He ran this idea through his head several times, while he ate toast, while he did dishes, while he sorted laundry. It would be easier to just leave it, but… if he didn’t do something, somebody else would. The more he thought about it, the less he liked that idea. It would be different if the damn people across the street ever came home. They’d have been clueless enough, and probably have just buried it without a thought. They didn’t care. That much was obvious. But…
If the dog gets… ripe… Daniel shuddered. If it got ripe it was going to smell, and that might be the least of the problems at that point. To hell with that. Daniel waited until he saw Greg drive off, and then he went across the street. He had to at least look.
He didn’t bother knocking.
Chapter 10
He tiptoed to the dog as though he was afraid of waking it up, and peered down at it. Even with the cold weather, the smell was bad. It had been raining, and the smell of death was overlaid by a smell of wet dog. The wet black hair stuck out in spikes. Daniel wrinkled his nose and stuck his foot out, prodding the dog’s side. The stiff animal had bloated some, but there weren’t many flies around.
Thank God. He looked over his shoulder briefly and then leaned closer, looking for the bullet wound. There: a flat spot in the spikes. Yes, that was it. He’d gotten the dog right in the chest. Not as much blood on the ground as he’d expected to see. Maybe the rain had got rid of it. Daniel reached down with his gloved hand and gripped the hind foot and rolled the dog over. This could work. If he dragged it out to the street, it would look like it was hit by a car. If the city workers just shoveled it into the truck, they wouldn’t have any idea what really happened. They weren’t detectives. If he—
“Hello.”
Daniel spun around with a gasp. A woman was standing behind him on the porch. She was wearing house slippers. He licked his lips, wondering what to say.
“Can I help you? What are you doing here?”
“I… well. I, um... Your dog.” Daniel took a step to the side and pointed. “I think something’s happened to your dog.”
The woman pulled her sweater closer around her chest and squinted. Her grey hair hung in stringy strips around her face. “My dog? No.” She took a step closer, shaking her head. “I think he’s sleeping.”
Daniel shot a look at the dog and stepped forward to intercept her. “No ma’am. He’s not sleeping. I just checked that myself.”
She took another step and looked at the overcast sky, then at Daniel. “It’s raining again. You live around here?”
“Yes… across the street.” Daniel pointed. “I knocked on your door, but you didn’t answer.”
“Oh? When was that?” She looked at her wrist, though she wore no watch. “I’ve been home all day.”
“I’m…yesterday, I mean. And the day before. I wanted to tell you. About…” he tapered off and looked at the dog again. “You know.”
“Oh. I see.” She put a hand up and ran the backs of her fingers across her lips a few times. “He does look a lot like Gringo. Well.”
“Gringo? Is that his name?”
“Well, maybe so, after all. Stranger things have happened. You think he’s dead, then?”
Daniel nodded, but she had already turned around and was going up the porch steps. He stood in the drizzle under the old tree, wondering what to do next. He looked down at the dog, with the rain and blood on his pelt, and then he looked at the old house and felt like crying. Gringo. A pet after all.
Anger raided his mind. Then why the hell didn’t she answer the door? Why did she let the dog bark all night? Probably couldn’t hear it herself, he realized. A woman that old had to be hard of hearing. He raised his hands to cover his face, realized he was wearing gloves, and let his arms drop. A moment later, the old woman came back down the steps, carrying a shovel. She had traded her slippers for men’s work boots that looked like they were about four sizes too large for her. She looked at Daniel briefly, then walked around toward the back of the house. He followed her to the corner of the yard, where she marked off an area with the shovel and began digging.
“Oh, no. Here, let me. Let me do that.” Daniel reached for the shovel.
She kept digging, though she wasn’t making much progress. “What’s your name?”
“Daniel. Please, let me do that for you.”
“I’m Ellie.” She dug out a few more handfuls of dirt, then stopped, panting. “You’re right. I’m too old.”
He took the shovel she handed him, and started digging. The rain sprinkled over him, but the earth was dry as dust an inch below the surface, and hard to dig into. Ellie folded her arms and watched him for a while.
“I’ll make cocoa,” she said finally, and shuffled away.
He turned to say he didn’t want any, but realized it would do no good. He dug and dug in the hard soil until his breath ached in his lungs and he still didn’t have a deep enough grave. The soil was just too hard; he needed to wet it down. When Ellie returned with cocoa, he asked if she had a hose.
She hauled one out to him and turned the water on. They sipped cocoa and watched the water run into the grave for a while, and then Daniel had her turn it back off and he resumed digging. Sometimes Ellie was there watching him, and sometimes she went inside.
About the time he finished digging the grave, she showed up again. This time she had a towel. “Your head,” she said, pointing. “You’ll catch pneumonia.”
He took the towel and rubbed his head. “Thanks. I’m about to… bury him. Do you want to watch, or… say anything?”
She shook her head and gave him a small smile. “No, honey. I’ve seen enough funerals. They’re all the same.” She went back to the house.
Daniel dragged the dog to the grave and stood looking down at the body. He felt compelled to say, well, something, but he didn’t know what. An apology, maybe. A defense. A glint off the dog’s collar caught his eye, and on impulse he tugged the little silver tag out to read it. Gringo. He snaked the collar off the dog, to save for Ellie.
“Goodbye, Gringo. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…you know. I didn’t want this.”
He tipped the dog into the grave.
Chapter 11
Midnight.
That was his first thought: it must be midnight. It must be, because he was awake. A glance at the clock confirmed it. 12:04. Daniel tossed and tried to go back to sleep, but of course he couldn’t. He threw off the covers and went to the window, looking at the house across the street.
Dark as ever, and silent. Daniel wondered if the woman was there and then chided himself. Well of course she’s there. She was always there, all along. She’d been there every night, just too deaf to hear him knocking and yelling. She hadn’t heard him knocking when he’d gone to return her towel, either. He’d had to leave it on the porch, along with the dog’s collar. He squinted at the darkness, trying to see if those were still there, but he couldn’t tell.
Well, she’d get them eventually. Maybe she’d be better off if the wind took them anyway. Nasty threadbare towel wasn’t much use to start with, and he didn’t know if she even wanted the collar back. She certainly hadn’t been very emotional about the dog. For that, at least, he was grateful. It was hard enough to bury a dog, but if she’d been standing there weeping and wailing, it would have been much worse. She hadn’t even cried. She’d brought him cocoa.
He shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed, thinking about it. Cocoa... Well, it would have been far different if she’d known what had happened. If he’d told her why he was there, really, told her that he’d shot her dog, he doubted very much if she’d have carried mugs of hot cocoa to him through the drizzling rain, or helped hold the hose while he wet the earth for the grave.
Daniel put his slippers on and went to the kitchen. He rooted around in the cupboard, found some instant cocoa, and made a cup. He thought it might make him feel better, but he was wrong. He thought it might make him feel sleepy, and he was wr
ong about that, too. Even though he wasn’t enjoying it, he sat and drank it anyway.
Chapter 12
Daniel slumped into his car and started the motor, then got out to scrape the frost off the windows. He looked across the street at the old woman’s house. The towel he’d left there was gone. He wondered if she was awake, maybe even watching him. The windows were covered as always. He wondered if she missed her dog. With a sigh, he threw the window scraper on the floor of the car and settled into the seat. The heater was making little progress on the job of heating the car, and he revved the engine a few times to speed it up, blowing on his fingers to warm them. Then he put the car in reverse, glancing in the rearview mirror as he started to back up. There was a black dog in the road behind him. He slammed on his brakes and spun around in his seat.
The dog wasn’t there.
Daniel laughed uneasily and rubbed his eyes with cold, aching fingers. That was the price he paid for the lack of sleep, he guessed. He backed out of the driveway slowly, watching for any sign of the dog he’d seen, but there was nothing. That didn’t comfort him at all.
At work, he was distracted and irritable. He counted the cash in the till three times before he got it to add up the way it should. When Margie teased him about having his shirt on inside-out, he snapped at her. His mood only got worse when Bud called to say there had been some complications and he’d be gone longer than expected. Would Daniel mind working the day shift for an extra few weeks?
“Well, Bud… of course. I’ll be here for you.” What else could he say? That he didn’t give a damn about Bud’s wife or her medical problems? That he couldn’t seem to sleep nights? See, Bud, the thing is… I shot my neighbor’s dog, see… and it seems to be driving me crazy.
But no, he couldn’t say that. So he said yes, of course he would, and he sent his love to go with his very bestest get-well wishes for the missus. When he hung up, Margie was watching him.
“She’s not doing well?”
Daniel made a so-so movement with his hand. “She’s alright. Not healing the way it should. Looks like you got me on your back for a while longer.”
“I know it’s hard for you. Working days, I mean. Why do you like nights so much better? I think days are easier.”
He thought about it, nodding. “Well, yeah. But nights are faster. Busy, you know? Goes by like nothing. Bang, it’s over. Days… count in the money, file the paperwork, do the inventory. It’s boring. Slice the lemons, clean the taps—”
“Sounds busy enough to me.” She wiped her tray off and sipped her soda. “But, whatever makes you happy. I worked nights for a while, when I started here. Tips were better at night, I’ll give you that much. But I just felt out of synch with the world, getting up so late, going to bed at two or three in the morning. I couldn’t date or go anywhere with friends. Don’t you miss going on dates? Like normal dates, with dinner and movies?”
Daniel busied himself stocking glasses and shook his head.
“Oh, I did,” she said. “I missed it. I mean, I could go on a date when I worked the night shift, but it was always…I don’t know. When you work nights, you hang out with people who work nights. About all you have in common is that, you know?” She moved off to take care of her tables.
Daniel watched her go. He couldn’t remember ever having seen her on the night shift.
After work, he made himself a sandwich and watched television for a while, trying to unwind. When he went to the kitchen for another beer, he saw a flash of movement outside the window. He stepped to the window and looked out just in time to see a dog leaving the yard.
Great. The same dog from this morning, probably. Now he had another one to deal with. He swigged his beer and hoped this new dog hadn’t been crapping all over his yard. Whose dog was it? Maybe the old woman had gotten a new one. He doubted it. In the first place, she didn’t seem to even have a car. He wasn’t sure why she’d bother anyway, given that she hadn’t seemed to care. And this looked like a full-grown animal, from the limited glances Daniel had of it.
Again, he woke up at midnight. When he looked out the window, he saw movement across the street. He put on his shoes and went out into the cold air to look, and there it was. Right under Ellie’s old tree. When the dog saw him, it stood and wagged its tail very slowly back and forth.
The dog looked just like Gringo.
Chapter 13
The next morning, when Daniel went out to his car, there was no sign of the dog anywhere. But when he got home after work, he was in the driveway. Daniel pulled his car in and the black animal moved slowly out of the way, staring at him the entire time.
“Get. Go on. Go home.” Daniel pointed across the street, and stomped his foot. There was a brief standoff. Then the dog turned and trotted away. He went into Ellie’s yard, and lay down under her tree.
She did get a new dog. Must be that. Has to be. But Daniel began to wonder. He stood in his driveway and stared across the street, and the dog stared back at him. Could it be the same dog? Maybe he’d imagined the whole mess. Dreamed it. He raised his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. It had been raining when he buried the dog; his hair got wet; Ellie brought him a towel. And cocoa. He remembered it all vividly. It was real. It had to be real.
He crossed the street and went around behind Ellie’s house. The gravesite was there, clear as day. He let out a shaky breath and laughed at himself. Well, of course it was.
Daniel turned and went back toward the street. So, she’d gotten another dog. Just like her old dog. People did that all the time. They even give them the same names. At least this one didn’t seem to bark a lot. It knew how to open the gate, though. That was probably not much of a trick, with such a flimsy old gate.
He was halfway across the street when Ellie called from her porch. He turned around, surprised. So used to her never answering the door, that he hadn’t even thought about knocking this time. He returned her wave.
“Daniel! Come in for a minute.”
He shook his head and made meaningless fluttering motions with his hands. “Oh, I just got home from work. I don’t want to take up your time.”
“Oh, please. I need a hand, you see. It won’t take long.” She turned and went inside. He sighed. He tried not to look at the dog as he went up the steps.
He stuck his head in the door. “Ellie?”
“In here.”
Following the voice, he moved into the hallway. The smell was peculiar. Faint hint of cigarettes. Old dusty mothballs and grease, maybe. Perhaps he smelled perfume, or it could be detergent or soap. He looked down at his feet on the wooden floor. Wood polish? That was one scent. But the floor was a mess of dust and hair. A large bookcase and a desk blocked half of the hallway. There were books on the desk and on the floor.
Ellie’s head poked out from a doorway halfway down the hall. “Here. Please. I can’t reach this jar.”
He had to turn sideways to get past the desk, but he made his way down the hall. Ellie was in the kitchen. When he got to her, she pointed up at a shelf far out of her reach.
“That green jar there. Lentils. See? I’ve been needing them, but I’m afraid to get on the ladder.” She pulled a small stepladder out from the pantry and thrust it in Daniel’s direction. “In fact, will you get the other two jars from that shelf while you’re up there?”
He set the stepladder up and climbed it. It trembled under his weight as though it was made of toothpicks. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to get on this thing,” he said as he handed down one jar and then another. “It’s not very safe.”
“Oh, that’s not why. I’ve had it for a thousand years. I just don’t seem to have the balance I used to have.” She lined the jars up on the counter. “See. I have lentils in a green jar, and pinto beans in a brown one. I used to do it the other way around, but I think this is better. Don’t you?”
“Sure.” Daniel folded the little ladder up again and leaned it on the wall out of the way, under a
dusty and outdated calendar. “What are those in the clear jar?”
“Navy. Those are very old Navy beans. I used to think Navy beans should be blue, Navy blue. But they’re white, you see? They call them that because they used to eat them in the Navy. Maybe they still do. Probably they do.” She picked up the jar and stuffed it in the trash. “Probably. Now, then. Can I get you some tea?”
He tore his eyes away from the jar of beans. “Oh, no. No, thank you. I need to get home. I just got off work.”
“Where do you work?”
“Bud’s Tavern. You ever been there?”
She laughed and tucked a few stray hairs back behind her ear. “Not that I recall. I don’t do much travelling these days, you see.” She led the way out of the kitchen, and Daniel noticed she also had to turn sideways to get past the desk. Even her narrow frame was not narrow enough.
“Not much room in this hallway.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve been rearranging. Such a chore. Never any room in this house.” Her hip bumped a stack of books as she passed them but she didn’t seem to notice the resulting avalanche. Daniel stooped and restacked the books.
At the front door, she held out her hand and Daniel shook it gently. Her skin felt like cold newspaper. He opened the door and stepped outside, and she followed him onto the porch.
“Thank you again, Daniel. I’ve been wanting those lentils. I’m making soup. Do you like soup?”
He demurred and stepped through the door. The dog was on the porch, staring at him. He was wearing the same old collar with the same silver tag. To be sure, he leaned in a little to see the name. “Gringo,” he said. His voice was a whisper, but Ellie heard him anyway.
“My husband named our dog Gringo. It was sort of an inside joke, you see.”
Daniel nodded. Why not? “Well. It’s a good name. Gringo.”
Gringo Page 3