I tore it into pieces and let it scatter in the wind.
Stan
The boss was sad, but at least he didn’t get sick like last time.
He spent a lot of days by himself. Humans are pack animals, like dogs, so it worried me that he was alone so much. And I wasn’t getting any younger. I wouldn’t be here forever.
I missed them—the woman and the kid. Even when she was putting daisy chains around my neck, she was a sweet little pint-size.
I didn’t know what had happened with the boss and his woman, but I had a suspicion it was something to do with that hell-bitch he’d been married to.
I wished I’d bit her in the ass while I had the chance, but I did get a buzz out of pissing on her briefcase.
Alex
THERE WAS NOTHING left to do on the house. I needed a new project. I’d been avoiding Cleveland since that night, trying to convince myself to stay away, but the draw was becoming stronger. I knew I shouldn’t go back, but with nothing else to distract me, it was just a matter of when, not if.
I loved it—and missed it—the chaos, the adrenaline. It made me feel alive, real, like there was a point to living. And it was the only thing bigger, crazier, more fucked up than me. It felt good to be someone who banished the dark, if only for a single night. But life is made up of a lot of moments, a lot of nights. And a single second could change your life forever.
I’d make the most of it.
Giselle wasn’t expecting me, but when she saw me, she smiled, anticipation making her eyes glitter.
She was standing under the same streetlight, wearing the same uniform of leather miniskirt, low-cut tank-top and high heels. From a distance, she’d pass for thirty; close up, my guess was sixty, maybe more.
I hung back, staying in the shadows as I lifted my chin in greeting, smiling when she sauntered across to me.
“Well, well! I wondered if I’d see you again, lover. You here to give me some more of your hard-earned money?”
I grinned and nodded, handing her fifty bucks.
“Same again?”
My smile faded and I felt my expression harden as she slipped the fifty inside her bra.
Then she put her hands on her hips and stared at me.
“You gonna be more careful this time?”
My lips twitched as I shook my head.
“You got anyone waiting for you at home?”
“St-st-stan.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re gay?”
I shook my head and pulled out my cell phone instead, showing her a photo of Stan sleeping, curled up in his bed.
They say a picture tells a thousand words. Comes in handy when you’re a mute freak.
Giselle laughed.
“Figures. You’re a regular Saint Rocco.”
I peered at her in the dark, puzzled.
“What? I went to Catholic school. A third of us become nuns, a third become whores, and a third become school teachers. The words ‘morning Mass’ still makes me break out in hives and I hated school.”
“Wh-who?”
“Saint Rocco? Look him up, handsome.”
I grinned at her, and she winked.
“So, you’re in the market for a little disorder and mayhem? A few broken laws, a lot of broken heads? Because it just happens that I know a place where you can get your fix.”
She pulled a cigarette out of her purse and lit it, blowing the smoke away from me.
“I heard there’ll be your kind of action on E55th Street, Friday next week. Funny, I was just thinking of you, and here you are. Does that make you my dream date?”
She laughed out a hacking cough, gripping my shoulder with her blood-red nails as she wheezed helplessly at her own joke.
I held onto her until she steadied herself, raising an eyebrow when she slid her hand down my arm and squeezed my bicep.
“You know where to find me if you want to work off some of your . . . energy . . . later.”
I shook my head, and she gave a theatrical sigh.
“Whatever. So, I heard that there’s this abandoned building—used to be a bowling alley. That’s where the action is. But . . .” and she gave me a serious look. “I also heard that the dudes running the joint maybe have connections, ya know? I hope you can stop them but . . . don’t get caught.”
I crossed my heart with one hand, and she rolled her eyes.
“See you around, lover.”
And she strolled away, weaving around the cracked paving stones with familiarity and expertise.
I climbed back in my truck and programmed the address she’d given me into my GPS. It was only a few blocks away across the city. I also looked up Saint Rocco: patron saint of dogs and falsely accused people.
Both fit. Funny lady.
As I drove, the neighborhood became more and more rundown. Abandoned buildings with broken windows butted up to empty lots, or shops so heavily fortified with metal roller screens on doors and bars fitted to windows that only a Sherman tank could have broken through.
The bowling alley was on a corner, its cracked neon sign hanging loosely. I parked the truck half a block away and circled the building on foot, checking the legitimate access points as well as the unadvertised ones. The building was locked solid and from the look of it, I’d guess it was used fairly often for purposes that escaped the tax man’s notice. My heart beat faster at the thought of what this place was used for now, and the familiar heat of rage pulsed through me. It was the most alive I’d felt since Dawn.
I worked my way around to the back and found a fire escape about seven feet from the ground. With some effort, I managed to climb onto it, and I dragged myself through a smashed window, avoiding the shards of glass that pulled at my clothes like claws.
This would work. I’d throw the grenades from here, then I’d wait and watch, figure out who was in charge. Once I’d made them, I’d head back to my truck and make the call. Yeah, smoke grenades. It’s amazing what you can buy on the internet.
I studied the rest of the crumbling building, one room at a time, seeing only the red of rats’ eyes glittering in my flashlight, their nails scratching on the floor as they scurried away. When I was satisfied that I could find my way around, I climbed out of the broken window silently.
I’d be here next week. And then I’d make the bastards pay.
When I arrived back at the cabin, Stan opened a sleepy eye, sighing with relief as I sat down next to him.
I stroked his fur, my fingers lingering over the ridges of his scars, fingering the rip in his ear that had healed off-center.
We’d both been damaged by life, but I’d get revenge for what had been done to Stan.
I spent the rest of the week, prowling the forest. I’d become so used to wandering along the paths, that I could find my way even on the darkest nights, and whoever had been setting snares on my land hadn’t been back in a while. I frowned, thinking of the raccoon’s head that someone had left at my front door when Dawn and Katie visited. I didn’t know if it was a warning or just someone who didn’t like me. Whatever the reason, the dismembered animals had started to appear from the first day I’d moved in. I had my suspicions . . . I just needed to catch them in the act.
But whoever it was seemed to have suspended their activities. Or maybe gotten bored of tormenting me. At least I didn’t have to worry so much that Stan would get caught in one of the traps. It was bad enough when I found other animals, but the latest injured creatures were all from natural causes. When I found them, I still took them to the veterinary office, but I went before sunrise, when there was the least chance of being seen. I was forcing myself to go cold turkey when it came to the woman I still wanted.
The week passed at a torturously slow pace. Only the lure of Friday night kept me from doing something really crazy like going to Dawn and begging for another chance.
By Thursday evening, I was wound so tightly, I was little more than a ticking time bomb, waiting to unleash my insanity.
With Stan by
my side, I sat on my new bench on my newly built dock, watching the sun set behind the lake. Twenty-four hours from now . . .
I’d planned carefully so I wouldn’t get caught, but if I did, I hoped that Dawn would take Stan. I hoped. No, I couldn’t think like that. I couldn’t trust her either.
As day sunk into night, giving the illusion of being shrouded by darkness, I stood and walked back to the cabin. It was quiet, but the forest is never completely silent. Stan followed me, his tail swishing as his shoulder bumped my thigh, his breath clouding in the cooler night air.
He wasn’t doing so well. He’d slowed down even more, and had been suffering from a persistent cough all week. I’d even taken him to the vet’s when I knew Dawn wouldn’t be working. Gary had prescribed steroids, and they’d helped a bit, but not as much as I wanted or as much as I hoped they would.
He should have been putting on weight, but instead he was getting thinner. It scared me. I couldn’t lose Stan as well. I couldn’t. I felt my grip on reality slipping away the harder I tried to hold onto it. Stan was my anchor, and I needed him.
At the cabin, I carried him upstairs to his dog bed which was next to mine in a corner of the bedroom. With a deep sigh, he stiffly climbed inside, curling into a comfortable position.
I tucked the blanket around him so no cold draughts could find him, and muttered that he was getting spoiled in his old age. He panted softly and closed his eyes while I stroked him.
Not long after that, we were both asleep.
I sat up, shivering.
Other unexpected wake up calls had included my ex-wife smashing me in the face with her elbow (I was taking up too much room in the bed), and Carl calling in the middle of the night because it was the only time he’d been able to get to the Comms room when he was away on deployment.
But hearing someone vomit . . . never a good start to the day.
My body still felt tired from yesterday’s patrols, and my brain definitely wasn’t firing on all cylinders.
I switched on the bedside light and stared at the mess: by Stan’s bed, on his bed, and seeping wetly across the floorboards of my bedroom.
His head hung down and his flanks were heaving as if he might vomit again.
“Have you been eating grass, buddy?”
He lifted his head slightly, licking his lips and drooling.
“Come on, time to go outside if you’re going to hurl again.”
But he sat on his haunches looking at me pathetically.
“You can manage the stairs going down, fella?”
When he still seemed reluctant to tackle the stairs, I heaved him up and carried him downstairs, really worried now. He’d always been able to get down the stairs before.
I opened the kitchen door and set him on the dirt beyond the deck, watching worriedly while his body convulsed.
My gut twisted in sympathy and fear.
I crouched down next to him and stroked his head.
“You really are feeling rough, aren’t you, buddy? Was it something you ate? Maybe you have stomach flu?”
He leaned against me and I could feel that he was trembling.
The knot of anxiety twisted a little tighter. I wondered whether I should call the Petz Pets emergency line.
Maybe it was just gas? I was guilty of feeding Stan his favorite treats, although I’d been trying to cook healthier meals for both of us.
I encouraged Stan to walk a little because sometimes that helped, especially if he needed a dump. He stood on shaky legs, took a few steps toward me then sat down again, shivering in the light drizzle that was misting the dawn air.
I tried again, encouraging him with whistles and calls. He managed just one step.
It broke my heart to see him so willing to please me but not being able to manage more than a single, painful pace.
After a few minutes, he seemed easier, so I carried him inside, drying him gently with a towel and settled him onto the sofa. But he started licking his lips again and panting heavily.
I sat on the floor and rested my back against the couch, stroking his head. He closed his eyes and sighed, then blinked and stared straight at me.
I’m not doing so well, boss.
“I know, buddy. I think you’re going to have to see the dog doctor again, but they’re good guys, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Maybe you’ll even walk in by yourself this time so I don’t have to carry your heavy ass.”
Sure thing, boss.
And he closed his eyes.
I decided it wasn’t worth going back to bed, so I threw on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, then cleaned up the mess in the bedroom.
When I ran back down the stairs, Stan looked like he was about to throw up again. I only just managed to carry him outside in time. His sides quivered as he coughed up a thin stream of bile—he looked so sorry for himself that I decided not to wait any longer. This wasn’t something that could be fixed by kind words.
It was nearly 5AM and light was filtering through the trees, turning the lake to silver. But the beauty was lost on me this morning.
I grabbed my cell and dialed the vet’s emergency line.
I hadn’t expected Dawn to answer. What were the odds she’d be on duty tonight? Not that I cared. I didn’t.
“Petz Pets Emergency Line, how may I help you?”
“D-D-D!”
“Alex? Are you okay?”
“S-S-Stan!”
She was instantly alert. “Bring him to the office. I’ll meet you there in 20 minutes.” Before the phone clicked off, I could hear her running through the house and calling to Katie. Why was she there when Dawn was on night duty?
I didn’t have time to worry about that, so I tucked my cell in my pocket and ran out to the truck. I covered the passenger seat with several thick blankets, making a cozy nest for Stan.
When I picked him up, he laid his head on my shoulder, his eyes closed.
A cold fear began to seep through me.
“Hang on, buddy,” I murmured, trying to keep the anxiety out of my voice. “It’s going to be okay. I know you’re sick, but Dawn will fix you up.”
Stan’s eyes were still closed as the breath wheezed out of his lungs too fast.
It hurts, boss.
“I know, buddy, I know. Just hang in there.”
I broke every speed limit and drove through every stop sign, getting to the vet’s office in record time. I was there first and already going crazy with waiting when I saw Dawn’s car coming up the street.
I ran around to pull open her door and then saw Katie bundled up on the back seat.
“Are we there, Mom?” she said sleepily. “Is Stan okay? Hi, Alex.”
“I don’t know yet, honey. Try to rest.”
Instead, Katie sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Can I see him?”
Dawn was already opening the doors to the practice and turning off the alarm. “Okay, but be quick,” she called over her shoulder.
I saw that Katie was still wearing her pajamas when she peered into the truck. She was so small, she could barely reach Stan with the tips of her fingers. I lifted her up so she could stroke his head.
“Don’t be sick, Stan,” she whispered softly to him.
Her lips trembled and tears glistened in her eyes as she looked at me.
“He wagged his tail,” she said, her voice wobbling, “but it wasn’t a very big wag. Mom says a dog’s tail is like his smile. I don’t think Stan is smiling, Alex.”
I had to swallow a lump in my throat before I could reply. “I don’t think so either, Katie-kay. But your mom is a great vet, I’m sure she’ll fix him up.”
“Okay,” she said, her eyes wide and worried.
I carried Stan in my arms and Katie went ahead, holding all the doors for me, until I laid him down on Dawn’s examination table.
She already had his notes up on the computer screen, scanning through them rapidly.
Stan licked his lips, then coughed up a thin stream of stomach acid.
“
When did he start vomiting?” Dawn clipped out.
“The f-first time at 4AM and the s-second time just before I called you.”
Dawn looked up sharply. “Any weakness or lethargy?”
“He’s been slowing down for a while now. I thought it was just old age. Gary gave him steroids for a cough. He’s had that for the last w-week . . .”
Dawn frowned and looked at Stan’s tongue. It had a bluish tinge to it that certainly wasn’t its usual healthy pink color. My palms began to sweat and I had to wipe them against my jeans.
“Katie, wait outside, please,” Dawn said, her voice crisp and authoritative.
“Mommy, no! Can I stay with Stan, please, Mom? I’ll be quiet. He likes me being here.”
Dawn looked at her daughter thoughtfully and opened her mouth as if she might say something else, but then she simply nodded quickly. “You can stay, if it’s okay with Alex.”
Katie’s pleading eyes turned to mine and I nodded. Stan was her friend. I understood that, all too well.
Dawn placed the stethoscope against Stan’s ribs and listened intently. When she finally met my eyes, I could see her concern.
“Stan has some fluid building up in his lungs and he has an abnormal heart rhythm. It seems likely that he’s had a heart attack.”
I hadn’t expected to hear that. I didn’t want to hear that.
Please God, no.
Katie whimpered and buried her face in Stan’s thick fur. I felt like doing the same.
“But you can make him better, right? People—uh—dogs . . . they have heart attacks all the time.”
Dawn took a deep breath.
“Stan is pretty old for a dog of his size, Alex. It’s remarkable he’s done so well, especially given his difficult start in life.”
“No,” I whispered. “Don’t say that. He’s not ready to go. I’m not ready to let him go. Christ, Dawn! Please.”
Her gaze dropped back to Stan and she nodded slowly. “I promise I’ll do everything I can.”
When Katie’s tears started to wet Stan’s fur, Dawn sent her to the waiting room, then left herself to prepare Stan’s meds.
I leaned down and let my fingers sink into the thick ruff around his neck.
One Careful Owner: Love Me, Love My Dog Page 16