by Vella Munn
“Joe—” she began only to stop when his phone rang.
His “Hello” was followed by silence. “Here,” he said and thrust the phone at her.
“Rachelle? It’s Nate.”
Nate was the last person she should want to hear from. “What do you want?” she asked.
“I was hoping to talk to Joe, but it looks like he didn’t like my question.”
Stone and Gun had opened their eyes when the phone rang. Now they were trying to get off the couch, prompting her to scoot away. She sat cross-legged on the floor.
“What did you ask him?”
“Whether all three dogs were with him last night.”
You already know the answer. I can hear it in your voice. “For the record, we talked to a lawyer. He said to call him the moment—”
“I’m not the police. I’d like an honest answer to a simple question. Where were the grays?”
Stone walked over to her and stopped inches from her. “What business is it of yours?”
He sighed. “I know where you’re coming from. You’re protecting Joe.”
“Are you saying he needs protecting?” She wanted to push Stone away, but didn’t.
“Rachelle, I think I need to tell you something. Then, hopefully, you’ll understand why I asked what I did. First, all right, the truth is I don’t need to ask about their whereabouts—one of them anyway—last night, because I know.”
Gun stepped away from Joe, who’d been scratching him between his ears, and positioned himself on her other side. The two young males held her between them.
“I woke up during the night,” Nate said, whispered really. “I’m not sure why I looked out front but when I did…”
“What did you see?” she asked when the silence went on too long.
“One of the grays.”
Smoke. “Are— How can you be sure? It was night.”
“I know a dog when I see one. It’s an occupational hazard.” Another pause. “For the record, I live about six miles from Joe’s place.”
At first she couldn’t think. Then it all came together. “You—you’re saying one of Joe’s dogs went looking for you.”
“Looking, or stalking.”
Was Nate in danger? Flanked by the grays, she could hardly blame herself for thinking this way. Reminding herself that Joe had hand-raised them did nothing to ease her concern for this man she shouldn’t want anything to do with.
“What did it do?” she asked.
“Watch me.”
“Is that all?”
“Why did he or she single me out?”
Her head pounded, and without thinking, she rested it against Gun’s side. The dog held his ground as if understanding she needed the support.
“I can’t answer that,” she came up with. “But you’re saying it didn’t threaten or intimidate you, right? No crime was committed.”
“Not then.”
She transferred the phone to her other ear and started stroking Gun. He was all muscle covered in stiff hair, breathing slow and deep, warm. Alive.
“Are you going to tell the police?”
“I haven’t decided.”
Don’t. Please. “Will you do me one favor? Let me know before you do.” Why had she put it that way when Joe needed the warning more than she did?
“All right,” Nate said after too long. “Can you at least tell me which one it was?”
Don’t say a word. “Smoke.”
Because the dogs were in her way, she couldn’t see Joe, but sensed him staring at her. Disapproving. Pulling away from her.
* * * *
It was a good thing no one was around to ask him what he’d done with the day, because truth was Joe couldn’t remember much about it. Rach hadn’t stayed long after the call from Nate Chee, which was just fine with him. They’d eaten a mostly silent breakfast and she’d been doing the dishes when Smoke had returned. The moment he’d opened the door, the big female had gone right to her brothers. There’d been a lot of whimpering and whining as if they hadn’t seen each other for years.
The way Smoke had studied Rach had made him uncomfortable. Rach’s demeanor had said she felt the same way.
“You’re going to do what you’re going to,” she’d said as she was getting ready to leave. “You know how I feel about you letting them loose, so if something happens…”
“Don’t come crying to you,” he finished. He’d been glad to see her leave. Just the same, he wished he could tell her he was sorry it had come to this. If they’d been able to break through the wall between them, he might have told her to never underestimate the dogs’ smarts.
More important, he might have let her in on what made his relationship with the grays so complex. Ever since he’d seen the attack on the owners of the puppy mill, he’d fought to separate himself from what he’d once taken as a gift. He’d mostly succeeded, but the effort was exhausting.
The dogs had stayed close to him all day, no doubt because they knew he was upset and were tapping into his emotions. He loved their ability to plug his holes.
They were getting low on dog food and groceries. When they were puppies he’d let them sit in the truck cab when he went to town. Then, when they no longer fit, he’d tried securing them in the bed. They hadn’t been able to jump out, but they’d gotten tangled up. Besides, everything they saw excited them, and he’d had to park as far as possible from the grocery store. These days he locked them inside before taking off. As agitated as they were today, he didn’t want to leave them.
That might have been the only decision he made. The rest of the time he’d done a little of this and that around the place, none of it important. Used as he was to his own company, he’d kept the TV on because for once he needed the sounds.
When the sun went down, he fed the dogs the last of their food and let them out one at a time to relieve themselves. Following that he sat on the couch, hoping they’d settle around him. The boys did, but Smoke paced. She also ignored his command to knock it off. When he repeated the order, she glared at him. Maybe Gun had picked up on his irritation because the male climbed off the couch, planted his paws on Smoke’s back and tried to push her to the floor. That had earned him a growl and a nip.
Stone got into the act, and before long all three were staring at each other, carrying on a conversation he wasn’t privy to. Their intelligence had always impressed him, and he’d wished there was a way to pass that onto more dogs but couldn’t decide who to pair them with. What criteria should he look for? He loved the idea of having puppies around but even if Smoke had let her brothers impregnate her, inbreeding wasn’t a good idea. He’d worried that strange male dogs would get to Smoke when she was in heat. They’d come around all right, but so far she’d wanted nothing to do with her would-be suitors. Once, to see what would happen, he’d borrowed a bitch and brought her to Stone and Gun. The brothers had sniffed but hadn’t tried to mount her.
Now, with the trio staring at him, he wondered if he should have had all three fixed a long time ago. Neutered, they might not have this powerful need to be on the move.
He wasn’t surprised when the brothers each took hold of a wrist and drew him to the closed bedroom window.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he told them. “Rach is right. Until the cops learn who killed those men…” He’d been going to say they were safer under his roof, but it might not be that simple.
He loved the grays. If necessary he’d die for them.
An hour after going to bed, Joe gave up and opened the window. Anything to end their relentless whining. He didn’t watch the dogs leave. Neither did he open his mind and let them in. Whatever they did tonight, he didn’t want to be part of it.
Chapter Eleven
The only place West Griffin wanted to go to was bed. He’d spent most of the night before last with his sometime girlfriend trying to talk her into having sex. He didn’t care if she was having her period, he’d repeatedly assured her, but that hadn’t gotten him anywhere. Th
en he’d spent nine hours washing big rigs at the Southways Truck Stop where he worked part-time. If not for his dad, he’d be pounding his pillow right now.
“We have a good chance tonight,” Taggart Griffin said and handed West his Remington Model Seven. “Deer are more active at night, and the half-moon makes them feel safer.”
His dad had a hundred theories about deer behavior. A number were BS but a lot were right. Besides, father-son hunting was important to his dad, and even if the older man sometimes drove him crazy, West loved him. Maybe, if they were lucky, they’d bag one right away and be home by midnight. If they weren’t, Dad wouldn’t give up until morning. He’d expect his eighteen-year-old son to match his pace.
West could run circles around his dad—when he wanted to, which wasn’t now. However, he knew better than to risk the older man’s temper.
“You drive,” Taggart said as they headed for the pickup they kept parked on the vacant lot across the road from the place the family had rented since West was a preschooler.
Wondering if Dad wanted credit for knowing enough not to drive after downing at least six beers, West placed both weapons in the rifle rack and settled behind the wheel. He’d been driving, illegally at the beginning, since he was thirteen and tall enough to reach the pedals. He’d had to take the written test three times before passing it, which had pissed off his dad because of the cost. Well, damn it, reading wasn’t something that came easy to the Griffin men.
Truth was he didn’t know what did.
“You’re sure we aren’t going to get into trouble?” West asked, resigned. “That man really wants us hunting there?”
“I already told you he does. Look, I’m sick of listening to your Uncle Bradley boast about getting two in one night.”
‘Your uncle Bradley’ was how Dad always referred to his brother. According to Grandma, the two had fought the whole time they were growing up. They still competed over nearly everything. Uncle Bradley drove long distance and bragged about how much he made. Taggart countered by pointing out that Bradley’s so-called career was about over because his body was falling apart from all that sitting. Of course Uncle Bradley never missed a chance to tell everyone that at least he didn’t spend half the year on unemployment.
Wishing he didn’t have to do this, West turned on the headlights and headed for the high school he’d attended before dropping out halfway through his junior year. He’d never felt as if he fit in, which, in part, was why he’d skipped class as many times as he had. As for the other reasons, well if you couldn’t begin to keep up and knew it, what was the point?
“You catch tonight’s news?” his dad asked from his slumped position in the passenger seat. The cooler with its icy brews was between his legs, but West knew better than to point out that carrying liquor in the cab was asking for a ticket. Dad hated being told anything.
“No. I was working, remember?”
If Dad caught the sarcasm, he gave no indication. One good thing about him, he was a mellow drunk. Just the same, West wished he hadn’t said what he had. Dad tried. Why couldn’t he give him credit?
“That’s right,” Dad said. “Which means you probably didn’t hear the latest about those two men who were torn apart by wild dogs.”
“There’s something new?” Now there was something he wanted to talk about.
“Maybe not new, because the coroner’s office already said that at least two dogs were responsible. Something about bite marks and—anyway, tonight some old man they had on said he was a member of some animal rights group. He and the others in his group want the police to stop going after every dog that weighs more than twenty pounds.”
“Every dog? Most of my friends have dogs, some of them pits, and only Kevin has heard from the cops. Or was it animal control? Anyway it turned out to be no big deal.”
“Kevin’s is the ugliest mutt I’ve ever seen. Maybe that’s what they have against it.”
“Could be.”
“Look, I know you want a dog. Me too. But with Cindy’s allergies—”
“It’s all right.” Cindy was his nine-year-old sister. He’d seen her struggle to breathe enough times that he’d do anything to keep that from happening again.
“I know you understand.” His dad tapped his shoulder. “I just—hell, I wish a lot of things.”
Let’s don’t go there tonight, please. “So was that the whole news report?”
“No. After the animal rights guy was done, some woman had her turn. She’s a lawyer who represents some people upset because a man living not far from the high school has wolf-dogs. You ever see them?”
“Once,” he admitted. “A couple of my friends and I skipped afternoon classes. Because we didn’t have wheels, it took us forever to reach the place.”
“Hmm.”
His dad’s response didn’t surprise him. When he’d first declared he wasn’t going to go to school anymore, his parents had thrown fits. Now that that was water under the bridge, he didn’t have to lie about how seldom he’d sat through a class.
“There wasn’t much to see. The enclosure was big, and the wolf-dogs were sleeping in shade near the back.”
“They didn’t come running at you?”
“No. Only one even stood up and looked at us.”
“No kidding? According to the lawyer, her clients are concerned wolf-dogs are dangerous and shouldn’t be allowed in the county. Then that hot reporter woman, Lisa whatever her last name is, gave some statistics about how dangerous pit bulls are. You ask me, I think the press is trying to keep things stirred up.”
“The killings of those puppy mill guys is about the biggest thing that’s ever happened around here.”
“What about there not being enough decent jobs? That’s what they should be talking about.”
West didn’t bother asking Dad who he meant by ‘they’. Dad’s world was full of ‘theys’.
“So it’s official that more than one dog killed those men?” he asked.
“I’d already figured that out. The way they were torn to pieces, it’s obvious one mutt couldn’t be responsible.”
Deliberately not pointing out that his dad didn’t know any more about how the men had died than he did, West concentrated on driving. Dad’s world was so small. He seldom went anywhere because he couldn’t afford to, and spent most of his time talking to people who were just as redneck as he was. As far as West knew, his dad’s thinking hadn’t changed in twenty years. If he didn’t get out of here, and soon, he’d wind up the same way.
“Any updates on what the cops are doing?” he asked because he didn’t want to go there tonight.
“Yeah, right. You know how it is with cops. Doing everything behind people’s backs. Wasn’t that attack awful? I’ve never heard anything like it.”
And you love talking about it. “Hmm.”
“You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? Whoever owns the mutts will get himself a lawyer. There’ll be a trial, eventually. In the meantime, guess who gets to support those dogs? Us. The taxpayers.”
The family was back on food stamps like last winter when the logging company Dad worked for hadn’t been able to get into the forest because of snow. Now the forest had been shut down again, this time due to fire danger. Mom worked as an aide at a nursing home and had taxes taken out of her paycheck, but it wasn’t much.
How did his parents feel about the way their lives had turned out?
The stoplight they’d been at changed to green, but he waited as an elderly woman crossed. Watching her laborious journey, he wondered why she was out so late and if that was how his mother would look before long. Mom carried too much weight and complained that her back hurt. A few weeks ago she had gotten him some work doing painting at the nursing home. Even though he’d spent most of the time outside, he’d seen more than he wanted to of the residents. How Mom could stand working there was beyond him.
A glance at his dad forced him to face something else he didn’t want to. Mom had three sisters in T
exas, all with several children, while Dad’s only relative other than his brother was a cousin in prison for the next five or so years thanks to the drug addiction he couldn’t shake.
His parents didn’t have anyone to take care of them when they got old. As their firstborn child, guess who would get saddled with that responsibility? Not his kid sisters.
Besides, despite how he sometimes acted, he loved the girls. He’d changed their diapers when they were babies and now helped them with their homework—something he wouldn’t be able to do much longer.
His dad pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lit it, using a book of matches from the neighborhood bar he went to most Friday nights. Teeth clenched, West rolled down his window. Dad coughed one of his rolling coughs, then inhaled. How long did it take to die from lung cancer? And how much help would Dad need before it was all over?
After three miles of silence the first school zone sign came into view. Studying it as he drove past, West debated telling Dad what had been on his mind, but if he’d been going to tonight, he should have started sooner.
Tomorrow, maybe, he’d tell him he’d been thinking about seeing the army recruiter.
Anything to change his life before it was too late.
A fresh layer of gravel had been placed on the road leading into the Albee ranch since Taggart had been here with his brother last month, but the gravel was already migrating to the edges, and the potholes were impossible to completely avoid. Still, West didn’t have to go as fast as he was. About to tell his son to slow down, Taggart held off. When he’d been the same age he hadn’t wanted his father telling him anything, because he’d believed he knew everything. How wrong he’d been. Hell, he was still learning and making mistakes and now realized that would never end. He wondered what West would say if he told him that?
Taggart opened the cooler, popped a can and swallowed. West was staring out of the front windshield, probably disapproving. His son was right about that and the smoking, but he had to have some pleasure in life.