by Steve Berman
“Look at that!” The cop was amazed. “None of us could get that close to him.”
“You have to make him feel safe,” I said. “He has to be able to trust you.”
“Food doesn’t hurt either.” Miss Vivian laughed. “Wyatt, why don’t you take—” She turned to the troopers. “Do we know if he has a name?”
They shook their head.
“He looks like a Killer to me,” Miss Vivian said. “Or maybe a Psycho.”
“Cujo!” one of the cops suggested.
“No,” I said. I reached out and patted the side of his head. “You’re not a Killer, are you?”
He had brown eyes and a multicolored coat, with brown, black, and white all mixed together. It’s a look dog breeders call a brindle. Two large black patches were on the top of his head, near his ears. “We’ll call you Mickey,” I said. “This is the day when your life starts getting better.”
“Good job, buddy.” One of the cops leaned forward to pet Mickey. But as soon as he stretched out his hand, Mickey’s hackles rose, and the growling started again. The cop quickly pulled his hand out of range. “If you can pull it off, that is.”
*
Two days later, Miss Vivian pulled me to the side. “I wouldn’t get too attached to this one, Wyatt. Not everyone can be rehabilitated.”
“I’ve got to give it a shot,” I said. “That’s what the pros do.”
“But you’re not a pro, not yet, and this dog…”
“Mickey.” It was really important to me that she called him by name. “His name is Mickey.”
“Mickey is…these drug dealers…he may be too violent for you to work with. It might not be safe.”
“You only know what the cops told you.”
“Those troopers don’t have any reason to lie to me.” Miss Vivian crossed her arms. “Do you know what your problem is? You’re too trusting. You believe too much. In dogs—and in your little friend back there.” She nodded toward the back room and raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Use it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Brody. He’s not the nice guy you think he is.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He’s not here for shoplifting lollipops, that’s what I’m saying. Keep an eye on your things. Protect yourself. Don’t get too close. I went back there earlier, and do you know what? That little sneak was messing with your phone. He put it right back quick when he heard me coming, but I knew what he was doing.”
I opened my mouth, and shut it again without saying anything. I didn’t really know what to say.
“It’s all right. You’re just learning how people are in this world. It’s an awful lesson, but we’ve all got to learn it someday.” Miss Vivian shook her head, like she was really sad. Then her phone rang. She glanced at the number and smiled. “I’ve got to take this. Why don’t you go back there and see what our mongrel is up to?”
Closing time couldn’t come fast enough for me. My mind was spinning with what Miss Vivian had said. Did she really see Brody messing with my phone? It didn’t seem possible. We’d only been working together for a few days, but he didn’t seem like he’d try to screw with me.
If I couldn’t trust my instincts, I could trust Ponder’s. Ponder loved Brody. That old dog didn’t love anyone, but when Brody came around, he’d start wagging that long tail back and forth. Almost every day included a snuggle session, where Ponder would climb up into Brody’s lap for some affection. If this dog who didn’t trust anyone trusted Brody, didn’t that count for something?
I wasn’t having nearly as much luck with Mickey. There would be pauses when he wasn’t growling—mostly when I was offering him food—but he had tried to bite me more than a few times. Getting him to a point where he could live a normal life again might be more than I was actually capable of. But I wasn’t about to tell Miss Vivian that.
Four o’clock finally came. I grabbed my phone and headed for the door. Brody was close behind me.
“See you later, Miss Vivian!” I gave her a wave as I left, even though I was really pissed at her.
“Bye, boys! Have a great night!”
“She’s cheery today,” I said.
“She’s probably got a hot date.” Brody looked all serious, at least until I burst out laughing. Then he smiled.
I was surprised when he starting walking down the shelter driveway with me. Normally, he’d wait on the steps until his boyfriend picked him up. “No ride today?”
Brody shook his head, shoving his hands down into his jeans pocket. “Nope. He’s all done with me, I guess.”
“What happened?”
Brody laughed, a short, bitter bark. “Everything was fine till he found out my birthday.”
“Huh?” That made no sense. “When’s your birthday?”
“Six months later than it needs to be. I turn eighteen the week before Christmas.”
“Big deal. What’s six months?”
“Three years for corrupting the morals of a minor. That’s what his parole officer said. Now, she’s a real bitch. Comes over all the time—late at night, first thing in the morning. Near as we can figure, she’s hoping to catch us messing around and wham!” He smacked his hands together, hard. It sounded like a gunshot. All the crickets stopped for a moment, the fine, high whine of their wings shocked into silence by the sound. “Parole violation and he’s back in jail.”
“Dude.” I’m sure there are appropriate things to say in this situation. I’m just not sure what they are. “That’s messed up.”
“Shit happens.” Brody kicked the edge of the road, sending a chunk of the crumbling asphalt free. He kicked it again, this time with greater force. The asphalt picked up speed, bouncing over the dusty shoulder toward the irrigation ditch. I watched it go. The ditch was near dry—we’d needed rain for as long as I could remember—so there was no splash marking the asphalt’s arrival. Only a final little puff of dust; a mushroom cloud of sand stretching toward the mindful sun.
*
The next morning, Mickey’s cage was empty. Empty and clean. There was no food in the feeder, and no water in the bowl.
“Hey, what happened to Mickey?”
Brody shrugged. “Beats me. He was gone before I got here this morning.”
I wandered up to the front. “Hey, Miss V. What happened to Mickey?”
She turned and looked at me. “I didn’t tell you? I’ve got wonderful news. I called pit bull rescue, and their people came and took him. They’re going to rehabilitate him and find him a home.” She was beaming. “His chances are much better with them. They’re specially trained to deal with dogs with issues.”
“No kidding?” Brody asked. He was standing behind me. “That’s a lucky break for Mickey.”
“It is.” Miss Vivian narrowed her eyes. “Very good luck indeed.” The phone rang, and she rushed to grab it. “Happy Valley Animal Rescue,” she said, waving us both back toward the back room.
We’d barely passed over the threshold when Brody grabbed me by the shoulders. “Wyatt!” For one amazing, perfect moment, we were half an inch apart, nose to nose, eye to eye. It only lasted a second, but in that second, I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even breathe. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to kiss me. Then he shook me. “Could you try using that big old brain of yours for just a minute, please?”
“What?”
“Think about the situation! It doesn’t make sense. Purebred rescue people who come in here, driving their Volvos and Jaguars—they’ve got money. Maybe not big money, but still.”
“And?” I could almost, somehow, still feel Brody’s fingers on my shoulder.
“What are people like that going to do with a dog like Mickey? He’s way too beat up to be a show dog. You yourself said his nuts are gone—”
“I said he’d been neutered.”
Brody kept on going like I’d never said a word. “Not fun times for Mickey. No breeding, no money.”
“He coul
d be a pet.” I could hear the fail in my words even as I said them.
“He’s nasty. He’s mean—and he’s mean-looking! Do you really think one of these rich bitch do-gooders is going to trust Mickey around her kids?”
“He just needs some time…” Lots of time, if I was going to be honest. Months. Maybe years. I’d seen a lot of messed-up dogs over the summer, but Mickey—he was the most hostile, aggressive dog to come in yet. He’d been with us for a week, and in that time, I couldn’t even bring him into the yard with other dogs. He’d attack them on sight.
“Get real.” Brody shook his head. “There was no pit bull rescue that came and got Mickey.”
“So where did he go?”
“I don’t know. Not yet. But I’m going to find out.”
*
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about what Brody had said. He was so sure that Miss Vivian was lying to us, that there was no pit bull rescue, that something else had happened to Mickey. Miss Vivian was so sure that it was Brody that was the problem. I thought about what she said about my phone, and how I was too trusting.
And then my mind drifted to how it felt when Brody had his hands on me, and we were standing nose to nose, and every thought of Miss Vivian went right out the window. It had felt so good when he touched me, and now that his boyfriend was out of the picture?
Maybe Brody’d be interested in touching me some more. I’m not ashamed to admit that I was thinking about that…um, pretty intensely…when someone tapped on my bedroom window.
I just about jumped out of my skin.
Brody stood outside my window.
“Dude? What’s up?” I tried to keep my voice steady. Who knows how long Brody had been standing there while I…well, who knows what he had seen?
“I did it, Wyatt. I found Mickey.”
I began picking clothes up from the floor and pulling them on. “What do you mean, you found Mickey?”
“There’s no time to explain. Not if we want to save him. Just come on.”
“Mom,” I called. “I’m going out!”
“You are? Now?” It was almost ten o’clock. I never went out this late.
Before I could answer her, I heard Clyde talking. “Let him go,” he said. “It’s good for a boy his age to get out and have some fun. It’s normal.”
Mom murmured something, and Clyde murmured something back. They both laughed, softly. I could feel my stomach knotting up. Before they could say anything else, I shouted, “See you later!” and bolted for the front door.
Brody had a motorcycle parked out front. “You ever ride one of these before?”
I shook my head. “I don’t even have a helmet.”
“You don’t need one where we’re going.” Brody climbed on. “Just hang on tight, and lean the way I lean, all right?”
I got on behind Brody, wrapped my arms around his waist, and took a deep breath. “Let’s go!”
It was dark, and it was hot, and it was like magic, being on that bike behind Brody as we cut through the town. We went uptown, going past the restaurants and strip malls so fast that their signs became a neon rainbow blur. The bike was screaming as we went through the industrial park. I wasn’t even trying to pay attention to where we were, really. My stomach was flattened against Brody’s back. My chin was inches from his shoulder. All I could smell was him. He smelled like leather and sun and a little bit of motor oil, a male scent that I wanted to breathe in and in and in forever.
I knew we were racing to find Mickey. Speed was of the essence. But I wanted this to last forever, the feeling of Brody tight in my arms, the heat of his body next to mine. I could feel myself getting hard, and for half a minute, when we went around a wide, long curve, it seemed like Brody could feel it too. He pushed his ass back against me, and we were pinned to each other, skin to skin, until the straightaway.
When he stopped the bike in front of a battered warehouse, it took everything I had to get off without making it totally obvious how much I wanted him. I also didn’t want to look directly into his face in case he wore a smirk.
“Where are we?”
“Nowhere, exactly. They do a little bit of everything here.” Brody turned to look at me, his eyes traveling down to my crotch for one long moment before returning to meet my gaze. He smiled, just a little, the corners of his mouth turning upward. “Not much of it is legal, you know? Probably not any of it. You gotta be cool, all right?”
“Mickey’s in here?”
Brody nodded.
“Then I’ll be cool.”
Being cool turned out to be harder than I thought. The warehouse was packed with people, most of whom wore leather or tattoos or lots of both. It was dark and smoky. I don’t think it was Marlboros either.
We edged around the crowd, staying close to the wall. I could hear dogs growling, and there were people shouting. “What is this?” I whispered to Brody.
He hushed me. There were rows of crates set up along one wall. He climbed up on top of one, reaching back to pull me up after him. From there, we could see everything.
We could see everything, and it was terrible.
There was a squared-off ring on the floor, with pallets turned up on end to form walls around the space. Inside, two dogs were tearing each other up. One was a German shepherd, and the other one looked an awful lot like Mickey.
It was not the best day of that German shepherd’s life. Mickey had ripped right into his side, opening up a scarlet moon that went from haunch to belly. I thought I’d seen stuff, working in the shelter, but nothing had prepared me for the slow, steaming slide of intestines toward the floor. The noise that dog was making was nothing that human ears were ever meant to hear.
The crowd was going nuts. People were screaming even as the shepherd went down on his side. Mickey was still going after him. There was blood everywhere. It took everything I had not to puke my guts out—and when I saw the handfuls of cash being passed around after Mickey was declared the winner, I stopped trying.
“How could she give Mickey to these people?” That was the first question I asked after I stopped being sick. I was so angry I couldn’t even see straight. “What was she thinking?”
“She didn’t give Mickey. And she didn’t give a shit. She must have been paid good money for Mickey. There’s no way that was Mickey’s first fight. He’s a trained fighting dog, and they’re not cheap,” Brody said. “I bet she made a thousand dollars on him.”
“What are we going to do?” There were people everywhere, laughing as the ring was hosed down.
“I don’t know,” Brody said. His shoulders slumped. “I thought maybe we’d be able to snatch him and go…”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” Mickey was enjoying his victory dinner, bolting down great gulps of food the way only a starved dog can. “I think we should get out of here.”
Brody nodded, and we slipped along the back wall toward the doorway. We’d just made it outside and back to where he parked the motorcycle when it hit me.
“You know what, bro?”
“What’s that?”
“Just because Mickey won this time doesn’t mean he’ll win the next time.”
Brody shook his head. “Nope. Nobody wins forever.”
“We’ve got to do something. We can’t let him die like this.”
He shrugged. “What are we supposed to do?”
I took a deep breath. “We could call the cops.”
He snorted. “You can call the cops. They’re not about to listen to me.”
“So I’ll call them.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket. My fingers were trembling.
“You know that means the end of everything. The shelter. Your internship. It’s all going to be gone if that bitch gets arrested.”
I thought about that for a long minute. I’d been working at the shelter for almost a year. Working with the dogs was my best bet at landing a scholarship. Miss Vivian was going to write me a letter of recommendation. Mom sure didn’t have the mo
ney to pay for vet school.
“Let me call Jacksie. He can call the cops and send them here. They never even need to know about us.”
“The cops aren’t going to listen to Jacksie. He’s a little too…he burns a bit too bright…for them. They don’t listen to people like that.”
“How’d you know that?”
Brody blushed. It was the first time I’d seen him do it, and it was fascinating, watching his complexion slowly redden. “I, uh. Might have looked at your phone. I saw you take a picture of me, all right?”
It was my turn to blush, especially after I remembered the conversation Jacksie and I had had about that particular picture. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He shook his head. “I don’t want you to be sorry.”
Brody was watching me closely then. I think that’s what crystallized it all for me. If I couldn’t stand up and be a man in his eyes, how was I going to be a man when I looked in the mirror?
“You know what?” I said. “That doesn’t matter. If it’s got to be me, it’s got to be me. If I can’t save one dog, this dog, what business do I have even trying to be a vet?”
“Besides,” Brody said, “who knows how many other dogs she’s done this to? This isn’t the type of situation you find by accident, you know what I’m saying?”
I handed him the phone. “You want to call?”
He shook his head. “Life’s too short. These people,” he said, nodding his head toward the door, “they don’t know you. They don’t know your name. They got no business with you. You’re not burning any bridges.”
“Just trashing my future. That’s all.” I made the call. It went much faster than I expected. It only took a few seconds to tell what was going on and give the address.
“Come on,” Brody said after I hung up. “We don’t need to stay here to watch the fireworks. They’re gonna arrest everyone they find.”
We bugged out of there, crossing over the railroad tracks until we got a good vantage point. And we waited, and we waited, and we waited some more. Nothing happened. No cops came. No patrol cars. No sirens. Nothing.
The night grew thin, graying into dawn. From a safe distance we watched people leaving the warehouse. The sun came up over our backs.
