Spook

15 Big Dog

The storage shed was a good place for a stash, good place to hole up. Yeah, but not for long. Cold, damp. Full of old toilets, old sinks, all kinds of other plumbing crap. Full of spiders and bugs, give you the fuggin’ willies crawling over you in the dark. Nobody around when he slipped in last night, nobody come in during the day. Heard their trucks and them banging around out in the yard until quitting time, but the door stayed shut.

Plumbers didn’t have no idea about the corner of the back fence that peeled away from the building wall. Or that you could pop the storeroom lock in about two seconds flat. Spook, he’d been crazy but still smarter than them plumbers. How’d he find the place? Fuggin’ radar or something. Followed him that one night, couldn’t hardly believe it when old Spook peeled the fence back, slipped into this here shed, come out again couple minutes later. Figured it had to be where his stash was. Took, what, five minutes to find it inside the busted crapper? Cloth sack full of junk except for the newspaper article and the business card. Yeah, that’d been his lucky day.

Only now his luck had squeezed down on him again. Never did last, none of his lucky times. Always something come along to screw it up. Like that cop yesterday, walked into Pablo’s taco joint right outta nowhere. How’d he find out? Fuggin’ cops. No more jail time for Big Dog. No way, man. Too many stinking cells in his life, too many faggots, moochers, assholes. Jump off a bridge before he’d go back behind bars.

Raining again. Beating on the shed roof, blowing in under the door. He rocked back and forth, shivering. Man, it was cold in here. Wasn’t for the wool-lined rain slicker he’d picked up at Goodwill, and his new shoes, he’d of froze to death by now. Christ, he needed a drink. Hadn’t been for that cop car cruising by this afternoon, on his way back from making the phone call, he’d of bought a jug. Should’ve risked it anyway. Should’ve swiped two bottles from that liquor store last night, not just one. One thing about booze, it kept you warm. Warm last night, freezin’ his nuts off ever since the jug died early this A.M. He needed a drink bad, all right. Slide out early tonight, pick up a new supply before he met the money man? Nah, better not. Better keep a clear head until he got his hands on the cash.

Five thousand this time. What he should’ve asked for the first time. A lousy five hundred, what the hell was the matter with him? Too drunk to think straight that time. Five thousand bucks, yeah, that was the ticket. His ticket out of the rain, the fog, the cold, this fuggin’ city. Someplace warm. Yeah, maybe down to Dago again. Good town, Dago. He’d had a ball there when he was in the navy. Before he smacked that smartass Chief Petty and they stuck him in the brig. Another piece of lousy luck. Well, he’d made some new luck today and this time it was gonna last. He’d be goin’ back to Dago in style. Five thousand bucks, cash. Jesus, he’d never had that much green in his life. Never once in his whole fuggin’ miserable life. Before that five hundred, only time he’d ever had more’n three loose bills in his kick was the pay he had coming when the in one fuggin’ weekend across the border in T-town.

When was it he’d scored the three bills? Oh, yeah, in Reno, back when he was still driving truck, before all the bastards kept getting in his way, bugging him while he was on a toot, back before he started smashing their faces and the cops kept haulin’ his ass off to jail. No more of that, man, no more jail. Yeah, that time in Reno. Three hundred bucks on a blackjack run. Nothing but the best booze. Only he’d sucked down too much and that bitch whore, she’d rolled him in her crib while he was sleeping it off. Well, he’d fixed her. Real good. Another time the lousy cop bastards threw his ass in jail.

Five thousand. Man! Like a Christmas present. Almost Christmas, wasn’t it? Yeah, the best Christmas present he’d ever had. Only present in so long he couldn’t remember the last one. Five large. Oh, baby, all the things he could do with that much green. Good booze, better than Jack, hundred-and-one-proof Wild Turkey. And some young meat. Maybe a kid like in Pablo’s pictures, he’d never had one of them. All the things. Five large. Just thinking about his Christmas present put a glow in him like two of three slugs of sour mash, took away some of the cold.

Time yet? Almost. Few more minutes. He didn’t have no watch, but he didn’t need no watch. Never had, never would. He had this thing in him, this whatyoucallit... internal clock. Yeah. Always knew what time it was, down to within five-ten minutes of clock time. Born with it inside, nobody could figure it out. A fuggin’ medical marvel, that was him. Nobody’d believed it, he’d lay bets and collect every time. That one time, when he was in the navy and those five gobs bet him ten bucks each they could shut him up in a dark room and leave him there and when they let him out again he couldn’t tell them how long he’d been locked up, what time it was. He showed them bastards, all right. Told ’em how long, told ’em what time it was within five minutes. They paid up, too. He made sure they paid up. Another of his lucky times. Only that one hadn’t lasted neither because some son of a bitch swiped the fifty while he was asleep. One of them five sailors, sure, but he couldn’t never find out which one it was.

Shit, the things you remember. Good luck, bad luck, one or the other his whole fuggin’ life. Hall of a lot more bad than good until he followed that crazy Spook and found his stash. Pretty good for a week, crappy yesterday, good again tonight. Good for good, this time. Five large. Oh, man, good for good!

He sat there thinking about the money, warming himself on it, planning all the things he was gonna do with that cash. Wasn’t too long before that old internal clock went off. Time to meet the man. Time to meet the five thousand in person. Hello, baby. Hello, you big green Christmas present, come to papa.

Up on his feet. He worked some of the kinks out, limbered up his bones, before he went over and cracked the door. Rain had let up a little. More good luck. He eased out. Nobody in the alley. He squeezed through the peel in the fence, walked careful toward Army Street. Two blocks to the park down there. Didn’t see no cops on the way. Yeah, his luck had turned good for sure.

He set up in a doorway across from the park, right where he had the last time. And here come the car, right on time. Pulled over to the curb and the man leaned over to shove the door open.

“Get in,” he said.

“Nah. Just gimme my Christmas present.”

“Your what?”

“My money. Gimme my five large.”

“Not here. Get in.”

“You give it to me here last time.”

“There’s a lot more this time. And it’s in the trunk. Come on, come on, I saw a couple of patrol cars when I came off the freeway. You want to risk getting picked up? I sure as hell don’t.”

Big old car’s heater was on. Big Dog could feel the warm air coming out at him, and the cold wind shoving at his back. He got into the car. Yeah, real warm in there. Felt good on his face, his hands.

Man said shut the door and he shut it. Car jumped ahead, out onto Army. Slid into a U-turn next block, come back toward the freeway.

“Where we goin’?”

“Someplace private, safe.”

“You better have my fuggin’ money.”

“I’ve got it.”

“Better have, man. Told you I got everything wrote down, buddy takes it straight to the cops if I don’t come back with the cash.”

“Don’t worry. What happens after you get it?”

“Told you that too. You never hear from me no more.”

“That’s what you said when we paid you the five hundred.”

“Yeah, well, I mean it this time.”

“Sure you do.”

“I’m splittin’ from Frisco. Goin’ where it’s warm.”

“Tonight?”

“Maybe. Yeah, maybe tonight.”

“Bus? You want a ride to the bus depot after we’re done?”

“Nah. You just bring me back where you picked me up.”

They were on the freeway now. Big Dog settled back, stretched his feet close to the heater vents. Nice and warm in here, gonna be nice and warm in Dago. Goin’ back in style. He grinned to himself. And when the five thousand was gone he’d hit the man up for another five. And another five and another after that. This here Sandy Claus knew what was good for him, he’d keep his bag full of presents for the Big Dog.

On a freeway exit now. He leaned his head up, blinking. Dark street, looked like some kind of industrial area.

“Almost there,” Sandy Claus said.

“Where? Where we at?”

“Where you get paid off.”

Sharp left turn. Big old warehouse, no lights, asphalt lot behind it all dark and wet. Car stopped, headlights went down dim.

“All right, get out.”

“What for?”

“You want what’s coming to you, don’t you?”

“You go get it, man. Warm in here, cold outside.”

“Get out of the car.”

Different voice, all hot and pissed. Big Dog looked at him. Then his mouth dropped open and he sat up all the way, staring. The man had a gun in his hand, a goddamn big mother pistol.

“Hey,” he said, “hey, what’s the idea?”

“The idea is you get out like I told you to.”

“Nah. You can’t—”

“Get out of the car! Or I swear I’ll blow your head off right where you sit!”

Big Dog felt sick all of a sudden, couldn’t think straight no more. He got out. Rain and cold again. Bad luck again. Shit, he never did have no good luck that lasted. Just jerking himself around, thinking he had. Always turned bad, like he was cursed or something. He wished to Christ he had a drink. He needed one worse than ever.

The man come around behind the car, stood a few feet away from him. Taillights lit him up all red, him and his gun. Red glow, black gun, black shadows.

“You can’t do nothin’ to me,” Big Dog said. “I got it all wrote down. I give it to a buddy of mine—”

“You don’t have any buddies. Not garbage like you.”

“I got it all wrote down—”

“Bullshit. I don’t believe you. Even if I did, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve had all I can take, I can’t swallow anymore. All you bloodsuckers, all you garbage, squeezing a man, hurting people I care about, ruining their lives, ruining my life. Grinding me down, trampling me. I took it all these years but no more, no more. Now it’s my turn.”

“You’re fuggin’ crazy.”

“If I am, it’s bastards like you made me that way. I don’t care. I don’t care what happens anymore.”

Big Dog didn’t care no more neither. He felt sick, he couldn’t think straight, he needed a drink bad. And he was starting to get pissed off himself. His head hurt like somebody was sticking it with nails and wires. Fug this guy. Fug him! He started forward.

“That’s it,” the guy said, “that’s right, come and get your Christmas present.”

Big Dog kept on moving, but not for long. “Christmas present” was the last thing he ever heard.