Jagger

by Kristopher Rufty

  Freddy must have spoken to Brock.

  Yeah. I thank my lucky stars for that.

  He felt awful. His whole body ached and throbbed. They’d stripped him, dumped him here. Left him to make it back on his own. His cell phone was in his truck, so he couldn’t call anyone.

  My truck!

  Clayton had no clue where his truck might be now. They probably left it somewhere with the tires slashed.

  At least they didn’t kill me.

  Not yet. But they’d definitely made it clear he would be dead if Brock didn’t recover the money he’d lost on Bruiser.

  “I’m dead fucking meat...”

  And he was naked in a place he didn’t know. Some kind of field. At least the weeds were high enough to hide him.

  Can’t stay here all day.

  He thought he could, if he really wanted to. Looking ahead several feet, he saw a large tree, full with dark green leaves. The hefty branches reached out, throwing wide ponds of shade on the ground. The weeds stood firm around it like an unmoving carpet of tall grass. Looked like the perfect spot to get out of the sun.

  He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he could tell it was still early. The day still had a kind of softness to it, though the sun was out. And the air felt thin on his skin, not heavy with heat. Soon he wouldn’t be able to stand it.

  The shade will help with that.

  Was he really going to stay here all day?

  Figure that out later. Right now he needed to piss, then get under the shade.

  Clayton gave one last look around. Other than a border of barbwire fencing, he saw nothing. Not even a barn, silo, or shed. Just wide open space.

  And the tree.

  Clayton stood up, his ligaments popping and stretching. It might have felt good if he wasn’t so sore. Hobbling like an old man with arthritic hips, he made his way toward the tree. Though he saw nobody out here, he didn’t want to point his member into the wind and start peeing.

  After a few minutes, he reached the tree. He stepped around to the other side of it.

  And jerked rigid when he saw the tractor parked with its hood up.

  “Shit!”

  A big man in overalls and a straw hat was working on the engine. His head turned. He looked right at Clayton. Smiling at first, his lips dropped into a frown.

  Scampering as if his feet were on hot coals, Clayton hurried around to the other side of the tree. He leaned back against it, his skin scratched by the jagged bark.

  Somehow he hadn’t noticed the man or the giant piece of farming machinery in his first glance. He supposed the tree had blocked his view of it.

  “Who’s that?”

  Clayton tensed when he heard the deep voice.

  “Boy, I done saw you. Might as well tell me what in Sam’s hell you’re doing out here.”

  Clayton could hardly breathe through the tight place in his lungs. “I’m...naked...” he stammered.

  “Done seen that. Whatcha doing on my property?”

  “I...”

  Clayton didn’t really know what to tell him.

  Sorry. Some goons roughed me up because I lost their boss a lot of money on a piece of shit dog.

  No. He couldn’t say that.

  “You what?” asked the farmer.

  “Some people jumped me last night. I woke up here.”

  “Naked.”

  “Yuh-yeah...naked.”

  “That’s a damn shame, boy.”

  Yeah. A shame.

  He heard the farmer’s sigh. Weeds rustled as the man walked toward him.

  Clayton’s stomach felt tight and sick. He had no idea what the farmer would do to him. He’d seen too many crazy movies featuring hillbillies that liked to force men to squeal like pigs.

  In this moment, Clayton regretted his life. If he was offered a restart, he would gladly take it. He wouldn’t have started hanging out with Glenn Tutterow in high school. He wouldn’t have started smoking weed. And he wouldn’t have dropped out of school. Then he would have never come into contact with Freddy and the rest of Brickston’s dogfight elite. At one time, he’d had aspirations of working in comic books. He hadn’t drawn anything in fifteen years, but he used to be really good at it.

  Should’ve gotten as far away from this shit town years ago.

  The footsteps stopped. Clayton could see the dark streaks of the farmer’s shadow on the weeds. He stood just a couple yards behind him, on the other side of the tree.

  “Well...I ain’t gonna make you come out from behind the tree just yet. I know you’re a little...indisposed at the moment.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Give me a few minutes to get my tractor running again. Damn thing likes to stall on me. Probably the carburetor. Needs replacing. Once I get it running, I’ll give you a ride back to my house. Let you borrow some clothes.”

  “Th-thanks.”

  The farmer sighed again. “Name’s Mitch.”

  “Clayton.”

  “Can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you, boy.”

  “Can’t say I blame you.”

  Mitch snorted. “You can use my phone, if you need to. I doubt you got one on your…person. Got anybody you can call to come pick you up?”

  Clayton considered calling Freddy, but decided that would be a poor choice. He was almost convinced Freddy had been among the group last night, documenting the whole assault. What was it with him wanting a library of Clayton’s misery?

  No matter what happened in the end, he would make sure he at least got to beat the hell out of Freddy.

  “Yeah,” said Clayton. “I know someone.”

  Teresa.

  “Good. Hate for you to walk back into town. Can’t give you a ride myself since I’ve got work to do.”

  “You’re doing plenty,” said Clayton. “Thanks, again.”

  “Sure.”

  The weeds made scratching sounds against Mitch’s pants as he walked back to the tractor. Clayton waited until he heard the knocking sounds of Mitch working on the tractor before he finally peed. As he drained his bladder on the ground, he wondered what Teresa was going to say when he called her. He had no doubts she would come pick him up. He just didn’t want to listen to her nagging him about his life choices.

  She’s got a lot of room talk. She works at Honkers for christsake.

  At least it was work, she would say. Which was more than what Clayton had. And he hated to admit it, but she was right. Clayton was great at getting jobs. Not being able to keep them was one of his many flaws.

  It took Mitch twenty minutes to get the tractor into working order. The engine puttered to life, popping as it seemed to choke on the gas. A tangy scent of burning fuel filled the air. He heard the clutch groan and the tractor started moving. Mitch drove around to Clayton’s side of the tree. He covered his genitals with one hand.

  Mitch was older than Clayton had expected, judging his voice. He looked like someone’s grandfather. Heavy and broad, his body was fit with muscle gained from years of hard work. His face was what gave away his age. It was tired and a bit haggard, with a fresh beard brushing grey stubble on his cheeks.

  “Hop on,” Mitch shouted, above the ruckus of the engine. He patted a flat surface behind the seat.

  Clayton nodded. He walked to the rear of the tractor and climbed up. The metal was cold under his buttocks when he sat down.

  Mitch started driving. Clayton stared out into the rolling fields, enjoying the scenery, but hating his life.

  Chapter Four

  Amy walked along the verge of the gravel road, letting Jagger stroll in the tall grass. Every few feet he stopped to smell the ground or some discarded litter. He never lingered longer than a few seconds unless it was to lift his leg and sprinkle his mark.

  Thankfully, the Rileys’ chickens were out of sight, so Jagger wasn’t tempted to run over there. He paused when he heard their squawks and screeches, ears perking. But he didn’t seem very interested.

  Ellie Riley had been getting the
newspaper from her driveway when they’d walked up. Amy had to chat with her for a few minutes while Jagger sniffed around.

  Ellie was a nice lady, though she could be, at times, afflicted with complaints. As always, she griped about the weather. Didn’t seem to matter what the temperature was it was never what Ellie wanted it to be. She told Amy she saw on the forecasts that this week would be the hottest Brickston had seen in years. But a nasty thunderstorm would probably hit in a couple days, bringing even more humidity with it.

  Amy wasn’t looking forward to that. Usually bad storms knocked down limbs and she had to call a landscaping crew to clean up.

  Costs a damn fortune.

  An expense she didn’t want, but it was one that she could handle if needed. Her father had not only left her the trailer—mobile home—park, he’d left her his savings account, property, and two insurance policies. Being the only child, she’d gotten it all. Mom had died when Amy was a teenager, so she had nobody to split the money with. But if she could give all of her inheritance to have her mom back, she’d gladly do it.

  Amy hadn’t been close to her father. Pete Snider hadn’t been an approachable guy in his life, even with his family. So, like most people, Amy and Mom had kept their distance. He’d been somebody who was there in the evenings to eat dinner with and watch him fall asleep in the recliner. He’d come to Amy’s graduation, had paid for her education, and had put down the deposit on her old condo in Cool Springs. Other than holidays and birthdays, her communication with Mr. Snider had been scarce.

  And she regretted it. She would have loved accusations of being a daddy’s girl. But her reality was far from it. He had never been mean to her or had abused her, but he hadn’t been especially loving or emotional. Hardly supportive, he’d never offered any kind of advice or displeasure in any of her affairs.

  She couldn’t recall ever seeing him smile.

  But he gave me his empire.

  Standing at the bend in the gravel road that horseshoed through Eagle’s Nest, Amy sighed. She’d left the secluded mobile homes behind. Rundown singlewides were on either side of the narrow track up ahead in weedy cubicles of overgrown yard. Some were dotted with bullet holes in the tin siding. Others had chunks missing that showed patches of the insulation inside. Nearly all of them had some kind of junk car parked in the yard. Most had several garbagy cars. A couple times a month police showed up at random lots to interrupt domestic disputes or drunken fights, the majority happening at Carlos Lozano’s lot. Even now, standing where the road curved, she could see Carlos outside in long black shorts and gaudy white T-shirt. He stood in front of his bright orange Impala, its hood up. A small crowd of Mexican guys stood around while Carlos tinkered around the engine. Amy had heard rumors that Carlos and his buddies were all members of some kind of gang.

  People had even been murdered in Eagle’s Nest. And a lot of the neighbors assumed that somehow Carlos was responsible, though Amy didn’t think so. He’d never been anything but nice when she’d collected the lot rent, though his eyes seemed to lock on her breasts.

  In the three years Amy had owned Eagle’s Nest, she’d almost sold it a few times. The only buyers she’d managed to find only wanted it for the land. They’d planned to bulldoze the landscape and clear it out, which meant everyone who lived here had to hitch up their trailers and move. The majority of them didn’t have the financial resources to go anywhere else. They could hardly afford to live as it stood now and were trapped here. If Amy got rid of the park, they’d have nowhere to go.

  And sometimes Amy felt trapped too. As much as she wanted to leave, she knew she never could, which was why she’d moved back into Dad’s house, leaving her condo and her old life as a dental assistant behind.

  She hated her father had let this community become a slum. She remembered how nice it used to be here, when the people were actually decent.

  They’re not all bad now.

  The majority of them were. And it was her father who’d allowed them to park their trailers here. He’d allowed drug addicts to move in, to operate their illegal businesses right out of their backyards. It was his fault Eagle’s Nest was such an economically disadvantaged place to live. Plus, he’d stopped keeping it up like he was supposed to, but Amy planned to restore it to how she remembered it being when she was a kid. When there were big gorgeous trees full of pink and yellow flowers, yard decorations, and an annual event on Fourth of July when they used to set up tables and everyone in the trailer park would provide some kind of food. She remembered it being so much fun.

  Some day. I’ll make sure we do that again.

  She turned back, started for home, guiding Jagger along. He panted as he walked, his nails scraping the dirt into little tanned clouds around his paws. The road was so dehydrated it looked like powder gravy mix and crunched like sand under Amy’s feet.

  “Ready to head back home?” she asked Jagger.

  He walked along, not acknowledging she’d spoken. His ears perked for a moment as he stared ahead, then drooped back down. Foamy lines ran along his curled lips. If anyone were to stumble upon Jagger when he looked like this, they would assume he was rabid. She made sure he always had his tags on, so people would know he wasn’t.

  The road straightened out ahead of her. She passed the Rileys’ lot without slowing down. Surely the chickens would be out by now and Jagger would want to gobble them up.

  Janice Wilson’s trailer was on a slight rise to her right. She had the biggest yard of all the renters, though she hardly kept it up. Amy paused, giving Jagger’s leash a gentle tug so he would know to stop. He listened, sinking down on his rear. He was tired already. She worried about his weight, but Dr. Alasba told her his heavy size was normal and if she kept up the daily walks, all would be fine. The lifespan of dogs like Jagger could reach ten years. He was four now, but acted like a senior already.

  Her throat tightened as she tried to picture what her life might be without him.

  Don’t start thinking about that. He has six good years left.

  She looked at Jagger’s snout, the sagging jowls that gave him a joker’s grin. Was that gray hair she saw feathering down the compacted maw? Turning away from Jagger, she peered up the short hill to Janice’s trailer. The weed-choked lawn needed mowing. Patches of wild onion spread through like troves of green tails. Children’s toys were scattered around the yard in brightly colored debris like the remnants of a toddler apocalypse. She saw a clubhouse near the front door with a yellow ceiling and blue walls.

  A little boy walked out, waving a plastic baseball like a sword. She could hear him providing the swooshing sound effects with his mouth.

  Jagger’s ears perked again. His panting stopped. A low whine emanated from his throat as his maw closed. Watching Nathan play made Jagger want to join him. Jagger wasn’t a dog that openly trusted people, but he loved the little boy a lot.

  Outside alone. Again.

  Nathan usually played outside without any kind of supervision. Social Services had been dispatched here more than once and each time left without taking the kid, for whatever reason.

  Amy would never forget the evening she was driving back from the gym and had nearly hit him with her car. He’d been in the middle of the road, crying in nothing but a shirt and soggy, loaded diaper. He’d had on no shoes or socks, which left his feet bare and his toes scuffed. When Amy had taken him to the trailer, she’d found Janice had fallen asleep—passed out—on the couch and Nathan had wandered outside and couldn’t find his way back home. Amy had returned to her car, the smacks of Nathan’s punishments combined with his screams coming from inside the trailer.

  Now, seeing the kid play in such a scraggly yard, without his mother keeping an eye on him, made Amy sad. Her heart broke for him. Such a cute little guy with a traditional little boy hairstyle of flat bangs that touched his eyebrows and poked out around his ears.

  At least he’s dressed this time.

  She thought about walking up to the trailer and checking on Janic
e. Make sure she hadn’t passed out drunk again. Now would also be a good time to get the lot rent.

  Amy sighed.

  She couldn’t do it. For whatever reason, she would feel like a merciless bitch for knocking on Janice’s door.

  “Come on,” she said to Jagger. “Let’s go home before Nathan sees us and wants to play.”

  They walked the rest of the way back to the house without stopping. The good feelings had left her and now she felt tired and miserable. Even Jagger seemed depressed.

  Birds hopped along the grass beyond the road, pecking at the ground, and Jagger ignored them. In the woods that enclosed Eagle’s Nest, Amy could hear things scuttling about, but Jagger didn’t even glance in the direction of the sounds.

  Maybe the heat was getting to him. Being a typical North Carolina summer day, it felt much warmer now than when she’d left. The dew on Amy’s grass was dried when they reached the yard. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been gone, but she guessed no longer than forty minutes.

  As she walked around the side of the house, she glanced at her Jeep parked under the carport.

  The space beside it was empty.

  Where’s Teresa?

  Amy hadn’t seen her on the road, so she must have driven out the other way, the direction Amy had avoided this morning.

  I might’ve seen her if I’d kept going.

  She stared at the empty spot for a moment, then walked to the fence. She opened the gate, squatted next to Jagger, and unhooked the leash. He trotted into the yard, his collar jangling like a pocketful of change. He took the steps in one big sprint and reached the door well before Amy got to the deck.

  She tried the knob. It was unlocked.

  Thank God. I would‘ve been locked out.

  Amy didn’t keep a spare key outside, so she would have been stuck on the deck until Teresa got back.

  Where the hell is she?

  Amy opened the door and didn’t attempt to stop Jagger when he dashed inside. The cool air from the air conditioning felt great on her hot skin. It dried the sweat, gluing her tank top to her back. Reaching behind her, she plucked it from her skin and fanned herself as she walked into the kitchen.