Red Dog (6 page)

“What?”

“It means too much information. It's a thing the kids say. Like when you give them too much information about a subject, they say TMI.”

I said, “I know. I know what it means. What I'm wondering is why are you saying it.”

“New girl in the office. Guess I picked it up from her.”

“Might also pick up that grown women don't like being called girls anymore. That's another thing the kids say.”

“It's a bad habit,” he admitted. “Anyway, this thing. Your thing. The gun.”

“I was hoping we'd get back to that eventually.”

He grunted at me and my attitude. “Funny thing, Jackson County found it floating in the shit-pond behind the house. The lagoon, that is. I reckon they let a new guy go in after that one.”

“Registered?”

“Nope. Not stolen, neither. Least as far as we can tell. Fact, it's as clean as a beaver. Probably a gun-show gun. Loophole gun.”

“A dead end, then.”

“Appears so, anyway. I suppose it'd be stupid to ask if there's anything personal in this with you?”

I said, “Nothing personal, except that I spent three days in lockup for a murder I didn't do.”

“I'm guessing Peggy's none too thrilled about it, either.”

“Don't know about it yet. She's visiting her sister in Kankakee. Anci's pretty upset, though.”

“I guess that would sting some. Anci more than the time in lockup. Unofficially, I can't blame you for being sore about it.”

“What about officially?”

“Different story. And Lindley will play it official all the way down the line.”

“He thinks I'm good for it,” I said.

“He's leaning in that direction, anyway, and you can hardly blame him, story you're telling. Slim, I like you. You're a pain in my ass sometimes, but I like you, and I got to tell you, you're putting your pecker in a hornet's nest with this thing. Dennis Reach was what you'd call flush with enemies. There were three pretty nasty divorces and some lawsuits against former business partners that led to death threats and the whole nine. Little shit had his fingers in so many people's eyes I'm guessing he carried insurance against pitchfork mobs. Tell the truth, I think Lindley was surprised it took this long for one of them to do something about it.”

“Yeah, but which ‘it'?”

“Good question,” he said. “But not really yours to answer. Now get yourself on home. Make things right with Anci. Get her some of that orange soda she likes. Maybe some pizza. She like pizza?”

“All kids like pizza.”

“Okay, then. Soda. Pizza. Get it done. That's an order.”

I didn't have time to question the chain of command. He hung up.

And looking back now, I know that's what I should have done. I should have collected Anci and the bottled sodas and some pizza. I like pizza pretty good my own self, so there was that, too. I should have made some kind of reparations to Lew and Eun Hee Mandamus and then gone on home to hide under my bed until the police cleared the case. Hindsight may not be 20/20, exactly, but it sure seems a lot clearer now. Right then, though, I was mad enough to chew nails and spit out staples. Somehow or other, I'd played a part in Dennis Reach's murder. I didn't know what part and I didn't know how. I didn't know why he'd been killed, and I didn't know what or whether that red dog had to do with any of it. And I didn't think I wanted those questions haunting the inside of my head for the rest of my life. Plus, there was the small matter of avoiding an indictment for capital murder.

I made a U-turn and drove Lew Mandamus's truck back toward Loves Corner.

W
ES
T
REMBLE, THE SKINNY WEED DEALER, DIDN'T TRY TO
shoot me in the head this time. That was a relief. He was wearing more than tighty-whities this time, too. That was an even bigger relief. He opened the door and smiled a sour smile as though to say my reappearance was something he'd expected. He took my arm and led me into his house and
shut the door behind us and locked it. He turned the bolt and put the chain on. The curtains were closed, but he closed them again.

“Look at you out there,” he said. “Standing there. It's like you're trying to get seen.”

“Seen? Seen by who? There ain't anybody around.”

Just then, he wouldn't have taken a bishop's word for it. Living where he did, he probably could have heard cops coming ten miles up the road, but as far as he was concerned they might as well have been hiding in his pants.

“There was a silver pickup out there a while ago. Last night, too. It's been watching the house.”

“A silver pickup? Any idea who it might belong to?”

He shrugged but didn't answer. “I remember you,” he said instead. “You're the one stuck me in the butt.”

“You're the one wanted to shoot me in the head.”

He wanted to forget that part of it, I guess. He shook it off and said, “What was that stuff? In the needles, I mean.”

“Diazepam, I think. Valium. They use it as an animal sedative sometimes.”

“Well, it worked pretty good, whatever it was. I kinda wish I had some more.”

“Me, too. For you, I mean. You're making me a little anxious.”

He didn't want to be rude, and he didn't want to make a guest anxious. He might try to put another hole in your head, but he still had those kinds of house manners. He sat down stiffly on an ottoman and grabbed his knees. I sat on the couch.

He said, “You aren't the police. What are you, like a rent-a-cop or something?”

“Mall police,” I said. “But our powers extend way outside the malls now.”

“Malls have taken over everything,” he said, and frowned at the regrettable state of it.

“Maybe remember that next time you decide to play tough with us.”

“I will.”

“Good. Now I got a question or two for you I hope you won't mind answering.”

“I guess I don't mind.”

“Thanks,” I said. “By the way, where's Tiffany?”

He looked confused.

“Star-Child.”

“Oh. Her.” Like it was ages ago. “She's cleared out. You know. After what happened.”

“I guess I'm not surprised.”

“The guns and stuff. And then the po-po. She ain't into any of that.”

“Maybe she'll come back when it blows over.”

He didn't have an answer for that. Maybe she'd come back, maybe she wouldn't. He said, “It's not my fault.” He wrapped his arms around his skinny chest. They almost went twice. “I wasn't even there. When Dennis took the dog, I mean.”

“So the cops have been to see you? The non-mall cops, I mean?”

“Not here,” he said. “Not yet. But they grilled everyone
at the Classic Country, asked if we knew anything. I told them I didn't know anything. Did you tell them about the dog?”

“I didn't have any choice but to explain the dog,” I said, “but I didn't mention your part in it all. I told them Reach had nabbed her and left it at that.”

“I hope they believed you.”

“They don't believe anything yet, which is most of the reason I'm here. I got busted for the whole thing.”

“It wasn't my idea,” he said. “Dennis needed a place to keep her for a few days. I agreed to watch her. I shouldn't have.”

“Probably not.”

He said, “I'm sorry about the water dish, too. I've never been able to take care of a plant, much less a pet.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, what?”

“There's a jungle of plants in here, man. And they all look pretty healthy to me.”

He waved a hand at it all.

“That's different. That's business.”

I shook that off. “So Dennis gave you the dog to look after?”

“Yeah. He said he was dogsitting but that he couldn't breathe on account of his allergies, something like that. I knew he was up to something, though. You could always tell when Dennis thought he had someone's shit in a sack.”

“But then after a couple days you figured you'd make a few bucks off her, extort her owners a little?”

He almost looked ashamed.

“I guess I did. I saw a flyer for the dog up there near Belco and it mentioned a reward. Another thing about Dennis is he doesn't pay very well.”

“Didn't pay very well,” I corrected.

“That neither.”

“Did Reach tell you why he snatched her in the first place?”

“He never even really admitted that he'd stolen her. Folks around the club had it that her owner was supposed to owe him money or something. Maybe that has something to do with it.”

“I don't guess you ever met anyone named Cleaves, did you?”

“Cleaves? Not to my recollection, no.”

“Who's Carol Ray?” I asked.

“Dennis's ex. Wife number three, memory serves.”

“You have any idea where I can find her?”

“I think she lives somewhere near Freeman Spur. Look out, though.”

“Tough?”

“Like all Dennis's women. He liked them that way, I guess.”

“Ask me, he liked things tough all around.”

Wesley said, “Lots of folks do, you look around a little.”

I said I guessed that was right. I thanked him for his time and stood to go. I walked to the door and paused a moment and finally turned and said, “Son, you really should get these things out of here. Your crop. If the sheriffs ever
stop by for a chat, you'll need to get reincarnated to serve out the jolt they'll drop on you.”

“I know,” he said, and swung his head away with something like emotion in his eyes. “It's just I'm having a hard time saying good-bye.”

I
T WAS AFTER TEN THIRTY WHEN
I
FINALLY REACHED THE
Mandamus compound, and the night was still and heavy with humidity. Bats fluttered here and there in the cool sodium light of the security lamps, snapping insects from the air. Lew was making a last round with the animals in the pole barn. He raised a hand when he saw me but didn't call out and then quickly disappeared up the hill and into the dark. I circled the house and found Eun Hee sipping bourbon and soda from a rocks glass on the back porch. Anci was already asleep.

Eun Hee said, “You raised that one right, Slim. She's an angel.”

“Thanks,” I said. “But soon as I wake her, that angel is going to give me the Nine Hells.”

“She surely will, but that's family.”

“Mad?”

“She was at first. Mad as a hornet. But mostly she was upset. Worried. You won't let her come see you?”

“In jail? No, I won't. One thing, I don't think it's good for her to see me like that. Another, she'd take a picture of me with her phone, and it'd be on our Christmas card until the day I die and probably after.”

“Likely for the best, then. You all right?”

“I've had better times. Mostly I'm sorry for adding to your woes.”

She said, “Don't be silly. And don't feel sorry for me, Slim. I'm doing well enough these days.”

“You're tough,” I said, because I didn't know what else to say. You never know what to say in situations like that, and when you settle on something, whatever it is, you come out sounding like a dummy.

“I'm tough enough,” Eun Hee said. “But something gets everybody eventually, Slim. At least I know what mine's going to be.”

“Does it bother you?”

“I don't know. Sometimes, I guess. But listen, when whatever happens happens, and I spend my last days here or in hospice or wherever Lew and I decide is best, at least I'll have stared down my death. It hasn't blinked but I haven't, either, and one day we'll meet head-on in the middle of the tracks like a pair of trains. I'm not afraid, Slim. Never have been before and I'm not now.”

“Maybe I will have that drink.”

She poured me a short one and gave it to me and smiled and patted my hand.

She said, “I've worried you.”

“It's not that, exactly. It's just I've seen maybe more than my fair share of death, and I'll tell you, I don't like it.”

“Me, neither. But I'm not gone yet.”

We toasted not being gone yet and drank our drinks. Afterward Eun Hee offered to put on a pot of coffee, may
be scratch together some late supper, but I was exhausted from my stay in Jackson County and my parley with Wesley Tremble, so I offered up some more thanks and a little money for Anci's food and lodging, but was refused.

“I think you might be taking a baby fox home, though,” she said.

“God, I hope you're kidding.”

She was kidding about the fox but not about Anci being steamed. The ride home, she read me the riot act up one side and down the other.
Man
, she was mad. After a while, though, she ran out of gas and sat quietly, watching out her window, remembering maybe that it'd been her idea to the take the Cleaveses' business in the first place.

Finally, she said, “At least you didn't get shot.”

“Just shot at. So there's that.”

“But the guy who took the dog did.”

“That's right.”

“Dead.”

“As leg warmers,” I said.

“What?”

“It was a fashion thing. Leg warmers. A long time ago.”

“How long?”

“I don't know. Thirty years or more.”

“Yeah, maybe update that one.”

“Okay, fine. I'll update that one. Meantime, this thing with Reach, I don't like it, and I'm going to keep not liking it until I do something about it.”

“Oh, monkey hell.”

At last, we arrived home. Indian Vale. The house my
father had built that had become mine and that one day would be my daughter's, if she chose to stay in the area. She wouldn't, though. Why should she? The young people here moved somewhere else as fast as they could, and the old folks withered away and died. The factories vanished and the mines and mills sank into the ground, and in their places were erected fast food joints and furniture rental places and pawnshops. Sometimes I hear places like where I live called “Real America,” and I know it rankles some folks—city folks, mostly—something awful, and I wish I could tell them it's only done out of politeness. That it's only people saying nice things about the dying.