Say No More (24 page)

No one answered. They couldn’t hear me. No one ever did.

The whirr of the tires slowed to a rhythmic thudding. From the truck cab, the twang of country music floated. A pink glow of neon lights shone through the high window at one side of the trailer. The rear of the trailer was open up top — high enough for a standing horse to stick his head out, too high for a drugged up dog to see anything but sky. Through that opening, a traffic light winked, a luminous eye of green suspended in the endless night.

One of the truck doors slammed. The trailer shuddered. Boots scraped over gravel. A dog circled the trailer, snuffled, stopped. The ‘ting’ of a urine stream hitting the side of the trailer sounded. Then, “Get in.” The door slammed again.

The boots. Stone crunching. The click of hard soles on asphalt. The tiny chime of bells against a glass door.

Somehow, I shifted from my stomach to my side. I breathed deeply, grateful for air. I watched the light change from green to yellow to red ... to green ... to green ... to green ...

—o00o—

Morning light spilled gently into the trailer. A sparrow alighted on the ledge of the back door, chirped with misplaced cheer, and rustled her tiny wings. She hopped down onto the floor of the trailer and picked at scattered bits of hay seed before finally taking notice of me. With a burst of wings, she ascended.

Free, unlike me.

I had been awake for some time, although I hadn’t moved. My fur stank of drool and vomit. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I moved it around, tried to work up some saliva, but couldn’t. I needed a drink. My thirst was like an empty lake, needing filled.

“Hurry up,” Tucker growled.

Canine feet crunched through dry grass. Urine splashed over dirt. A minute later, I smelled the pungent odor of feces.

Surely now Tucker would come inside the trailer, give me some water, let me pee? If I could pee at all, that is. I hadn’t had water in over a day.

“Get in, Cerberus,” Tucker grumbled. Nails clicked on metal, scrabbled over vinyl.

Boots thudded on the running board of the cab. Keys jingled. The door slammed. The engine whined, clunked, then rumbled to life.

My hope sank.

—o00o—

“You did what?”

My head shot up. I knew that voice, but whose ...? A fog of funk clouded my head. I had regained control of my muscles, but my thoughts were still churning like cookie dough in a blender on slow.

“Good Lord Almighty, I can’t believe that you ... You thought
I
would want the dog?”

It was Bill Clancy. Tucker had driven me all night long and into the next day just to deliver me to Bill Clancy?

“You said —”

“I said I wished I had a dog like that, yes, but ... How on earth did you leap from that innocent comment to stealing a man’s dog and driving across two state lines to try to sell her to me?”

I was still in the trailer, although the muzzle had been removed. Beyond that, I couldn’t tell where we were or what was going on besides Tucker and Clancy bartering for me. On wobbly legs, I stood. A rope had been tied to the ring of my collar. The far end of the rope was knotted around a metal loop on the front wall of the trailer.

“I know what these dogs go for.” Tucker was starting to sound peevish, like this wasn’t at all going like he’d planned. “She’s worth three grand, but I’ll take two since it’s such short notice. I got some other buyers interested in my neck of the woods and another inquiry from a guy over in Illinois.”

“Might as well call them. You won’t get anything from me.”

“Mr. Clancy, you deserve first dibs. Said yourself she was the best damn working dog you’ve ever seen, including your own. I’d keep her myself, but ... my girlfriend’s pregnant, you see, and my insurance won’t cover —”

“I’m not paying you a dime. Now take her back.”

“Can’t. Cecil Penewit is dead.”

“How can he be dead? I just saw him two days ago.”

“Died of a heart attack while on the Ferris wheel. He was with my sweet ol’ Aunt Bernie. Really sad how that happened all the sudden. No warning. Just
bam!
Keeled over dead. My aunt’s all tore up. Couldn’t even think about taking care of a dog right now. Penewit didn’t have any relatives. So she gave the dog to me.”

“First of all, I still have a hard time believing that, and —”

“Look it up. I’m telling the truth. The man died of a bad heart and left a dog behind. Somebody had to take it.”

Clancy let a few moments of silence lapse while he took Tucker’s story in. “Okay, say it is true. If she gave the dog to you, where are the papers?” He paused, waiting for an answer. “Yeah, I thought so. She has no idea you took off with the dog.”

“She’s trying to find the papers, Mr. Clancy. Penewit wasn’t a very organized guy. His house was a mess. Practically a hoarder. Why, the living room was stacked to the ceiling with old newspapers, things he bought on sale, old bits of twine from hay bales, empty pop bottles and beer cans ... Aunt Bernie’s more than a little busy with funeral arrangements right now, too. You’ll get the papers soon. I promise. I’ll go look for them myself.”

“And if the papers don’t show up?”

“You could breed her. Get your money back.”

“Without papers? How
dumb
are you? I’d have to give the pups away.” Clancy scoffed.

“Put another dog’s name on the papers.”

“That’d be even dumber. Don’t you know you have to DNA litters now?”

Tucker had no reply. He walked toward the trailer, grabbed the outer handle, and yanked it open. A wedge of daylight fell across the trailer floor. Outside, dust motes swirled in the summer haze. I squinted, drew against the back of the trailer, daring Tucker Kratz to come back there and stick his bare hand out. I’d make the ignorant bastard bleed. Shred him down to his sinews.

He turned his back to me. Pity there wasn’t more slack on that rope. I’d have ripped a hole in his britches big enough to drive a Mack truck through.

Tucker moved aside as Clancy stepped up to the horse trailer. Behind him was his palatial trailer, taking up most of the view, but beyond that were more long, plain buildings, like the ones at the Adair County Fair. The smell of manure and hay lingered in the air. Gone were the green swelling hills of home. Here there was only flat farmland broken by dense stands of trees. Lying in the shade of Clancy’s trailer was his dog, Brooks. But there was no sign of Tucker’s dog, or any people. The place looked deserted.

I lowered my head below my shoulders, gazed at Clancy with soulful eyes, pleading. He’d made it clear he didn’t want me, but I sure didn’t want to stay with Tucker. The way things were going already, it was going to be far worse than things had been when I’d been in Ned Hanson’s care. My ribs were still sore, the muscles of my right flank flaming where my captor had stabbed the needle into me.

Clancy inched closer until he was within arm’s reach. He crouched down, elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. He looked me over carefully.

“Appears to me this dog’s had a rough couple of days, Kratz. Did you tie her to the bumper and drag her here?”

Tucker coughed a dry laugh. “Nothing a little scrubbing won’t fix. B’sides, she doesn’t seem to care for me much. Tried to feed her. Damn dog near bit my arm off. Seems to like you just fine, though.”

Slowly, gently, Clancy held his hand out, palm down. I sniffed his fingers. The scent of Ivory soap, coffee thick with sugar, and ... dog treats.
Liver
dog treats.

Please, take me. Please!

I rolled over, presenting my underside to him. He raked his fingers over my chest and belly, scratching vigorously until he found that magical place that set my leg to thumping. A kind smile parted his lips. In that singular expression, I saw for myself a glimmer of hope, just like I’d seen when Cecil showed up at Estelle’s and bailed me from that frozen hellhole of a kennel. He started to draw his hand back and I reached a paw out. He grasped my toes and gave them a light squeeze.

“Don’t worry girl,” he said softly. “Everything’s gonna be aaallll right.”

I believed him.

“Dumb fool didn’t even stop to wonder if you might be spayed.” Then raising his voice, “Will you take a thousand for her?”

Tucker inspected his fingernails a moment, then reached into his back pocket and tapped a cigarette out of its pack. “Fifteen hundred.”

“Check?”

“Nope. Cash only.”

“You think I keep that kind of money on me?” Clancy walked toward Tucker, leaving me alone in the bare trailer. Crawling from under Clancy’s gooseneck, Brooks arched his back, then lapped at a bowl of water next to him. He wasn’t even wearing a leash. Like being at home on the farm. My tongue scraped at dry lips.

“Today’s Friday and the banks are already closed,” Clancy went on. “I’m trialing the next two days. Can’t get to the bank until Monday at the earliest — that is, if they’ll even let me draw that much money out. I’m not exactly at my home branch.”

A match flared in Tucker’s hand. He lit his cigarette, took a couple puffs, flicked the match on the gravel road on which we were parked. A minute went by in which Tucker seemed to mull Clancy’s proposition over. He walked over to the trailer and flung the door shut. It clanged with a heart-stabbing finality.

“Forget it,” Tucker said. He went around the side of the trailer, toward the truck cab.

“Wait! Where are you taking her?”

“Not sure. Back home, maybe. Or maybe I’ll head south, take her to that guy in Indiana.”

“I thought you said he was in Illinois.”

“Illinois, Indiana, same difference. Maybe I got more than one person interested.”

The truck door slammed again, signaling another long ride holed up in a noisy, stinking trailer, baking in the summer sun. No food. No water.

No hope.

—o00o—

The heat pressed in on me. Wrapped itself around me like the suffocating horse blanket Tucker had thrown over my head. Threatened to boil the flesh from my bones. I’d felt heat on my skin before when I wandered too close to Cecil’s little burn piles at home or when Lise had opened the oven door when I was a puppy and I’d rushed over to investigate the mouth-watering scent of cookies baking. But those encounters had been brief, the warmth touching me from the outside and only from one direction. This ... this was like being dangled on a rotating spit above the fire.

I was boiling from the inside-out. My paws were hot. My belly was hot. My head was hot. The air itself was on fire. For a while, even as the trailer bumped down a washboard gravel road, I shifted on my feet, trying to distribute the heat as it scorched the tender pads of my feet. We jounced over a rut in the road and I was thrown onto my side. Too tired to get up, I lay there, my skull rattling, the heat of the trailer floor singeing my fur and slowly roasting my organs.

Every couple of hours, the truck would slow down, turn into a parking lot, and Tucker would get out to do his business in some comfortable, clean facility. Then he’d let his dog out. Invariably, it always made a point of pissing on the trailer tires. The stench of dog urine stung at my nostrils. Burned my eyes so badly my lids crusted shut. I stopped trying to open them. There was nothing to look at that I hadn’t already been staring at for days.

I stopped hoping that he would let me out, too. Or give me food or water. Without a drink, I couldn’t have eaten anything anyway. I’d stopped hungering. The only thing I wanted was water, a lake full of it, cool and clear. I’d stand up to my belly in it. No, my neck. And I’d just open my maw as I swam along and let the water fill me up. Renewal flowing through me. Water, the wellspring of energy. The source of all life.

I wanted water more than I wanted air. This hot, sticky, scorching air. Its flames incinerating my lungs, evaporating every drop of moisture in my withering body. I was becoming, quite literally, a sack of dried up bones. Soon, I’d turn to powder and blow away in a puff of wind.

I wanted to be in that place where Cam and Bit were. At peace. Never wanting for food or water or air. Never needing anything.

To just ... let go. To rest.

Forever.

C
alloused fingers, moist with water, grazed my muzzle. I twitched my nose.

Yes. Water. Please.

The hand, gnarled at the knuckles, curved beneath my chin to stroke the underside of my jaw, the base of my throat, my neck. A cool drop of water splattered against my eyelid. I blinked.

Crap. I was still inside the trailer.

More water dripped on my head. Drops pattered on my fur, cooling me gently. Moistness seeped along the seams of the metal floor, pooling until a puddle had collected by my head. I parted my mouth, pushed my thick, clumsy tongue out between my teeth, and licked the rust-tainted water.

It was hard to swallow at first. It had been so long since I’d been able to. But little by little, the tiny amounts of water that streamed over the old dirty floor and gathered in a dented depression next to me were enough to invigorate me. If barely.

Rain crashed against the sides of the trailer, drumming relentlessly as it poured through the high open windows above me. For a moment, it was like we were water skiing as we sped down the highway, the trailer yanked behind the monster truck on its solid dually wheels. The jarring of the stiff trailer tires was gone. They had lost contact with the road. We were airborne.

Then the right hand tire hit hard, bouncing up off the road. The trailer tipped to one side heavily before the forward momentum of the truck jerked it upright.

With every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction, right?

The trailer swerved left. The hitch replied with a deathly clang, so loud it sounded like the bolt had snapped. I expected the whole contraption to flip sideways and send us tumbling in a jangled mess of metal wreckage down an embankment. The hitch held, but I was whipped back in the other direction. I slid across the damp floor, smacked the back of my head against the side.

A burst of white light obscured my vision momentarily. A hand pressed reassuringly against my back. I shut my eyes, afraid to look.