by Tim Johnston
Just one more.
That’s what you said last time.
What’s your hurry?
I gotta get home.
No you don’t.
Yeah, I do, Danny said. I gotta open the store in the morning.
Jeff sputtered his lips and flung his hand.
Fine, Danny said. Stay if you wanna stay, but I’m going. And he’d made his way through the bodies and was pushing through the door before Jeff caught up with him, You hard-ass, Young, you killjoy, the two of them stepping out into a strong October wind, Aw be quiet you old drunk, their voices carrying across the lot and the dog’s head popping up in the rear window well before they reached the back of the lot where they’d parked their vehicles, the car and the truck, side by side. Jeff wrestling his keys from his jeans pocket and dropping them in the gravel and stooping to pick them up and nearly toppling in the wind.
Let me drive you, Jeff.
I’m all right.
Danny leaned against the fender of the old Camaro and after a moment Jeff did too. They stared back at the building. The faint beat of music from within. Bodies moving dimly behind the glass. The cold night wind felt good after the heat of Smithy’s on a Wednesday night—Wednesday nights being a night of low enforcement, so far as carding went, and therefore one of the bar’s busiest.
Where do you think she is now? Jeff said.
Who?
You know who.
Why do you care?
I don’t care. I know where she is. Blowing some dumb-fuck for her ride home.
I thought you were over her.
I am over her. He snorted and shook his head. He said, You could see right through that goddam shirt or whatever it was she was wearing.
I know it, said Danny. She knew it.
Jeff looked up at the sky, the moon. His blond hair tossed by the wind. And it’s fuckin October. You think he knows she goes out dressed like that?
Who?
Who do you think? The old man. Old Gordo.
Yeah, I think he knows.
Abruptly Jeff leaned forward and put his hands on his knees.
You gonna puke?
No I ain’t gonna puke.
Why don’t we walk around awhile? We can walk the dog.
I’m all right. He straightened and combed his fingers through his hair. Just then a car pulled into the lot, a family wagon, and three girls they knew spilled out, all legs and high heels. Clutching at each other as they crossed the pitted lot, holding down their skirts in the wind. When they saw the two boys leaning on the Camaro one of them, Loretta Woods, called out, Get a room, you two, and Jeff called back, Only if you join us, and the girls went into hysterics, Dream on, Goss! and even Jessica Fisher, who was a shy girl, stuck out her hip and gave herself a spank and on they went laughing into the bar.
Now you see there, said Jeff. Let’s get back in there and get some a that.
We’re not getting any of that, Jeff.
Are you kidding me?
Shit, said Danny. Those girls will get you buying them drinks all night and when you go to take a piss they’ll go right out the door, laughing their asses off.
Jeff looked at him and shook his head. Pussy-whipped.
What?
Heard me.
That’s a fine way to talk about your sister.
Not talking about her, talking about you.
Danny looked at the big window in the front of the bar. The moving shapes within, the muted pulse of music.
He wasn’t going to say it. Then he did.
What’s up with her, anyway? he said.
Who?
Your sister, dumb-ass.
Whattaya mean what’s up with her? She’s Katie.
Danny watched the bar. Something’s up, he said.
Well, said Jeff. I didn’t know if I should say anything, he said, all at once sober. I mean—shit.
Danny turned to look at him. Jeff looking down. Shaking his head.
I think she might be cheating on you, buddy, he said, and looked up. He held his expression, then lost it. Sputtering into his hand.
Fuck you, said Danny.
Relax, man. She’s cramming. Entrance exams and shit. You should know all about that, college boy.
Yeah, Danny said. Cramming. That’s what she keeps telling me.
Jeff shook his head. Pussy. Whipped.
Danny pushed off from the fender. You coming with me or not?
No, I am not. Jeff rolled to his right and opened the driver’s door and lowered himself into the bucket seat. Got his legs in and shut the door. He put the key in the ignition and powered down the window but did not start the car. Gonna just sit here awhile, he said, and then I’ll drive on home. He tilted the seat back and closed his eyes.
I can wait and follow you home, Danny said.
I ain’t no drunker’n you.
Hell you’re not.
Whatever. Go home. I’m fine.
You won’t go back in there?
No, I won’t.
You promise?
Yes, sir.
And you’ll drive straight home?
Yes, sir, Officer Dan.
All right. I gotta let that dog out before he explodes.
Oh, Danny-boy, Jeff sang.
I’m gonna call you later.
The pipes, the pipes are clo-ogg-ing.
The dog rode with his nose pointed into the wind and he knew where they were going and he began to whine: he could smell the park, the river. At the last light on the business drag they turned right and took the winding blacktop into the park. The limbs of the big oaks bending in the wind, the points of the spruces stirring the stars like spearheads. Midway through the park the river swung into view through a single-file row of pines, and on it sat a bright gob of moon swimming against the current, keeping pace with the truck, and when Danny pulled off onto the dirt shoulder and came to a stop the moon stopped too and sat shuddering on the windy face of the water.
He cut the engine and the lights, then snapped the leash to the dog’s collar and opened the door—Wait, stupid, let me get out first—and when he was out of the way the dog jumped down and at that same moment something went skittering by them in the dirt, some night creature small and fast, and the dog leapt after it and the leash sang through Danny’s grip and sailed free and the dog was gone, his paws pounding over the turf and there was the frantic jangling of his tags and then no sound but the wind as he ran deeper into the park, into the darkness under the trees.
No point even calling his name, you couldn’t bring him back from that chase until he’d given it up on his own.
Danny pitched the truck seat forward and found the MagLite and tested it—the beam not at its strongest but strong enough—then he took the keys from the ignition and set off into the park. Following that beam into the woods, listening for the tags, for any sound that wasn’t the autumn leaves in the wind, the high limbs creaking. Calling casually to the dog, Wyatt, come on. Whistling. Cold wind, now. First bite of winter in it. The moon following him through the treetops like an interested party. Like a fellow searcher.
Dumb-ass too drunk to hold on to a dog leash. He thought about going home with no dog. Or a dog that had been hit by a car. Thought of his brother’s face when he saw the body. Not good.
He heard the tags and swept the light, but nothing there. The tossing branches, the blowing grass. He called to the dog and told him he had treats—did he want a treat? He knows you don’t have no treats, dummy. Pressing on under the swaying branches and boughs, the moon keeping pace. Good ol’ moon, there’s ten bucks in it for you if you find him first.
It was called a park but where were the lamps, the friendly walkways—the swing sets and the shelters and the grassy spaces where parents could set their kids loose to kick a ball while the wieners roasted? It was like the city planners had dreamed of a park but then, having engineered a single road through the little wilderness end-to-end, had forgotten their dreams and moved on. As kids you’d come here
with your crew to drink PBRs and smoke and shove each other around, but which of you would ever come here alone? In the dark, in the moving shadows of the trees?
For all the distance and the wind he heard the motor clearly and when he turned he saw the headlights skimming along the road and he knew the sound of the motor and he even knew the cast of the headlights and he thought Jeff would stop when he saw the truck or honk at least, but he did neither and instead drove on at a good clip and at least he was going home, at least he had the good sense to go through the park and stay off the streets where the cops were parked and waiting for the kids as they got out of the bars with their fake IDs. Later, Danny would remember the headlights, and think, and try to remember more. But there was nothing more to it than that: the Camaro passing by and not stopping, not honking.
His cell phone buzzed and he fished it up from his pocket and flipped it open, thinking Jeff, but it was Jeff’s sister.
Hey you, he said.
Danny—?
Katie—?
—hear me?
I hear you!
Where are you, it sounds like a—
What? I’m in the park. The wind is insane. Wyatt got loose.
You’re where? I can’t—
The park! I’ll call you back, I think I see him.
Danny—
But he’d flipped the phone shut and returned it to his pocket. Tags jingled and he swept the dying beam in the direction of the sound and just caught two eyes in the dark, lighting them for an instant like weird marbles floating in the night, green and see-through and blinking out again. Stay right there, God damn it, he said. Tags jingling. Sound of paws rooting in the turf. A desperate snorting and snuffling. When he reached him the dog had just been on his back, paws to the sky, and now he was on his feet again and shaking the debris from his coat. Danny put the light on his own face and said the dog’s name quietly, calmly. The dog stood watching his face, waiting, and Danny reached and took up the leash and wrapped it twice around his fist and pulled the dog to him. The smell was just awful.
Jesus, what is that? Is that bear shit? You dumb dog. Christ—it’s all over you.
He began making his way back to the river, the dog panting happily alongside him, the chase forgotten, at peace and much pleased with his adventures.
Dumb-ass dog, I oughta just throw you in the river, you know that?
The dog panting and padding alongside him and no remorse in him whatsoever.
The dog was a good jumper and he leapt onto the tailgate and Danny fastened the leash to a tie-down cleat. He drove through the remainder of the park, then out onto the county road on the other side, and he’d not gone a quarter mile before he saw the headlights in the rearview mirror and then above those he saw the blue-and-red barlights flashing and Shit, shit, he said and pulled off onto the shoulder and threw the truck into park again.
He got out his wallet and he thought to get the registration from the glovebox and then he thought again—the cop back there running the plate, watching him—and he put his hands high on the wheel and waited. He tried to remember if you were supposed to agree to the test or say no and ask for a lawyer—but now the cop was out of his cruiser and walking up with the beam of his flashlight slashing before him, his free hand holding down his hat in the wind. Wyatt began barking and the cop stopped and swept his light over the dog and he swept it around the truckbed and then he stepped up to the driver’s-side window and Danny powered down the glass. He was with the sheriff’s department—Danny just had time to see that before the light was in his eyes.
You want to cut that engine, sir?
Yes, sir, Danny said, and did so. And turned off the headlights.
The deputy or whatever he was swept his light over the seat and then he put it on the passenger-side floor and he put it on Danny again. The deputy was chewing gum; the wind blew the minty smell of it into the cab.
Think you can get your dog to shut up a minute, sir?
Danny leaned out the window and yelled the dog’s name and told him to hush and he did. In the cab you could hear his nails ticking on the truckbed. The truck rocking slightly as he paced the length of his leash.
Can I see your license, sir?
Yes, sir. He handed over the card.
And your registration.
It’s in the glovebox.
Is there a firearm in there too?
No, sir.
All right then, go ahead and get it.
Danny reached over and opened the glovebox and found the registration and handed that over too, and the deputy put his light on the document and on his license and handed both back, then stood there not quite square to the window, his beam aimed at the ground now and looking at Danny.
You been drinking tonight, Daniel?
I had one a while ago.
Just one?
Yes, sir.
And where was that at?
Smithy’s, sir.
You got a fake ID?
No, sir. They didn’t ask for my ID.
The deputy leaned in and sniffed at the cab. What is that smell? Did you shit your pants, Daniel?
Danny stared at him. The deputy staring back.
No, sir. That dog back there rolled in something in the park.
What was she doing in the park?
I took him there so he could do his business but he got away from me.
Did you see the sign when you entered the park?
Which sign?
The one that says the park is closed after dark.
No, sir. I’d have to say I didn’t notice it. I was just driving through on my way home.
Just driving through.
Yes, sir.
You just told me you took your dog there and let her out. Did she jump out of the moving vehicle?
No, sir. I stopped and put the leash on him but then he got away.
The deputy looked at Danny.
Sit here, he said. And then he walked back to the truckbed and raked his beam inside it again. He walked behind the truck and he walked to the passenger side and he walked all the way around to the front, and when he got there he put his beam on the windshield and into Danny’s eyes as if playing some kind of game. As if to see how his face would look in the bright instant before a head-on crash. Then he came back full circle and looked once more into the cab.
I’ve got half a mind to make you walk a line, Daniel. But I don’t think I’ll do that tonight. Tonight I think I’ll let you get on home. Straight home. No more stops for nothing. That work for you?
The deputy’s flashlight was off and Danny could see his eyes under the brim of the hat. Wide-set eyes that bulged slightly and didn’t seem to center on him exactly. As if they were not quite designed for forward vision, like the eyes of a fish, or a frog. He stared at Danny with these eyes and Danny said, Yes, sir, that works for me. One hundred percent.
37
After he left the Hilltop Tavern he drove through town, and at the end of the business drag he pulled into the park once again, and once again it was after dark—but no dog with him this time, no Wyatt with his nose out the window and his entire body quivering with his need to get out of the truck, to sniff and to lift his leg and to know the whole world by its smells.
The road had been plowed but not plowed well and there were three distinct tracks in the snow, the center track shared by cars coming and going, and if anyone came along you’d have to inch by each other to pass or else drive into the deep snowbanks, and he could see where some of them had done just that. His lights in the turns swept over the naked trunks of the oaks and the snowy boughs of the pines, and no other cars coming or following as far as he could see.
When he reached the stretch of road that ran along the river, with just the row of pines between the road and the riverbank, he shifted the truck into four-wheel drive and plowed into the snowbank and let the truck come to rest on its own, one headlight glancing off the deep snow and one yet on the road. He killed the engine and stepped down int
o the road and shut the door behind him. No sound but the ticking of the engine and no light but the light of the snow itself and a faint glow of moon drifting behind the dark clouds above the treetops.
He crossed the road and stepped up into the snowbank on the opposite side and trod through the drifts between the pines and came to the edge of the river and stopped, winded, his bare hands in his jacket pockets. Before him the river lay flat and still from bank to bank and buried in white except where the wind had scoured away the snow and left black, glassy ponds of ice, like portals for looking into the water that flowed below. It was two bodies of water really, one holding in place for the long winter while the other flowed on beneath it. One staying, one going. When they were kids they played hockey on the pond behind Shep Porter’s house first and then, later in the winter, out on the lake, but they were not allowed to play on the river because of the current. And there was that time on the lake when Shep’s little brother Royce went out for a runaway puck and everyone saw him drop, just drop, like he’d hit a trapdoor, and the whole gang of boys taking off yelling Human chain, human chain! and you were the first one out there and you went down on your belly and Jeff Goss had you by the ankles and someone had Jeff, and you reached first with your hockey stick but that wasn’t enough, and you had to crawl right up to him, the whole chain crawling too, and Royce waiting with his arms spread on the ice before him and his face already blue and when you saw his eyes up close you knew you’d never really seen fear before, not even on your brother’s face, and you told him Royce, you’re all right, I got you, and you had to shuck off your gloves to get a good grip on his jacket, and the kid pawing at your arms, your neck, and when you reached into the water for his legs it was just amazing the coldness, like putting your hands into fire, and only then did you think about the deepness under you and how you would go in face-first and upside down . . . but then somehow you were moving away from the hole, Jeff and the boys behind him pulling you back and you pulling Royce and when you were clear, you all half carried him on his skates back to the warming shack that was not warm but it was out of the wind at least and the kid was too cold and too shocked even to cry, and it was another month easy before any of you were allowed back on the ice and only then after Shep and Royce’s father had gone out there with his augur and tested the thickness.
