The Vivisectionist (11 page)

“Sure! That happens all the time,” mocked Jack. “Oh yeah—
in the movies.
Bad movies at that.”

Ben pretended to be offended—“Man, that’s just not nice. I just had an idea, and you had to make fun of me like that. Why do you have to be like that.”

“Seriously, Jack,” said Stephen. “Now he’s going to go off and make a secret torture-chamber and hide it from the police in a pink tree-house. See what you’ve done?”

They all laughed.

“You know what we ought to do?” asked Jack. “We ought to find out if those stupid guys shot that dog.”

“How are we going to do that?” asked Ben.

“Well, if you find the bullet that killed that dog, then you could probably get the cops to match it to their gun and stuff,” answered Stephen. “But that would be really gross, because you’d have to cut up smelly dead dog. The best way would be to catch them shooting another dog.”

“Oh, you think they’re going to do it again?” asked Jack. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Why do you think they were looking for that other dog?” asked Stephen. “They were trying to find it so they could shoot that one too. Those types of guys always come back for more.”

“Hey—I should bring my camera,” said Ben. “It’s in my bag somewhere. It’s got an awesome zoom on it.”

“How are we going to know when they’re going to do it again though?” asked Jack.

Stephen answered—“We just go over there and stake it out. It's too bad you don't get any cellphone reception around here. I've got zero bars and we need communication—do you have any walkie-talkies or anything.”

“Sure, but they’re probably not charged,” said Jack.

“Let’s get everything together,” said Stephen.

**********

Planning and plotting absorbed most of their morning. When they headed out, the boys each carried a pack with provisions for their stakeout. Exchanging excited banter, they made their way through the hot midday sun, taking their favorite trails. Still twenty minutes from the quarry, they started to plan their approach. The west side seemed safest—they could come up through the woods and be high on the ridge with the sun at their backs all afternoon.

Stephen brought up the possibility that the older kids were already at the quarry, so they decided to check the parking spot before trying to approach the pit. This detour added significant time to their hike, but they all agreed that it made sense to be cautious.

They found the road empty, and found no sign of the dead dog from days before. Moving through the woods to hide their tracks, the three climbed to the western lip of the large pit. They agreed on a spot mostly shadowed by a maple tree, but with clear line-of-sight.

To pass the time they started naming the areas of the pit below them. Passing the binoculars, they took turns attaching monikers to the various rocks and describing how to locate them.

“Okay,” said Stephen, “I’m betting they come around the side of ‘Big Rock’ and then pass by ‘Digger’s Corner’ before settling into ‘The Big Open Spot.’”

“No way!” said Ben. “They have to be coming out from behind ‘Jack’s Pillar’ because their car will be parked back there.”

“It 
is
 the best way,” added Jack.

Within an hour they had lost their energy for the stakeout and dug into their lunch supplies. Chewing on sandwiches, and drinking sodas, a shot, fired down in the pit, interrupted lunch. They dropped their food and scrambled to the edge of their lookout.

Down in the pit they saw a solitary man on one knee, pointing his gun off to the right. He looked older than the two men from the other day. Using the binoculars, Ben described the shooter to his friends.

“He’s got big earphones and yellow glasses on,” Ben reported.

“Yeah, ear protection, and those are shooting glasses, I’ve seen those before,” said Jack. “What’s that target look like?”

“Hold on a second,” said Ben. “It’s got three black rings and then the center ring is white. It’s got a yellow spot on it.”

“I bet he’s sighting-in his scope,” said Jack. “That target turns yellow where it’s been hit so he can adjust.”

The man shot again and the boys flinched.

“Could he hit us up here?” asked Stephen.

“If he wanted to,” said Jack. “But I bet he’s okay though. He’s just target shooting.”

“Hey look!” said Stephen, pointing back to the ‘Big Rock,’ “I told you they’d come that way.”

At the far end of the pit they saw the two older boys from the other day. The one they referred to as “Smoker” swaggered ahead of his companion. He approached the crouching shooter and stood behind him as the man was lining up his third shot. Ben couldn’t tell if the target-shooter knew the Smoker was behind him.

“That guy has another brown-paper bag with him,” said Ben, referring to the man hanging back.

“I wonder what they’re talking about?” asked Stephen.

The target-shooter took his third shot, set the safety, placed his gun down on a case at his feet, and removed his earphones while turning to Smoker. They talked and pointed in the direction of the target. Smoker put his hands in his back pockets and tilted his head, while the shooter crossed his arms. The boys were dying to hear the conversation, so they peppered Ben with questions he couldn’t answer.

“What does it 
look
 like they’re saying?” asked Jack.

“How should I know?” countered Ben.

“Shut up!” hissed Stephen. “They’re going to hear us.”

Stephen, Jack, and Ben were all silenced by sudden action below. Smoker reached back and pulled out a large pistol from his waistband. The shooter’s arms came up and he took a half-step backwards. Smoker extended his pistol at arm’s length and took aim at the target. The boys saw the gun jerk and then an instant later were buffeted by the sound of four shots in rapid succession.

“Whoo!” yelled Smoker below. He put his arms up in a “V,” pointing his gun to the sky.

The target shooter removed his yellow glasses and took a careful step backwards. He knelt next to his case, but never took his eyes off Smoker. While he stowed his gun, he watched Smoker trot down to the target and hold it aloft. Smoker yelled something back to Bag Man, but the boys couldn’t discern what he was saying. Smoker threw the target up in the air and then started walking back to the careful target-shooter’s position.

Still kneeling, the target shooter was closing his gun case and latching it. He had tucked his ear protection into a bag and slung it on his shoulder as he stood. Taking a path angled away from Smoker, the targt shooter exited the pit at a measured pace.

“That Smoker guy’s a psycho,” exhaled Jack.

“No shit,” whispered Stephen.

Back at the floor of the pit, Smoker had been joined by the guy carrying the brown-paper bag. They were huddled close together and gesturing slightly towards the retreating target shooter.

“Maybe we should get out of here,” said Ben in a low voice.

As if he could hear them, Smoker suddenly turned in their direction and shielded his eyes with his hand. Ben lowered his binoculars instinctively.

“The sun’s in his eyes,” said Stephen, barely audibly. “He can’t see us.”

“Quiet,” said Ben.

Smoker continued to look in their direction for three long seconds. Turning back to Bag Man, he pointed down-range to where the shooter’s target had been. Cradling his bag, the other guy headed off. When he was about forty paces from Smoker, he set the bag down and pulled a length of rope from his rear pocket. He tied one end of the rope around a large, watermelon-sized rock, and tested his knot by hefting the rock.

A second later, the guy was reaching into his paper bag. Smoker had taken a cigarette from behind his ear and smoked it as he waited for his target to be set. Shuffling backwards, Bag Man had tied the other end of his rope to an orange and white cat, wearing a harness.

“Say what?” said Ben he lifted the binoculars. “That cat is tied to the rock.”

“Oh man, gross,” said Jack.

When Bag Man reached his friend, he took the proffered cigarette so Smoker could concentrate on his aim. The cat pulled on the harness briefly, but then crouched, facing the boys.

Smoker took his time, aiming carefully this time. The boys saw the smoke from his gun at the same instant that a plume of dust rose near the cat. They heard the echoing report an instant later. The cat jumped forward and doubled back, trying to pull the rock. Both arms extended, Smoker dropped to one knee and reset his aim.

The next shot nicked the cat along its neck and it jumped straight in the air—legs every direction. Bag Man pointed and said something to Smoker. After glancing between his friend and the cat several times, Smoker handed over the gun. Throwing away his inherited cigarette, Bag Man extended one arm confidently and shot.

The cat rolled from the impact of the bullet into its flank. It ran in slow circles. Smoker grabbed the gun back from his accurate friend. Ben reported that Smoker appeared to be reloading the weapon.

“Do you think they have more animals with them?” asked Stephen. “Like back in their car?”

“We should find out,” said Jack.

“Maybe that other guy went to call the cops,” offered Ben. “Shit, I forgot my camera.”

“I don’t think these guys are going to rat each other out,” postulated Stephen. “They might 
all
 get in trouble then.”

“We can’t let them shoot another animal,” said Jack. “I’m going to go see if they have one in the car.”

“No way, Jack,” said Ben. “Your arm is going to slow you down.”

“I don’t even need this thing,” Jack held up his sling. “It comes off the day after tomorrow anyway.” Jack removed the sling and threw it next to his pack.

“Here,” said Ben as he handed a walkie-talkie to Jack. “Make sure the volume is low and we’ll call you if those guys head towards the car.”

“Cool,” said Jack as he crept off.

“Turn the volume down on that one too,” Stephen advised Ben.

Ben adjusted the handset and then pushed the button: “Jack?”

A voice came back from the device: “Yeah?” asked Jack.

“Just checking,” said Ben.

Back in the pit, Smoker moved closer to the injured cat and took aim again. His next shot dropped the cat to the ground. Bag Man hailed Smoker and held up a small rock. Smoker nodded and held the gun at the ready. After a pause, Bag Man tossed a rock into the air. Tracking the rock with his gun, Smoker loosed a shot when the rock reached eye level. The rock dropped unharmed. The pair repeated this game until the gun was empty again.

Smoker and Bag Man sat down—using a large rock as a bench—to reload.

“How long do you think it will take him to get there?” Stephen asked Ben.

“He’ll let us know when he’s there,” answered Ben. “I just hope those guys stay put.”

Smoker produced two more cigarettes and handed one to the Bag Man. He lit his own and then handed his lighter to his friend. Half-way through his smoke, Bag Man strode over to the dead cat. He rolled it over with the toe of his boot and then knelt to remove the harness from the body. He held it up and yelled something back to Smoker. Stephen and Ben heard Smoker laugh. Bag Man returned to his paper bag and opened it carefully. He pulled something out and dropped the harness back in. Bag Man then walked back to Smoker. They talked for several minutes.

“Hey,” said Jack through the walkie-talkie.

“What’s up? Any dogs or cats?” Ben pushed the button and asked.

“I’m still pretty far away from the car,” crackled Jack. “I think there’s someone guarding the car.”

“Really?” asked Ben.

“Hey,” said Jack, “I’ve got an idea.”

“Yeah?” asked Ben.

“Listen—wait exactly five minutes and don’t make a sound,” said Jack. “Then yell to the guy while I sneak around the other side.”

“Okay, I get it,” said Ben.

“Okay, I’m turning the volume up after you say okay. Then you give me exactly five minutes.”

“Okay, five minutes starting now,” said Ben.