Immortal Max (15 page)

Huh. All I was trying to do was stop him from eating my socks.

“Meet you inside.” Beth walks back toward the house. “I'm so hungry, I could eat a cow. And that's saying a lot, since I'm a vegetarian.”

My heart is a boat motor in my chest. A heavy throbbing lump of metal. Nothing is working out for me. Beth was my last hope . . .

Unless
I can convince Mrs. Kendall to hold a puppy for me.

Wednesday. 10:24
AM
. Four dogs on leashes, each with internal compasses aligned to different magnetic fields. Siegfried's points north. Apollo's, south. Buddy's, sort of east. Baby's, sort of west. Hairy yo-yos, I reel them out and pull them back in. Continuously. Finally, we reach a truce.

Well trained, Professor Muller's pinscher, Siegfried, shadows my left heel. Having the shortest legs, Apollo, Mr. P's yorkie, shadows Siegfried. Mrs. Callahan's peekapoos, Baby and Buddy, take turns in the lead. My eyes are bouncing balls, ricocheting from one dog to the next. My ears are finely tuned hearing aids listening for sounds coming from behind. Cars. Trucks. Bikes. Battery-powered golf carts are the real menace. Gliding as silent as Luke Skywalker's landspeeder, they're on top of us without warning.

One of my back pockets is stuffed with plastic bags. The other holds a lid from a mayonnaise jar. A water bottle is clipped to my left belt loop. So far, I've only picked up after Siegfried. That bag is tied to a belt loop on my right hip. A green plastic bag sporting a Piggly Wiggly logo is filled with Min Pin peanuts. Three more to go, but there's plenty of time. We're only halfway around the loop Chief Beaumont mapped out.

The dogs aren't yapping at all, so I stop worrying about citations for creating a disturbance. It's because of the heat. The dogs can't breathe and bark at the same time. Even though it's midmorning, they pant nonstop. Dogs sweat through their foot-pads,
but when it's really hot, the footpads can't keep up. So they pant. Tongues drooling elastic bands.

I'm not panting, just oozing through all my pores. The dry spell and hot temperatures are cooking everything. Flowers in gardens we walk past have dried to yellow stalks. The asphalt smells like hot tar. The sun's glare is blinding. My face and neck are sunburned. I feel lucky to have worked out a morning schedule, not afternoon.

Buddy and Baby decide to do their business at the same time. I tell Siegfried to sit, reel in Apollo, remove two bags from my pocket. And wait. This part of the job can't be rushed. Serious business for dogs. Nose to ground, sniffing along an invisible line that leads to treasure, no stopping until they find the X that marks the spot. Siegfried took five minutes locating his X. While I wait, I unclip my water bottle and take a long drink. Siegfried looks up at me.

Is he asking for a drink?

“Wait until Buddy and Baby are done.” I rub his head. “If I give you a drink now, they'll forget what they're supposed to do.” He sits down at my feet, staring at Baby and Buddy.

Is he telegraphing them a message? “Dogs aren't
that
smart . . . are they?”

Great. I'm talking to myself—about stupid things. Bored with waiting, I decide to test the theory.

“Siegfried, tell Apollo to do his business now because it would save time.”

Siegfried looks at Apollo and pants harder. Apollo lies down on the ground.

I laugh.

After Buddy and Baby find their treasure spots, I pull out the jar lid I brought for a water dish. As the dogs are taking their turns, I hear a noise. A loud roaring sound on the next street over.

Justin is on the prowl.

Siegfried stands alert, looking toward the noise. Apollo
starts to whine. Just then, Baby and Buddy finish drinking. I look around, searching for cover. Some thick bushes or a clump of trees to hide behind. Barren yards and black asphalt stare back at me.

Maybe he doesn't know I'm here. Maybe he won't find us. . . .

Hurriedly, I pick up the two peanut-size piles that Buddy and Baby deposited. Just as I finish tying twin Walmart bags to a belt loop, the roaring noise grows louder. I look up and see a golf cart spinning around the corner, a pilot-guided missile. Stuffing the jar lid in my pocket, I yell to the dogs, “Run!”

But it's no use. A dog's ability to cover ground is determined by how long its legs are. I'm walking four very little dogs with very short legs. Being the biggest, Siegfried is the fastest. He manages to keep up with me. Buddy and Baby tangle their leashes and trip over each other. The smallest of them all, Apollo, is stretched at the end of his leash—behind me. I'm dragging him like a hairy little red wagon.

When the noise behind us reaches the pitch of a jet engine, I pick up Buddy, Baby, and Apollo. “Hurry, Siegfried!” I yell.
“Hurry!”

We run.

Justin swerves off the road in front of us, forcing us into the ditch. I stumble over Siegfried's leash and land in the middle of a dog pile. A
yelping
dog pile.

Justin yells, “I warned you,
Spammy
!” He disappears, followed by laughter.
A-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh
.

Doors start slamming. People come outside to investigate. They stare at me, faces stone masks. Those looks are asking questions.

Who is that strange boy?

Is he an outsider?

Why's he making all that noise?

Should we call Chief Beaumont?

I wave at the lookers. “It's okay. I'm walking dogs for Mr. P, Mrs. Callahan, and Professor Muller. Chief Beaumont gave me permission.”

Hearing familiar names seems to work. The people go back
to their air-conditioned houses and big-screen TVs. I untangle leashes and check dogs. All four are covered in dried grass and dirt. Baby's ear ribbons have come loose. I retie them in a double knot. Siegfried whines, holding a front paw in the air.

“Good dog, Siegfried.” My voice calm, the way Beth does when she treats our animals, I examine his foot. A sliver of wood is stuck in the pad. Gently, I ease it out. He whines but lets me wash his foot with water. I give him a drink and refill the jar lid for the other three. While they're drinking, I dry off Siegfried's hurt paw with the tail of my T-shirt and examine it more closely.

“It's not too bad, Siegfried. A little antiseptic soap and warm water, and it will be just fine.”

Which means I have to tell Professor Muller what happened.

As I'm working with Siegfried, Apollo finishes his business. I tie a fourth bag to a belt loop. A Farm-&-Fleet logo, more bouncing peanuts. My job done for the day, I use my hands to brush off the dogs and finish the route.

Dropping off Apollo first, I pocket a five-dollar bill.

“Wait, I make Greek sugar cookies for us.” Mr. P's house smells like a bakery. “You come in. We eat.”

“Um, better not. I have to take the other dogs home.”

“Oh, sure, sure.” He glances at Buddy, Baby, and Siegfried, picks up Apollo. “Why they all so dirty?” he says, looking at me.

“The, uh, the grass is really dry. Passing cars stirred up dust, too.”

A half-lie?

“Oh, sure, sure. I am watering my plants every day.” He sets Apollo down and tells me to wait. He returns with a sandwich bag stuffed full of sugar cookies. “For the way home.”

“Thanks. That'll be great.” We exchange cookies and a bag of peanut-size dog poop.

Mrs. Callahan's house is next. I tie up Apollo on the porch, then take the two peekapoos inside. I'll drop off her house key at the office on my way out.

Professor Muller is the last stop. As we near his house, I see
him on the front step, waiting. I notice he's looking at Siegfried, so I look, too.

The dog is limping.

Professor Muller watches as I wash Siegfried's paw with antiseptic soap, listens as I explain what happened. We're standing in his bathroom, Siegfried on the counter.

“My sister taught me how to do this. I'm really sorry it happened.”

“Can you identify the boy?” He's stiff backed, stern looking. An unhappy professor of medieval mythological studies getting ready to fail a student. “It appears you were injured, too.” He indicates scrapes on my knees I hadn't noticed.

I try to swallow, but my mouth is so dry, I can't make spit. I used all my water on the dogs.

“It all happened so fast. . . .” I cop out on the truth, afraid if he learns Justin has it in for me, my dog-walking days will be over. “But I hear that Chief Beaumont won't take the word of a kid. He has to catch someone in the act before he'll do anything.”

A guttural sound comes out of the professor's throat. “I cannot have Siegfried put in danger. Do you understand what I'm saying, Samuel?” He hands me five dollars.

That's it. I failed the test. He's telling me I can't walk his dog anymore.

I pocket the five and lift Siegfried down from the bathroom counter. When I set him on the floor, his stumpy tail wags like crazy.

“But see, Siegfried had a good time. And the exercise was good for him. It probably won't happen again. I think it was just an accident. . . .”

I'm running my mouth intentionally. My grandpa always said
The squeaky wheel gets the grease
.

“Please . . .” And whining seems to work for Rosie. “Remember, you just had surgery.”

Professor Muller's mask softens. “Well, it
is
important that
Siegfried gets exercise.” Another raspy sigh. “We will try it one more time, see if it happens again. If it does . . .”

This time, I don't have to wonder what he's telling me. If Justin runs me off the road again, I won't be walking Siegfried anymore. Or the other dogs, either. Professor Muller will tell Mrs. Callahan and Mr. P what happened, and I won't have a job at all. Which means I won't get my puppy.

Justin will win, and give me the loser sign.

Again.

The next day, Yee and Anise bike over to Bailey's for cheerleading practice. For once, all three are being themselves. Just girls having fun, not what others expect them to be. I sit on the front porch with Sid and George, and Rosie holds Blondie, Bailey's long-tailed mixed cocker. We all watch as they practice a pyramid cheer.

“Bubble gum, bubble gum,

Pop, pop.

Bubble gum, bubble gum,

Pop, pop.

Our team, our team,

On top.

Your team, your team,

Ker-PLOP.”

When they get to the “on top” part, Anise and Bailey stand to one side, one leg bent for Yee to stand on. Yee can climb up and stay balanced as long as she holds their hands. But at “Ker-plop,” when she turns loose to stretch tall, the pyramid starts to wobble. When Bailey and Anise's legs turn to jelly, the pyramid becomes the leaning tower of Pisa. Then a heap of rubble on the ground.

Everyone laughs. But I'm bummed.

Yesterday, I ended up in a similar heap that could cost me my job. Thanks to Justin. I earned fifteen dollars on my first day of work. If I deduct the ten dollars the ad cost, I now have a
hundred and five dollars saved. A long way from three hundred and fifty.

The cheerleading squad takes a break, and we sit around talking and drinking cold pop. We're all dressed for the heat: T-shirts, shorts, and tennis shoes. Except Sid. He's wearing khaki shorts, a shirt with a collar, and sandals. When they become curious about my scraped knees, I tell them how Justin ran me and the dogs off the road.

“I despise him.” Anise looks angry. “He's such a bully.”

Rosie says, “What's a bully?”

“Someone who enjoys tormenting and intimidating others,” Sid tells her. “Justin does seem to enjoy that a good deal.”

“He calls me Fatso.” Bailey's smile takes a nose dive. “I hate him, too.”

“Patty says he's a sissy,” Rosie says. Justin's little sister, Patty, is in her class at school. “She told me her daddy gets real mad at him 'cause he won't walk Bruno. She says it's 'cause he's afraid of him.”