Don't Order Dog (9 page)

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

She felt something warm begin to slowly slide down her lower back before detaching itself and landing on the granite floor with a wet, syrupy thud.

“Oh Christ. Oh Jesus,” shrieked a man sitting next to her as he grimaced at the object on the floor.

She looked at him for a moment before turning to look down at the projectile that had struck her.

“No,” she whispered again, shuddering in revulsion. On the floor sat a bloody fist-sized mound of pink, dimpled flesh, impaled with a two-inch shard of hair-covered skull. The hair, a familiar mix of dark and gray, glistened under a sickening layer of wetness in the light.

∞

The streets and markets of Port Harcourt were eerily still as the throngs stood captivated, gazing and pointing at the thick column of smoke that drifted lazily up from the Garden Landmark Hotel. He watched them as they stared. Mothers with children on t
heir hips, men collected in tight circles, smoking earnestly as they noisily gestured and gawked. Heads peeked out from every bus, cab, and window in view. He pretended to share in their interest, looking back towards the hotel every few minutes as he walked, occasionally asking the obvious question that was met with shrugs or empty expressions. As always, he found more fascination in the people watching the event than the event itself. He walked on through the city, his backpack slung over his shoulder, his pace swift but unnoticeable as he ambled between the paralyzed mob under a hazy, sand-drenched sky.

A few hours later, from the comfort of his first-class seat on the South Africa Air jet, he glanced down at the tall building and briefly observed the gaping wound that still bled a thin trail of black, acrid smoke. Then, as the plane rose into the clouds, he closed the shade of his window and happily surrendered to the sleep-inducing drone of the engines. 

Av Paseo Colon
Puerto La Cruz
October 25, 00:12
The Belt of Orinoco, Venezuela
 

To Whom It May Concern,

This letter will be Xeroxed and sent to people that I love and/or care enough about to want to help them get their hands on big huge wads of tax-free faloose, a.k.a., filthy lucre beyond your wildest dreams. This is not my usual gibbering nonsense, just a straightforward bit of advice to lead you down the road towards one hellacious payday.

I know of what I speak, you laconic cast of self-absorbed cynics and skeptics, and you know it. Who else would you ask for tips on how to get a taxi in Cairo, or order wine in Calcutta? Who else can safely steer you through the running of the bulls of Pamplona, or show you the proper way to wrap on a mawashi before a sumo match? That’s right – me.

Ever heard of the “Brainybuddies”? You will. Oh boy, will you ever. It’s destined to become the next big toy fad in the United States and will make the Tickle My Elbow and Radish Patch Kids frenzies look like tea and fig newtons at Grandma’s house by comparison.

According to a report I saw on the BBC just an hour ago, the Brainybuddies are poised to arrive in the United States. It’s a kids’ show that started in England over a year ago and in no time has knocked that weird, drug-crazed singing bitch off – completely off – the front pages of the Brit tabloids. There were near riots at Harrod’s and other British department stores during the last Christmas season as guards with clubs fought off gap-toothed hags screaming and kicking for Brainybuddies dolls.

There are four of these little bastards. They live in Brainyville and eat brainycustard. They have baby faces and skins of various colors and computers in their plump little bellies. Apparently two-year olds can’t get enough of them, and if the rugrats in the U.S. are anything like their euro-brat brethren, they’ll have Big Bird begging for spare change on the Sunset Strip by Jesus’ birthday.

According to the BBC, the big toy launch has just started. This will give the Brainybuddy marketing pukes just enough time for the inevitable “shortage” during the Christmas shopping season. I fully expect the eBay ads to be demanding (and getting) $500 each for these weird, mentally challenged-looking plush freaks by Thanksgiving. Anyone with a Visa card and a crisp wad of bills for bribing the inventory clerk at Toys-R-Us will be able to pay off their mortgage and send their kids to college by December 26.

Are you people getting the picture here?

If you have the luxury of choice, try to buy the pink one with the knapsack. I think his name is something like “Jo-Jo” or “Fucknuts”. He will be your cash cow. Don’t ask the obvious question; just know that this little pink sumbitch is drowning in charm. He prances and minces and swings his knapsack to and fro and has earned quite a following in the gay community. In other words, he has two markets, which means toddlers will be fighting drag queens in the aisles of the toy store for this little laddie, so act fast people.

That’s it. Ignore this advice and I’ll be telling you “I told you so” for as long as I told you so about that other thing before. I’m not even asking for a cut, just the usual… a couch to sleep on, a shot of Fortaleza tequila and a Camel Light, introductions to women of easy virtue, etc. And don’t think I’m not following my own advice. I’ve nabbed one of the little bastards, and the other three are practically in the bag.

Think Brainybuddies now, and you’ll be on the long green gravy train by Christmas. Remember, you heard it here first.

Ta!

p.s. This message was typed to you ingrates on a Smith Corona Classic 10 found dusty and neglected in the lobby of my hotel. For those who haven’t had the pleasure, just know that every mechanical slap of the keys chimes a whimsical “fuck you” to Microsoft, and for that I am eternally grateful.

p.p.s. The cachapas here are sublime. Pepe, a young man I befriended with a hairy forehead and a penchant for vintage belt buckles and flowery silk shirts introduced me to these tasty little wonders. Unfortunately the capybara burgers tasted like Wayne Newton’s underpants and gave me a fit of gas. Don’t order dog.

Jeri stared at the Polaroid picture lying on the counter with frustrated amusement as she poured a beer. She could have almost predicted the image before seeing it – a young man in a black silk shirt adorned with a grotesque pattern of white flowers sat at an outdoor table, a gap-toothed grin stretched across his light brown face. His long dark hair was pulled back tightly against his scalp and shined with the luster of heavy pomade. Despite his wardrobe and hairstyle, the broad features of his twenty-something face gazed out from the picture with a warmth and happiness that Jeri couldn’t stop staring at, as if the man had just been given the greatest gift imaginable. Behind him, another man sat at the table, a beer clenched in his hand. Only his arm and a portion of his chest were visible beyond the young man in the foreground, but Jeri knew from the tanned, muscled arm and the familiar blue t-shirt exactly who he was.

Sitting across from her at the bar, Allie read the letter and sipped on her wine.

“Allie, did you–”

Allie dramatically threw up her hand for silence. “Hold on, I’m trying to concentrate. And yes, I’ll take another glass of wine.”

Jeri poured another healthy dose of Pinot Noir for her friend and placed the glass next to its empty, lipstick-stained predecessor. She stood quietly at the bar and watched Allie as she continued to read, a subtle grin drawn on her friend’s face.

“Funny, huh?” Jeri asked.

Allie chuckled briefly before catching herself and erasing the smile from her face. “Funny? No. I wouldn’t call it funny.” Her green eyes flashed up at Jeri. “Unless by
funny
you mean
peculiar
. But that’s not what you meant, is it? You meant funny as in
humorous
and
cute
. As in ‘Hey Allie, look, I’m getting chain mail from a creepy stalker who really likes me and hopes I can meet his parents one day and have his kids before he feeds me to his German Shepherds or stuffs me in a wood chipper. Am I right?”

“Yes, I meant humorous in that kind of way.”

Allie glared at Jeri for a moment before snatching the Polaroid from the bar and examining it carefully. “Let’s see what we have here,” she said, her voice high with sarcasm. “In the foreground, a handsome young man, Venezuelan I assume, with greasy long hair and utterly horrendous taste in clothes. He looks normal enough, though we all know that looks can be deceiving. A pleasant meal with friends at a street side café in
Puerta Whatever.
Oh, and speaking of friends… yes… there behind our young, poorly dressed soon-to-be-victim is our favorite stalker – Mr. Mysterious-Joe’s-Last-Stand-T-shirt-Guy.” She shot a snide smile at Jeri before continuing. “And how mysterious indeed. Once again our little friend has just managed to evade the camera. Another tantalizing glimpse of tanned skin and toned muscles, the oh-so-familiar faded blue Joe’s t-shirt that I hope to god he washes between photos, yet nothing of that elusive face that must surely be on par with Adonis and Brad Pitt.”

“Really?” Jeri replied, “I was thinking more like George Clooney.”

Allie flung the Polaroid onto the bar. “Goddammit Jeri, I can’t believe you’re actually walking into this. Why in the world would you even pretend to–”

“Be right back,” Jeri interrupted as a young man and woman sat down at the far end of the bar. Allie bit her tongue and sighed audibly as Jeri walked away. A few stools away, a stout, middle-aged man with a military-style crew cut looked over at Allie and smiled. She could tell from his smug grin that he’d been eavesdropping on their conversation. She turned and looked at him sourly.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Hi. My name’s Tom,” the man replied. “Tom Coleman. Sounds like you and your friend are having a pretty serious conversation. Can I give you some advice?”

Allie gave him a venomous look. “Hi Tom, my name’s
not
… as in
not interested
. Yes, my friend and I are having a serious conversation, and as soon as she returns we’re going to continue it. Feel free to continue listening as you’ve so obviously been doing so far, but do us all a favor and keep any advice to yourself.”

The man started to respond, but held his tongue as Allie rolled her eyes and raised her hand for him to stop. She turned her attention back to the letter.

“Sorry Allie,” Jeri replied when she returned. “Now, what were you saying?”

“Forget it. Look,” Allie said, examining the typed pages, “there’s something really weird about this letter. I mean the content. Does this even make any sense to you?”

“Sure it does. There’s a popular new toy coming out soon and we should buy it before the Christmas rush. What’s not to understand?”

“Go to hell, Jeri.”

Jeri sighed. As much as she loved Allie, her best friend usually took the irritating position of disliking anyone who showed any interest in Jeri that didn’t fit within Allie’s idea of normal. She knew the attitude was simply a protective one, and the irony of Allie’s own history of sordid relationships with stereotypical “bad boys” wasn’t lost on Jeri, but at times these talks were simply exhausting. 

“Come on, Allie… have any of his letters made sense?”

“No, I mean it,” Allie replied, her expression stern. “Why would he be talking about these Brainybuddies? Does he really think anybody would give a shit about some weird toy for five-year-olds? And besides, he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy that has armloads of family-oriented friends with white picket-fence houses and two kids in tow.” She looked up from the letter and took a long sip of her wine. “It’s just all very odd. And even stranger is the fact that he didn’t write anything personal to you. I’d expect a stalker to at least take the time to write me a handwritten note.”

Jeri gave her an amused look.

“What?” Allie asked.

“Turn the photo over.”

Allie grabbed the Polaroid and flipped it over. A note in the same handwriting as the previous letters was quickly scribbled in blue ink on the back.

Jeri –

Sorry to make you a party to chain mail, but I never leave a friend out of “the know”. Our kids will be gorgeous Jeri, I’m sure of it.

Ta!

MJLSG

p.s. Have you made a shrine for my wellspring of romantic ravings at the bar yet? You really ought to. I’m shouting my love from the tallest Aquilaria in Bhutan and I want everyone to hear it. Besides, people love this stuff.

Allie pushed the photo away and crossed her arms on the bar heavily. Her eyes flicked nervously around the saloon before pausing on the wall of letters. Jeri noticed that her normally beautiful face had taken on a tired, resigned expression.

“Clever, this guy,” Allie whispered. “Very, very clever.”

The evening crowd was beginning to trickle into Joe’s Last Stand Saloon and Jeri once again left her friend to make drink orders and fill pints of beer. She returned a few minutes later to find Allie flanked on both sides by young men. Despite the fact that this was usually her favorite position to be in, Allie sat rigidly at the bar, distracted and abnormally quiet.

“Are you okay?”

Allie looked up at Jeri with glazed eyes. She considered her friend carefully for a moment before speaking. “Don’t take this the wrong way sweetie, but I hope this is the last letter you ever get from this guy, because that’s the best possible way this could end.”

“I think you’re overreacting.”

“No honey, I think you’re under reacting.” Allie leaned forward to make sure Jeri could hear her over the growing din of the bar. “You don’t know the first thing about this guy, Jeri– his name, what he does, where he’s from… Christ, you don’t even know what he really looks like. But he seems to know a helluva lot about you.”

Jeri shrugged dismissively.
“Lucky guesses.”

“Don’t bet on it. I mean really, what good could this guy possibly be up to? He writes you from a different country ever few weeks and professes his affections through these cryptic, meandering letters that somehow manage to predict exactly what you’re thinking
or doing. How is that possible? Now, granted, I’ve gotten my share of love letters and I’ll give the guy points on style, but please – if for no other reason than as a favor to your best friend – do
not
get caught up in the idea that this stranger is a harmless romantic pen pal, because I’ll guarantee you… he isn’t.”

Allie punctuated her point by draining the full glass of wine and thumping it loudly onto the bar. The men on both sides of her glanced
over curiously before returning to their conversations.

“Are you done?” Jeri asked flatly.

“Done? Oh hell, sweetie. I’m just warming up.”

Jeri rolled her eye
s and grabbed the empty glass. “With the wine, Allie – are you done or do you want another glass?”

Allie flashed her a
radiant smile. “Like I said, I’m just warming up.”

Jeri nodded her head. She grabbed the wine and poured slowly, filling Allie’s glass only half-full before pushing it back in front of her.

“What… I don’t get a respectable pour now?” Allie asked as she stared at the glass with dismay. “Are you punishing me?”

“No, Allie– don’t you see? I’m just looking out for you,” Jeri shot back. “Funny how looking out for someone can be mistaken for punishment though, huh?”

Allie nodded reluctantly. “Touché,” she said quietly, absently swirling the wine in her glass. She looked up at her friend with a soft, sad expression. “Look Jeri, I know exactly what’s happening here. And I know I’m the last person who should be giving you advice on men, but trust me. This one is different. This one is dangerous.”

“He could be,” Jeri retorted, stabbing the air with a shaker as she mixed a drink
. “But you don’t know that, Allie. You’re basing that opinion on your own jaded view of men, and it’s not fair. What if he’s a great guy? What if he’s completely normal and simply hasn’t found the right person? Maybe the odds are against it, but the fact is I don’t know that – and neither do you.”

Allie clenched her jaw and sat straight up in her barstool. “You’re right, I don’t know what this guy is all about,” she said defensively. “And yes, I have a jaded view of
most
men, but I also think I’ve developed a pretty good ability to read people, and what I’m reading from this guy is funny, smart, and very dangerous.”

She paused and leaned into the bar.

“So if you want to ignore your best friend’s concerns and advice, that’s fine… but don’t say I didn’t warn you when this guy shows up one day and you find yourself in serious trouble. And let’s be clear about something–” Allie paused and put a hand on the shoulders of the men on each side of her. Both turned and looked at her quizzically. “I’m not talking about the normal ‘
I’m drunk and want you to sleep with you
’ kind of trouble you’re used to from these harmless local pansies. I’m talking about the ‘
I’m chaining you to the floor of my van so we can honeymoon in my basement in Des Moines
’ kind of trouble that you won’t be able to talk your way out of.”

Jeri smiled at the two men who had just been insulted by the attractive blonde between them. “Please excuse my friend. She has a flair for the dramatic.” The two men shrugged indifferently and went back to drinking. Allie shrugged and took a sip of her wine.

“You’ve made your point Allie, for probably the tenth time,” Jeri replied as she angrily wiped down the bar top. “Can we drop this subject now?”

“Sure sweetie… let’s talk about something more fun. Oh! I have to show you something!” Allie immediately reached into her purse and found her cell phone. “A new broker was just hired at my real estate office… he’s young, hot, and deliciously single. Here, take a look.” She held her phone out to Jeri with a devious smile stretched across her face.

“Nice,” Jeri replied, relieved that the topic had changed to Allie’s flavor-of-the-month. “I’m sure you’ll have him under your spell by the weekend.”

“I hope so. And hey, if things go as I expect them to, I might even try to keep this one around for a little while. Would you and Rob be interested in a little double-date?”

Jeri winced inwardly.
“Um, probably not. I don’t think Rob would be up for it.”

“Why not?”

“I kind of told him it wasn’t working.”

“And what exactly do you mean by ‘wasn’t working’?” Allie asked as she tucked her phone back into her purse.

“I don’t know Allie… I just wasn’t feeling it.”

“When did this happen?”

“A few nights ago.”

Allie
moaned as if struck by a blow. “I’m sure you’ve already added these up sweetie,” she replied, holding out her hands, “but let me just remind you of a few of Rob’s many attributes – young, very handsome, ridiculously intelligent, financially secure…”

Jeri watched sullenly as Allie ticked off the list with her fingers.  

“Let’s see…. wants to have a family, free of any communicable diseases, at least as far as we know, and… did I already mention how drop-dead gorgeous Rob is?”

“Yeah, you did,” Jeri replied. “And I know the list very well. You and everyone else, including Rob, have done a damn good job of reminding me.”