Laying Down the Paw (14 page)

I was out the door in an instant, Brigit's leash in my hand. I opened the back door and unfastened her enclosure, giving her the order to stay. Probably not necessary given the way she was cowering on her platform, drenched and shaking like a paint mixing machine.

I reached in and clipped the leash to her collar lest she change her mind and attempt to bolt. “I'm so sorry, girl. It's okay now. We're all right. We're okay. We're all right.”

I repeated the words like a mantra—
we're all right, we're okay
—stroking my hand down her back until both she and I calmed. Finally, I ventured a look around me. The rain and hail had let up, though the hydrant geyser continued to spew ten feet into the air next to the cruiser. The sky grew lighter, the clouds beginning to thin. The tornado siren stopped its wail, replaced by an eerie quiet.

As my eyes moved up to the sky my mouth fell open. “I'll be damned.”

Off in the distance, over the downtown skyline, arced not one, but two, vivid rainbows, almost as if Mother Nature were issuing a colorful apology to the city of Fort Worth.

 

TWENTY

WHAT THE HAIL?

Brigit

Holy dog biscuits! What just happened?

All Brigit knew was that things had been too loud and too shaky and too wet and too scary. She'd even peed on her platform. Not that anyone would be able to tell. The water that had gushed up through the window while the car had been turned on its side washed the evidence away.

After clipping the leash onto Brigit's collar, Megan coaxed the dog to the open door of her enclosure, lifting her up to carry her over some broken glass on the asphalt. After Megan put her down, Brigit gave herself a good shake, ridding herself of some of the water that had doused her. She nuzzled the pocket where Megan kept her liver treats. If ever she'd earned one, it was today.

Megan pulled out three liver treats and fed them to Brigit, telling her she'd been a “good girl.” If Brigit could communicate verbally with Megan, she'd tell her partner that Megan had most definitely
not
been a good girl. Megan had ignored all of Brigit's warning whines and whimpers, continuing on their patrol despite the threatening weather.
Dumbass.

Brigit's sharp eyes scanned their surroundings. The world around them looked nothing like the world she was used to. This world lacked its usual order. This world was messy and haphazard and chaotic. She was reminded of the time her original owner had taken her with him to a makeshift barrio just this side of the Mexican border. He'd visited with a prostitute while Brigit played with the woman's bug-eyed Chihuahua. Her owner brought some souvenir crabs back with him, necessitating a trip to the county medical clinic. Sure, he'd treat his pubic lice, but Brigit's irritating flea infestation? Forget it. She'd scratched herself nearly bald in places and the dipshit didn't give a damn.

The annoying and constant high-pitched warning siren had stopped, replaced now by multiple sirens on numerous emergency vehicles responding to calls nearby. Brigit could hear screams and cries coming from houses in the neighborhood behind the damaged businesses across the street. She knew the sounds meant people were either hurt or scared or both. She also knew the sounds meant she and Megan would be very busy for the rest of their workday.

 

TWENTY-ONE

CRIMES OF OPPORTUNITY

Dub

Sometimes opportunity knocks. Sometimes it knocks things down.

Once the storm passed and he crawled out of the closet where he'd taken shelter, Dub's first thought was to try to call his mother at work, to see if she was all right. Her apartment had no landline, though. He no longer had a cell phone, either. He'd wanted to get a new cell. Hell, he'd wanted to get a second pair of underwear. But his mother had no cash until payday on Monday. All she had was a bus pass and a fridge full of burritos. Dub used to love the things, but after eating them three meals a day since he'd arrived, he'd be happy if he never saw another burrito again in his life.

His mother's apartment complex had been spared the brunt of the storm and suffered no damage other than some trash being tossed about, but the sirens in the distance told Dub that the area just to their west had been hit hard. The electricity was out, so there was no point in trying the television for reports.

He slid into his Gainesville State Tornadoes hoodie. Seemed right, what with today's weather. Besides, he had nothing else to wear other than the T-shirt he'd had on under it when he'd first come here, and that one was dripping dry in the bathroom. His mother didn't even have enough change to wash a load of laundry, so he'd had to rinse the shirt out in the sink.

He opened the door and went down the steps, through the open walkway, and into the parking lot. Marquise, Long Dong, and Gato were back on their cars, sitting on the hoods like the storm had never happened.

Dub had never liked taking what wasn't his, but he'd done what he'd had to do to survive. Begged neighbors for food when his mother was too high on meth to feed him. Stolen shoes off a porch so he wouldn't have to go barefoot. Pocketed a tip left for the waiter as he made his way out of a café after going inside to use the restaurant's bathroom. That time they'd run out of soap and he needed the money to buy a bar.

But a storm like this? It could be a godsend of sorts. Looting was stealing. Dub knew that. But insurance would cover any losses, wouldn't it? He didn't want to commit yet another crime, but what choice did he have? Morals and ethics were for those who could afford them. Someday, when he got on his feet and had a real job, he'd find a way to repay what he'd taken, to make his wrongs right.

But there were some wrongs that could never be righted.

Dub lifted his chin at the three men. “Hey.”

“'Sup?” asked Marquise, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Sounds like the storm caused some trouble,” Dub said. “Could make it easy to find some loot.”

Marquise stood and slapped him on the shoulder. “Good thinking, WC.” He turned to the others and waved them down from the cars. “Let's roll.”

Ten minutes later, they were cruising down Berry Street in Gato's silver Sentra. Not exactly a tough gangsta car, but it was the least likely to fall apart on the drive.

The condition of the buildings got worse as they made their way west.

“Ho-o-ly shit,” Marquise said. “Looks like a tornado went right through here.”

Roofs had been ripped off houses and businesses, leaving only wood framing and pink foam insulation. Trees and fences and signs were down, electric wires, too, some sparking on the wet ground like fireworks. All kinds of stuff was scattered along the streets, sidewalks, and parking lots, everything from overturned shopping carts to children's toys to mailboxes. There was even one of those outdoor Redbox machines resting at an angle against a smashed car.

When a downed sign from a doughnut shop blocked the road and they could drive no farther, Gato pulled down a side street and parked at the curb. The four climbed out, slamming their doors shut behind them.

They picked their way down the street, checking things out, keeping an eye out for anything that might be useful to them or that could be resold for cash.

“Check that out.” Dub pointed to a building a half block ahead. It was a liquor store missing half its roof, its front windows shattered, the burglar bars on one span of glass twisted out of place. The store was dark inside and looked abandoned.

Led by Dub, the young men headed to the store. As they peeked through the opening where the front window had once been, a fiftyish black man came through a swinging door at the back.

When the man saw Dub and the others in the window, his eyes went wide and he raised his hands in the air. “I don't want no trouble!”

“Neither do we!” Dub called back. No sense letting the guy get a close look at them. Better to move on and find a store that was unoccupied.

But the others had a different plan.

Dub heard a metallic rattle and click, and turned to find Marquise, Long Dong, and Gato with guns in their hands, the barrels pointed at the man.
Damn.
This was
not
what he'd had in mind.

“Take whatever you want!” the man cried. “I won't stop you! Just please don't hurt me! I've got a wife and kids!”

Shit.
Things had already gone further than Dub had intended. With guns involved, the cops would take this crime more seriously. The last thing he needed right now was the police on his tail. If they started snooping around, asking questions, things could get bad for him.
Very
bad.

“Hold on.” Dub pointed at a security camera mounted over the register. “If we go in there we'll be caught on tape.”

“No we won't,” Marquise said. “The camera don't work when the electricity is out.”

Dub wasn't so sure. Thieves were known to cut off power to security systems. The thing might have a battery backup. But every time they showed security videos on the news the pictures were pixilated and blurry. If he put up his hood, the camera wouldn't be able to get a good shot of him, right?

He pulled his hood up and over his head, tugging on the edges until it shaded his face like he were some type of Grim Reaper.

“Be careful not to leave fingerprints,” he told the others. “Any one of us leaves a print, we'll all go down.”

Gato pulled the sleeve of his sweatshirt down to cover his fingers, then grabbed the burglar bars with his covered hand and swung under them like a Latino chimpanzee. Marquise was next, followed by Long Dong. Dub was the last to squeeze through. He was careful not to touch the bars with his hands.

The store carried a row of household items at the front. Dub looked over the merchandise until he found what he was looking for. Latex gloves. He grabbed four packages.

“Yo,” he called to the others. “Here. Take the bag with you when we go.” He tossed them each a package of gloves. He tore his package open, removed the gloves, and shoved the empty package into his pocket. Sliding his hands into the bright orange gloves, he was ready now.

A life-sized cardboard cutout of a blonde in a red bikini lay cockeyed across a display of canned beer. “Check out these tits!” Gato grabbed the cutout with his gloved hands. He turned it to face the others, then groped and humped the cardboard woman from behind. “Oh, baby! Is it good for you, too?”

Long Dong snickered. “You suck at this!” he cried in a fake woman's voice, pretending to be the blonde. “I want the Asian guy!”

Holding the cardboard woman in front of him, Gato charged at Long Dong.

Long Dong sliced the air with a bladed hand. “Hi-yah!” When his hand met the woman's neck, the cardboard bent and her head folded over backward.

Gato grabbed her head, ripped it off, and tossed the headless body aside. “I never liked her anyway. Too bitchy.”

Marquise headed to the front checkout counter. “The cash register is mine!”

Dub watched as Marquise jabbed buttons on the machine but couldn't get it open.

Marquise slammed a fist down on the register but it remained closed. “What's the code?” he yelled, waving his gun at the clerk.

“Two-two-seven!” the man cried. “Then hit the
Enter
key.”

Marquise punched the keys and the cash drawer dinged open. “Now we're talking.” He grabbed a plastic bag from under the counter and shoved handfuls of money into it.

Long Dong and Gato went to the back storeroom and returned with cardboard boxes. They grabbed bottles of liquor from the shelves and packed them into the boxes.

Dub wasn't interested in alcohol. He walked up to the customer side of the counter and held out a hand to Marquise. “Give me a bag, man.”

Marquise yanked another bag from under the counter and tossed it to Dub. Dub pulled packages of beef jerky and nuts and sunflower seeds from the metal hooks at the display by the register and dropped them into the bag.

Once he'd taken all of the jerky and nuts, Dub looked around, trying to figure out what to take next, how to make the most of the situation. Should he grab cigarettes? He could probably resell them at the apartment complex or at the bus stops.

As he tried to decide what to take next, he looked over at the bag in Marquise's hand. Didn't look like the dude had gotten much cash from the register. Not many people used cash these days.
Ha.
Dub felt better knowing Marquise wasn't getting rich here today. It wasn't fair the guy had called dibs on the cash. But guys like Marquise didn't give a crap about fairness.

The register was empty now, and Marquise headed to the back room, probably to get a box.

“Hey, man,” Dub said. “Bring me a box, too.”

“Get your own damn box!” Marquise barked over his shoulder.

Asshole.
Dub hurried to the stockroom, grabbed a box with a Smirnoff Vodka label, and went to the cigarette display behind the checkout counter. He'd planned to grab cartons of cigarettes from the shelves, but his eyes landed on something that could be way more valuable.

Scratch-off lottery tickets.

Ha!
Marquise hadn't thought to take the tickets.
Dumbass.
But would he try to take them from Dub? Dub didn't trust the guy.

Dub grabbed the rolls of lottery tickets, yanking the entire spool from the display, starting with the $10.00 10X Mega Money tickets and working his way down to the $1 Tic Tac Toads. He'd just removed the final roll when Marquise emerged from the end of an aisle, his open-topped box tinkling as the glass bottles inside rattled against each other.

Marquise cut a look at Dub. “Don't touch the Kools or Marlboros. Those are mine.”