Chapter 20
Vincent felt secure. There was a specific, undeniable fact in the thought that danced across his mind. He definitely enjoyed drinking other people’s beers more than his own. A half-eaten square sliced large sausage pizza sat precariously on the edge of the coffee table. Bernie sniffed at the box several times while Vincent mowed down the slices, but never went for a piece of the pie. Vincent made a mental note to close the box so as not to further tempt the well behaved pooch when he ventured back into the kitchen to grab another Corona. He looked at the three dead soldiers sitting upright on the floor next to the lazy boy recliner and decided it best to deposit them in the trash before he accidently kicked them halfway across the room.
He made the call for pizza five minutes after Nick left for work. He figured if he drank most or all of Nick’s beer, a concession could be reached between the two of them if he left a little bit of Nick’s favorite pizza in the fridge. He knew Nick’s proclivity for late night cold pizza, especially from his favorite local joint. Garfallo’s Pizzeria and Dance Hall had been a local, family owned town favorite for the past twenty years. The restaurant had all of about 12 tables inside and an outside patio that sat about the same number. As far as Vincent knew, a dance hall never existed.
The Garfallo patriarch, Arturo Garfallo, was rumored to have been a musician in his younger days and always fancied the idea of running a live music theater, complete with dining and dancing. With escalating interest rates at the time the restaurant got up and running and limited capital at his disposal, Arturo decided to start small. The family had success with the restaurant, but so did the commercial real estate owners that surrounded him. As Arturo prospered, the rent and property values rose around him.
But at the end of the day, they had created a niche for themselves in Pine Valley. The town was not overly commercialized at that time, and they were the only pizzeria inside the Pine Valley city limits. The music theater died a quiet death, but as fate would have it, they had the best jukebox in town. Not quite the same, but the Garfallo’s did encourage dancing inside and outside the restaurant. It was not uncommon to see a waltz, break dancing, two stepping, or an Irish folk dance, all in the same night. It was a quirky, local spot, and Nick loved it. Seeing the pizza in the fridge would make his middle of the night, Vincent mused.
Vincent popped off the top of another Corona and squeezed a lime into the beer. He covered the top of the beer with his thumb and turned the bottle upside down. He watched the lime float to the top of the neck. He gently turned the bottle over and watched the lime float back to the bottom and a small foam head form in the neck of the bottle.
“Perfect,” Vincent said to himself as he raised the bottle to his lips, eyeing the floating lime wedge. “Scurvy be damned.”
Bernie lay on his side by the recliner as Vincent sauntered back into the room. As he regained his seat in the Lazy Boy, Bernie began scratching around his collar with his rear leg. Vincent watched the dog arch his back and slightly rotate his body on the floor as he tried to scratch some itch of unknown origin. Vincent began to take another sip, but Bernie’s persistence at finding that magical spot kept his attention rapt on the slowly spinning, scratching dog. Just when he thought Bernie would abate, the dog just went after it harder than before. Vincent sat his beer on the end table and leaned in toward the dog.
“What do have going on there, buddy,” Vincent inquired. “Let’s take the collar off if it’s bothering you, but you will have to get used to it eventually. Not my rules, but Nick’s.” Vincent smiled at the thought of Nick really having any pet rules other than no crapping on the furniture. He could be a real stickler like that.
Vincent unclasped the collar and slid it across the shiny soft white, brown and black fur. As his hand drew across Bernie’s neck he felt a hard object brush up against the back of his hand. Vincent furrowed his eyebrows and looked back at the dog’s neck. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, so he drew his hand back over the same area. He felt the same spot again. Vincent rubbed his index finger over the spot and eventually was able to outline the shape with his finger. It mapped out a perfect ½ inch square just under Bernie’s fur. Upon closer inspection Vincent noticed that the fur in that area was noticeably shorter. Whatever this was, it hadn’t been in there too long.
“What do you have here, buddy? Do you have one those microchip I.D. tags surgically implanted?” Vincent had heard of people paying good money for that kind of stuff, but he’d never seen one in person before. However, he wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but he was certain of what it wasn’t. It was not something that was natural to the dog’s body.
Bernie stopped scratching at his neck, but still lay on his side on the floor. He stared at Vincent in what Vincent best deciphered as a look of appreciation and relief. Vincent surmised that the collar must have been rubbing against that object just below his skin and caused him some irritation. Vincent pondered if Nick knew about it, but decided he surely would have made mention of some type of high tech device on his new pet. He probably would have referred to him as “Bionic Bernie”, “Robopooch”, or some other lame nickname created on the fly. No, Vincent was certain that this was going to be a surprise for Nick, too.
Vincent fell back into the recliner and decided whether he’d leave Nick a note about the object imbedded in his new pet or wait to tell him in person. A note, he decided, might freak Nick out. Best to tell him face to face, most likely at the GFD tomorrow mid-morning, Vincent decided. Satisfied with his planning, Vincent kicked up the footrest and snatched his beer off the end table with such force foam began to bubble over the bottle’s rim. He brought the bottle to his lips and sucked the unintended suds from the bottle just as a knock at the door refocused his attention. He sat the beer back down, eased the footrest down, and pushed himself out of the chair. Bernie remained motionless on the floor.
As he approached the front door, Vincent peaked through a clear portion of the stained glass window in the middle of the door. He could make out two people on the front step, but he did not recognize them and had trouble making out their age through the distortion from the glass. Vincent flipped on the porch light and unlocked the deadbolt lock. He swung the door back, revealing an older couple standing shoulder to shoulder. The man sported a blue blazer, and the woman looked like she was ready for a trip to the gym, dressed in a matching sweat suit. They both held matching duffel bags
“I assume you two aren’t selling firewood?” Vincent joked.
“Of course we are,” the man answered. “You can pay us in full now and the truck will be by tomorrow.” The man flashed a toothy grin while the woman stuck out her right hand.
“Hi, I’m Sylvia and this is my husband, Andy. We’re Nick’s parents.” Vincent immediately recognized the names and swung the door wide open and motioned for them to step inside.
“Well, come on in,” Vincent said. “Nick’s not home right now. My name’s Vincent, and Nick had me stay here for a little while tonight to watch his new dog.” Vincent gestured toward Bernie who still lay on his side as Andy and Sylvia made their way inside. “His name’s Bernie.”
“Oh, my,” Sylvia said. “Nicky never said anything about a dog. Why, I don’t think he’s ever owned one before. I wonder what prompted him to make that decision?”
“Does he bite?” Andy said from across the room as he set down his duffel bag. “Nick tends to get animals that enjoy biting.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Andy,” Sylvia replied. “If he was interested in biting, he’d have done it by now.” Just as she finished the sentence, Bernie hopped up on his four legs and made a direct path to Andy. Vincent did not believe anybody was in any danger of getting bit, but he had to admit he felt a little on edge as Bernie neared Andy.
Andy drew his hands into his pants pockets and took a few small steps backwards, before bumping into a credenza stacked with books. Bernie brushed his shiny
black nose along the edge of Andy’s sports coat as Andy twisted his body away from the olfactory inspection. Bernie shifted from one side to the other of the sports coat until he seemed satisfied at whiffing the prevailing scents. Bernie sat by Andy’s side, facing Vincent and Sylvia. As he sat, Bernie leaned his body into Andy’s hip. Andy stumbled to the side, but quickly regained his footing. Bernie readjusted also by moving closer to Andy and leaning back into him again.
“Looks like you’ve got a new friend,” Vincent said.
“Good God, this thing’s a walking, slobbering rug,” Andy said. “I think I might have preferred it if he just went ahead and bit me.
“Oh, Andy, don’t be silly,” Sylvia said. “You two look adorable together.” Vincent had to admit it, Andy and Bernie seemed like naturals together. Bernie’s contentment stood in contrast to Andy’s nervousness and apprehension at having an animal this large making physical contact with him. Andy’s eyes darted around the room as his hands fidgeted with his jacket, pants , and belt.
“I just have the sense that he’s trying to lure me into a false sense of security before he mauls me.” Andy eased away from Bernie and stepped double time toward Sylvia’s side. Once next to, her he wrapped his left arm over her shoulders.
“So you cope with your fear of a dog attack by including me as collateral damage?” Sylvia asked.
“Just trying to gain strength through numbers.”
Sylvia elbowed Andy in the ribs for that last comment, which prompted Bernie to trot over to Sylvia and give her a low level woof.
“Easy boy,” Vincent said as he patted Bernie’s large, block head. “They’re just horsing around.”
“Yeah, you know, horses. You probably have few that are cousins,” Andy quipped.
“Hey, if you’re not overly comfortable with Cujo, here,” Vincent said with a wink in his eye, “we could go down to the Slippery Beaver, see Nick, and have a beer since I just finished off his last one. Bernie should be fine here by himself. What do you guys say?”
Andy didn’t waste a second. He took three lengthy strides before reaching the front door, pulling Sylvia along by her hand.
“Great idea. I’ll drive,” Andy said.
“Bye Bernie,” Sylvia said over her shoulder as Andy pulled her through the front door.
“Alright buddy, you’re on your own. Somebody will be home soon, so don’t worry. Just chill out and enjoy your new, spacious surroundings.” Vincent made his way to the front door and pulled it shut on his way out. Nick had not left him a key and Vincent stopped to think if it was necessary to lock the house. What for, he thought to himself. He’s got a watchdog now. “Hold down the fort,” he instructed Bernie.
Vincent stepped off the front porch and heard the Fleetwood roar to life. Sylvia was in the front seat, but she had opened the rear passenger door for Vincent. Vincent walked around to the passenger side and plopped down in the backseat. He reached for the door handle and had to take a second grip to pull the heavy door shut. Andy backed the beast out of the driveway as Vincent provided him directions to the Slippery Beaver.
As they drove to the end of the street Vincent noticed the black Mercedes sitting along the curb at the corner. As they cruised by the car, he could make out somebody in the reclined driver seat. The streetlamp shone through the front windshield, and Vincent could make out just the driver’s head. Now there’s something you don’t see too much he thought to himself. An albino in a black Mercedes in Pine Valley, CO.
The Bernie Factor Page 20
