Swift Vengeance

17

An hour later Burt’s dog-breeder friend, Bruno Zacardi, came up the drive in a mud-splattered white crew cab and parked in the sun of the barnyard. The company logo on the truck was a bronze-colored Roman battle shield with an armored dog in the middle. Zacardi was arched over the top of the shield in ancient Latin letters and Cane Corsos at the bottom. There was a phone number and a Riverside, California, address.

As Lindsey, Burt, and I walked down to greet them, I could see the head of a large dark dog looming over the people in the front seat.

Bruno dropped from the vehicle and landed lightly, a small man with black hair sprouting out from under a newsboy’s cap, and a thick black mustache. A woman worked her way down from the passenger side. She was large and blond, wearing overalls over a blue plaid shirt, and black rubber mud boots almost to her knees. She slung a red backpack over one shoulder, then set her fists firmly on her hips as she looked around.

“That’s his wife, Rose,” said Burt. “And little Zeno there in the back.”

As we crossed the barnyard toward the truck, Bruno motioned for us to stop. He and Rose continued forward to meet us well away from their truck, in the backseat of which Zeno’s massive head and sharply cropped ears presided in keen stillness. He looked to be a pale gray. Burt introduced us and we shook hands all around.

Then a moment of silence as Lindsey stared at the dog in the truck. She stuck her hands into the pockets of her red Navajo blanket coat.

“The dog,” said Bruno. “At first he can be distracted by so many people. We leave him for a moment of thought. Lindsey, you are very lucky to have Zeno. You will be safe. You will come to love him very much. And of course he will be devoted to you, too.”

“Is he really as big as he looks from here?” she asked.

“Seventy-five kilos. Large for his breed,” said Rose. Her accent was not as pronounced as Bruno’s. “But the Italian mastiff is not a big mastiff. They are trim and athletic and extremely focused on their loved ones. They descend from the Molossers, Roman war dogs that are now extinct. Then the Italian mastiffs themselves almost became extinct. Our lines all derive from stock in southern Italy — from Basilicata, Campania, and Apulia. It has been our life work to preserve them. As you probably know.”

“Yes, I’ve read about them,” said Lindsey. “And about you.”

“The old Molossers were the best war dogs out there,” said Burt. “The Romans liked to starve them before battle, then set them loose on the enemy. Some riveting accounts about Roman legions employing the war dogs in Sardinia. Dragging the locals out of caves and such. Recommended reading.”

Bruno smiled largely. He had a wide nose that seemed to divide his mustache. With his accented English, newsboy cap, and too-small wool sweater, Bruno could have just arrived at Ellis Island. “Burt, you forget Cane Corsos’ great loyalty and love. Be careful to not change Lindsey’s mind!”

“No chance of that,” said Lindsey. “Can I meet him now?”

Bruno looked to Rose, who set her fists on her spacious hips again as she turned to survey the pond and the countryside beyond. Her fine blond hair lifted in the breeze. “This is your land, Mr. Ford?”

“Yes.”

“So there’s no sudden arrival of humans or dogs?”

“Very little. It’s fenced and posted.”

“We’ll use it for the imprint,” she said. “It will work well, Bruno.”

Bruno smiled. “Yes, Rose. You come with us, Lindsey. But — with respect, Mr. Ford — you and Burt wait here until I come back. It will not be long. The imprint must begin naturally and happen at Lindsey’s and Zeno’s pace.”

Bruno took Lindsey’s arm in one hand and Rose’s with the other and guided them back toward the truck. The women towered over him.

They stopped about ten feet short of the driver’s-side door. Bruno was talking to Lindsey, gesticulating with his small stubby hands, but I couldn’t make out his words. Lindsey nodded, then nodded again. Rose — taller even than Lindsey and half again as wide — looked at Lindsey with what looked like a critical eye. I could see the dog’s huge block of a head and his eyes glimmering far back in the truck.

Bruno’s hands and arms flew as he explained. Lindsey nodded along, bent respectfully to Bruno’s shortness. Then Rose strode three long steps to the back door of the crew cab and swung it open with a sharp command. She stepped back and tapped her thighs with both hands and Zeno launched to the ground.

What struck me first were his large sculpted muscles and imposing head. Sleek bulk. He looked metallic. Even from here I could see that his eyes were the same light gray as his brindling. He had a small white triangular blaze on his chest. With his stubby tail wagging, he circled Rose happily, nose to the air, then nose to the ground. He looked very heavy, though not tall at the withers. But light on his huge feet. When he bumped Rose’s legs I could see his formidable weight and strength shudder through her.

“A gray-masked formentino brindle,” said Burt. “Light gray brindles on fawn, leaning toward cream. Very striking. The dog is classic Cane Corso — ears cropped equilaterally to stand erect at all times. Tail docked at the fourth vertebrae. The lower lip hanging below the jawline. As Rose pointed out, this breed was nearly extinct in the late 1970s. A few families, such as the Zacardis, rescued them. I stayed with Bruno’s uncle Anatoly and his family in Basilicata one summer long ago. Fantastic people.”

Zeno then stopped and locked on to us, tail erect, motionless. When he looked at me straight on, I could see the soulful wrinkles of his forehead, both vertical and horizontal, heavily converging on his prodigious eyebrows. Beneath which the pale gray eyes registered me with a somber intelligence.

“That dog will bond with Lindsey in less than five minutes,” said Burt.

Zeno lumbered along on Rose’s left side as she walked back to Bruno and Lindsey. No leash. He nudged Bruno’s hand while looking at Lindsey, tail not wagging. Lindsey opened her hands and the dog looked up at her, then returned to Rose’s feet to rule the space between his master and this stranger.

Then Rose slung the red backpack over both shoulders and, with Zeno close on her left, strode off across the barnyard with Bruno and Lindsey in tow. They followed the dirt road to the south shore of the pond, moving briskly, stepping around the mud puddles left by yesterday’s storm. They rounded the pond and continued south into the hilly grasslands that make up most of Rancho de los Robles.

Bruno stopped at the crest of a rise and watched the others continue down. Rose was in the lead, with Zeno walking close to her left and Lindsey a few yards behind. After a moment Bruno started back toward us, while Rose, Lindsey, and Zeno vanished into the swale and dropped out of sight.

“I had a quick look around Lindsey’s casita last night when she was out on the patio,” said Burt. “Two quarts of Stolichnaya — a plain and a pepper — sitting right out on the kitchen counter. Some good-looking smoked almonds, and a pile of Ghirardelli seventy-two-percent-cacao chocolate bars. Two of those crescent-roll tubes and a tub of whipped butter. She must be quite the midnight snacker.”

I nodded but said nothing. I wasn’t expecting she’d bought the orange juice or energy drinks I’d hoped for.

“Any thoughts on who hired Bayless?” Burt asked.

“I’ll get back to you on that, Burt.”

“Excellent, Boss.”

I watched Bruno traipsing back around the pond toward us. He veered not one step to avoid the puddles, splashing right through them instead, like a boy. A plume of smoke trailed behind him from the cigarette in his mouth.

Beyond him, Rose and Zeno climbed upward into my view again, Lindsey now on Rose’s right and Zeno still on her left. A moment later they went around an outcropping of granite boulders and back out of sight. A couple of hawks circled in the clear blue sky.

Bruno approached, flicking his cigarette butt to the wet road and hopping to squash it. “It is going very well. Zeno is very interested in Lindsey. It helps that Lindsey is of good size, like Rose, because Zeno has always loved big women. He does not care for men. Rose was his first and his constant mistress. Lindsey will be his fifth.”

“The others rented him and sent him back?” I asked.

Bruno nodded. “One kept him for almost a year. The others only a few months. Immediately after a mistress returns him, Zeno becomes depressed and confused. Rose heals him. I was that way when I was young and had a broken heart, too.”

“How will Rose transfer that affection and loyalty to Lindsey?” I asked.

Bruno crossed his arms and looked across the rolling hills to where the trio had disappeared behind the rocky hillock. The hawks had shifted in the sky to circle above the dog and women, alert for flushed birds and game.

“The affection and loyalty are natural,” said Bruno. “The Cane Corso heart is the biggest of all the dogs. As is his courage and intelligence. So Lindsey will have to give the dog attention, respect, affection, and food. Attention is most important, and food is second. She must always have for him occasional treats and meals twice a day, eight a.m. and eight p.m. I have brought her one month’s supply. Zeno also loves being talked to. This may sound foolish, but I believe he understands fifty percent of what he is told. Fifty percent he is absolutely the master of. The other fifty? Well, he has no idea — because he’s a dog!”

Bruno exploded into laughter at his own joke. “Come to my truck. I have the food and dog treats that Zeno loves.”

“Why haven’t they come out from behind the rocks yet?” I asked.

Bruno squinted out at where we’d last seen them. “There is a small blanket and dog treats in Rose’s pack. She and Lindsey will find a dry place, spread the blanket, and sit too close together for Zeno to get between them. They will talk to each other in quiet, intimate voices. They will touch each other and perhaps embrace. As sisters would embrace. Zeno will try to force his way between them but Rose will not move away from her new dear family member. She is as determined and nearly as strong as Zeno is, believe me! Before long, and with the help of the food for bribing, Zeno will give up and move to Rose’s free side. After all, her closeness is what he wants most. And that is when Lindsey will join him on his side of Rose and sit down close beside him. So now Zeno is in the middle. He has won — but he still has to comprehend it! At this point, he will either stay or growl tremendously and go to Rose’s free side again. If he stays, Lindsey will scratch his throat and give him food, and the first stage of the imprint is nearly complete. If he goes back to Rose’s original free side, then the whole thing starts over again. This beginning method of imprint goes back many generations in the Zacardi family. In the very old days, if the Cane Corso would not imprint with family members, or important friends, after three tries on three days, a dog would be castrated and sold. A bitch would be locked from the grounds to fare for herself in the town or the woods.”

I watched Lindsey, Rose, and Zeno emerge from behind the boulder-strewn hillock. The women walked side by side, relaxed and conversing, the dog between them, with a muscular glide to his stride.

“Zeno has accepted Lindsey into his family!” said Bruno, clapping his hands. “He is very intelligent. He has always loved the women.”

I watched Zeno charge off after a rabbit, which easily out-legged him into a patch of prickly pear cactus. The dog stood at the edge of the cactus patch, tail wagging, nose lowered.

“Rose will give Lindsey the list of commands,” said Bruno. “They are Italiano, of course, and they explain themselves. Zeno has been trained to follow them instantly and fully. Even in the face of death he will follow his commands. Here, I brought a list for you, too.”

From his rear trouser pocket Bruno handed me a smudged and wrinkled sheet of paper. I unfolded it and looked down the menu of Italian commands and their English translations.

The two women and their proud protector came toward us on the bumpy dirt road. Zeno’s prodigious head, sharply cropped ears, and heavy brow gave him a wise and monstrous bearing. His legs were trunklike, I saw, much thicker than the legs of the Labrador retrievers I had had as a boy. His feet were enormous and he splashed as casually through the puddles as Bruno had done. His light formantino coat with the dark gray brindles caught the crisp December sunlight as his muscles bunched and stretched beneath. The bright white blaze on his chest seemed jaunty. I heard the women’s voices as they approached. Rose said something ending in a rise of pitch, and Lindsey laughed.

“Lindsey is expecting genuine trouble?” he asked.

“Pretty damned genuine.”

“Zeno increases her advantage dramatically.”

I nodded.

“A man experienced in killing with a knife is Zeno’s most dangerous enemy,” said Bruno. “Such men are old-fashioned. Rare in this technological country. I brought his body armor. It protects against a knife and bullets. He enjoys wearing it. He knows that he is going into battle.”

Later, as Bruno and Rose walked toward their truck, Zeno took up his usual position on Rose’s left, timing his stride to hers with all his power and grace.

At the door, Rose lifted a finger and Zeno sat and looked up at her. Of course, he was ready for her to open the back door and let him jump in. But instead, Rose knelt and threw her arms around the dog, laid her head against his. She looked past him at me, tears streaking her face. Then she stood, turned her right palm to face the ground, and Zeno lay down. Bruno opened the door and his wife swung into the cab, drawing her heavy rubber boots in last. Zeno issued a gigantic sigh with a sorrowful yelp tucked inside it. Bruno pet him once on the head and walked to the driver’s side of the truck. He climbed in and Rose’s window went down.

“Call him to come and tell him to sit,” she said to Lindsey. “Firmly.”

Lindsey held her sheet of commands out and ready in one hand, shading her eyes with the other. “Vieni,” she ordered. Zeno swung his massive head to regard Lindsey, then turned back to his true master. Didn’t budge.

“Vieni!” called Lindsey, with more force.

Zeno came.

“Siediti.”

Zeno sat before her but still looked at Rose.

I saw the dog in profile, his slightly upturned muzzle, which Bruno had told me lay at a breed-perfect one-hundred-and-five-degree angle from the upright plane of his forehead. Moreover, I saw his eye, the beautiful pale gray eye that matched the brindles of his coat. And in that eye? It’s easy to humanize a dog, but they have strong emotions and no interest in hiding them. In this case: heartache and resolve.

“Bravo regazzo,” said Lindsey, gently. “Good boy.”

He sat very still and never took his eyes off Rose as she rolled up the window and Bruno backed up the truck and drove away.