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The yellow mongrel got to its feet as the microbus pulled into the
abandoned quarry and stopped. A
thick cloud of white dust, kicked up by the bus' passage, enveloped the bus, its
two passengers and the dog before settling slowly to the ground.
The quarry was crescent shaped, as though a giant had taken a bite out of
one of the forested hills. The body
of an old car rusted away near one end. Rusted
cans, broken bottles, and spent ammunition littered the ground.
Scrub trees had gained a foothold near the walls.
The dog wagged its tail. It
was obviously a stray; ribs showed at its sides and dirt caked its lower legs.
A length of old rope was tied around its neck and fastened to an
abandoned axle assembly.
"Stupid mutt," Eric said.
He took a pull from a pint bottle of bourbon and handed it to his
passenger.
Chris was watching the dog. It
was so happy to see them, so hopeful. It
was pathetic. "Where'd you
find it?" "I
don't know. Around."
He waved the bottle in front of Chris' face.
"Do you want some more of this, or not?"
Chris took the bottle from his friend and swallowed a mouthful.
He was already pleasantly buzzed, but a little more wouldn't hurt.
"You ever been out here before?"
Eric asked.
Chris shook his head.
"I found this old newspaper in my grandma's house.
It said that back in the 30's, someone raped a local girl.
A posse found a hobo camping out here and beat him and his dog to death
for the crime. Cool, huh?"
Chris just shook his head. Eric
had that manic look in his eyes again. The
last time Chris had seen that look was just before Eric had trashed a rest area
bathroom. He’d spent the next
week waiting for the cops to show up at his door.
They never had.
“What’s really cool was that the hobo didn’t do the crime.
Our glorious grandparents beat the wrong guy to death.”
He looked at Chris. “And
they got away with it.”
“That sucks.”
Chris returned the bottle to Eric, who peered at it, then tipped it up
and chugged an alarming amount. When
he finished, he belched and screwed the cap back on.
"So now what?"
Eric flashed him that manic smile again.
"You have a dog, don't you?"
"You know I do."
"Have you ever just wanted to beat the living shit out of it?
I mean, did it ever chew up your favorite shoes, or something?"
Chris shrugged. "I
guess so."
"Well," Eric
smiled and reached behind his seat for the beat up old baseball bat he kept
there. "Now's your
chance."
"Shit, Eric . . . "
Eric had already opened his door and climbed out.
Chris sighed and then joined his friend on the dusty floor of the quarry.
"Look, Eric. Why don't
we just let it go? It hasn’t done
anything to us." Eric shook his head. "Call it a memorial--a tribute to the upstanding men who founded our city--butchers every one of them. Besides, when’s the last time you got to play god?"
Eric walked up to the dog and squatted down to scratch behind its ear.
The mongrel wagged its tail even more fiercely and licked Eric's hand
with a flash of pink tongue.
"You're too stupid to even know no one wants you.
No one cares whether you live or die."
Eric stood, turned to Chris and held out the bat.
"Want to go first?"
Chris shook his head. "Why
don't we just let it go?"
"Let it go? You're not
getting soft on me, are you?" Something
in his eyes sent chills down Chris' back. It
was quite possible that he'd taken something else besides the whiskey before
Chris had joined him, or it could be just one of his moods. Either way, Chris almost believed Eric was ready to use the
bat on him.
When Eric spoke though, he wasn't angry.
"Chris. You're my best
friend, man. Hell, you're my only
friend . . . "
The dog looked up at them and scratched behind an ear with a hind paw.
Eric was right. He didn't
have many friends. At school, he
was quiet and sullen, mostly sitting in silence at the back of his classes.
Most of the other kids thought he was strange and avoided him.
Only Chris had known him long and well enough to see the brilliance
beneath all the pain and moods. Only
Chris had seen the drawings tacked to Eric’s bedroom walls, some so realistic,
you could almost see them breathe. Eric
wouldn’t show them to anyone else.
Sometimes he felt like he was Eric's only link with humanity.
"It's just a damn dog," Eric insisted.
"Somebody dumped him out here to die of starvation.
This isn't any more cruel, is it?"
Chris sighed.
Eric smiled and held out the bat.
The poor dog didn't stand a chance. Eric's steel-toed boot caught the dog just below the breastbone. It yelped and tumbled backwards end-over-end into the dust.
Eric giggled. "Your
turn."
Chris stepped toward the mutt. He
didn't think he was going to be able to talk Eric out of this.
He was torn between pulling his swing and trying to kill the poor thing
with one humane blow. If he simply
killed it, it would suffer less.
He decided to try to kill it.
He swung at the dog's head, but it ducked and his blow glanced off its
shoulder. It yelped again and tried
to run away, but the rope around its neck stopped it.
Cornered now, it turned to face them, its tail between its legs and
hackles raised.
Eric and Chris advanced.
For a few minutes, the battle was fierce, but the dog was doomed.
Eric kicked and Chris beat at the trapped dog with the bat and the
mongrel lunged and snapped at both of them.
Within a few minutes, it was little more than a bloody bundle of broken
bones lying in the dust.
Eric whooped with glee and drove his heel down on the dog's skull.
Chris didn't feel glee. He
felt nauseated. He turned away from the dog's body and Eric's savage
celebration, then stopped in his tracks.
A man was watching them.
He sat on a pile of dirt and rock at the east end of the quarry, just in
front of a small thicket of alder. His
clothes were filthy and several days' growth of dark beard covered his lower
face.
He began to clap, slowly and loudly.
Chris felt a blush rise to his face.
"Shit . . . Eric."
"It's just a bum." Eric stepped up beside him.
"Don't pay any attention to him."
"That's right. Don't
pay no attention to me. I'm just a
no good bum."
He continued to clap. The
blows echoed loudly in the silence of the quarry and each felt like it was
falling on Chris' back. He looked
down at the bloody bat still in his hand and dropped it into the dust.
He felt like throwing up.
"You're a couple of bad dudes," the man said.
"Let's get out of here." Eric
pulled Chris toward the microbus.
Chris couldn't seem to take his eyes from the man.
It was like he was hypnotized by the rhythmic clapping.
"Chris! Come on!"
The spell broke. Chris
turned and followed Eric toward the van.
"Hey bad dudes!" The
bum yelled after them. "What
goes around, comes around!"
Eric shoved his van into gear and roared out of the quarry. #
Chris' mother and little sister were eating dinner when Eric dropped him
off at his house. They looked up as he walked in, but didn't immediately say
anything. Another place had been
set at the table, but remained empty.
Abigail, their golden retriever, ran up to greet him, her feathery tail
wagging. Chris bent down to rub her
ears, trying to replace the images of another dog.
"Where have you been?" His
mother asked.
"Eric and I stopped by the mall," he told her.
"We kind of lost track of time."
It was a standard lie. She
really had little knowledge of his life and therefore no reason to doubt that he
and Eric would be at the mall on a weekday.
"I wish you'd let me know when you're going to be late."
"Sorry. We didn't know
we were."
"Well, there's a plate in the fridge," his mother said.
"Just microwave it for three and a half minutes."
Chris had no appetite, but didn't want to have to come up with an
explanation, so he put the plate of fried chicken in the microwave and started
the oven.
"I have to write a report for school tomorrow," Jenny said.
"Mom said you might help me."
"Maybe. What's it
about?" Jenny beamed. She was nine--going on ten--as she would put it, and absolutely adored her big brother. It made him feel uncomfortable, proud, and terribly responsible simultaneously.
If she'd known how he'd spent the afternoon, she probably wouldn't think
so highly of him.
"It's on Georgia," she said.
"The State."
He nodded. "We should be able to work up something."
The microwave's timer went off. Chris
got his dinner and sat down at the table. His
mother was still wearing the pastel coat from the real estate agency.
She'd eaten only about half her dinner and now just stared at the food as
she pushed it around the plate with her fork.
She looked really tired.
"Any leads today?" he asked.
"I've got to show a place tomorrow." She sighed and looked up
at him. "Look, I'm beat. Could
you see that Jenny does her homework and gets to bed tonight?"
Chris nodded. "Sure."
"Thanks. I don't know
what I'd do without you."
She came over and gave him a hug before heading upstairs and to bed.
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