Rules for Werewolves (7 page)

—But there’s no Peugeots around, right?

—We didn’t see any.

—I thought I would go down around toward the Speedy Stop and maybe stake out the parking lot for an hour, see if the Peugeot came by there. Gas stations are tar pits for dino-cars. The fossil fuels bring them in and the high prices bring them down. Haha. I’m being stupid.

—We didn’t have a real plan. We just sat in the swings and watched cars drive by. But we didn’t see any Peugeots.

—But on the way to the Speedy Stop I saw this mutt. He was wearing my belt so I thought I would follow him.

—I don’t get it.

—This is the dog I was walking when I got hit by that car.

—Why were you walking a dog?

—I do it to fit in.

—He’s a good dog.

—He likes you, Bobert. He trusts you.

—I like him, too.

—Why don’t you hold on to his leash for a while. So he doesn’t run away again in all the confusion that’s gonna happen as everybody comes back.

—What confusion?

—Hey guys.

—Hey.

—See? Everybody’s coming back already.

—Did you find anything?

—Look at this.

—Malcolm has a dog.

—Everybody go in and get packed up.

—Did you find the Peugeot?

—This dog found us a mansion.

—I don’t get it.

—Dogs are domesticated. That means safe. Nobody dangerous walks a dog. Walking a dog is a real Norman Rockwell activity. I do it when I want to case a new neighborhood.

—Where do you get the dog?

—Some yard. This one was a couple blocks over that way.

—I hate dog-walking. Walking the dog was one of my chores I had to do when I lived at home. I was supposed to walk the dog before and after school.

—Did you?

—No one was ever home after school so I just said I did. I never really did. But when my mother would ask me, “Did you really?” I would just smile and say, “Ask Riley.”

—I use my belt as a leash and then I just wave at the neighbors as I try to guess how robust their canned good supply is so we can come back when they’re gone and take ’em.

—I was afraid Riley was gonna start talking one day and tell Mom that I had been lying for years. But dogs can’t talk.

—Anyway, this is the dog I was walking when I got hit by that Peugeot. I was trying to move us from this neighborhood up north, past the elementary school. I think it’s called Sherwood.

—That’s what the elementary school’s called—Sherwood Elementary.

—I know.

—So this dog told you about some new house?

—When I got hit by the Peugeot I dropped the leash, which is my belt, and the dog ran away. Then tonight, I see a dog running down the street dragging something behind him and I know automatically that he’s my dog. I take off chasing after him and calling and waving my arms. Running my ass off. Just like I told you guys not to. Because if you run, what happens?

—The cops chase you.

—And sure enough, two or three blocks chasing this dog and a cop pulls around the corner. He rolls down his window as he pulls up to me and he asks, “Dog get away from you?” “Yes, sir,” I say. And he’s all like, “Watch this.” And boom he hits the turbo and, like, does a big loop around the block to get in front of the dog and cuts it off at the pass. And I can see him up ahead of me in a red-and-blue flashing silhouette. This cop gets out of his car with some sort of treat. Probably a doggie biscuit he keeps in the glove box for just such an occasion. The cop gets the dog by the leash, which is my belt, and then I run up to him and the dog is
all licking me. The cop hands me the belt and the dog is straining and straining to go and I can barely keep ahold of him. And the cop is like, “You need a better leash. A real leash.” And I’m all like, “Yeah, well, I’m poor.” And then guess what? The cop hands me a fifty-dollar bill and tells me to have a nice night.

—No way.

—Check it out.

—It’s a fucking fifty-dollar bill!

—We can buy beer with it.

—We don’t need to buy beer with it.

—What do we need to buy?

—Nothing for a while. Everybody go get your stuff. We’re moving out.

—Moving out where?

—Well, the dog pulls me down the block. A couple blocks. And I go with him because I don’t want the cop to see me fighting with the dog. The cop is sitting in his car, like, watching me. And I want it to seem like the dog is mine. Like we work good together. And so I go with the dog a couple of blocks and then all of a sudden the dog stops at a house and starts shitting on the lawn. Well, this makes me crazy nervous. Because the cop will arrest me for littering or something if I don’t pick it up and I don’t have a bag. But when I look back, the cop is gone. And the dog isn’t straining at the leash anymore. He’s just sitting on the lawn of this house. And the house looks deserted. And the more I check it out, the more it looks perfect for us. It’s huge.

—So we’re going to some random house this dog picked for us by shitting on it.

—That’s about the long and short of it.

—This is bullshit.

—I don’t see how this is any more bullshit than pulling ideas out of a hat. Or out of your ass, like yahooing some beer.

—It was good beer, though. Admit it. Right?

—Everybody go inside. Pack up your shit. But only pack the stuff that has sentimental value. You can leave all the food and all the granola bars behind. The place we’re going to has everything.

—What does it have?

—It has a pool. And it has a wine cellar. It has a fucking huge collection of music. Good music, not just a bunch of jazz and bullshit. It has more food than we can eat. And it has cable.

—No way.

—Way. So don’t come out here with a bunch of overstuffed backpacks. Nothing looks more suspicious to cops than a kid with a giant backpack in the middle of the night.

—You’re obsessed.

—If you’ve got a giant backpack in the middle of the night, you’re either going to night school or you’re a runaway. And there’s really no such thing as night school after ten p.m.

—How much cable does this place have?

—This is too good to be true.

—It is. And the only way to keep it that way is to stay ahead of the bad news. So let’s get a move on.

—Wait.

—What?

—Explain it to me.

—What?

—How it all happened.

—What?

—What happens in your story between the point where the house looks great from the outside to the part where you tell us what kind of CDs we get to choose from.

—The house looked abandoned. There were no cars. I peeped in a few windows. Then I rang the doorbell and hid in the bushes. Then I started looking for a key. I tried all the obvious rocks and the welcome mat and all that. Then I looked in the mailbox and there was a little reminder note for the mailman that the Yorks are on vacation for a month in Israel. There was an emergency key in the way back of the mailbox. They left two days ago. We’ll move in under the cover of darkness tonight, and tomorrow I’ll go around to the neighbors and tell them I’m house-sitting.

—How much cable do they have?

—They have the whole package, three hundred channels.

—What are we waiting for?

—Midnight. I want to make sure everybody who wants to stick with us for one more house knows where it is.

—What time is it?

—It’s about eleven thirty, by now, I bet.

—It’s eleven twenty-three. Precisely.

—Are you drunk?

—For the next six hours or so, by my calculations.

—You were supposed to be looking for the Peugeot.

—I did.

—We did.

—We looked for the Peugeot at a party. Think about it. A party is a good place to look because a lot of cars from all over come to one part of the neighborhood.

—That’s what Malcolm was saying about parking lots.

—Malcolm and I think exactly alike.

—Then we noticed it was getting on to midnight and we thought we would come back for the rendezvous.

—Where’d you get the watch, Susan?

—This nice guy at the party gave it to us.

—He
gave
it to you?

—He didn’t want us to be late.

—Angel! Did you tell someone we were all meeting up here?

—No. What Susan means is he didn’t want us to be late to meet back up with him. Susan told him we would meet up with him, later, at three a.m. And he made me promise we would be on time.

—And so you took his watch and gave it to Susan to make sure she gets there on time.

—What can I say, I’m a fucking romantic.

—You’re not really gonna go back out. Are you, Susan?

—I dunno.

—It’s a nice watch.

—I’m gonna give it back, Malcolm.

—She’s gonna give it back. Susan’s not a thief.

—So you’re gonna go meet him tonight?

—It’s not really any of your business what we do, Bobert.

—I guess not.

—Tell us the time again.

—It’s eleven twenty-seven.

—All right. Everybody, you’ve got thirty-three minutes to get your shit together. And then we’re leaving here at precisely midnight. If you want to know how much time you have left, ask Susan. She’s the new time-keeper for all of us.

—Good evening.

—Evening, officer.

—You mind stopping to have a word with me?

—What?

—What do you mean, what? I said stop.

—I’m just walking.

—I didn’t ask what you were doing. Come ’ere.

—What can I do for you, officer?

—That’s better. You pretend respect. At least. Now, tell me—what happened to your face?

—I got run over by a car. Knocked down, really. You want a description of the vehicle?

—Not particularly.

—Then how are you gonna catch the bad guy?

—I’ll just look for anything with a face-shaped dent in it.

—That oughta do it.

—So why don’t you tell me what you’re doing out here?

—See that dog up there?

—I’m not even gonna turn my head.

—It’s just right at the end of this block.

—It’s dark. Describe it to me.

—My dog got loose and I’m trying to catch him.

—If I turn my head, I’ll see a dog over there?

—Maybe not. He’s black, so he’s hard to see. Almost black. He’s a chocolate pit bull.

—A pit bull?

—Not that kind of pit bull. He’s a good pit bull. Like a Saint Bernard pit bull.

—Because he’s big?

—He’s bred to Serve and Protect—just like you. He’s nice.

—To you. I bet. But even if he’s the nicest dog in the world, it isn’t gonna work—a pit bull running loose through the neighborhood. People panic when they see a pit bull.

—It’s dark. Nobody’ll see him. They won’t even turn their heads.

—Where do you live?

—732 Glenwood Springs.

—You know what a patch zone is?

—No.

—It’s interesting.

—I bet.

—A patch zone is what our department calls the area a police officer covers on his beat. If you’re within a certain area, calls to that area are patched through to me.

—Any trouble on Glenwood tonight?

—I don’t know. Glenwood is just one block outside my patch zone.

—So if I understand you correctly, officer, that means if someone put in a basic patch call for Glenwood, it’s some other cop’s problem, unless that other cop is already on a patch call and then it goes out as general 404 to whoever’s closest?

—That means I don’t know the area you’re talking about as well as I’d like to. For instance, I have no idea who lives at 733 Glenwood Springs.

—I said “732.”

—I guess you did.

—Nice try, though.

—Thanks. You want a dog biscuit? To help lure your dog back. I keep some in my glove box for just such an occasion.

—What’s the catch?

—If I show you this picture of a few kids your age shoplifting beer from the Speedy Stop, you’re not going to recognize any of ’em, are you?

—I left my glasses at home.

—But you can see your dog?

—I’m farsighted. It’s the close-up stuff that looks fuzzy.

—Left your glasses at 732 Glenwood Springs?

—On the credenza in the front hall.

—You want me to give you a ride back real quick?

—I gotta catch my dog first. Before any of these people around here panic and start lighting up your switchboard.

—I wanna help you.

—Isn’t gonna work. A lot of dogs, even the nicest dogs in the world, when they see a cop, they panic and they start to run.

—Even if he’s the nicest cop in the world?

—Yep.

—If I search you am I gonna find any drugs or paraphernalia or anything fun?

—No, sir. Search away.

—I bet you left it at home on the credenza in the front hall.

—Left what at home?

—Still, I wanna help you.

—That’s nice. But the best way to help me is to let me go. I don’t want my dog to get away.

—How about I make a donation to a fund or something?

—What d’ya mean?

—Here’s a fifty-dollar bill.

—Don’t see a lot of those anymore.

—I want you to take it.

—What do I have to do? Is this about to get gross?

—You don’t have to do anything.

—So I get it for nothing?

—It’s for your dogcatching fund.

—All right.

—But there’s a catch—

—All right.

—The way this donation works is, you get to hold it for a week.

—Then what happens?

—That fifty-dollar bill is a crystal meth detector.

—How’s that?

—It’s a heroin detector.

—I get it.

—It’s an any-kinda-dope detector.

—So I hold on to it?

—And if you still have it in a week—the next time I see you, whenever—then you get to keep it.

—That’s great. I’m clean. You just gave your money away.

—I feel pretty good about it. I feel like your little mind’ll start telling you you can replace it with another fifty before the next time you see me. Your little mind’ll start telling you, you can avoid me next week, you’re not gonna see me. But I have a good feeling we’re gonna be seeing a lot of each other. Now get the fuck out of here. Start walking and keep going until you disappear into the night and I can’t see you anymore.