Voodoo Moon (16 page)

I parked and got out of my car and immediately saw the largest canine God had ever created.

Dogs have replaced guns as the preferred macho toy. I'm not talking about man's best friend, the sloppy, sweet, faithful clown of a family dog we grew up loving and will remember to the end of
our days. No, I'm not talking about the killing machines that the macho boys keep telling us are necessary in such a violent society. Tell that to the two-year-old ripped and killed by such a beast, or the mailman whose leg was shredded and ultimately amputated.

They aren't dogs, they're monsters. And while it isn't their fault—and objectively I feel a real sorrow for them—I take no chances. The Roman legions used such dogs, and there are many historians of antiquity who wrote about watching the savage canines turn first on the enemy, and then on their masters. The dogs are the same today. Their owners have the dogs so overwrought, they can't even control them. So what chance would I have of controlling them?

This one was a patchwork gray mutant combination of Saint Bernard and greyhound. It came trotting out of the barn with an insolence equal to that of its master. It crouched next to him. Even from here I could smell it, an animal that gorged on other animals during the night. No Puppy Chow for this one. It had been cursed with mindless, relentless fury, a miserable life for an animal that could have been a loving and valued part of a family, or a guide for a little blind girl.

Frank
Caine
smirked and stroked the dog's head. He was proud of his work.

The dog growled at me and the earth rumbled.

"I do believe Henry here doesn't like you," Frank
Caine
said.

"Gee, and I was hoping he'd go to the prom with me."

"Henry doesn't like sarcasm."

"Henry is awfully sensitive. For a dog, I mean."

"Henry's a lot more than a dog, mister." Slapping the long wrench into his palm. "Some people around here think he's some sort of supernatural being
."

That, I didn't have any trouble believing.

"We got him from this priest. Not that I'm a Catholic. I'm Lutheran. Anyway, we got him from this here priest. He said he found this strange little puppy in the church one night. It was
about midnight and the priest was asleep and he heard all this noise in the church. So he rushed over there and there was this here puppy. He said the puppy really spooked him. The eyes, he said, at night they kind of glow. And they still do. Give me goose bumps myself sometimes, they way they kind of have this amber light inside them. Anyway, this here puppy had destroyed the altar. Knocked everything over and smashed it. The priest said that there was a good chance that the puppy was evil. He said he didn't usually believe in stuff like that. But he just felt this dog was really dangerous."

"So he gave it to you?"

"Well, I'd heard about it, of course, how it'd knocked over everything on the altar. I just thought an animal like that sounded kinda interesting. And if he gave it to the animal shelter, they'd just put it to sleep. By then, everybody who saw the puppy was kinda spooked by it. So I took it."

The throat rumble again. Henry's back arching slightly, preparing to spring.

"He don't like you."

"Well, I'm not crazy about him, either."

"In fact,
I
don't like you, either."

"You don't even know me."

"Nope. But know who you are and why you're here. You're some kind of detective fella and you're working with that scam-artist lady from that TV show and you want to prove that that
sonofabitch
Rick Hennessy didn't kill my Sandy."

"A lot of people don't think he did."

"Not the chief of police. Not the county attorney. And not the jury they end up
pickin
, either. He sure as hell
did
kill her, mister. And he admits it himself."

"Dr. Williams says he's delusional."

"Dr. Williams." He sounded as if he wanted to spit. He went back to slapping the wrench against the palm of his hand. "I'd like to get Dr. Williams in a room with this here wrench sometime."

"What've you got against him?"

"That don't matter anymore. She's dead."

"Sandy?"

"Of course Sandy. Who the hell else would I be
talkin
' about?" Then, "Fucker tried to turn my own daughter against me." The wrench slapping harder and harder now.

The photos, of course. Sandy had told Rick about the photos and Rick had told Dr. Williams and Dr. Williams had talked to Sandy about it the few times she'd come to visit.

"He's a fucking liar is what he is. I'll bet he's a fucking Jew."

"I don't think so."

"Well, then he ought to be. He'd fit right in."

Gosh, who wouldn't want this guy for their dad? Between being a bully, a child pornographer, and an anti-Semite, he'd be a delight every night around the hearth. At Home with Hermann Goering.

"I know about the photos you took of your daughter."

He didn't say anything. He just looked at me. I'm sure he was wondering if I was Jewish.

"You cocksucker."

"I'm just giving you a chance to prove
you
didn't kill her."

"Rick Hennessy killed her."

Henry and Frank were telepathically linked. The beast was picking up on his master's shift of mood. He moved slightly away from
Caine
, going into a crouch. And I'll be damned if there weren't tiny amber lights showing in the irises of the mad dark canine eyes.

"Henry's going to tear your nuts off, mister
."
Then he snapped his finger behind his back. It was quiet enough for me to hear.

"Then he's going to die for the privilege."

You get a lot of arguments in both directions about shoulder rigs. I've always preferred them myself, even if they are a tad more awkward than the holster on the belt.

I had my .38 out and aimed directly at Henry's face. "I'll put one right between his eyes."

"You
sonofabitch
." But angry as he was, he bent down and took Henry's collar and gave it an almost imperceptible tug. Cool it, Henry.

But Henry wasn't having any.

He leapt at me with perfect grace and timing. He was in mid-arc when I shot him. I wasn't lucky enough to get him between the eyes. I had to settle for two bullets in the throat.

Henry seemed to freeze in midair. I had a perfect slow-motion portrait of his face—silver spittle flying from his mouth, mad eyes madder than ever, teeth startlingly white, startlingly sharp. And then he flung himself to the ground. That was how it looked, anyway. A hundred and fifty pounds of dog hurling itself to the sandy back driveway. Blood started firing from his right ear. It was ugly to see and I half wished I hadn't killed him. He started choking and gasping.

The wailing, it took me a moment to realize, didn't belong to Henry but to Frank
Caine
.

He dropped the wrench, then dropped to his knees next to the dog. He was sobbing and wailing and rocking back and forth and touching the throat wound gingerly. And then sobbing all the more.

I wanted to feel sorry for him. I couldn't. Henry was the victim here. He hadn't asked to be raised this way.

"You fucker!"
Caine
screamed at me suddenly. "You fucking
sonofabitch
!" He was now as crazy as Henry had been. He stood up. He started walking toward me.

I kept my gun drawn. I aimed it right at his chest. "Don't be stupid, Frank. I'm going to get in my car and drive out of here."

"You fucking
sonofabitch
!"

"You said that already. You shouldn't have
sicced
him on me."

"I didn't give him a command. I didn't say jack shit to him."

"No, but you snapped your fingers, and that was the signal for him to jump me."

"You
sonofabitch
."

I walked backwards to my car.

He bolted towards me without warning. Ran up to my car and spit on the windshield. And then started pounding with his fists on the windshield. "You fucker!"

I got the motor going in the rental and backed away. For a few yards, he followed me back up the drive, just as Henry would have. But I gave it more gas and he soon fell away.

He turned slowly back to Henry. Then he was on his knees next to the dog, and sobbing again. I tried hard not to feel sorry for him. But I guess, despite myself, I did. He'd destroyed all hope for the dog to have a good life. But in some perverse way, Frank probably loved the big snarling mutant animal. Love is a strange thing sometimes.

T
andy was at the pop machine. Her blue-jeaned bottom was nicely rounded as she bent over to retrieve the Diet Pepsi can. She tangled her head to see me. "Want one?"

"Please." I dug in my pocket and produced the right change.

The machine was located at the end of the first-floor corridor. Early afternoon, the motel lot was pretty deserted. A fifteen-year-old Pontiac covered with
NRA
and
BUCHANAN
stickers had collapsed in front of one of the rooms. The only other cars belonged to us.

She handed me the can and said, "Guess what I did this morning?"

"What?"

"Went over to the railroad roundhouse and found out where all the trestle bridges are in and around town. There are four of them."

"Good idea."

We started strolling down the corridor toward her room. A cleaning cart stood in front of an open door. An aged Mexican woman smiled at us.

"Noah wants to come along."

"Well, he played a detective on TV. He should know what he's doing."

She laughed. "Right." Then, "I told him he didn't need to because
you
were going with me."

"I bet he loved that."

"He told me you were a jerk."

"You tell him what I thought of him?"

"I think he already knows." Then, "So will you go with me?"

"Sure. When?"

"About an hour."

"Just walk upstairs and knock on my door."

When we reached the stairs, she said, "You know this morning when you kissed me good-bye?"

"Uh-huh."

"You didn't kiss me very long."

"I'm sorry."

"It was my breath, wasn't it? I used
Binaca
and everything."

"Your breath was fine. God, kid, relax, OK?" I pulled her to me and held her.

"I know I'm crazy."

"No, you're not. You're just insecure.
Real
insecure."

"You would be, too, if you'd grown up around Laura." Then, "I can feel you." We were pressed pretty tight.

"Merely an errant afternoon erection."

"I like it."

"So do I, actually. It's sort of a teenage thing. Holding a girl in a public place in the afternoon. Makes me feel young."

"Maybe
you're
the one who's crazy, Robert."

I kissed her sweet little mouth. "That's a distinct possibility."

I
called Chief Susan Charles.

"You're going to be hearing about me."

"I already have. You killed Frank
Caine's
dog."

"I feel like hell about it.
Caine
is the one who should have been shot. He was the one who raised the dog that way."

"He wants to press charges."

"Fine."

"I told him to forget it. I told him that a
lot
of people wanted to kill his dog. Even the folks at the pound. Henry attacked a couple of teenagers who were hunting in a field last fall. He nearly killed them."

"I sure could see that guy killing his daughter."

"So could I," she said, "if we didn't already have a confession from Rick Hennessy."

I sighed. "You find out anything new about our private-detective friend
Kibbe
?"

"He'd been here eight days, from everything we've been able to piece together."

"You find out who he was working for?"

"Got hold of his wife. She said she wasn't sure. Said he rarely talked about business because it always upset her. Said her brother has an Amway distributorship and was always trying to get
Kibbe
to join up."