The Mad and the MacAbre (8 page)

Charlie hurried into the kitchen and closed
the basement door. The soundproofing really wasn't designed for
situations where somebody was sitting right in his living room, so
he'd just have to pray that the girl didn't regain consciousness
while he had a visitor.

What was he going to do? He couldn't let the
man take Kutter away.

Maybe he had the wrong dog. Maybe he'd just
show up, take one look at Kutter, sigh, and say "That's not my dog.
Sorry to have bothered you, sir. Have a pleasant evening."

Or maybe Charlie could just not answer the
door. What was the man going to do, break a window and steal
Kutter? He couldn't force Charlie to give him up, could he? Charlie
wished he'd researched the state law on this matter.

He scooped Kutter up in his arms and let his
dog lick his face. "Don't worry," Charlie said, "I won't let him
take you away." He held Kutter until he heard the car pull into his
driveway, and then he put Kutter in his bedroom and closed the
door. A moment later, the doorbell rang. Charlie paced around the
living room, trying to figure out what to do, until the doorbell
rang again.

The man standing on his front porch looked
about thirty. He had slicked-back hair, wore a black leather
jacket, and had a phony-looking grin. Charlie disliked him
immediately.

"Hey there, Charles," said the man, sticking
out his hand. "You go by Chuck?"

"Charlie."

"Nice to meet you, Charlie. I'm Byron." When
Charlie didn't return his handshake, Byron lowered his arm and
shifted uncomfortably. "I know you were on your way out, so I won't
take up much of your time. Could I just see if you've got
Duke?"

"Okay," said Charlie, stepping out of the
way so Byron could come inside. But it wasn't okay. He couldn't
just let this irresponsible owner come and claim a dog that he'd
left to freeze to death. "How did you lose him?" Charlie asked,
shutting the door behind Byron after he entered.

Byron let out a deep sigh. "Kid next door.
I've been out of town, so I paid him twenty bucks a day to stop by
before and after school to walk and feed Duke. Kid's sixteen years
old, you'd think he could handle it, right? Loses Duke the second
day. Doesn't call me on my cell. Doesn't tell anybody. I bet he
barely even looked. And here's the kicker--the little shit asked me
to pay him for those first two days. Can you believe it?"

Charlie didn't respond.

"Anyway, can I see if it's him?"

Charlie wanted to refuse, but how could he?
The man knew that he had a dog in the house. If he tried to lie and
say that Kutter had just run away moments ago, no doubt the stupid
dog would bark again at precisely the wrong moment.

"Okay."

On numb legs, Charlie walked down the
hallway toward the bedroom. He opened the bedroom door. Kutter
rushed out, nipped at his ankles, and then saw the man crouched
down on the living room floor.

"Duke!" Byron joyously
exclaimed. "It
is
you! C'mere, boy!"

Kutter bounded over to Byron and jumped into
his arms. Byron stood up, lifting Charlie's dog into the air.
"Duke! Aw, I've missed you, boy! I didn't think I was gonna see you
again!" Kutter licked the man's face all over while Byron laughed
and Charlie just stood there, absolutely stunned.

"Did this guy take good care of you?" Byron
asked Kutter. "You look great!" He turned to Charlie. "There's a
reward. I'll pay you what I'd planned to pay that dumb-ass
kid."

"Please," Charlie said in a quiet voice.
"Don't take him."

"Excuse me?"

"Please don't take him."

Byron smiled. "It's easy to get attached to
these little guys, isn't it?"

Charlie nodded.

"He's a great dog. Have you ever owned the
breed?"

"No."

"I had one before this. Ronnie. Sweetest dog
you can imagine. Lived seventeen years. I swore to my parents that
I'd walk it, clean up after it, buy the food with my own money if
they'd let me get a dog. They made me practice on a goldfish. Fish
lived, so they got me a hamster. Dad accidentally kicked the
hamster in its plastic ball down the stairs and killed it, and my
parents felt so guilty that they got me the dog."

"Please don't take him away from me,"
Charlie said. He didn't care how he sounded.

"Do you own any other dogs?" Byron
asked.

"I've never had a pet."

"Never had any kind of pet? Ever?"

Charlie shook his head.

"That's almost criminal," said Byron. He
scratched the top of Kutter's head. "No wonder you don't want to
let this guy go."

"I found him in the park under a bench. He
was almost dead. I helped him get better."

"I really appreciate that."

"He likes it here."

"He does, huh?" Byron set Kutter down on the
living room floor. Charlie crouched down and gestured, and Kutter
ran into his arms. "He's definitely a friendly guy," Byron
noted.

"I've got toys for him," Charlie said. "And
lots of food. Good food. I bought the cheapest food when I first
got him, but now I've got the really good kind. And I have bacon
treats. I clean up after him when I take him for walks, and I let
him sleep on my bed, and I clipped his toenails a couple of days
ago, and I play Frisbee with him."

Byron chuckled. "You sound just like me when
I was pitching the idea to my parents."

"Please. I don't have any friends. I really
like having him here."

Byron's smile faded. "I can't give you my
dog, Charlie."

Kutter licked Charlie's nose.

"Just let him stay a little while longer,
okay?" Charlie asked. His voice cracked. He couldn't remember it
ever having done that.

Byron was quiet for a long moment. "You've
really never had a pet?"

"Never."

"You're almost making me cry here,
Charlie."

"I'm sorry."

"Mind if I have a seat?"

Charlie shook his head, and Byron sat down
on his couch. "You're not making this easy for me, you know. I feel
like I'm stealing a puppy away from a little kid."

Byron sat there for a while, lost in
thought. Charlie desperately wished that he'd written a script for
this kind of thing. He should've guessed that somebody would come
for Kutter eventually, and he should've written a foolproof speech
to convince the owner to let Charlie keep him.

"Can I at least visit him?" Charlie asked,
his upper lip trembling a bit.

"Show me the toys," said Byron.

"What?"

"The toys you bought him. Show them to
me."

Charlie walked over to the television stand
and picked up the small wicker basket that was on the floor next to
it. "He keeps scattering them all around the house," Charlie said,
"but I put them here when I clean the place up."

He brought the basket over to Byron. "It's
only six. He wrecked two of them. The stuffed ones."

Bryon peered into the basket and nodded his
approval. "Nice selection. He likes squeaky things." Byron poked at
a rubber dolphin. Kutter's ears perked up at the squeak.

"I'd buy him more," Charlie insisted.

"Well, it's never good to spoil them."

"I'd spoil him anyway."

Byron sighed. "All right, Charlie, here's
what we're going to do. Have you seen those movies or TV shows
where the kids are fighting over the rightful owner of a dog, and
so they do a contest where they both call the dog and see who he
comes to first?"

"No."

"Doesn't matter. We'll set Duke in the
middle of the room, we'll each take a corner, and we'll both call
him. You're clearly deeply attached to the little guy, and if he's
just as attached to you, I'll step down as his owner. Sound
fair?"

"Yes. Very fair." Charlie was elated. Even
if he liked his old home, Kutter wouldn't want Charlie to be left
alone, would he?

"Go grab a couple of dog treats," said
Byron.

Charlie retrieved two pseudo-bacon strips
from the canister on top of the refrigerator and brought them back
into the living room.

"Duke loves food a lot more than he loves
either of us, that's for sure, so we'll put the treats in the
center of the room while we each take a corner."

"Who picks the corner?"

"You have the home field advantage, so I'll
pick. I'll stand in the corner by the TV."

Charlie walked over to the opposite corner
and crouched down. If Kutter didn't pick him, Charlie was going to
start sobbing right in front of this stranger. Maybe that would be
a good thing. Maybe he'd look so pathetic that Byron would give him
Kutter anyway.

No. You didn't give great dogs away to
pathetic sobbing people. He just had to frantically hope that
Kutter would make the right choice.

Byron dropped the bacon strips onto the
center of the floor and then gently set Kutter down next to them.
He quickly walked to his own corner, and then crouched down as
well. "C'mere, Duke!"

"C'mere, Kutter! Here, Kutter!"

"Duke! Come to your Daddy!"

"Kutter! Come to your friend!"

The Boston terrier gobbled up the first
bacon strip and immediately started on the second.

"Here, Duke! Here, Duke, Duke, Duke!"

"Here, Kutter! Here, Kutter, Kutter,
Kutter!"

Byron clapped his hands. Charlie did the
same.

The dog finished up the second bacon strip,
sneezed, let out a soft bark, and then ran into Charlie's arms.

"Thank you!" Charlie said as he vigorously
petted the dog with both hands. "Thank you, Kutter! You're such a
good doggie! Yes, you're such a good doggie!"

Byron stood up. Charlie felt a pang of
sympathy for the guy as he dabbed at the corner of his eye with his
index finger. "The dog has spoken," he said with a sad smile.

"I'll take good care of him," Charlie
promised.

"You'd better. I reserve the right to make
surprise inspections. If I don't like what I see, I'll grind your
ass up and feed you to him."

"That's fair."

Byron walked over and stuck out his hand.
Charlie shook it.

"Congratulations on owning your first pet.
Kutter, huh?"

"Yes."

"I actually like that better than Duke."

"Me too."

Byron picked up Kutter and spoke softly to
the dog while it licked his face. Charlie felt as if he should
leave the room and give them some privacy, but he also didn't want
to give Byron a chance to sprint for the exit, so he stayed where
he was.

After a couple of minutes, Byron handed
Kutter to Charlie. "I guess I'll head off. You were on your way
out, right?"

"No. I made that up."

"That's what I figured." He gave the dog one
last scratch behind the ears. "Seeya, Kutter."

Charlie let Byron out of the house. He
watched through the window as he got into his car and started the
engine, not willing to believe that Kutter was truly his until
Byron backed out of the driveway and drove out of sight.

Steak. He and Kutter needed a steak to
celebrate.

Then he remembered that he still had the
girl in his basement.

- 9 -

"What am I supposed to do with you?" Charlie
asked the girl. He'd already taken off her gag and informed her
that if she screamed, he'd cut her throat. It wasn't a threat he'd
ever made good on--though he had cut vocal cords more than
once--but he was feeling more paranoid than usual and didn't
entirely trust the soundproofing in the basement.

"You could let me go," said the girl, her
voice raw and scratchy. "I won't tell anyone."

"Yes, you will.
I
would."

She violently shook her head. "No, no, I
swear to God I won't tell anybody. I've got a warrant out for my
arrest--I can't talk to the cops even if I wanted to."

"What did you do?"

"I killed my ex-boyfriend. I shot him."

"No, you didn't." Charlie's spirits fell.
He'd been momentarily excited, because the idea of her not going to
the cops because of an outstanding arrest warrant made a lot of
sense, but if she'd committed murder she wouldn't be going
door-to-door selling magazine subscriptions.

"I did. I swear I did."

"I can look it up and find out if you're
lying," Charlie told her, although he wasn't certain that he could.
"If you are, I'll use my knives on your arms until they're just
skeleton arms. That takes a long time. Are you willing to stick to
your story?"

The girl began to cry.

"Answer me."

"No," she said.

"I didn't think so. Don't lie to me again."
She was being pretty brave, a lot braver than most of his victims,
but her body still shook with tiny sobs. Charlie usually enjoyed
that sight. Not tonight. "I don't want to kill you," he said. "I
thought I did, but I don't anymore."

"Then don't."

"It's not that easy. You know what I look
like. You know where I live. How can I let you go?"

"I promise I won't tell anybody."

"But you'd be stupid if you
didn't. Why would you let a serial killer roam free and not tell
anybody where he lived? I don't want to hurt you, I swear I don't,
but you'd tell the police. You'd
have
to tell them. You'd be a
horrible person if you didn't."

"You'd come after me if I did."

"Not if you had police protection."

"I wouldn't have police protection
forever."

"I'm not that kind of killer. I hunt easy
targets, people who won't be missed."

"Everybody is missed."

"No they aren't."

"Yes, they are."

Charlie could talk to strapped-down women in
his basement with an ease that eluded his interactions with other
humans, but he found himself momentarily flustered. "Either way, a
promise not to tell isn't enough. I can't believe you."

"Then what can we do?"