Punish (Feral Justice Book 1) Page 8

  He missed them, missed everything about them.

  Needed back the sense that they knew what he was thinking.

  What he’d endured.

  Sighing, he closed his eyes and flopped back on the bed. A wad of coverlet arched his back but changing position was too much work. They’d never been away overnight.

  He was getting old, sixty-one. No longer able to put in eight hours of physical labor. Maybe he should see a doctor, but he’d seen too many of them after his release and figured he knew what they’d say now. It was all in his head. He hadn’t been able to move past a year of hell spent in the Hanoi Hilton. He had PTSD.

  What none of those doctors had been able to do was cut that experience out of him. It still festered. Always would.

  The dogs had accomplished something no shrink or support group had been able to. He hadn’t had a nightmare since the first night the animals spent with him. Wondered why he’d once thought life wasn’t worth living and had tried to end it.

  The grays weren’t guilty. The so-called victims deserved what they’d gotten.

  There, he’d done it, put everything out there front and center. He’d faced what he’d been fighting not to. Smoke, Stone and Gun were more than three oversized mutts with appetites that would keep him in the poorhouse. They thought. Communicated with each other and him. Judged. Made decisions. Knew right from wrong. Acted.

  Too bad he couldn’t tell anyone.

  The phone on his nightstand rang four times before he picked it up. He seldom got calls since selling his transmission repair business and turning into an employee—a part-time one.

  “Joe, it’s me.”

  Rachelle’s voice on the line when he’d wanted to hear from her for years had him brushing away tears.

  “Are you coming over?” he asked.

  “Unfortunately not until tomorrow. First, have the dogs returned?”

  Feeling sick at heart, he forced a response. “Hon, this isn’t unusual. They’ll show up when they’re hungry.” And I know what they do when they’re away, where they’ve been.

  “I hope so. Have you heard from the animal control officer again? I wonder if he’s trained to do DNA.”

  “I wonder too, and to answer your question, I haven’t heard from him.”

  “Good. Maybe that means they’re focusing on other so-called leads. Maybe the witness said something that clears the grays.”

  “That would be good.”

  She paused, making him wonder if she was deciding whether to tell him something. He knew what that felt like. “Joe, I’m going to try to see him.”

  Tension burrowed through him. “Nate? Why?”

  “I caught the early morning newscast.”

  Joe deliberately hadn’t watched any news. The dogs he loved so much weren’t what people like Nate believed. No way! He needed to keep his mind clear and clean, not mess it up with noise from the outside world and his stupid thoughts.

  “People are shocked and upset, rightly so,” she said. “They’re asking if they, their children and pets are safe. I hope—I guess I’m hoping Nate will be honest with me about how the investigation is going. Hopefully he’ll see me as another public employee and not the enemy. Besides…”

  In his mind Rachelle was still a horse-loving girl. He’d been pleased to hear she’d become a teacher but being a public employee didn’t mean she needed to jump into the middle of something that didn’t concern her. This was his problem, not hers. Their time back together needed to be good, simple.

  Only it was too late for that.

  “You have enough to do settling into your new job. I don’t want you—”

  “Too late. I’m involved.”

  “No, you aren’t.” He hadn’t intended to be short, but if he was maybe she’d tend to her own affairs. Not open Pandora’s box.

  “Are you saying you don’t want me around?”

  “No, I didn’t mean—”

  “Joe, we’ll talk about this later. Let me know the minute the dogs return.”

  “If I do, will you tell him?”

  “No.” She sighed. “I don’t know. Will you?”

  I’m afraid to. “I don’t know.”

  “Either he’ll get back in touch with you or they’ll find who or what killed those men. I want—what I’m hoping to get from Nate is an update about the investigation. It’s a long shot, but I have to try.”

  “Please don’t get any more involved than you are.”

  “You and I have lost too much time. My mom leaving and taking me with her hurt you as much as it did me, maybe more. Let me do this for you.”

  His heart squeezed, and for a moment he thought he was going to cry. It was all falling apart. “Call me the moment you’re done with him.”

  “I will. Joe—Dad—do you ever feel as if the dogs know what you’re thinking? That they could influence your thinking?”

  Dad. She called me Dad. “What are you talking about?”

  “Never mind.”

  He waited until she’d hung up before examining her words. She was right. His connection with the dogs was complex and not easily explained. He often but not always walked where they walked, saw what they saw, heard the things they did. Had experienced something he didn’t dare tell Rachelle or anyone about.

  * * * *

  This late in September it was nearly dark by eight p.m., but when Joe walked outside a little after nine, the full moon cast his surroundings in gentle light. As unnerved as he was over the dogs’ continued absence, he didn’t want to listen to the late news. He didn’t get the newspaper, so he hadn’t been tempted to read the articles he was sure dominated the front page. Insulating himself from the affairs of the world and his corner of it wasn’t anything new. Occasionally he turned into an information junkie, absorbing everything he could find about a subject or subjects, but most of the time it was better if he watched movies or read. The news was too real. He’d had a lifetime of that during that one year of hell.

  “Where are you guys? I can’t find you tonight. If you’re purposely shutting me out…” He followed the question with a whistle. He’d filled the food bowls and put them on the front porch more than twenty-four hours ago in hopes of drawing them in. He’d even added ice cubes to their water, but the ice had melted.

  “You’d better not be chasing rabbits or digging into trash cans. How far have you traveled?”

  Despite what he’d just said, he didn’t think they were doing typical canine things—not after what they’d done yesterday. Maybe they’d never simply be dogs again.

  Sad and uneasy, he sat on one of his few extravagances, a royal-blue patio chair. He sank into the thick padding and started whistling America the Beautiful low and off key. People might not recognize what it was given his sad rendition, but it was familiar to him, practically the only song he ever sang. He’d given up on God and didn’t see himself as patriotic, but the words had a calming effect.

  Crickets started up, along with the night birds that hung out around here. He’d occasionally thought he should learn what kind they were, but wasn’t sure how to start. Most of the time it was enough knowing he was surrounded by living things. Some of the trailer park residents played their music so loud he was sure it rocked the trailer walls. Fortunately, by the time the noise reached him it was bearable. He heard nothing tonight, which begged the question of what the people were doing. Maybe, scared to be outside, they were huddled in their trailers talking about what had happened on Duggar Road. Maybe they were talking about his dogs, asking themselves and each other if they had killers for neighbors.

  Rach hadn’t said when she was going to talk to Nate. Maybe he should have pointed out that the man was undoubtedly working overtime and probably wouldn’t have a minute to chew on a bone that had already been gnawed to death. He could call her and tell her to be patient, but if he did she might take that to mean he approved of what she was doing.

  He didn’t. This wasn’t his daughter’s concern.

 
His nerve endings came alive. One moment he was humming and thinking how he felt about having Rach back in his life. The next he pushed himself to his feet and walked to the stairs.

  “Where are you guys? I know you’re back.”

  Gun showed himself first, a shadow emerging from the moon-kissed night. Stone followed practically on his heels. He looked in vain for Smoke, then told himself not to worry. The female had always danced to a slightly different tune. He sometimes wondered if she wished she were back on the Hopi land where she’d been born.

  Once they’d climbed the stairs, Gun and Stone positioned themselves on either side of him. Knowing what they wanted, he rubbed the tops of their heads and scratched behind their ears. They were back, finally, thankfully.

  “Sucking up to me, are you? Think I’ll forgive you just like that.”

  Stone lowered his haunches and took Joe’s right hand in his mouth. Saliva dampened his fingers while fangs touched his palm and the back of his hand.

  “You know how to get to me.” He wiggled the fingers in Stone’s mouth while continuing to scratch Gun. “We have to talk. What you did…”

  Gun leaned against his side, forcing him to widen his stance to keep from being knocked over.

  “I’m glad to see you, gladder than you’ll ever know.” He paused. “It was you. You’re responsible for what was done to those two men.”

  His nerve endings prickled again. Holding his breath, he watched as Smoke approached. Her brothers had puppy qualities, while she seemed to have been born with an old soul. They played. She took life seriously. She’d come into heat twice. Her brothers had tried to mount her but she hadn’t let them. Joe had kept her in the kennel during that time, much to the disappointment of the area’s males.

  She never snored, and if he shifted position she woke up. She didn’t follow him around so much as she matched her pace to his as if determined to learn all she could about what it meant to be a human.

  “Good to see you, lady.” He didn’t hold out his hand but waited for her to let him know whether she wanted to be touched. “I put a little chicken in with your dry. If you want, I’ll check to see if you picked up any ticks.”

  Smoke met his gaze, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking and that bothered him. Much as he loved her brothers, he’d given even more of his heart to her. He wondered if she knew and if it mattered to her.

  “It’s all right.” That’s what he’d been telling the trio ever since they’d started spending large amounts of time away. “You’re safe here.”

  Safe.

  As Smoke started up the stairs, Gun and Stone backed away. His right hand was still wet, and he could feel where Gun’s fangs had lightly pressed.

  “You’re beautiful, lady. Smarter than any dog I’ve ever…”

  Not much moonlight made its way under the porch roof, just enough for him to know Smoke was still studying him. He wondered if she could smell Rach and Nate and had any idea why they’d been here.

  “I’ll protect you. Whatever it takes, I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

  Smoke started to nod. Then the movement changed direction.

  * * * *

  Once again, Nate didn’t get home until nearly eleven, so tired it hurt to bend over and untie his shoes. He could have been here an hour ago if Dick and he hadn’t gone out for dinner. Between an all-meat pizza and a couple of beers, he’d primed his inner pump enough that he no longer felt as if he was unraveling. The two of them had worked together long enough that they didn’t pull their punches around each other. No matter that the department was understaffed and the puppy mill was in the middle of nowhere with no neighbors, they both felt as if they’d failed the little dogs.

  They’d agreed on one more thing. Poetic justice had been served and it was a shame the dogs responsible for the killings would have to pay the ultimate price.

  “I just wish the so-called criminals had gotten to those bastards years ago,” Dick had said.

  “And they’d taken longer getting the deed done,” Nate had added.

  “We don’t know about that. Maybe the dying took a long time.”

  “We can hope.”

  Now, as he stripped down to his boxers, Nate acknowledged his continued lack of sympathy for the two men. Between his religious mother and the church she’d taken him to two days a week until he’d refused to continue to attend, he’d been lectured that all human life was sacred.

  Not so. Not when a human demonstrated utter disregard for other life forms. He’d seen too many abandoned and abused animals. There was no excuse, absolutely none.

  Just like he had no excuse for not telling anyone about having spotted a large dog near the puppy mill—a dog that might not have had anything to do with the attack.

  Do you believe that?

  He didn’t like taking sleeping pills, but there were times, like last night and tonight, when he knew he wouldn’t sleep otherwise. While waiting for the pill to kick in, he watched the national late-night news, then was sorry he had because most of it was taken up with a rehashing of his county’s top story. The Giants had lost, gas prices were once more on the rise, and the democrats and republicans were blaming each other.

  Still depressed but fortunately a little numb and more than a little exhausted, he went to bed. Closing his eyes wasn’t a good idea because he kept mentally replaying what he’d seen at the puppy mill. His usual trick for putting a shitty work experience behind him called for going over what he was doing on the fixer-upper he’d bought. Tonight, like the last couple of nights, his mind didn’t want to go there.

  It was stuck on gore. And blood. Smells and sounds.

  Not many sounds. Just…

  The massive syringe dwarfed the low metal table it was on. Someone or something had shut him in a long, narrow, windowless room. Hating everything but mostly himself, he picked up the syringe. Moisture dripped from the needle. Suddenly the table was behind him and he was walking down a long corridor with barred cells on either side. Each cell held a single dog, all of them black and nearly as big as a horse. They stared at him with their fangs bared and tails tucked between their legs.

  He’d come to euthanize them.

  Why him today, he wanted to demand but everyone else had left and he couldn’t have his pizza until he’d done his job. He’d put down a large number of cats yesterday and had been told he’d be doing the same to an elephant tomorrow.

  Do the job. It was hardly the first time and until he found the way out of this long narrow room he’d have to keep on shooting sodium pentobarbital into innocent animals and watching them die.

  Die. Lives over. His doing.

  His fault.

  Tears ran down his cheeks and snot dribbled from his nose. He tried to throw the syringe away but it stuck to his fingers.

  Get it done.

  Cry then.

  A cell door swung open. He faced not another dog big enough to ride, but a fluffy pink poodle with a white bow on its head. The poodle smiled up at him with liquid, trusting eyes.

  He couldn’t do it! Let them fire him.

  No more. No more.

  But if he didn’t euthanize every dog in the miles’ long room, he’d never get another pizza.

  The poodle lay on its side, legs twitching and tongue lolling.

  One down. Many to go.

  Another cell door opened. A dog stepped out and positioned itself between him and a steaming pizza.

  Gray with a whip-like tail. A stare that said the beast wanted to send him to hell. Hated him.

  He turned and tried to run away, only to collide with a massive metal door. He whirled around.

  A wolf-dog.

  No, a gray.

  Wolf-dog again.

  Then a gray with hate-filled eyes.

  * * * *

  Joe started to stretch out his right arm only to encounter a warm, immovable lump. He opened his eyes to discover it was just starting to get light. His bedmates were taking up their usual major chunk of mattress.
This early they were usually still asleep, but all three were sitting up with their heads cocked in the same direction. Before he could ask what had caught their attention when Smoke leaped off the bed and hurried out of the room.

  She was back by the time he and the others were up. Smoke touched her nose to the males’, then pressed herself against his side while staring at the open window.

  He heard an approaching vehicle.

  “You have to go, don’t you?” he asked even though he already knew the answer. “Go on, get out of here. I won’t try to stop you.”

  Months ago he’d given up trying to keep a screen on that window, because the dogs insisted on using it as their door. This morning, the open space became their escape hatch. As soon as Gun pulled his hind legs through the opening, Joe went into the bathroom and peed. He made the bed and pulled on jeans, but didn’t bother with shoes or a shirt before heading for his front door.

  A car bearing the Oakwood Sheriff Department’s logo had pulled into the circular drive and two uniformed men were getting out. They didn’t say anything as they approached, and Joe silently waited. Hopefully they couldn’t hear his heart hammering. No matter how many years had passed since he’d been a prisoner of war, it didn’t take much to mentally throw him back there.

  Don’t let that happen, he chided himself. Put the grays first. Protect them.

  “They aren’t here,” he said.

  “You know what we’ve come about?” the taller of them asked as they climbed the three stairs leading to the porch. The men held their arms out from their sides so they wouldn’t touch the various things around their waists, including their Glocks.

  “Animal control has already been out to see me,” he added. “You’re following up on that, right?”