young woman sighed and worked her large body forward on the cushions, got to her feet and started slowly for the kitchen.

  "You hungry, champ?" the man said.

  The boy shrugged.

  "What's that, orange soda?" He winked, took a handkerchief from the back pocket of his work pants and wiped the color off the boy's mouth. "Better not tell Mom."

  "Lucky to be alive," the older woman said again.

  In the dining room, the mother set down a serving dish with a loud thump.

  "Manny, you didn't change your clothes!"

  He walked the boy to the hall.

  "Come on, champ," he said. "Let's wash our hands."

  He helped the boy with the big dish, scooping out an enchilada for him, and passed it to Isabel, who took two.

  "The meat isn't very good," his wife said. "Nobody has to eat it if they don't want to."

  He made the twisted smile again. "What do you mean? I just brought it home."

  "From work," she said.

  "I took it off the truck this morning. Fresh-ground."

  "Frozen. They don't use fresh."

  "We get our meat shipped in from Colorado." He put his fork down. "It's inspected. USDA Select."

  His wife shot a glance across the table at her mother. "Not Choice."

  "They don't have Choice anymore. All the Feed Bags, they get the best, before Ralph's or Stater Brothers. It costs me plenty."

  "Not you. The company."

  "It comes off my books!"

  She ignored him and spoke to her sister. "Isabel, do me a favor, okay? Don't marry no swing-shift manager."

  "You know how many tons we use? If the burgers are no good, everybody goes someplace else. How come we beat McDonald's last week?"

  "Get yourself a man with a good job. My first husband, he worked for the county."

  The older woman crossed herself. "Rest his soul."

  "That way you can have a future."

  "I told you," the man explained, "when I buy my own franchise—"

  "If you get the loan."

  The man stood up. Then he sat down. Then he tried to help the boy cut his food but his hands slipped, as the doorbell rang.

  His wife started for the living room.

  The little boy stared up at him.

  "Don't worry, champ," he whispered.

  When she came back her mother said, "Did they get him?"

  "I don't need no Animal Control! If I knew where he keeps the gun, I would've shot it myself!"

  "I know you would," he said.

  "So where is it?" said his wife.

  "Safe."

  He looked past her. A man with a long grey ponytail stood in the living room, shifting his weight.

  "Hey, Vincent."

  "Isabel," said the mother-in-law, "set another place."

  "I don't want to bother you folks. How's your little girl?"

  "No broken bones," said the wife.

  The boy's father got up from the table.

  "Let's go outside, Vincent. I'm finished, anyway."

  "Go on," she said. "I have to fix a plate for Loretta. She can't even come to the table!"

  The two men went out onto the porch.

  "Is it safe?"

  Vincent looked away down the block and tried to speak without moving his lips. "In the garage."

  "I'll be over."

  "When?"

  "Later."

  Manny walked to the wrought-iron fence around his small front yard. He gazed through the bars as a pickup truck with a lawn mower and leaf blower in the back rattled to a stop at the house across the street, coming home. The house had the same kind of security fence as every other one on the block. They all looked exactly like his, except for the color.

  His friend came up next to him and leaned his arms between the spikes.

  "So what did the bank say?"

  Manny let out a deep breath. "No way."

  "Are you shitting me?"

  "I have to pay down some debt first. It's the numbers. We owe too much."

  "Did you tell her?"

  "Not yet."

  The sound of traffic from the intersection became a dull roar.

  "Well, at least Loretta's okay. Right?"

  "Yeah. The doctor came out."

  "What did he say?"

  "When I got here, he already left. She's supposed to bring her in tomorrow."

  "I can drive you to work in the morning."

  Manny shook his head. "She won't go."

  "You got medical, right?"

  "That's not why. They'd have to take pictures and make a report. She don't want that."

  Vincent gazed with him along the block. "Oh. I get it."

  "Me, too."

  "What about the guys from the pound?"

  "They'll be back."

  "Maybe not."

  "They have to do their job," said Manny.

  "Well, he had his shots."

  "That don't mean nothing. She filed a complaint. So they have to put him away."

  "Oh. That's tough."

  "Yeah."

  "You had Red a long time."

  "Ten years."

  "Before you married Linda, even."

  "It was Mary's dog, before she ran off. The boy can't even remember her. But old Red was always there. Little Mike, he loves him."

  "Shit," said Vincent. "You should get him out of here."

  "And go where?"

  The sun turned the sky yellow-orange, like the reflected light of a fire somewhere in the city. It seemed to be getting closer.

  "I hear that," said Vincent. "So what are you gonna do?"

  Manny squinted through the bars at the setting sun.

  "Something."

  Inside, his wife cut a piece of steak and put it on the extra plate, along with vegetables and a fresh-baked sugar cookie.

  "Did you lock the screen door?" she said when he came back. "I don't want that damn dog coming in."

  "He's not a damn dog."

  "He was always outside. But not today!"

  "I was at work."

  "Oh, it's really worth it! Look at this place!"

  She carried a tray into the hall.

  "I thought you had a signal," said the older woman.

  "We did," said Manny, clearing the dishes from the table. "I had to lock him in the kitchen. Then I'd say 'Red dog out' so Loretta could come in the room."

&nb
sp; "I don't see why you kept that dog if it bites."

  "It doesn't, Cecilia. Trust me."

  "Oh no?"

  "Only strangers."

  "Tell it to the doctor."

  "He doesn't know what happened. He wasn't here, either."

  He took the dishes into the kitchen. She had already thrown out the dog's food and water bowl. He stood there looking down at the place where they had been by the back door. Then he scraped the plates into the garbage can, except for the rest of Loretta's steak. It had a lot of meat left on the bone. He started to put it away when the little boy came into the kitchen.

  "You get enough to eat, champ?"

  The boy looked up at him with big eyes and reached for the leash. It was still hanging on the wall.

  "Not tonight. I'll go out and look again. All right?"

  In the living room, Isabel had the TV on. She was eating sugar cookies and watching a cartoon show, staring at the screen as if she were a child herself. Her mother spoke up as he passed through.

  "Linda says he bit Mike one time, too."

  "I know what Linda says."

  "Oh, my daughter is a liar?"

  "Just leave it alone, all right? You weren't here. Were you?"

  The boy followed him into the hall, holding the leash.

  "I told you," Manny said at the bedroom door, "you can't go with me, champ. Not this time."

  The boy went back down the hall, dragging the leash. He started to go to the living room, then heard the mother running water in the bathroom sink. He ducked into the other bedroom.

  Loretta lay on one of the beds, watching a small portable TV. She had her drawing paper and colored markers and stuffed animals spread out around her.

  "Mikey, come here."

  He sidled over to her bed.

  "Wanna watch PowerPuff Girls?"

  He picked up a marker, hunched over the paper and began drawing.

  "It's so-o-o good," she told him. "Blossom, she has to fight all the monsters. She put her ice-breath on that old monkey. He can't hurt her, 'cause girls have powers."

  He concentrated on his picture, filling in the scratchy lines till the color was hard and shiny.

  She leaned over to see what he was drawing.

  "Red," she said and giggled. "You didn't do it right. Here. Ow!"

  When she reached for the marker she made a face and rubbed her arm.

  He looked up from the paper and stared at her shoulder.

  She pulled her pajama top off one arm and lifted the gauze bandage to show him. The skin was not broken but there were yellow and black marks, the colors of a bad bruise.

  They heard her mother flush the toilet in the bathroom.

  The girl froze, then looked at the plate on the TV tray. The vegetables were untouched.

  "Mikey, help me." She held out the plate. "Please?"

  The boy stashed the leash under his bed, came back, picked up the fork and filled his mouth, chewing fast.

  Her mother opened the bedroom door.

  He put the fork down quickly.

  "That's not your steak," she said. "It's Loretta's."

  She clicked the door shut and yanked him into the middle of the floor, almost hard enough to dislocate his thin arm from the shoulder.

  "Mama, don't!" said the little girl, gobbling vegetables. "I'm eating, see?"

  He got away and ran to the other side of his bed, rubbing his arm. He did not cry. There were red finger marks on his arm but no bruises yet.

  Manny changed his shoes and reached into the back of the closet for an old windbreaker, folded and hidden carefully behind the rest of his clothes. He put on the jacket and zipped it up.

  In the hall, his wife closed the door to the children's room.

  "Where are you going now?"

  "For a walk."

  "Why?"

  "I always go after dinner."

  "You can't find him," she said. "The Animal Control people already did."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Well, they will, in the morning. There's nothing you can do about it. A dog that bites somebody, they have to put him to sleep."

  He touched the pocket of his jacket. "We'll see."

  "What does that mean?"

  He brushed past her to the living room and out the front door.

  The sky was red now beyond the rooftops. Across the street, other families got up from dinner as the pale colors of television screens flickered on in their front rooms.

  He opened the gate and went down the sidewalk to another house on this side, opened the gate there and followed the driveway to a garage door in back. He lifted it far enough to slip under, lowered it and pulled the light bulb cord.

  "Hi, boy."

  A dog jumped up and ran to him but only got partway before the rope stopped it. He unhooked the rope from the collar.

  "How you been? Okay?"

  The dog sniffed him and tried to leap up but its legs were not strong enough. He caught it in his arms. It was a short-legged cattle dog/Jack Russell mix with smudged reddish-brown spots showing through the coarse white coat. The dog braced its paws against his chest and licked his face, even the eyes, cleaning them frantically.

  The garage door rolled up.

  "Did he bark?" asked Manny.

  The neighbor pulled the door down. "Only for a minute, when you left. He thinks you're God."

  "That's the way they are, red-tick heelers. Real loyal."

  When the other man crossed the garage the dog bristled and growled.

  "I don't know why he doesn't like me," Vincent said. "After all these years."

  "You're a stranger."

  "No, I'm not."

  "Stay there."

  "He won't bite."

  "I know. But he doesn't see very good. He can still smell, though. Look. I want to show you something."

  Manny set the dog down and stroked its head. He knelt and talked to it as though having an intimate conversation. Then he reached his arm back and waved the other man forward one step at a time.

  "That's Vincent," he said to the dog. "You know him, don't you, boy? He's a friend." He snapped his fingers behind his back. "Give me your hand."

  "What?"

  "Real slow."

  The neighbor extended his arm and Manny took hold of the wrist, still petting the dog with his other hand. He held out Vincent's fingers for the dog to sniff. Then he moved them to the top of his own head.

  "Friend," said Manny.

  He put the fingers in front of the dog's snout, then back to his own head, and finally used Vincent's hand to pet the dog. He repeated this routine until the dog accepted the other man's hand and licked it.

  "There. Now he knows you."

  "He always knew me."

  "Not this way. These kind of dogs, they need to bond with their pack."

  "Did you do that for her girl?"

  "Sure. They used to roll around all day, just like Little Mike. Red wouldn't hurt them. He can't, 'cause they're part of his pack. Sometimes I didn't even lock up at night. Nobody could walk in or he'd kill them. But only if they were a stranger."

  "Then why did you keep him out?"

  "Linda doesn't believe me. She never did."

  "Good boy," said Vincent, scratching the dog behind the ears. "So what happens when the guys from the pound come back?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Oh. So they really do have to put him down."

  "You got it."

  "That sure is tough."

  "Yeah."

  "Where you gonna take him? He can't stay here."

  "I know." Manny felt in the pocket of his trousers. "Leave us alone for a minute, okay? I got something for him."

  "Sure."

  Vincent went to the garage door and let himself out.

  Manny took the rest of the steak from his trouser pocket. The dog got the scent right away and went to work.

  "That's the way, Old Red," he said, stroking the dog's head. "Yeah. You know what to do, don't you?"

  He w
aited for the dog to finish. A few seconds and the bone was clean. The dog looked up at him again.

  "You understand," said Manny. "Sure, you do. My old boy. You're my good dog, aren't you, Red?"

  He put his hand into the jacket pocket and left it there. The dog tilted its head. Manny waited as long as he could, then took out a small-caliber revolver, turned it around and blew the dust out of the barrel. Then he cocked the hammer, placed the muzzle against the dog's head and pulled the trigger.

  In the alley outside the sound was muffled, like the pop of a firecracker, nothing more, but when the boy heard it he screamed and dropped the leash and tried to get the garage door up. Vincent held him back, lifting him off his feet till he could see inside first, but the boy kept on kicking and screaming and crying like he was never going to stop, not even when his father came out and carried him all the way home in the dark.

  One of Us

  Heyman rang the bell one more time, then walked down the driveway to the shade.

  The Lincoln was so quiet he had to open the door to be sure it was running. He switched off the engine, pressed the button to pop the trunk and went around to the back, but before he could reach inside the car the gate behind him buzzed.

  A tall boy came up the driveway from the street, dragging his feet through the dry leaves.

  "Morning," said Heyman.

  The boy had on hiking boots, baggy shorts and a T-shirt with a distorted logo across the front. He tried to focus his eyes. "Uh. You must be the dude."

  Heyman nodded. "I'm the driver."

  "Uh, Willy, right?"

  "Willy's off today."

  "Uh." The boy lost interest and stumbled on toward the house.

  Heyman called after him. "Is anybody home?"

  "Yih."

  "You sure?"

  "Dude," said the boy, "it's rilly early."

  Now Heyman heard an electric guitar crank up, slashing away at one chord over and over, each time on the downbeat. Heart attack music, he thought. He looked at his watch: ten-thirty. The boy disappeared along the side of the house. There was the sound of French doors rattling. The music got louder for a moment and then the doors closed.

  He started the engine and set the air conditioning on high again, then punched a number into his cell phone.

  "It's me," he said. "Yeah, I found it. No problem. They're about ready."

  He shut the phone, took a duster out of the trunk and knocked the dead leaves and haze off the limo until the paint shone like oil. When he saw his reflection sharpen in the black surface he straightened his collar and tie. Then he put the duster away and took the envelope from the trunk, checking to see that everything was there. He lowered the trunk lid.