by Ho, Jo
Yes folks, we’d arrived in Ghettoville.
My foot lashed out at an empty Coke can. It flipped over three times before landing into a blocked gutter with a splash. Bandit had to stifle his urge to chase after it. I gave him an apologetic look.
“Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”
He shot me a look — he couldn’t understand the sudden need to pursue the can. The need left him uneasy.
“You’re a dog. Dog’s chase. Deal with it.”
He woofed, and I could tell my answer displeased him. Earlier, when we’d left the library, his tail was alert and wagging; now it barely even twitched. We’d only been together a short while, but already I was starting to read his body language, and man, was he dog tired.
After Bandit had digested what seemed like every poker video under the sun, we left the library for a jaunt in Walmart3, where we obtained our own pack of cards. Then, in a nearby park (gotta love Greenwich for the amount of square parkage), I proceeded to teach Bandit sign language, Chase Ryder style: a cocked right ear meant I should raise, both ears facing behind means I fold, and a cocked left ear, call. I knew this amounted to cheating, but you try eating days-old meat crawling with maggots then get back to me.
A couple of shady looking guys walked past. I gave them a wide berth, but they paid me zero attention. They headed towards a dive of a place, where a flashing neon sign above the entrance read “McCall’s”. The guys strolled inside. I was about to move on when I spotted the poker chip one of the guys was tossing in his hand.
This was it, I thought to myself. This was the place. No fancy doorman, no dress code. No one would notice a girl and her dog… I hoped.
I waited a few beats, and when the coast was clear, I slipped in with Bandit.
Like I figured it would be, the place was dimly lit. Tables littered the room in a haphazard fashion, where a dozen or so customers sat, drinking amber colored beer. Despite the rock music emanating from a jukebox that had seen better days, the dance floor was empty. A baseball game blared from an ancient television set overlooking the bar — which was lucky really as the sole barman had his full attention on it. There was a distinct air of despair in this place, and I didn’t need Bandit’s nose to smell it. I felt a pang of sympathy for the drunk drowning his sorrows in the corner. He looked like how I usually felt. Beaten.
I moved quickly to a cigarette dispenser, pretending to study the brands inside. Bandit stuck close by my side, but we didn’t need to be so cautious. The patrons were so deep in their alcohol-induced stupor that there wasn’t even one curious glance our way.
From the central bar, two corridors lead off: one to the restrooms and the other some sort of private room. I watched as the shady guys marched up to a closed door and knocked three times. The door was opened by a man whose giant head seemed to float on a cloud of heavy cigarette smoke. When the smoke cleared, I saw the poker game that was in progress beyond. I stared down at Bandit and grinned.
“This is it. You ready?”
He pawed the ground and his butt shook with excitement.
Despite the lack of attention thrown our way, we kept to the shadows as we crossed the bar and made our way to the closed door. I gave Bandit one last look, then before I could chicken out, I knocked three times. As before, the door opened, but this time, a guy with a patch over one eye shot us a startled look.
“This ain’t no nursery. Get outta here kid.”
He turned his back on me, figuring I would heed his words, however I shoved my foot in the door and forced my way inside. Eight grown men zeroed in on me, including the guys we had followed.
“I’m here to play.” I’m sure I would have sounded more convincing if my voice hadn’t wavered at the end of that sentence.
Patch grinned at me, revealing a gaping set of black teeth. I cringed and mentally affirmed I would take better care of my own molars in future.
“This is a private game, young lady.”
I gave him the best glower I could manage.
“I have money,” I said. Then I pushed past and marched up to the surprised table. I gestured, and Bandit immediately took his position behind the other players, but he couldn’t keep still. I think he was nervous, picking up on my vibes.
A big guy with the dealer’s pin smirked at me.
“You’re pretty gutsy for a kid.”
“And you’re pretty chirpy for a guy who’s gonna lose it all,” I shot back. Dealer continued to smirk at me, though there was now a hardness in his eyes. Guess he didn’t like being shown up.
“Alright kid. Show us what you’ve got or get out.”
I tensed. This was it. Bandit must have sensed my sudden indecision as he stole back to my side. I reached into my backpack, withdrew my carefully saved stash, and slammed it onto the table with as much force as I could muster.
“Here.” I kept my eyes level with his. Show no fear, I chanted to myself.
Dealer broke his gaze to take in the money I had slammed down… And burst out laughing. One by one, the men around the table joined him in laughter until the whole room was in uproar. Except for me. I kept my face a mask of defiance, refusing to show my confusion.
“A hundred and twelve dollars?” he choked out in between laughs. “A hundred and twelve?”
Patch left his position by the door. His grin wider — and even grosser — than before.
“What so funny?” I demanded.
Dealer leaned back against his seat and pointed to the current betting pot on the table.
“See that? That’s just the starting bets for this hand. We open with fifty which means, you wouldn’t even last one round.” He smiled slimily before continuing.
“While I do find your naivety charming, I think it’s time for you and the flea bag to leave.”
Patch grabbed my shoulder and started steering me to the door, but I twisted away from him, dived towards the table and grabbed my money. The other men made as if to stop me, but Dealer held them off.
“No. Let her take her hard earned cash. We are men of honor.”
At that the room erupted again. Bandit, not understanding what was happening, whined unhappily.
I shoved the money into my pockets, then tore out of there with Bandit close at my heels. To my fury, I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. Determined that none of them would see me crying, I found a door marked FIRE EXIT and pushed it open. We stumbled out into a back alley.
“I can’t believe those jerks!”
Bandit circled me and shoved his nose into my hand. I petted him without thinking and automatically started to feel a bit better. I remembered reading an article on how pets were great stress relievers in a copy of Reader’s Digest before. I took several deep breaths and calmed down. Oh well. Not all of my plans were winners, but at least we didn’t lose our money. Could be worse.
Bandit bared his teeth at me and growled.
I snatched my hand back, confused by the complete change in him. And then I smelt it. Hard liquor breath.
Breathing down my neck.
I spun around to find the drunk from earlier standing behind me — only now he didn’t seem so pitiful. He staggered towards me, reeking of desperation and whiskey. Bandit growled warningly again, baring his sharp white teeth.
“I don’t want to hurt you, just give me the money,” he pleaded.
Here’s the thing you should know about me. I’d managed to make four hundred bills last eight months. You do the math. With a hundred and twelve still left, that meant I’d used roughly a dollar a day to live on, which I think you’ll agree is pretty hardcore. I could go four days on what you spend on a coffee. I take nothing more seriously in life than cash. So was I going to hand it over to this drunk? You bet I wasn’t.
Seeing the determination on my face, he looked almost apologetic.
“You don’t understand. I need that money. It’s a matter of life and death.”
I almost snorted in his face.
“Welcome to my world, scumbag.”
OK. Here’s another thing you should know. My mouth shoots off before I even know what I’m doing. It’s one of my worst traits and something I really should work on.
All niceness faded from his face, and he lunged for me. Bandit started barking like a crazed thing. I tried to run, but he snagged hold of my backpack and wouldn’t let go. Then I tried to elbow him, but my bag got in the way. He must’ve slipped as I felt his crushing weight land on top of me. We tumbled onto a crate of empty bottles.
I managed to twist around until I was facing him. I kicked out, getting him in his side. It must have hurt, as he suddenly shrieked and backhanded me across my face. My head snapped back as stars clouded my vision. There was a metallic taste in my mouth — blood — and I realized I must have bitten my cheek. His hands went for my pockets, where he must’ve seen me stash the money, when a ball of fur suddenly flew towards him.
A scream of agony pierced the night. I watched with fascinated horror as Bandit clamped his fangs around the drunk’s right hand — the hand that had hit me and was about to strike again. The drunk was frantically trying to shake him off, but Bandit wasn’t letting go for no one. I felt a moment of deep pride. Go boy!
I was pushing myself up when I saw the drunk reach for a bottle that had had its base smashed off. Jagged edges glinted, caught by an overhead streetlight. It took a split second to realize what his intentions were, but by then I was already too late. I flung myself forward at the same time the bottle flashed through the air and stabbed into Bandit’s stomach. He yelped and dropped like stone.
The drunk stood over him with the bottle raised high, preparing to stab again. Blood pounded in my ears as I realized Bandit wouldn’t last another round. I screamed.
“Here! Take it! Leave him alone!” I threw the money at him. A cloud of paper bills rained onto the ground. He scrabbled on all fours for the money. When he had taken every last bill, he disappeared down the alley without a second glance.
I bolted to Bandit’s side.
CHAPTER 15
CHASE
There was so much blood.
My hand pressed tightly against the deep wound, but it barely stemmed the flow. Bandit whined, his whole body trembling in pain. He panted loudly, the white of his eyes showing. Did that mean something? Was he dying? My encyclopedic brain ran through everything I’d ever learned on first aid, but it was no use - the data filed up in there applied only to people.
“Hold on, boy. You’ll be OK,” I choked out.
Bandit looked at me like he knew I was lying. Cold panic ripped through me. No God, please, please let him be OK. My heart was thumping so loudly I thought it would explode from my chest. There was a high pitched ringing in my ears that dulled the world around me. Abruptly the ringing died down and I could hear with crystal clarity: nearby cars screeching to a halt as the drunk skidded into traffic, followed by car horns blaring, and screeching tires. In a white rage, I hoped for the resounding thump that would signal a collision, but it never came. Why do the bad guys always get away?
Unwrapping the scarf from his neck, I turned it into a tight bandage and tied it over the wound, but I’d barely finished the knots before his blood seeped through, blossoming over the thin material and staining it red. I had to get help, he wouldn’t last much longer like this.
I wrapped my arms around his body and tried to lift, but he was so heavy, my legs started to buckle from the effort. A whimper escaped his lips as I tried unsuccessfully to lay him down again gently. I spun around, taking in the junk in the alley: there were multiple trash cans, some boxes, and something half hidden behind a doorway. I jogged forward a few steps and had to stop myself from bursting into tears of relief. It was a little worn, but there was no denying the Whole Foods shopping cart!
Quickly, I grabbed a box, flattened it, and shoved it inside the cart. Shrugging out of my denim jacket, I lay it on top. It wasn’t much, but it was the best I could do to soften what was going to be a very bumpy ride. With a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I maneuvered Bandit into the makeshift gurney. He flopped loosely in my arms and barely made a sound. This I knew was a very bad sign. I slid a hand under his nose and felt a weak blast of hot air against my fingers. Still breathing.
“Hang on, I’m getting you help.”
Seizing the handles of the cart, I thundered out of the alley.
CHAPTER 16
CHASE
Shop fronts blurred past but none were what we needed. I didn’t stop for anyone. There was no time. Pedestrians dived out of my way, shouting insults. Did they think this was some kind of sick game? I shot another glance at Bandit and paled at the blood that was turning my jacket red. He wasn’t even that big. How could he have so much blood? The thought briefly crossed my mind that Bandit wasn’t fully grown. He was probably quite young. I shook my head and focused.
Where were we going?
Suddenly, I knew what to do. My eyes swept up and down the streets until I pinpointed a telephone booth across the road. I swung the cart so hard the wheels shrieked in protest. Then, not waiting for a gap in the traffic, I ran into the road.
Brakes screamed. Horns blared. An irate driver leaned out of the window and yelled some pretty foul things at me. I ignored them all and pushed the cart over the street. Bandit’s tongue was hanging completely out of his mouth now. It was pale. Almost white. Definitely not a good sign.
Making it to the booth, relief flooded through me when I saw the phone directory hanging by a cord. I flung it open and prayed I’d find what I needed.
CHAPTER 17
SULLY
I stared into the carton of another unappetizing takeout. Oily noodles with burnt pieces of rubber that masqueraded as chicken. That home-cooked lasagna sounded mighty good right about now. Shame it was nothing but a stain on the sidewalk.
I let out a long sigh. I shouldn’t have flipped like that. In the last ten months, I had systematically severed ties to all our friends — anything that reminded me of my previous life with Emma. A few had stubbornly hung on in there, but I had managed to push away every one of them until Mark was the only friend I had left. Except maybe now, that bridge was burnt too.
I reached for a Coors and gulped the sweetness down. Tomorrow I’d call and eat humble pie. But not tonight. Tonight was terrible-Chinese-and-get-drunk-in-front-of-the-box night. All day, Florence had spoken to me in a clipped tone of voice laced with disappointment. I had tried explaining my side, but Florence wasn’t interested in anything I had to say. She was so steaming mad that — despite being her boss — I had given her a wide berth. What that woman couldn’t do for Catholic guilt.
I got up from the dining table and moved to the window. Emma had always loved this view. I stared past the perfectly manicured neighborhood lawns and into the distance, where just below the horizon, the New York skyline blazed with lights. This view was the reason we had bought this place. “A little piece of heaven,” she had called it.
I thought Emma had lost her mind when she first set eyes on the rundown property and declared that this would be our forever home. Its previous elderly owner had long given up on the upkeep, and time had taken its toll on the bricks and mortar. The neighborhood disliked the eyesore, but put up with it due to their love and respect for the old coot.
Like many other times in her life, Emma had seen the potential of the place and had haggled like a pro until the real estate agents — disarmed by her tenacity and charm — finally caved. I thought of the happy months we’d spent renovating the property to change it from the dump it used to be.
I closed my eyes so I could see her again. Hair piled messily on top of her head, she wore those painted-splattered dungarees she liked for decorating. She waved a loaded paint brush around - narrowly missing my face — and painted different color patches on the wall, which in fairness all looked yellow to me. Then she stood back to study them. I loved the way her nose wrinkled whenever she was thinking. When she had finally decided on a tone, I had grabbed her hand an
d twirled her around as we’d danced to the radio in celebration. Our marriage had been filled with silly, wonderful moments like these.
My eyes flashed open, filled with tears. Oh Em. It should’ve been me.
The familiar, crushing ache began to build inside. I grabbed at my head and squeezed. My head pounded with the pain I was physically causing, but I kept up the pressure until I couldn’t take it anymore. My hands dropped to my sides, relieved that the raw pain in my heart had momentarily been interrupted.
But the pounding continued.
I frowned as I slowly came to the realization that the pounding wasn’t in my head anymore.
It was real.
CHAPTER 18
CHASE
I could see the lights in the floor upstairs, so why wasn’t he coming?
The sign on the window confirmed that this was the place I was looking for. Although the clinic was closed now, I knew someone lived above. I had seen his silhouette by the window.
I stabbed at the bell with a bloody finger while pounding on the door with my other hand.
“Please,” I cried desperately. “We need help!”
Finally, a hazy figure appeared through the glazed glass and began moving forwards. Lights flooded on, blinding me. Then I heard the furious voice of whom I assumed was the vet.
“Why the hell are you pounding on my door? Do you know what time…”
His sentence trailed off. I could feel, rather than see, him looking over my shoulder.
“What the—?”
“You’ve got to help him. He’s been stabbed.”