A Question of Manhood (31 page)

Marty's arm found its way across my shoulders. “Paul, boy-o, it ain't both of us. It's all of us. All three. We're all going.” He slapped the back of my head and cackled, then looked toward the office, probably to see if Dad or Carol was bearing down on him. They weren't. “So we'll let you close up shop, and then just come out to the front. Kevin and me will be in the car, waiting for you.”

“Marty! Wait!” But they were off. I stood there watching Marty's lope, calculated for a neat balance between belligerence and devil-may-care, wondering what the fuck I should do. If I didn't go with them, there'd be no hope for that dog. If I did, maybe I could keep them in check. And if I went to Dad and ratted…well, that would be the end of my life as a regular guy, as far as Marty was concerned. I'd become an Anthony-Don't-Call-Me-Tony faster than a pit bull could clamp its jaws on the neck of a German shepherd. And there'd be no Wunderkind attributes to salve my mangled self-image. I had nothing going for me, really.

I could tell JJ…but then what? How would he get there in time to do anything? Marty wasn't exactly gonna give him a lift to the scene of the proposed crime, and JJ wasn't planning to be there until after dinner. So, did I know enough about dogs yet to be any use? I'd learned an awful lot. I'd learned about Dante, and about Cain, and I was damned good with Truffles. I'd come a long way since Mozart had told me to get lost. My mind started to bring up the question of that Border collie, but—hell, those dogs are half human, anyway. They don't count for this tally.

So—maybe. Just maybe I could help.

Dad told me he was leaving, and I said I'd stay behind with Dante for a little bit. He reminded me to lock the back door, which he hardly needed to do, but I just agreed. I guess he couldn't help himself.

When I went into the stockroom to say good night to Dante, JJ was in there. He was kind of squatting across from Dante's bed, not really looking at the dog.

“What are you doing in here?” I asked, irritated. “I thought you'd left.” He looked at me like he needed to say something, but he didn't. “Well?” I wanted him to go so I could make up my mind about what to do. I wanted a moment alone with Dante.

“Just thinking. Trying to figure something out.” He gave me this intense look, and it gave me the willies. Like he was thinking about me. And I didn't really want a gay guy thinking about me.

“Look, um, JJ, I don't know what's going on here, but…you wouldn't, like, try anything, would you?”

He blinked. But he was still staring at me. “What?” He barked out a kind of laugh. “Just how appealing do you think you are? Or maybe you think that just because I'm gay I'm going to jump your bones.”

“You don't have to sound like it's so weird.” I felt really stupid saying everything I was saying. It was coming out of nowhere, and it made no sense, and I couldn't stop the babble falling out of my mouth. I just wanted to get rid of him. “It wouldn't be the first time a straight kid was…you know, seduced by a homosexual.”

Now I
really
didn't like the look I was getting, but for a different reason. Hell, I liked this kid; he'd just done me this huge favor. Why was I saying all this crap to him?

He stood and started to walk past me into the store. But then he turned to face me again. “You know what? If I decide I want you, you'll know it. I'm out of here.”

I closed my eyes and stood there a second, hating what I'd said, angry that I was in this position to begin with. I'd just wanted him out, that's all. It was as much for his good as mine. It was for both of us. So I wouldn't have to help Marty tie him up to a tree someplace and torture him.

Fuck Marty, anyway.
I crouched down in front of Dante and rubbed his good ear. “You be safe, old boy. I gotta go help another dog.” I went out the back door, made sure it was locked, and trotted to the front of the building.

The Mustang was the only car out there, predictably. I wondered if Marty had been driving around the block to make sure my dad had left. Kevin got out and pushed the back of the passenger seat forward so I could clamber into the back—guess number three was my pecking order in this pack—and Marty gunned the engine. Marty, the leader. And I thought I could show him otherwise, talk him out of taunting the Rottweiler? What was I, crazy? I didn't have the balls for this. I nearly called to him to stop and let me out, but I didn't actually think he would. Then I would be in the even more awkward position of having lost my nerve without being allowed to back out of the mission.

All the way to the Carters' I prayed that Marty's reckless driving would cause us to be stopped by a cop, but that never happens when you need it to. So, much sooner than it would have seemed at any other time, we were there. The house was on a corner lot, and the side yard was parallel to Abbott Street with the chain-link fence right there. The door to the yard was at the corner of the fence near the house. Marty pulled up alongside the fence, turned the engine off, and the next thing we knew there was this
CLANG
from inside the yard. The dog—or rather, the canine monster—had literally thrown itself as hard as it could against the limits of the chain attached to the stake in the ground. All three of us jumped and leaned away from the fence side of the car, the side Kevin and I were on.

His voice low with a kind of awe, Kevin said, “Holy shit, Batman.”

Marty, who had jumped right along with us, tried to pretend he wasn't fazed. “Aw, he's not so tough. C'mon.” He got out and slammed his door just about in synch with the next
CLANG
from inside the fence. Marty stood there, the car between him and the fence, thumbs in his jeans belt loops, pretending he wasn't scared shitless. I was busy contrasting this sight with the picture my father had drawn of puny little JJ, walking right up to nearly this exact same scene without a tremor or a falter. Only JJ had gotten even closer to the dog; now, Geronimo was on a chain
and
inside a fence. JJ had stood within inches of a straining fence.

“He's not so tough,” Marty repeated, probably trying to reassure himself, but the tone of his voice gave him away. “He doesn't even bark. What kind of a dog doesn't bark?”

It was time for me to use the little bit of knowledge I'd accrued over the summer from my own stupid moves. I leaned toward the open window beside Kevin and said, “I'll tell you what kind of a dog he is. A killer. A dog that doesn't even bother to bark isn't warning you. He isn't trying to chase you away. He just wants to rip out your guts. Get back in the car; we don't have anything to prove here.”

CLANG.

“I think I like this dog.”

Shit.

“Seriously. I can respect a dog like that. Kevin, Paul, get out of the car. Let's see what he's got to show us.”

Kevin was with me. Almost. “Paul's right, Marty. We don't need to do this.”

Marty turned swiftly toward the car and pounded the roof once with a fist.

CLANG.

I don't know what made Kevin jump more, but I was beyond jumping. I was terrified. But Kevin got out, and I knew that if I was going to have any influence here I needed to be seen as something other than the frightened kid I felt like. So I got out, too, and Marty led the way to the fence door. It was padlocked with a chain.

Now Geronimo was barking, and snarling, and just like Dad had said there was foam flying from his mouth. He'd reached the end of his chain and had stayed there, so maybe the
CLANG
was over, anyway.

“Stay put,” Marty said, and headed to his trunk. He opened it and took out that huge toolbox he kept in there, setting it on the ground. He came back with a mallet.

I tried. I really, really tried to stop him. “Marty, this is getting way beyond dog baiting. You're into breaking and entering territory now.” I could barely hear myself over the noise the dog was making, and then there was the noise of Marty's mallet hitting the lock. And again.
Please, please, somebody hear this racket, look at what's going on, and yell at us! Please! Why is it that that happens only when you don't want it to? Why does everything happen at the wrong fucking time?

“This dog's got hold of me, Paul, my boy.” Another mallet strike. “I've gotta get in there and test his mettle.”

“Are you
crazy?
Marty, please! Stop this now!”

Even Kevin was worried again. “Marty, just hold on. What do you think you're gonna do, exactly?”

One final swing of the mallet broke through the chain the padlock was on, and both it and the chain fell to the ground. The door opened about an inch. Geronimo had stopped barking and was now just standing there, snarling and foaming. He was huge. And there was no doubt he wanted boy meat for dinner.

Marty pushed the door open and stepped into the yard.

Any thoughts I'd had about Marty not having the guts he'd pretended to vanished. He stood there, four feet inside the fence, staring at that monster, who was staring back at him from a mere ten or so feet away. Marty put his hands on his hips and turned to us.

“You fraidy cats coming in? What's the matter? Is the sky falling or something?”

Kevin looked at me and shrugged like he'd had his last meal on earth and couldn't afford to care, and then he followed Marty in and took his place at Marty's right hand.

“Paul? Chicken? And here I thought you'd been learning all about dogs this summer, from the Wunderkind. I would have thought you'd be the most fearless of all. Didn't the little faggot teach you anything after all?”

I took a deep breath and walked through the open fence door. I ignored Geronimo as best I could, and something in me said it would be better if the dog didn't associate me with the other two guys. So I stood next to Kevin, a little away from both of them. At first I didn't realize that what this did was to put me the farthest of the three of us from the door. But something brought that to my attention real quick.

Geronimo turned his back on us, trotted a little distance away, and just as Marty was saying, “See? We've got him on the defens…” the dog charged. The chain snapped away from the stake and trailed behind him.

At first the dog must have been as surprised as we were, which gave Marty and Kevin a chance to get to the door. In a kind of slow motion I watched them, knowing that by the time both of them got through the door Geronimo would be on top of them and I would be trapped. So I headed for the other corner of the fence along the road, thinking I would climb over—or even back in if the dog got out. It was a question of life or death, and I knew it.

But the dog didn't head for Marty and Kevin. He headed straight for me. I'm not sure what happened; I think he must have stepped on his own chain. Because instead of his jaws locking on to me someplace, he kind of stumbled against me. He knocked me down, and I fell into the corner of the fence on the ground and just covered my head with my arms.

Jesus, oh God, anybody, help me. Please, please help me. Please. Please.

Somewhere in the middle of my plea I realized that I wasn't being torn limb from limb. It took a lot out of me, but I peeked cautiously in the direction of the dog. And there he was. He was practically on top of me, or so it seemed. And he was huge, and staring, and drooling, and silent as Death itself.

I heard the Mustang's engine rev up and Kevin's voice calling, “Landon! Get up! Climb over the fence, man! Get out of there!”

What would JJ do?

I ventured a glance toward the car. Kevin was in the backseat, the passenger side door was open just a crack, and Marty was gunning the engine, ready to fly out of there.

I looked back toward the dog and slowly started to move an arm toward the fence.

“Don't even think about it.” Geronimo said it with his snarl.

Christ, a talking Border collie, a beagle, and now this?
I pulled my arm back, wondering how long he would stand guard like that if I just didn't move. Before I came to any conclusions there was motion outside the fence, and Kevin's voice from a little farther away than that, shouting.

“Marty! For God's sake, don't. You'll hit Paul!”

“Shut the fuck up! I know what I'm doing.”

Growling from the dog. Another peek in the general direction of the car and I knew what Kevin had been shouting about. There stood Marty, perfect shooter's stance, hands gripping the snub-nose thirty-eight I'd taken him to get.
What irony. I'm going to be shot to death by a gun I helped procure.

If Marty was gonna shoot the dog, he had to get the gun barrel positioned into an opening of the chain-link fence. But every time he moved toward the fence, the dog nearly went ballistic. When he backed off the dog did, too, but only a little. I figured, you know, my time had come; the only question was whether I'd get torn to bits by Geronimo's pearly whites or shot through the head by a snub-nose thirty-eight.

Then there was another sound, like someone getting off a bicycle in a hurry. Marty's voice said, “What the…” and the next thing I knew JJ was there. The Jesus nut. The one your life depends on.
Where the hell did that come from?
I didn't see him, but I heard his voice.

“Paul.” Calm. How could he sound so calm? He was ignoring Marty. “Paul, it's JJ. Listen carefully to me. Don't make eye contact with the dog. Look down. And stay still. He sees you as submissive at the moment. That's why he's not attacking. Don't try to take the lead with this dog, not at this time. Make a whimpering sound if you understand me, but don't speak.”

Like I could dominate this creature?
I whimpered, all right. It was all I could do.

“I'll try to get him to move far enough away from you so you can get up the fence. Watch where his feet are, but don't look at his face. Okay?”