You Can Have My Heart, but Don't Touch My Dog

by Dixie Cash

Oh, my God! John Wilson!

  Debbie Sue had recognized the intruder instantly. He looked just like his mugshot. Her eyes bugged.

  He gestured with the pistol barrel toward Quint, who had thrust his arms straight up and turned pale even under his phony tan.

  “Dickhead!” Jake took flight and sailed to the top of his aviary in the corner.

  Wilson’s eyes darted between Jake and Quint. “You,” Wilson said to Quint. “Gimme the keys to that truck out back.”

  “Whoa, buddy. It’s not my truck.”

  Debbie Sue’s thoughts raced. Oh, no. Not my pickup.

  “Gimme them clothes,” Wilson said to Quint.

  “No way. I can’t undress in front of these women.”

  “Fuck that!” Wilson pointed the pistol at Quint’s face. “I don’t like wearing bloody clothes, cowboy, but it beats what I got on. Do it!”

  “Fuck that!” Jack squawked a noise that sounded like a pistol cocking. “Fuck that! Jake’s mad!”

  Wilson’s attention swerved to Jake. “What the hell is that?”

  In a quick move, Quint karate chopped Wilson’s wrist with the side of his hand. The gun hit the floor with a deafening blast. Blam! The smell of cordite filled the room.

  Debbie Sue’s heart took off racing even faster. Everyone in the room dropped to the floor, scrambling for the gun. Through the scramble of hands, Wilson grasped it and got to his feet shouting. “I’ll kill every one o’ you sonsabitches!” He gestured with the gun barrel again. “Get on your feet. All of you.”

  “Aaawrk! Call the cops!” Jake flew to the opposite corner of the cage and began to screech and squawk. “Fight! Fight! Call the cops! Call the cops!

  They all stood cautiously.

  He pointed the gun at Quint again. “Gimme them goddamn clothes and don’t gimme no shit.”

  “Okay, okay. Just don’t let your finger get itchy.”

  Slowly, Quint began to undress. Hopping on one foot, he pried off a boot, then moved to the other. Next came his socks.

  “Hurry up, goddammit. I woulda already shot your ass if it wasn’t for bloodying them clothes.”

  “I’m hurrying,” Quint said, unbuttoning his shirt.

  Debbie Sue swallowed a lump in her throat. She had seen Quint without clothes, but not for many years. Finally, all he had left was black boxer briefs that clung to every muscle, sinew and body part. His body hadn’t changed much. He was still a fine specimen of a man.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Edwina and Sandi staring at him as he folded his pants and shirt neatly and laid them on Edwina’s station, the muscles in his arms and across his shoulders rippling with each movement.

  Wilson’s voice brought her back to reality. He was pointing the gun at Edwina. “Tie him up.”

  “With what?” Edwina said.

  Wilson strode to Edwina and yanked the long orange, yellow and black scarf she was wearing from around her neck. She caught her breath and jumped back.

  “Be quick about it, you skinny bitch. I ain’t got that much time.” He shoved Quint down into Edwina’s styling chair. “Stick out your wrists, asshole.”

  Quint complied. Edwina took her time and ended with a big brightly colored bow binding Quint’s wrists together in front of him.

  Wilson stared slack-jawed at Edwina’s handiwork. “Goddammit! What the hell is that? I said tie him up.”

  Along with her heart, Debbie Sue’s mind was racing faster than she could keep up with it. If one of them could distract him again, maybe someone could get the gun again. She stepped forward. “Don’t you know a bow knot when you see it?”

  Wilson stomped over to Quint, yanked one end of the scarf and the knot easily came undone. He pressed the end of the gun barrel against Edwina’s temple. Grimacing, Edwina squeezed her eyes shut.

  “You crazy bitch, I oughtta blow your ass from here to El Paso. You tie that sonofabitch up so he don’t get loose.”

  “A bow knot if all I know how to tie,” she whined and began to sniffle.

  “Shut up! Quit bawling!”

  Edwina’s voice hitched. “I never was...a Gir—Girl Scout...or anything.”

  “Goddammit,” Wilson mumbled, reached across all of them, grabbed Sandi by the wrist and dragged her forward. “You. Tie him up.”

  Sandi, too, was in tears. “I can’t tie either,” she whimpered.

  “Jesus Christ! What the hell is wrong with you people? You can’t tie somebody up?”

  Hands shaking, Sandi began to wrap one of Quint’s wrists with the scarf.

  Wilson pointed his gun at Edwina’s chair. “Tie him to that chair arm.” He yanked an electrical cord attached to a curling iron out of the wall and threw the appliance at Sandi. “Tie up his other wrist.”

  Debbie Sue winced. Shit! My best curling iron.

  He turned his attention to Debbie Sue. “You. Who runs this place?”

  “I do.”

  “You got cash. Where is it?”

  “It’s over at our payout counter.”

  “Get it.”

  Debbie Sue sidled gingerly to the payout counter.

  “Move your ass or I’ll blow a hole in this skinny bawling bitch.”

  The payout counter was chest high on most women and hid the desk. Under the desk top was a panic button that sent a radio signal and set off an alarm in the sheriff’s office. Buddy had had it installed years back when he was the town’s sheriff. They had never used it. Debbie Sue had no idea if it still worked. She could only guess the hysterics in Billy Don’s office if and when it ever went off. Before she opened the drawer and pulled out the cash, she pushed that button.

  At the same time, she handed over the money. “A hundred dollars. That’s all we’ve got. It’s what we start the day with.”

  Wilson tilted his head toward Quint. “Get his wallet.”

  Debbie Sue left the payout desk, walked over to Edwina’s station where Quint had put his clothing, pulled Quint’s wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and opened it. Payday! As he always had, Quint carried a thick sheaf of bills in his wallet. Debbie Sue had known him to have more than a thousand dollars in cash on his person. She pulled the bills out and handed them to Wilson.

  Quint closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “Nice.” Wilson stuffed the wad of folded money into his own pocket. “Who does that red truck belong to?”

  “Me,” Debbie Sue said.

  “Gimme the fuckin’ keys.”

  Debbie Sue started to slide her hand into her jeans pocket. “Wait a minute. Slow. I’m watching you. Come over here.”

  Just then, the front door opened and Nick Conway strolled in. All eyes swung to him.

  “What the hell is this, a fuckin’ convention?” John Wilson shouted.

  Nick’s gaze darted from Quint to Debbie Sue, then Sandi. “Sandi!”

  Wilson pointed the gun at Nick. “You! Get your hands up. Get over here!”

  Nick raised his hands and sauntered over to where everyone stood in a group. “What’s going on?” His eyes homed in on Sandi who was still trying to tie Quint’s wrist to the chair arm with the curling iron cord. “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but—”

  “She isn’t the only one here who might not be okay, you know,” Debbie Sue snapped.

  “You, mister,” Wilson said to Nick. “Nice and easy, pull out your wallet. Gimme the cash.”

  Nick reached back and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, thumbed through a small sheaf of bills and handed them over. Wilson grabbed them and shoved them into his pocket.

  Just then, with a loud squawk, Jake glided toward Edwina’s station and on his way, dropped a huge, messy package onto the front of Wilson’s head. Splat!

  “Aargh!” He slapped his palm against his head, brought it back and saw an icky mess of gray and white bird poop covering his palm.

  “Thank God for greens,” Edwina mumbled.

  The parrot landed atop the coat tree that stood beside Edwina’s station. />
  “You sonofabitch!” Wilson fired at Jake. Blam!

  Jake leaped into the air. “Aawrrk! Murder! Murder!” He swooped into the storeroom.

  Debbie Sue darted to her own station, grabbed a can of hair spray and blasted it directly into Wilson’s eyes.

  “Aaarrgh!” Blinded, he fired again, barely missing Quint’s head. The mirror at Edwina’s station shattered.

  Sandi ducked.

  Quint’s shoulders scrunched up to his ear lobes. “Jesus Christ!”

  All at once, like a football player, Nick plowed into Wilson with his shoulder, taking him to the floor with a whump! The gun flew from Wilson’s hand. Nick and he wrestled, hurling blows and cusswords. Debbie Sue scrabbled for the loose gun. When she couldn’t get a grip on it, she kicked it across the floor, all the way to the payout counter. Sandi grabbed it up and carried it behind the counter.

  Debbie Sue dashed back to her station, grabbed a hair dryer and jumped into the fight between Wilson and Nick. She pounded Wilson’s head with the hair dryer. Whack! Whack! After the two hard blows, he was out, blood spilling over the floor from a head wound.

  Nick got to his feet. Puffing for breath, he dragged Wilson’s limp body over to Debbie Sue’s chair and plopped him into it. A mouse had already swelled under his eye. “Who the hell is this anyway?”

  “Jake! I gotta find Jake,” Edwina cried. “He might be shot.” She ran into the back room.

  “Oh, no!” Sandi followed Edwina.

  The front door flew open. Billy Don charged in, gun in hand. He gave the room a quick once-over, stopped at a near-naked Quint tied to Edwina’s styling chair. His eyes bugged. “Whoa! What’s going on here?”

  “Sheriff!” Quint cried, straining against his bindings. “Cut me loose from here.”

  “Never mind him,” Debbie Sue said. “There’s the bad guy over there in my chair. Put some handcuffs on him before he wakes up.”

  “Who is he?”

  “John Wilson. From Midland.”

  “You don’t mean—”

  “Billy Don! Shut your mouth and just handcuff him, okay? And put him in a cell. Then call the Midland cops.... Oh, and after you handcuff him, before you take him outta here, dig into his pocket and get our money and give it back to us. He took everybody’s money.”

  “Is this a robbery?”

  “At the very least.” Debbie Sue answered.

  Billy Don’s head began to shake. “If this is a robbery, I can’t give the money back. It’s evidence.”

  “Cut me loose,” Quint shouted.

  “Nick, his gun is over at the payout desk,” Debbie Sue said. “I saw Sandi put it there.”

  Nick walked over and picked it up, took the time to unload it. “Here, sheriff. Here’s his gun.”

  “This is an armed robbery?” Billy Don asked, his eyes bigger yet. He took the gun and stuffed it into his waist band.

  “At the very least,” Debbie Sue repeated.

  Billy Don busied himself handcuffing Wilson with cable ties. “I called our ambulance, Mr. Wilson. They’re probably not as fast as folks in the city, but they’ll be here pretty quick. They’ll have to take you to the hospital up in Odessa. If you think you can’t wait, I can ask the vet to come to town and sew you up.”

  Wilson’s eyes had crossed. He mumbled something.

  “Goddammit, will somebody cut me loose,” Quint yelled, on his feet and straining against the scarf and the cord that bound him to Edwina’s styling chair.

  Debbie Sue stamped over to Edwina’s chair. “You are such a big baby.” She opened a drawer, pulled out a pair of scissors and cut the scarf.

  “I want to know what the hell is going on here,” Quint said. “This is a damn madhouse.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing, mister,” Billy Don said, pointing his finger at Quint’s nose. “I don’t know who you are, but you need to get some clothes on. I doubt these ladies want to look at you half naked.”

  Debbie Sue gripped the curling iron and started to cut the cord. “Damn, I hate doing this. This is my best curling iron.”

  Freed, Quint grabbed his hat, clapped it on his head, picked up his pants and shirt and stalked to the back room.

  “Oh, my God,” Sandi’s voice from the back room.

  “Quint! Put your clothes on,” Edwina cried.

  “Dickhead! Dickhead!” Jake squawked.

  “Sandi?” Nick marched to the back room and disappeared inside.

  “Oh, Nick. Thank God you’re here.”

  Nick’s deep voice came loud and clear. “You, buddy, get your clothes on.”

  Debbie Sue rolled her eyes.

  Soon, Sandi and Nick walked out of the back room arm in arm. Jake was perched on Sandi’s shoulder. Nick glanced down at Wilson. “That’s the dude from Midland. What’s he doing here?”

  “It’s a really long story,” Debbie Sue answered. “An easier question is what are you doing here?”

  “I came to meet Sandi. The idea was for me to apologize to Edwina, for breaking into her backyard and taking Buster.”

  Quint came out of the back room, partially dressed, his shirt open, his shirttail hanging loose. He stomped to Edwina’s styling chair and began to pull on a sock. “Debbie Sue, you’ve got more loony goddamn friends than any woman I ever saw.”

  He pulled on his other sock. “I don’t know what ever made me think I wanted to hook up with you again.”

  He pulled on a boot. “I can see it was a mistake to drive all the way down here. My God. It’s sixty-five miles.”

  He pulled on his second boot, stood to seat one heel, then the other and strode toward the front door.

  “You can’t leave,” Billie Don said. “This is a crime scene. You’ve got to give a statement.”

  “Bullshit,” Quint said, hanging on to the doorknob. “Everybody in this town is crazy. How’s that for a statement?”

  “He’s right, Quint,” Debbie Sue said. “You’re a witness. If you leave before you give a statement, Billy Don can put out a warrant for your arrest.”

  “Aargh!” Quint plopped down into Edwina’s chair again. Jake glided over and landed on his knee. Quint glared at him, but didn’t move. “Don’t you dare shit on me, you little bastard.

  A soft garble came from Jake’s throat.

  “That sounded like a threat to me,” Debbie Sue said.

  Billy Don dug a small notebook out of his shirt pocket and methodically turned the pages until he found a blank one.

  A new anxiety pricked Debbie Sue. Knowing Billy Don, this could take hours and Buddy might be back before it was over. “We’ve got appointments coming in for hairdos,” she said to Billy Don. “Why don’t you take all of these people over to your office to take their statements?”

  “That’s a good idea, Debbie Sue.” He urged everyone into a group.

  Before getting to his feet, Quint carefully lifted Jake off his knee and set him on Edwina’s station. He carefully touched Jake’s beak and gently tapped it. “I’m not a dickhead, little buddy.”

  “Ed and I’ll be over there soon as we sort out everything here,” Debbie Sue said to Billy Don as he herded his little group out the front door. Debbie Sue slammed the door behind him.

  Suddenly, quiet prevailed.

  “Jesus Christ, are we okay?” Edwina asked. “I nearly shit myself.”

  “Jesus Christ, are we okay?” Jake repeated. “I nearly shit myself.”

  “Does he have to repeat every damn thing we say?” Edwina asked.

  “That’s what parrots do. They mimic,” Debbie Sue answered.

  Edwina went to her station where Jake perched, and put out her arm for him to climb on. “I hate to think what might have happened if you hadn’t had an urge to poop,” she told him. “Did you hear that, poopy bird? You saved the day.”

  “Aarrrwk. Jake’s a poopy bird. Jake’s a poopy bird.”

  Debbie Sue bent down and placed a tiny kiss on Jake’s beak. “We love you, Jake. You aren’t a poopy bird. You’re a hero.�
��

  Jake touched his beak to her cheek. “Jake’s a hero. Jake’s a hero.”

  Debbie Sue straightened. “I shouldn’t have told him that. Now he’s going to be stuck up.” She turned to Edwina. “Are Sandi and Nick a couple now?”

  “I think so,” Edwina answered. “Next thing we hear they’ll be getting married. Edwina does it again.”

  “Did you say something to her? Or to him?

  “Not much. I just dropped a hint. They already liked each other. They just didn’t know it.”

  “Honest to God, Ed, you should charge for your matchmaking services.

  “Nah. I do it for love. There’s not enough love in this world.”

  Debbie Sue pointed at her shattered mirror. “Looks like we’re going to be getting you a new mirror.”

  “See what I’ve been trying to tell you about chasing criminals? It’s dangerous. It’s a wonder we aren’t all dead.”

  “There you go again, Ed. Thinking the worst. Just remember. We didn’t find him. He found us.”

  “Call nine-one-one,” Jake squawked.

  Epilogue

  A year later...

  “I’m gonna kill that damn rooster.” Nick buried his head under his pillow.

  Sandi giggled and snuggled closer to his side “His feelings will be hurt if he hears you say that.”

  “I’m the only rooster in this house that’s got feelings.” His arm came around her and pulled her closer.

  She lay there in total comfort against Nick’s big body and listened to the birds tweeting, the hens clucking and the braying of two mules Nick had succumbed to taking from someone he knew. The two mules always brayed to Christian Grey’s crowing.

  After a delicious courtship, she and Nick had gotten married six months ago. In an informal ceremony, Buster had been his best man. Betty Ann had been her maid of honor.

  She had sold her house in town and moved all fifteen of her animals to his ranch. The chickens had been placed in the pen with the llamas that were protecting them from predators. She had used the money from the sale of her house to buy the section of land adjacent to what Nick already owned. Now, she was a landowner. Together, they had more cattle.

  Her business in town was going like gangbusters. Betty Ann was now the manager. The LaBarkery website was up and running and orders were coming in. She had leased a larger kitchen and hired three more women. LaBarkery had been featured in the local magazine.