Junkyard Dog

by Hunter, Bijou

  “Then what do I do?”

  “Answer the fucking phone.”

  “What about the office mess?” I ask, washing out the pot in a small sink.

  “Don’t fucking touch anything.”

  “Why?”

  Hayes walks away but hollers from his office door. “Because I fucking said so.”

  His voice is so loud it rattles my bones. I assume the big sound is a result of his giant lungs, and he can’t really be blamed for his weird anatomy.

  “Was your father a giant man?” I ask when bringing him coffee.

  “Don’t fucking talk to me right now,” he says without looking up from his paperwork.

  “When is my lunch period? Do I get thirty minutes or an hour? Also what about breaks?”

  Hayes lifts his head and glares at me. I know he’s accustomed to people running in terror from this devil mean expression. I’ve seen worse from the twins.

  “Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone,” he growls when I don’t back down.

  “Okay, but I’m taking your non-answers as meaning I can choose my lunch and break times.”

  Before he can complain, I walk out of the room. The front desk is nearly as bad as Hayes’s office in regards to post-it notes. On the computer monitor, I find a password for logging in. I take the post-it and crumble it up. Once I log into the account, I change the password. I don’t plan on going anywhere soon.

  By the time my first break comes along, I’ve organized the front desk, brought Hayes five cups of coffee, and brewed a second pot.

  After eating a snack and calling Honey to check on the kids, I decide to explore the office.

  One door opens to a closet filled with weapons. I look over the shotguns and semi-automatic rifles. Glancing at Hayes’s office, I hear him bitching at someone for being a brain dead fuck-twat.

  Leaving the closet, I find another room with a door labeled “meeting room.” There are no chairs inside, and the folding table is against the wall. I assume Hayes doesn’t schedule many meetings.

  Outside, I spot a few bullet holes in the building’s front wall. Running my fingers over them, I can’t imagine anyone taking a shot at Hayes’s place. Then again, suicidal tendencies happen to everyone occasionally.

  The office sits between a Waffle House and an old Victorian house. I laugh at the thought of Hayes living in the house. Back in the office, I hear him still bitching at someone, but I sense it’s a different person.

  Behind the building is a large, muddy yard. At some point long ago, this office was a house. Hayes turned the house into a bunker-style office, and the front yard into a wide gravel covered parking lot. He left the backyard to turn to mush. Not a single blade of grass remains.

  I’m bored out of my mind by the time Hayes appears from his office.

  “I’m going to lunch. Come with me and bring something to write on.”

  Eager to do something, I grab my purse and a pad of paper. Hayes doesn’t wait for me, and his long strides put a lot of distance between us as we walk next door to the Waffle House. He’s already sitting at the counter when I enter.

  “Get what you want on my dime but don’t annoy me with how you feel about food.”

  “What about how the food feels about me?”

  Hayes refuses to acknowledge my comment. He stares at our middle-aged waitress wearing a lot of experience on her worn face.

  “This is Candy,” Hayes says to Donna.

  The waitress sizes me up. “I knew a Candy when I was growing up. She was a diseased whore.”

  “You know what’s funny?” I say, taking the menu. “I knew a Donna growing up, and she collected used panties to sniff while masturbating.”

  “How is that funny?” she asks.

  “Well, your name is Donna.”

  Frowning at me, she turns away to get me a cup of coffee.

  “Don’t piss off Donna,” Hayes says without looking at me. “She will spit in your fucking food.”

  “Does she own a car?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I’ll slash her tires. I think that’s worse than a loogie in my food.”

  Hayes grins. “You sure have a fucking mouth on you.”

  “Said the guy who referred to someone an ‘asshole stuffed with twat peanuts’ today.”

  “Well, he is.”

  “Is there anyone you do like?”

  “Donna brings me coffee and knows how I like my hash browns,” Hayes says to the returning waitress.

  “Wants them almost burned just like he did the first time he came in here fifteen years ago.”

  “Ugh, get a room you two,” I mutter.

  Donna glares at me, but I ignore her and order a chicken sandwich.

  “Don’t burn my hash browns. I like mine normal like normal people.”

  After Donna walks away, Hayes studies me. “You seem to forget how I’m your employer and so acting like a mouthy bitch isn’t a smart way to keep your job.”

  “Your threat would be more convincing if you weren’t stuck with temps who left post-it notes declaring you’re the devil and she hopes you get sucked back into hell.”

  Hayes rolls his eyes. “Those temps were fucking twats.”

  “But were they twat peanuts?” I ask, grinning.

  “No, they weren’t that bad.”

  Enjoying when Hayes acts human-like, I try to keep the conversation going. “Do you have any family that’ll drop by unannounced?”

  “Are you planning on doing inappropriate shit at the office?”

  “No, I’m just curious, and this seemed a casual way to ask that wouldn’t imply I want to be your friend.”

  “Well done then.”

  “So are you married? Dating anyone serious? Have a few baby mamas around town?”

  “I don’t believe women are my equals so I will never be in a serious relationship with one of them.”

  I nearly laugh at the sincerity behind his bullshit comment especially after how respectful he was to his precious waitress.

  “They can’t be your equals because they’re women? I ask. “Or because you’re such a huge asshole that no one else can compete?”

  “Don’t be offended,” he says, clearly wanting me to be offended. “Women can do whatever the fuck they want. Just not with me.”

  “I’m not offended. What do I care what you think about women? Now if I were your mother, I’d be very disappointed, young man.”

  “My mother is dead.”

  Hayes’s tone tells me he wants me to shut up, and I immediately know I must keep the conversation going. “I’m sorry. My mother is dead too. Is your dad dead?”

  “No.”

  “Mine is. I guess that means I win the saddest child contest. Do you have any siblings?”

  “No. I was a miracle child born when my parents were in their late forties.”

  “Ah, miracle child. Explains a lot.”

  Hayes smirks. “Don’t be jealous.”

  “I was the middle child, so that makes me the one my parents planned and yet they paid the least to. I have two, attention-hog siblings. They bitched and moaned all fucking day and night. Honey had chronic headaches that made her whine more than any human has ever whined ever. My brother Peat was super clumsy and always injuring his balls. He also masturbated constantly, causing him to bang around his injured balls. Let’s just say that led to more self-pity than even ten teenage boys should accomplish. I think knowing my family history should help you understand why your crap doesn’t faze me.”

  “Your family sounds horrible.”

  “My family could kick your ass, dickface, so watch yourself.”

  “Your parents are dead. I doubt they’ll be much help in a fight.”

  “My brother’s dead too, but Honey can take a punch clearly,” I say and then stare really mean at him. Hayes nearly burst into giggles, but I don’t relent. “I’m the one you need to watch out for. I’m one reason my brother’s balls were always sore. I kicked him in the crotch weekly. I always go bal
l-shot. Every time. Even if the guy gets ready and covers his balls, I’ll run behind him and nail them that way. You should really consider wearing a giant cup to work.”

  Hayes lets out a loud, ruckus laugh that makes me feel like I’ve tamed a beast. As exhilarating as it is to get him to loosen up, I’m more concerned by how appealing I find his smile. The last thing I need is to fall for my boss and fuck up the best job I’ve had.

  FOUR - HAYES

  The meth dealer isn’t from White Horse. He works out of the town next door. Even though Common Bend isn’t usually my problem, lately it's suffered from revolving sheriffs and turf wars. Though the Bend’s issues have settled down recently, I have a punk fuck selling his shit in my territory.

  Unlike the Common Bend sheriff, I don’t have a biker gang pushing my buttons. Another motorcycle club calls the shots in neighboring Hickory Creek Township. My muscle is purely freelance. White Horse thugs do what I say, not because of an alliance to a crew, but because I pay well and spill blood easily.

  The White Horse sheriff is an extension of my power. He handles the small crimes, but I’m the one who really keeps the town safe.

  “Found this asshole selling his shit by the White Horse Mall,” Sheriff Briggs tells me.

  Despite having the cops on my payroll, I don’t rely on them for muscle. The two guys holding the dealer are losers, but they’re my loyal losers. They’ve lived on the harsh streets of Nashville and know the deadly pressure the police and competition can cause. Here in White Horse, life is orderly. Do what I say and no one suffers. This dealer will soon learn I tolerate no disobedience.

  “Hey, man,” he says to me immediately.

  I reach into the back of my truck and find a crowbar. The dealer’s fake smile fades.

  “Now wait.”

  “You’re in White Horse,” I explain while walking to him and swinging the crowbar.

  The metal hits his kneecap, and he drops to the ground.

  “Pick him back up,” I tell Joe and Greg.

  They grin at my instructions. These losers love beating on people. While I don’t particularly enjoy hurting people, I relish instilling fear in my enemies. This guy will cry to his sheriff boss about what a scary fuck I am. He’ll also share his horror story at all of the Common Bend shitholes. The locals will claim I’m crazy or evil. Whatever they say, their fear translates into staying the fuck out of my territory. If people in White Horse want their drugs, they can drive ten minutes to Common Bend and buy it there.

  The crowbar makes quick work of the wailing fuck. He begs first before having a delusional moment where he threatens me with payback. I nail him in the ass for that bullshit and likely break his tailbone. Ass injuries are surprisingly bothersome, and I smile at the thought of him limping around Common Bend. Whenever people ask what happened, he’ll share my evil deeds. I look forward to my legend growing.

  Joe and Greg dump the dealer back in Common Bend while I drive home. On the way, I pick up fast food for Nightmare and me. I also call the new sheriff in Common Bend.

  Sheriff Carter is a whipped monkey. He takes his orders from a motorcycle club out of Kentucky. The last sheriff pushed back against the Reapers and their leader, Cooper Johansson, and he’s a dead man walking now. The better-behaved Carter plans to remain alive and well.

  “You need to keep your people on tighter leashes,” I bark as soon as Carter answers.

  “I don’t…”

  “You will. If I find your people peddling their shit on my streets again, I’ll have a conversation with Johansson. I don’t mind if he sends his guys down here to look around. How about you, asshole? Are you okay with your boss checking up on you?”

  I don’t wait for Carter to answer. Hanging up, I order my burgers and fries before heading home.

  My house is my sanctuary. Sounds like a pussy thing to say, but I love my damn house. No one is allowed to visit. Even my dad doesn’t come over. Not when he’s always covered in cat hair, and Nightmare eats cats. Well, I’ve never actually seen my dog eat a cat, but I’ve seen him chase one with his mouth hanging open. I assume if the big bastard caught the furball he’d have made it a meal.

  A maid cleans the place every other day. A gardener keeps the yard perfect. My house isn’t the nicest in town, but it’s built to fit me and only me.

  The fence isn’t a delicate iron-rod like my neighbors’, but a thick, concrete mass capable of withstanding a car bomb. The style of the house is considered mid-century modern apparently. I’ve always preferred hard edges. As a kid, I enjoyed playing with blocks. That’s how my house feels - a well-built row of tall blocks with sharp lines.

  In my house, I never have to duck. I can enter my shower without squeezing through the door. I’m able to stretch out in my bathtub. Everything fits a man of my size. The house is manly as fuck too. I like dark wood. I like dark colors. I like leather furniture. I hate light and airy. This house looks like me, and I hear it scares the local kids. This idea makes me smile.

  Nightmare meets me at the garage door. He has the run of the place while I’m gone. Through his giant-sized doggy door, he can go outside to do his business. Mostly he hangs out inside and owns the place.

  My dog is Leonburger breed and huge like me. He scares the shit out of everyone even though the dumbass hunts squirrels rather than burglars. If someone broke into the house, he would watch them take all our shit. Well, assuming the asshole didn’t sleep through it.

  Nightmare looks like his name, but he’s a softie unlike me. The dog follows me from the kitchen to the massive living room where I turn on the massive wall-mounted TV. I dump his burger and fries on a plate on the floor and then dig into my meal.

  After searching my DVR, I settle on an episode of the survivalist show Alone. Nightmare finishes his meal and jumps on the expansive sectional couch. He has his spot, and I have mine, and it’s been this way for a decade.

  “New assistant started today,” I tell the dog.

  He looks at me with his brown eyes, and I wonder what he imagines I said. My guess is something about food. Only a few things perk him up lately. Food, squirrels, and food.

  “She’s a fucking bossy bitch,” I say with my mouth full. “I like her. She might work out.”

  Nightmare rests his head on his paws and stares at me. I think he’s hoping I’ll toss him a few fries.

  “She’s a helluva looker too,” I say, giving in and handing the dog a fry. He eats it before staring horrified that I might think one is enough. I give him a few more, and he’s a happy camper. “She has kids. Women with kids are too much of a hassle. You remember Brenda.”

  I think to my last attempt to have a girlfriend. She came with a daughter, an ex-husband, custody issues, and too much whining to make the relationship worth my time. The woman was so self-absorbed I had to dump her twice before she noticed.

  Candy might be worth trying again. When I yelled at her earlier about not answering the phone, she yelled she was in the bathroom. Did I want her crapping on the floor or was it possible for me to get off my ass and pick up the phone myself?

  The chick is ballsy, and I like women with big brass ones. I figure office life will get very complicated if I decide to pursue my assistant. I consider waiting to make my move until she settles in, but I know other men will soon circle her like sharks. Available attractive women in White Horse are a rarity.

  No doubt I’ll need to put my mark on Candy before it’s too late.

  FIVE - CANDY

  When I pick up the twins, I learn Honey’s douche husband is working late and won’t be home for dinner. My sister looks like crap, and her kids are writing on the walls. I want to kick their adorable little asses, but instead, I suggest she come with me to dinner at McDonald’s. Her kids can wear themselves out in the play area, and I can learn to be friends with Honey. A simple enough plan.

  “Andrew doesn’t want me to discipline them,” Honey says when her older two kids throw fries at each other. “He feels his way his better.”r />
  “Marriage is a fascinating institution,” I say rather than what I’m really thinking.

  I turn to her six-year-old daughter Allison. “Stop throwing the fries or I won’t let you go in the jungle gym.”

  “No!” she yells at me.

  “No what?” I ask.

  “I’m gonna play.”

  “Not if you don’t stop throwing the fries. I will hold you on my lap while everyone else plays. You can fight me, but I won’t let go. I’m very, very stubborn. You can scream and kick, but I won’t let you go. I will make you sit here and watch the others play. Aunt Candy doesn’t mess around. So are you going to stop throwing your fries?”

  Allison looks at her mom for assistance, but Honey only stares at her food. Exhausted by her life, she wants someone to fix what she’s broken. I’d feel sorry for her if I wasn’t the middle child and forced to figure everything out in life myself.

  “Well?” I ask again.

  Allison doesn’t respond, but she eats her food without throwing them at Evan. Her brother sitting across the table gets the message too.

  “Thanks,” Honey mumbles to me.

  “No problem. I like bossing around small humans.”

  Honey stares at me, and I realize how much she looks like our mom. “I’m tired all the time.”

  Nodding, I say nothing. I’m not someone who offers advice. I don’t believe people really want anything besides sympathy when they ask for advice. I know I don’t.

  “Before we move into a house, you should bring the kids to the hotel so they can swim,” I say instead of pretending to know how to fix her problems.

  “That would be nice.”

  Her lackluster response steals my interest in talking to her. I focus on Chipper nibbling at his chicken nuggets. I imitate him, and he laughs. He’s such a mellow kid. I feel lucky to have done the hard work with the kids when they were little. Now I have them pretty well trained.

  Once all six kids finish eating, I give them permission to use the play area. I see Allison peeking back at me to see if I’m watching her. When she finds me eyeballing her hardcore, the kid stiffens. Yeah, Aunt Candy is a big old meanie.