Shoot the Moon

Chapter Twelve - A Boy And His Dog

The kid at the hotel was wearing the same shirt, same jacket, new stains.

"What's the deal?" I said.

He stared at me, his eyelids doing a slight flutter, until I pushed fifty dollars through the cash slot. He immediately came out of the cage and led the way into the tiny elevator.

"He said you would take care of this."

"Who?"

"'Mr. Smith'."

"He was here?"

"Last night."

"Take care of what?"

"You'll see." In the hallway the stink came up like a wall, pushing the outside of the envelope of Stench.

"Jeeze," I said.

"Incredible isn't it? And he's only been here one night. Your friend dumped him here at eleven."

"Who? It's not Mickey?"

"I don't know what his name is."

"Why didn't you call me last night when Mickey was here?"

"Number one, he asked me to call you today. Number two, he gave me a hundred dollars."

He put the key into the lock. "Ready?" I nodded and he turned the key and opened the door an inch. Two things happened. The stench came at me five by five and I heard a low growling rumble. The clerk pointed to the opening of the door with a grimy finger. I leaned in and looked into yellow eyes of deep stupidity. The mumbling growl amplified to an earsplitting roar and the thing came running at the door, those yellow eyes fixed on my throat. The bristling hedge of brown and black stripes launched itself into the air, a fanged black hole opening wide and giving off a breath that made my eyes water. The whole malevolent package hit the door with a boom and slammed it shut again.

"What the hell was that? An ape?" I said.

"'Mr. Smith' said it was a dog. He said you'd take care of it."

I thought a moment and then told the kid that I would return.

When I finally completed the round trip to 77 CPW and back I had the chocolates that Mickey had sent me.

The desk clerk escorted me back up in the elevator.

"I think it's a pit bull," he said. He pretended to scratch his nose while surreptitiously picking it. "What's the plan," he asked when we were positioned again outside the evil smelling room.

"Just open the door and I'll take it from there."

He fit the key into the lock and turned it. I took the knob in my left hand and held a chocolate in my right, the surface of the candy already flowing greasily under my thumb. I pushed the door open a crack and looked into those piggy yellow eyes again. The dog emitted a noise like a buzz saw working on sheet metal, then he barked and snapped his jaws. I jerked my head back as splinters and spittle flew from the door's edge. I held the candy up to the crack so he could get a good look at it. He barked three times and munched some more door. My ears were ringing. I tossed the candy through the crack and into the room behind him. The beast was gone in a blur of brown and black stripes, leaving behind nothing but a billowing cloud of canine halitosis. As I closed the door I could hear the slobbery sounds of doggy satisfaction.

The desk clerk sighed and said, "What now?"

"Let's wait awhile and see. Maybe he'll get friendlier." I picked up the box of chocolates. They were expensive candies, I'll say that for the dog's sweet tooth. Each one of the chocolates had been pierced by a finger on its flat bottom and then smashed back together.

After ten minutes, I cracked the door again. The dog was lying in the center of the floor on a nest of the stuffing of the mattress it had torn apart. It lay with its black crop-eared head on its paws. The evil fire in the eyes had banked a bit but it still smoldered and I closed the door again.

"Let's give him a few more minutes," I said.

The kid headed back to the elevator. "You have to take him with you," he said as the elevator door closed.

I slipped the door open and took a peep. The dog was lying on his side, drooling on the carpet, tongue lolling out of his mouth like a road-killed eggplant. A fly landed on his eyelid and he didn't blink. The light in the yellow eyes was out now and they were rolled up into his head. I might have thought he was dead if his sides weren't gently rolling up and down with breath. I walked over and stood next to him. His thin tail lifted slightly and then lay down again. Slowly. Doggy was on the nod. God knows what Mickey put in the candy.

The dog's black head and muzzle was a mass of scars. There was a huge fresh-looking scar along the side of its neck. The dog had been fighting a long time.

It was quite a while before the dog felt ready to get up. He really did look like an ape, lying in a heap there on the rug. I took off my tie and made a leash with it. If I slumped to my left enough I could make it work. When I finally got him on his feet the dog leaned into the tie gently sucking on it like a new born baby. Echo had given me the tie for my birthday. It was an Allan Sulka and it had sentimental value. More clothing destroyed.

With a little encouragement I got the animal moving down the hall. After about ten feet his four legs collapsed and he went down on his face. His yellow eyes had gone soupy now and they rolled up at me pitifully. I tugged on the tie a little and said, "Come on Dog." He made a lurch in my direction and folded again. I let go of the tie and stood up straight to ease my back. I sighed and stepped away from the animal. As soon as I did he gurgled out a pitiful yelp and struggled to his feet. I moved another step and he followed, sulfurous rheumy eyes riveted to the box of chocolates I held in my hand. He was willing to follow the box.

The animal was a pitiful sight. He was still drooling, long strings of saliva hanging off his chops whenever he tried to lift his head.

I wanted to leave him but I couldn't. The dog was my only tie to Mickey now. This was certainly the same animal that Charley had told me Veeva had been keeping for a friend. It didn't take a hell of a lot of deduction to imagine who the friend was.

The beast came hobbling after me like my own broken down version of the Hound From Hell. He was limping horribly.

The two of us traveled back uptown that way and he was obedience school good conduct medal material all the way. Just as long as I had his little golden box of chocolate. The only problem was getting a cab to accept us. I finally got a gypsy to take us for twice the fare. The dog's stench enclosed in a cab made my eyes water.

When the two of us came into the apartment I was relieved. It was short lived, however, as I remembered the Dalton Brothers. I heard the frenzied ticking of their approach as they came racing from their post on Echo's bed. I got the door to the guest room closed before they could arrive to have their heads bitten off. I spent time ferrying dogs around the place: closing the Daltons back in the master bedroom, taking the pit bull and his dope to the kitchen where I tied him to the kitchen table with a bit of clothesline that was left over from the hank I'd bought to tie the trunk shut on last year's Christmas tree, shutting the kitchen door and finally freeing the Dalton Brothers.

The pit bull greeted all this with stupefied equanimity. He was only interested in the golden box.

I put that in the refrigerator. The dog stared a moment as I closed the door. He turned his head to the left and the right as he puzzled the situation out within the dark void that was his brain. Then he slumped to the floor, farted for a surprisingly long time and fell asleep.

Outside the kitchen door, I found the Dalton Brothers braced up happily to greet their new friend.

Later that evening I checked on the pit bull and was appalled at the mess he had made on the kitchen floor. I closed the door quietly and stole away to bed holding my nose.

When Echo called she asked, "What's new?"

Not surprisingly, the answer was:

"Nothing."