Jagger

by Kristopher Rufty

  But he didn’t move.

  “Want to go out?”

  He tensed. Held his breath.

  “Huh? Want to go outside?”

  His head lifted, but he didn’t look at her. It was as if he was pretending he was focusing on the wall.

  “Come on, handsome. Let’s go outside.”

  That was the command he wanted to hear. Jagger leaped off the bed. The floor groaned under his landing. Spinning around in a splurge of circles, he barked. It was a profound noise that vibrated the walls. Her framed college diploma hanging on her bedroom wall trembled.

  “Hush,” she said, sitting up. “Want to wake up Aunt Teresa?”

  Jagger tilted his head at the mention of her friend’s name. A flap of his jowl hung away from his mouth, showing curved teeth.

  Teresa had crashed on the couch again last night, making it three nights in a row. Hopefully it would be the last for a little while. Teresa had been Amy’s best friend since eighth grade and Amy loved her like a sister. But she was growing tired of the skulking pessimist Teresa become.

  That damn Clayton Fortner.

  How did Teresa ever wind up with such a total loser who mooched off her every chance he got? He hadn’t held a job longer than a month. Never seemed to have any money and always owed somebody some.

  Amy hadn’t liked him right away. And when she’d confessed this to Teresa it had almost ended their twenty year friendship.

  Two weeks ago Teresa found some stains on her bed sheets that were still a little damp. Clayton didn’t even try to deny he’d been fooling around on her.

  So she’d kicked Clayton out, but he kept coming around. Begging her for money, asking if he could crash there for the night. And Teresa would give him the money, would allow him to stay, which usually led to them having sex and to Teresa’s head becoming even more messed up.

  Finally, Teresa had had enough and came to Amy for help. She supposed Teresa being here was her way of attempting a Clayton Fortner detox. He’d really screwed her head up, and still was, so some time away might help get the gears working smoothly again.

  Now she felt lousy for wishing Teresa would leave. She could stay as long as she wanted.

  Amy swung her legs off the bed. She put her hands down on the sheet, and felt wet spots from Jagger’s slobber.

  Talk about stains on the sheets.

  At least she knew who was responsible for these.

  Grimacing, she lifted her hand. Bubbly spittle coated her fingertips. She wiped the drool on the sheet and stood up.

  On her way to her dresser, she rubbed Jagger under the chin as she walked by. His head reached above her hips and she felt the cold swipe of his nose on her skin.

  Amy opened the top drawer. In the corner of her eye, she saw this motion imitated in the vertical mirror on the closet door. She looked to the side and studied her reflection. Her tawny skin looked smooth in the dim morning light coming through the window and her wild mess of yellow hair seemed to shimmer. One leg, slightly pushed forward, showed the curve of her thigh and the narrow lines of muscle. It looked nice, almost as if she was posing for a picture. Angling her rump out, she jutted out a hip and watched the dimple appear in the side of a buttock where the seat of her panties didn’t reach.

  Smiling, she turned so she could see her front. And frowned at Jagger’s drying drool sprinkled across her breasts.

  “If only all the men drooled over me like you do.”

  Jagger bumped her legs from behind, making her stagger forward. She looked at him from over her shoulder and pretended to scowl. “Watch it, pal.”

  He ran his tongue across his lips, mouth hanging open. Slobber drizzling from his jaws made little puddles of foam on the carpet.

  Great.

  She looked around her room for the container of antibacterial wipes, but didn’t see it. She must have left it in the kitchen, so Jagger’s slobbery mess on her skin and the floor would have to wait.

  Turning back to the opened drawer, she took out a bra. She shut the drawer, then opened the one underneath. She grabbed the shirt on top and bumped it shut with a hip. Then she bent over, opened the third drawer and removed a pair of running shorts.

  She walked back to the bed with Jagger right on her heels, nudging the backs of her thighs with his nose. It felt like cold kisses on her skin.

  “All right,” she said. “I’m hurrying. Jeez.” She dropped the clothes on the bed. She turned around and stuck her arms through the straps of her bra. “Talk about impatient.” Reaching behind her back, she snapped the bra in place. “But I suppose if I had to pee really bad like you do, I’d be antsy too.”

  She realized she did have to pee, so she quickly dressed, then slipped her feet into her sandals. She returned to her dresser, taking the hairbrush from the top. The handle was wrapped in hair ties and felt ribbed in her hand. On her way to the bedroom door, she ran the brush through her hair, cringing whenever the bristles snagged a tangled not.

  Finished brushing, Amy took one of the hair ties she’d wrapped around the handle and tossed the brush onto her bed. Jagger seemed tempted to fetch it, but evidently changed his mind. She pulled her hair back. As she twisted the tie around her hair, Jagger tried to squeeze between her and the wall.

  “You can’t go out that way,” she told him. “Come here.”

  She patted the thigh of her right leg. Jagger, catching the hint, stepped back and came around to the appropriate side.

  “Get back,” she whispered, opening the door.

  Jagger rushed into the hall, his wide girth knocking the door out of her hand and her against the frame.

  “Shit,” she said. “Jagger!” She kept her voice down to a harsh whisper as she hurried after him. She could feel the vibrations of his heavy plodding in the floor.

  His collar stopped jangling when he reached the living room.

  Amy stood halfway up the hall, shaking her head.

  Then she turned back and made a detour into the bathroom.

  When she was finished, she entered the living room and found Jagger sitting on his hindquarters beside the back door, a beefy paw tapping the leash that hung from a hook beside the frame. His flappy ears hung behind his head like a nun’s veil.

  The air in the room was heavy with the stale odor of cigarettes. Amy looked over at the couch. Teresa was sleeping on her stomach in a thin tank top and a pair of panties that barely covered the lower arcs of her buttocks. The blanket was bunched around her calves as if it had eaten her up to that point. Her arm hung off the side and bent at the elbow when it touched the floor. An ash tray filled with a chimney of crinkled butts was within her reach.

  She looked away from Teresa and headed to the door. Putting her finger to her lip, she quietly shushed Jagger. “You’re being too loud. You’re going to wake up Teresa.”

  “Too late,” said Teresa in a groggy voice. She lifted her head. “I’ve been awake for a few minutes.”

  “Sorry,” said Amy.

  “What time is it?”

  Amy glanced at the wall clock. “Almost eight.”

  “Shit.” Teresa groaned. “How do you get up like this every morning?”

  Amy patted Jagger’s head, waggling his ears. His fur was soft and smooth under her hand. “My nearly two-hundred pounds of alarm clock here.”

  Teresa crawled to her knees and sat back on her legs. Her dark hair hung around her face in tangled waves. The dark shapes of her breasts could be seen through the white tank top. It jutted in little points in the front. “Taking him for his walk?”

  Nodding, Amy took the leash off the hook. “Want to join us?”

  Teresa groaned.

  Laughing, Amy bent over, pulled the clasp toward her and clicked the leash on. The rabies tag clinked against the metal fastener.

  “How can you handle him?” asked Teresa. “I picture you skiing on your heels down the road.”

  Amy laughed. “It gets like that sometimes, if he sees a rabbit or something. Or if the Rileys’ chickens ar
e out.”

  “Chickens. Gross.” She grimaced. “Ugly little things.”

  “Anyway, we’re going to head out and make our lap around the neighborhood. Sure you don’t want to come with?”

  “I’ll pass. Too early to be in the sunlight. That’s the vampire in me.”

  Teresa worked nights at Honkers Truck Stop, but since she’d called out her past few shifts, Amy wondered if she still had a job. Might be best for Teresa, if she didn’t. Honkers, a shithole that catered to the lowest dregs of society, was a place locals stayed away from. Unless they were like Teresa and cursed to work there. The clientele was made up of travelers, who Amy assumed were probably all serial killers passing through.

  Seemed if you had a great body and willing to exploit it, you could work there.

  Glancing at Teresa, on her knees on the couch, lightly rubbing the top of her thigh, Amy had to admit Teresa more than had the required credentials.

  Jagger moaned from beside her. Amy looked down and saw his big head tilted up at her. Though his limp jowls draped the edges of his mouth, she could still see his pout.

  “All right, Jagger, let’s get going.”

  Amy unlocked the deadbolt, then the knob. She pulled the door toward her.

  “What do you want for breakfast?” asked Teresa.

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  “Waffles.”

  “That sounds great.”

  “I’ll get started on them.”

  “Waffle iron’s under the counter,” said Amy, putting her back against the door.

  “I’ll find it.”

  “See you.”

  “Bye.”

  Amy opened the screen door, giving Jagger’s leash a gentle tug to inform him to stay put. He obliged, allowing Amy to exit first. She read in a dog training book that it was essential to teach large-breed dogs that the owner should go outdoors first. That way, the owner was less likely to get a dislocated shoulder when the dog jerked forward.

  Holding the screen door open with her rump, she stood on the deck. She clucked her tongue. Jagger, knowing the cue, walked forward. His nails clacked across the wooden boards as he walked onto the deck.

  From the coolness inside, it felt hot and damp in the early morning heat. Birds chirped from all directions and the watermelon smell of fresh-cut grass hung in the air. Amy could tell it was going to be another record-breaking summer day. There was a balmy mugginess behind the cool and no breeze seemed to come.

  Amy pulled the door shut. She stepped away from the screen door. It closed slowly, clicking when it shut. She checked the doormat and didn’t spot the envelope she was looking for.

  Damn.

  Janice Wilson, a woman who owned a singlewide in her park, was supposed to have her lot rent on the deck by 9:00am.

  She’s still got time. It’s not even eight yet.

  Amy doubted she’d see the money anytime soon, but hoped it would be here when she got back. Amy had decided if it wasn’t turned in this morning, she was going to have another talk with Janice. Possibly threaten to make her take her trailer somewhere else. Always late on the rent, Janice was normally remained two months behind. But now the past due was advancing to three. The only reason Amy remained indulgent about the payment neglect was because of Nathan, Janice’s little boy.

  Jagger walked beside her to the steps, keeping a good amount of slack on the leash. She knew he wanted to run into the yard and cock his leg as soon as possible, but he remained calm. Again, he let her take the lead when it came time to go down the steps. He was always much calmer with the leash on, but indoors he seemed to forget everything he’d been taught by Amy and the instructor from his obedience classes.

  The grass was wet with dew and rubbed wet trails across her sandals as she approached the fence gate. She’d probably have to mow before the weekend. Her backyard was enclosed in a chain-link fence with a gate on each side and one in the rear. She’d had it extended when Jagger was a puppy, knowing he would need an enclosed area to play in. Plus, it added a bit more security from her tenants. Being the owner of Eagle’s Nest Mobile Home Park, she needed any she could get.

  When her father still lived in the house, he never kept any kind of fencing up. And he hadn’t needed to, back then. Over the years, he’d let the park go to hell, and now a fence almost felt like an obligation. Hopefully one day she’d have amended the park from the shunned reputation it had obtained over the last decade or so.

  Wishful thinking, she knew.

  Raising the latch, she swung the gate inward and went out first. Jagger followed closely behind. She switched the leash to her other hand, pulled the gate shut, and started walking. As they neared Jagger’s favorite peeing tree, she felt him moving toward it. The slack in the leash went taut.

  “Stop,” she said.

  Jagger tugged once more, then eased up.

  They stopped at the tree. Jagger lowered his nose to the humps of root jutting from the ground like a serpent’s back. His snuffles made little clouds in the dirt as he kept his nose down, walking to one end of the tree before turning around and coming back. Convinced nothing had tried to claim his spot, he shifted his weight to two legs and cocked his hind leg into the air. A stream of dark yellow gushed out, hitting the tree as if it were being sprayed from a hose. It seeped down the bark, creating a foamy puddle in a crevice between two roots.

  Jagger’s eyes were partly closed, his head tilted slightly as if relishing the relief. It seemed Jagger would never stop.

  “Aw, buddy. Had to go, huh?”

  The power of Jagger’s stream lessened, turning to a sputter. Then it ceased to a drip. He snorted once and lowered his leg. Then he shook all over, a fluttering current that rustled his fur as it traveled down his spine and into his tail.

  He was ready to move on.

  Chapter Three

  Clayton felt things scuttling through the gorge between his buttocks and sat up with a sharp cry. He tried moving his right arm but it was numb and useless. So he used his left hand to dig his fingers in, scratching and clawing as he whimpered. His fingers squished little crawly things, smearing moist trails along his skin. Felt like ants when they crunched under his fingertips.

  Rolling away, he felt something like scratchy quills brushing his skin. When he was sure he was far enough away from the ants, he angled his hips and looked behind him. Other than thin dark streaks of squished ants, he saw nothing on his skin. He let out a relieved sigh and dropped onto his back. The movements made his muscles throb, pulsating with sharp jabs of pain. He felt as if he’d been beaten with a hammer.

  As he tried to catch his breath, he looked around. Tall grass surrounded him.

  A field?

  Weeds tilted in a gentle breeze that felt good on his sweaty skin. He looked up and quickly regretted it. The stinging glare of the sun caused his head to pound. Turning away from the brightness, he shielded his eyes with a hand. That helped some, but the pain was still there.

  Birds chirped nearby in a chorale of quick melodies. He could hear the faint buzzing sounds of June Bugs or bees. Hopefully it was June Bugs. But knowing his luck, he was probably laying on top of a hornet’s nest. After the clash with ants, he wouldn’t be surprised.

  He quickly spun away. Other than weeds his body had crushed, there was nothing there to see. He felt the bristly patches of tall grass tickle him between his buttocks.

  I’m naked.

  Clayton shrunk inside. He shot up. Pulling his legs to his chest, he hugged his knees. He looked down at himself. Completely nude. Even his socks were gone.

  He looked around.

  What the hell happened?

  He tried to recall how he’d gotten here, but his memory was met by a dark curtain. All he could conjure up was what Freddy made him do last night.

  No…not last night.

  It was the night before. Last night was something different.

  Holding up his hand, his arm felt as if it were pumping a river of tingling grits. His finge
rs felt stiff and numb. He couldn’t bend them yet, couldn’t make a fist.

  My knuckles!

  They were scabbed with blood. The two in the middle looked worse.

  An image of a foot stomping his hand flashed in his mind.

  I was on the ground. People were kicking me.

  At least he’d put up some kind of fight. He let his hand drop onto his raised knee.

  Clayton straightened his legs and winced at the pain it caused in his back. Looking down at his front, he saw a collection of bruises spread around his chest and stomach. The one in the middle was shaped like a shoe.

  So he was right about being kicked.

  Twisting around, he checked his ribs and saw more bruises there. He tapped the blemished skin, cringing. It really hurt there. He wondered if any were broken.

  He didn’t think so. Other than some dull pressure, it didn’t hurt when he breathed.

  Brock said he’ll extend the deadline!

  Clayton flinched at the voice. He looked around. Nobody was out here but him.

  The voice had been in his head.

  “What the hell?” he muttered.

  He saw guys leaning over him. Brock requests a tiny deposit on your debt! Somebody slapped him. The others laughed.

  “He’s crying!” said a fat one in a flannel shirt.

  The rest had gotten a big kick out of that.

  “Make him cry some more,” said someone he couldn’t see. Sounded like Freddy.

  “You’re recording this?”

  “Just a memento.”

  “It better not go on the internet.”

  As if he was looking through the point of view of some tragic character in a strange movie, he watched as feet and fists assaulted. His vision flashed whenever they struck him.

  Clayton felt the blows and hits as if they were happening right now. Each bruise on his body seemed to jolt him with phantom pain.

  He remembered it clearly now. Last night, he’d gone into Charlie’s Mart to pick up some cigarettes and put ten bucks’ worth of gas in his truck. He was on his way out to pump it when they grabbed him.

  And brought me here?

  That he couldn’t be sure of. More than likely, they took him to the barn and delivered Brock’s message through an ultimate ass-kicking.