Yard Dog Read online

  “Sweet Jesus!”

  Suzanne nodded ruefully. “I know. They’re real, too.”

  The brown man yanked off his own shirt and then buried his face between those tremendous breasts. The brunette pushed him back against the couch and leapt on top of him, with his hand clutching her ass. Then she popped up and wriggled out of her jeans and her lacy pink thong. The brunette stood facing her lover, her perfect white ass exposed in the window. The muscle man reached for her and she twisted away playfully, giving Suzanne and myself an eyeful: breasts and legs and a clean-shaven pussy. I was rock-hard. The muscle man leapt up, yanked down his pants and pushed the brunette onto the couch face down. He was hard, too, his soldier standing at attention. He lifted up the brunette’s hips and pushed in from behind. Suzanne and I watched the brunette gasp with pleasure. The muscle man started to rock, each thrust setting those massive breasts swaying like pendulums. I stepped closer to Suzanne and ground against her tight, denim-clad ass. The muscle man was moving faster now, really socking it to the brunette. She had her mouth open and her eyes closed, gasping and moaning, pleasure carrying her into a different dimension, his strong hands locked tight around her hips, pushing her this way and that, then grabbing tighter as his body stiffened and his face contorted …

  And then the muscle man collapsed on top of the brunette and they lay there breathing heavily, clutching each other on the couch.

  I knocked back my martini and grabbed Suzanne’s hand. “Bedroom. Now.”

  Suzanne grinned drunkenly. “I love that caveman talk.”

  CHAPTER 26

  I didn’t stay the night this time, either. It was damn hard to leave and Suzanne made it harder, stretched out nude on the silky white sheets, her black hair fanned out across her pillow as she smiled up at me with sleepy, half-lidded eyes.

  “Why don’t you stay? If you start to freak out in your sleep, I’ll wake you up.”

  I grinned. “Damn decent of you, darlin’. Maybe another time, okay?”

  Disappointment flickered in her eyes. She turned away. My stomach churned like I had been sucker-punched. I’d let her down again.

  Useless … you’re fucking useless. Memories of Mom, drunk and red-faced and screaming her guts out. Bottles smashing as I ducked and weaved through the house. Piles of crap everywhere. Dirty clothes. Newspapers. Dishes. Bottles, everywhere the fucking bottles. I had to get out of there but I wasn’t leaving without my kitten.

  “Inky?” Mom snorted the day I brought the little shivering stray in from the cold. “That’s a dumb name for a cat.” She didn’t mean it; she was just drunk. That’s what I kept telling myself. “Inky! INKY!” I called for the kitten as I ran past the ripped-up window screens curling and rusting in their frames, past the smells of rotting food and cockroaches coming from the kitchen, Mom raging like a typhoon behind me. “What do you care, you never do anything to help out around here. Look at this fucking place! That fucking cat shits all over the goddamn house!” She was really getting worked up and I knew what came next and that was why I was getting the fuck out of Dodge. Once when I was little she got into one of her rages and threw me through a plate-glass window. At the hospital she said I ran through it and they believed her. They always believed her.

  Inky was cowering under my bed. I picked her up, this little soft bundle of fur, and I held her close, feeling her warmth on my chest, feeling her little heart beating fast, so fast. “Shh,” I said, smoothing out her fur. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.”

  Suzanne watched me get dressed. She blinked as I taped knives to my arms and legs. “You sure have a lot of knives.”

  “It’s a crazy world out there.”

  Shadows fell across the wall of Suzanne’s bedroom as she sat up, suddenly covering herself with the sheet. “Jack … there’s something I … I want to ask you. I mean, I don’t want to ask, not really. I don’t really want to know, you know?”

  “So don’t ask.”

  A sweet, sad half smile appeared on Suzanne’s lips. “I know I shouldn’t. But I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  “So go ahead. Ask.”

  “Jack … have you ever killed anyone?”

  It was bound to happen. Curiosity is a powerful thing.

  I sat down on the bed and looked into her eyes. “I used to lie a lot. Especially to women. It was easier on everyone if I kept my business separate from my personal life. But those lies caught up to me.”

  “Is that what happened with what’s-her-name?”

  “Cassandra? No. What happened with her is I told the truth.”

  The moonlight shone on Suzanne’s face as she turned away. “Was it the same question?”

  “Phrased a little differently, but yeah, more or less.” I looked down at my hands, gnarled and red and raw, sitting on my lap like two hunks of diseased meat. “The truth was too much to take. Too much for both of us.”

  Suzanne shook her head firmly. “Forget it. I don’t want to know.”

  I took her hand. “Yes, you do. Otherwise you’ll always wonder. We’ll be having dinner at a nice restaurant and you’ll look over at me eating my steak and think, ‘I wonder how many people he’s killed.’”

  “But if you tell me … then I might look over at you and think, this man killed … how many people? Forget it. Forget I said anything.”

  The bedroom lapsed into silence, broken only by the hum of a neighbour’s air conditioner. I smiled at Suzanne. “I’m not a killer, babe. I’ve hurt people — a lot of people — but I’ve never willingly set out to kill anyone.”

  Suzanne smiled. “Good. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there are people out there who could use a good killing.”

  “You got that right.”

  We hugged. She smelled good, like vanilla cookies.

  “So … self-defence?”

  “Here’s the thing about that. I don’t like to toot my own horn, but I’m a pretty good fighter. I can usually take someone out without putting them down permanently.”

  “You said usually. So …”

  Shadows shifted on the wall. I stared straight ahead. “When I was a little kid I had this little kitten. An all-black stray named Inky. I loved that cat.”

  I took a deep breath and continued. “My mom drank. Sometimes I had to leave the house for a while. But every time I left I would bring Inky with me. She was —” My voice choked off. I stared at the wall. Come on, get it together. “She was the best thing in my life, you know? Little Inky. She never did get very big.

  “In high school my mom got a new boyfriend. Karl, with a K. He drank, too. But even when he was sober he was a fucking asshole. He was like some throwback 1950s greaser — wore his hair all slicked back like that guy in Laverne & Shirley.

  “One day I came home from school and a lamp came smashing through the living room window. I could hear my mom and Karl shouting. My stomach clenched up. I didn’t want to go inside. I wanted to keep walking. Just turn my back and keep walking forever. But I couldn’t leave Inky.

  “So I went inside. The place was trashed — more trashed than usual. Mom and Karl could barely stand up. They were lurching around the living room, screaming at each other, holding on to the furniture. I tried to sneak past them and go up to my room to get Inky — I figured she’d be hiding under the bed — but Karl saw me and started talking shit. ‘Look at this lousy kid you raised, can’t even look after your kid,’ shit like that. Mom went ballistic and charged. Her nails really ripped his face up pretty good. Then he hit her, and I mean really hit her. Spun her around and knocked her to the ground. She was lying there writhing in pain, holding her face and screaming.

  “I stepped forward to help my mom. Karl saw me coming and raised his fists. ‘Don’t get any bright ideas, kid,’ he said. ‘This bitch had it coming.’ I took a swing. I was so angry the swing went wide. Karl jumped back. That’s when …” I shook my head. “It was the worst sound I’ve ever heard. This yowling, this tortured, unearthly howl.”

  Suzanne’s eyes
went wide. “No.”

  “Yes. That 1950s-looking motherfucker stepped on my cat. Broke Inky’s spine. He killed my cat.”

  My fists were clenched. “I lost it. Everything went red. I might have killed him.” I looked up. Suzanne was staring at me. “I hope so. He needed killing.”

  Suzanne reached out and took my hand. “You don’t know for sure?”

  “Nope. I walked out of the house and I never went back. Never went back to school, either. Got a fake I.D. from a guy I knew and hopped a bus to Toronto. That was a long time ago.”

  Suzanne snuggled closer. “I’m glad you hopped that bus.”

  “Me, too,” I told her. “Me, too.”

  CHAPTER 27

  So it didn’t go down exactly like I told Suzanne. But I wasn’t lying. The basic truth was all there.

  The plant needed more water. I walked back from my office bathroom, humming, with a pint glass with a chipped rim brimming with nice fresh water. Yeah, I was feeling pretty good. It was one of those mornings where you wake up well-rested and crisp, optimism brimming in the belly. Sure this world is fucked and we’ve all got our problems, but that morning it seemed like everything was possible. Sunlight was pouring through the windows and the plant was already perking up, roots drinking deep, sucking up that sweet ol’ H2O.

  “Whaddaya say, plant? You and me, baby.” When Suzanne and I made our Great Escape out to the country (why not?), I’d take this plant with us. Maybe replant it in our yard with a bunch of plant buddies. Yeah. A big ol’ yard with plants and trees and rolling green grass, dogs rompin’ around, little kids zipping all over the place fast as neutrinos. Suzanne in a billowing white dress, me in tan slacks and a yellow cardigan, standing on our porch holding hands, watching the kids and the dogs tumble in the yard.

  A fresh start. We’d make a clean break — no loose ends. Our friends would gather at the depot to wish us well. Grover could wave his monogrammed handkerchief as our train tooted and pulled away.

  There was a knock on the office door. Two short raps, then a third, then two more. Eddie’s code: possible trouble. I pointed to the plant. “Stay cool. Just stay cool.” I cracked open my desk drawer and pulled out the biggest motherfucking knife I had. Gargantua. The knife to end all knives. It was like a sword crossed with a freakin’ butcher’s cleaver.

  The dusty floorboards creaked as I sidled up to the door. “Eddie? You okay?”

  Eddie’s voice was muffled through the thick wooden door. “Yeah, Jack. Maybe it’s nothing. But you should come downstairs.”

  I followed Eddie down to the basement. I heard the whimpering even before Eddie threw open the storeroom door. In the middle of the room was a little weasel-faced guy with a moth-eaten goatee, sitting terrified on a wooden chair, surrounded by three of Eddie’s guys. I jerked my chin toward the weasel. “Who’s this guy?”

  “Nobody, I’m nobody,” the weasel whined. “I’m just a delivery man. I’m just doing my job.”

  I turned to Eddie. “What did he deliver?”

  Eddie pointed to a cake-sized box wrapped in brown paper sitting on a rickety table. “That. It’s got your name on it, Jack.”

  I stalked over to the terrified guy. His eyes were fixed on my meat cleaver. He started babbling. “I’m telling the truth! I’m a delivery guy, I get paid to deliver packages, that’s what I do!”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “This old dude gave me directions. ‘Deliver this package to this address,’ he said. He paid me two hundred bucks!”

  “Old dude? What old dude?”

  The weasel shifted, sniffed and coughed. “This skinny old dude came into the courier office. Real dapper, you know?”

  “Did you get a name?”

  “He … I …” Weasel couldn’t stop goggling at the cleaver. I turned and handed it to one of Eddie’s guys, who held it behind his back. “I don’t know. He paid cash.”

  “Return address?”

  Eddie shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Give me your wallet.”

  Weasel blinked. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  Weasel fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a fraying blue vinyl wallet like the kind you’d have if you were in the fifth grade. I flipped it open and pulled out his driver’s licence.

  “Herman Soto. Elizabeth Street. Herman, I want you to forget we ever had this little conversation. You stay forgetful, we don’t come visiting. Understand?”

  Herman was moaning. “Aw jeez, aw jeez —”

  Eddie rolled up on Herman, all angry eyes and towering menace. “He said, ‘Do you understand?’”

  “Yes! Yes! I won’t say shit! It never happened! Please don’t hurt me!”

  I tossed Herman’s wallet into his lap. “Go on, get out of here.”

  Eddie’s guy handed my knife back and escorted Herman upstairs. Eddie turned to me. His face looked jaundiced in the glare of the overhead bulb. “Skinny, dapper old guy. Joey Machine?”

  I nodded. “Could be.”

  “How did he know you were here?”

  “Someone told him, or he followed me. Either way, someone knows I’m here. Did your people —”

  Eddie shook his head vehemently. “My guys don’t say squat.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, it might not be Joey Machine. Could be another dapper old guy.”

  “What? Like Little Vito’s father?”

  “Shit, I don’t know.”

  Silence descended. Eddie and I stood in the musty basement. At the same time the two of us took a step closer to the box sitting on the table.

  “What do you think is inside?”

  “Birthday cake. Anthrax. One way to find out.”

  I raised my cleaver. Eddie took a step back. “Anthrax? You don’t really think it’s anthrax, do you?”

  “Beats me. I don’t have x-ray vision.”

  “One of my cousins works security at the airport. She can run it through the machine, take a look inside.”

  I grinned. “Too late.”

  The cleaver ripped through the brown wrapping paper. Eddie took two more steps back and got ready to run.

  I stared down at the box. Sound and light and air were sucked from the room. My gut dropped. I felt like I had been punched in the cock.

  “What is it? Jack, what is it?”

  My mouth opened but no words came out. I staggered sideways. Eddie craned his neck and whispered, “Oh shit.”

  There, neatly folded atop a bed of light-blue tissue paper, was The Chief’s leather jacket, covered in dried blood.

  CHAPTER 28

  I thrust out my hand to Eddie. “Phone.”

  My first call was to Suzanne. She came on the line all sleepy and yawning. “This better be good. I was having the best dream.”

  “Get out of the apartment.”

  “What?”

  “Listen carefully. Pack a bag and get out of town. Do you have friends you can stay with?”

  “Well, yeah. My old roommate lives —”

  “Don’t tell me. Don’t tell anyone. Just get your shit and go.”

  “What the fuck is this, Jack? You’re scaring me.”

  “You’re smart to be scared. Go now, okay? Right the fuck now. If you have any problems, you call me at this number. Day or night. And don’t worry … I’ll take care of it.”

  The next call was to Grover. “We need to meet.”

  On the other end Grover’s voice was full of good cheer and sunshine. “Jack! So good to hear from you. Can’t do it today, old boy … the wife and I are going shopping for a new car.”

  “Fuck that. We’re meeting.”

  Grover snapped to an understanding of the seriousness of the situation. “When and where?”

  “The old place. You know the one I mean?”

  “I know the one.”

  “See you in fifteen minutes.”

  The phone clicked off. I was standing in the basement with the phone pressed against my ear listening to the dial tone. Behind
me was the box with The Chief’s bloody jacket.

  I closed my eyes. Breathe, Jack, breathe.

  Eddie shuffled forward and reached for the phone. I shook my head. “I’m going to hang on to this one.”

  Eddie lowered his hand. “Yeah.” He jerked his chin toward The Chief’s jacket. “You … you think he’s dead?”

  My stomach was eating itself. “He never goes anywhere without that jacket.”

  “It was Joey Machine, wasn’t it?”

  “Joey Machine, Little Vito — it doesn’t matter.” I held up the butcher’s cleaver. “They’re all fucking dead.”

  Eddie nodded. His dark eyes flickered. I knew Eddie. In his head, logistics were pinwheeling. How many soldiers could he call? Weapons, vehicles, safe houses … Eddie was getting his ducks in a row.

  I stared at him. “Now might be a good time for you to go on vacation.”

  Eddie didn’t say anything. Finally, he frowned. “You know me better than that.”

  It’s true. I did. “Whoever killed The Chief knows where I live. Where you live. They’re coming. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Eddie grinned, light from the storeroom’s single bulb glinting off his gold tooth. “If I’m not safe here, I’m not safe anywhere.” Eddie shuffled over to the door and threw it wide open. “Go get ’em, Jack.”

  Outside in the morning sun the streets were full of people going about their day — little old ladies picking through the fruit stalls, moms pushing strollers, grocers stacking vast heaps of leafy greens. I ignored them all. Time for one more call.

  “Tommy. It’s Jack.”

  “Jack! Where the fuck have you been?” Tommy didn’t wait for an answer. He just steamrolled right ahead. “Jack, things here are all fucked up. Dad’s dying. Little Vito’s on the fucking warpath. He says he’s going to have you killed.”