Tender as Hellfire (6 page)

“Who do you boys favor?” he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders, spitting again. “I like that shepherd.”

“Yeah? That pit bull looks awfully mean,” French said.

“That other dog’s gonna tear that shepherd in two,” Pill muttered.

“We’ll see,” I mumbled, leaning against the wire fence. I looked around the ring again. The pit bull was growling and snarling and drooling as Mr. Freeman jabbed it in the side with the end of a broom handle. The dog yelped and snapped at the handle, unable to open its jaws on account of the silver muzzle. Mr. Freeman jabbed at the dog again. The other dog stood at the opposite end of the ring, scratching in the dust as it flicked its ears.

After some time, they turned those poor dogs loose.

My dog, the shepherd, Lance, was awful quiet. It hadn’t even begun snarling, even when its owner began riling it up, jabbing its flanks with the end of a stick. Mr. Deegan pulled the red muzzle off and untied the leash, then hopped out of the ring. I felt like closing my eyes right then. That poor dog was going to be ripped apart.

The pit bull was snarling and spitting and nearly ready to climb up over the wire fence. Mr. Freeman yanked the muzzle and leash free, then hurried through the opening in the gate.

My dog was as good as doomed. There was a single moment when all the men got quiet and it seemed like even the dogs were silent, right when those two animals first locked eyes, when they first saw each other beneath those shiny yellow lights. A single drop of sweat fell from my forehead and made me feel like dying.

My dog lunged forward, not making a sound. Its clean jaws bit down on the pit bull’s front right paw, clamping it right at the joint, tearing and drooling spit and dark red blood. The pit bull just sat there for a moment. Then the dog tried to yank its paw free, not snarling or biting back; it yelped a little and tried to pull away. Blood broke out along the white dog’s flesh, spilling along the gray dirt in perfectly round dollops.

“Kill! Shilo, kill!” Mr. Freeman yelled, shaking the wire fence. But his dog wouldn’t move. It snarled a little, as good old Lance snapped at the bloody front paw again, clamping down hard once more and snarling. The shepherd shook its head wildly, tearing the other dog’s front paw from its joint.

“Je-sus!!” someone shouted. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t look away. I clenched the wire fence and held my breath as more blood darkened the dirt around the white dog’s flanks.

“Kill!” Mr. Freeman shouted. “Shilo, kill, you lousy mutt!”

There was a milky-white silence in the pitt bull’s pink eyes. The shepherd growled, going for the pit bull’s throat now.

“Kill, Shilo, kill!”

Suddenly the white dog snapped awake; its black eyes darkened as it bled from its missing paw. It snarled and lunged, clamping some fur around the shepherd’s neck, tearing it loose with one huge swipe.

“No!” I shouted. The shepherd pulled itself free and backed away a little, circling as it moved. The dust in the air began to cloud my eyes and throat. I felt like I couldn’t hardly breathe at all. Tiny droplets of blood broke from the shepherd’s bare neck. The torn fur there was dark and shiny. Blood gathered in a clot at the base of its neck.

“Kill! Shilo, kill!” Mr. Freeman shouted again, shaking the fence. The shepherd’s owner, Mr. Deegan, was silent. He stood straight-faced and stern at the opposite side of the ring, holding the wire fence.

The pit bull and shepherd were circling each other. Their teeth were full of blood and spit. Their eyes were black, blacker than black, almost empty. They moved close to the dirty ground, tensed and mean and snarling. I looked up and saw my older brother gripping the wire fence too. His face was pale. His eyes were bright and fixed as he mumbled something to himself like a prayer. French’s face was the same way, all tensed and staring straight ahead, as the dogs stopped circling and locked eyes once more.

“Kill!”

The dust and smoke in the barn seemed to rise. That voice rang out loud and clear and I thought it was Mr. Freeman again, but it wasn’t, it was sharp and stern and orderly—Mr. Deegan was shouting now. His face was solemn as he let out the command. His shepherd obeyed, lunging forward, catching its teeth on the side of the pit bull’s short white face, digging its incisors square through the flesh and into the dog’s dark black eye.

“Goddamn!” the man beside me shouted, peeking through his folded hand.

The pit bull howled, rolling into the dirt, as the shepherd bit down hard on the other dog’s muzzle, tearing the eye from its socket in a mess of thick blood. I squinted, shaking my head, and French squeezed my shoulder. French’s face was all tensed around his eyes, like he was having problems stomaching it all. But my brother didn’t move. He just stared ahead, dumbfounded, I guess, holding the fence tight as it held him up too.

“No!” Mr. Freeman shouted, tossing his red hunting cap to the dirt by his feet. “No!”

The pit bull rolled in the dirt, clawing at its empty eye socket. The eye had disappeared in the blood and dirt and mud, as the shepherd lunged again, gripping the soft fleshy meat under the pit bull’s throat. It dug its teeth into the skin, pulling a clump of fur and flesh free, snarling in the blood and drool as the big white pit bull laid on its side, still and as good as dead.

My mouth was dry. My heart was pounding in my chest so hard that I could feel my blood beating in my ears. The shepherd sniffed around the other animal a few times, then lifted its ears, confused, whining a little. Mr. Deegan clapped his hands and the shepherd bolted back to him. Carefully, he fit the muzzle over the shepherd’s jaws, opening a black valise to tend to its wounds. French let out a low whistle, shaking his head slowly.

My brother’s face was bright red. His knuckles were cold and white as he still gripped the fence. “Now what?!” he shouted at French.

French took a deep breath, shrugging his shoulders a little.

“Now I guess they shoot the poor thing.”

My brother turned back to face the ring.

“They can’t shoot that thing,” Pill muttered. French laid his hand on my brother’s shoulder. Some of the men milled around, settling bets, trading soft wads of cash from hand to hand, smiling and spitting in the dirt. Other men just stood there, sharing sips from a bottle or a flask. The barn began to empty out. Slowly, the stink of cigars and the gray cloud of dust settled around us as my brother held the fence, shaking his head.

“C’mon, boys, we better get on home. Your mother probably already called the state police on us.” French patted my head and smiled. My brother didn’t move.

“Let’s go, Pill, ’fore it gets too late.”

The pit bull laid in the dirt, its thick white sides still rising and falling.

“This is it?” Pill muttered. “This is it?” His eyes were red like he was about to cry. He kept holding the fence, gritting his teeth to keep the tears down inside. I knew exactly how he felt. I wished I had never seen it; I wished we had never come. French stood still and stared at my brother’s face without saying a word, then walked slowly toward the center of the ring, where the white dog was whining. Pill and I followed, unsure of what to say or do. Mr. Freeman was standing over his poor animal, and Mr. Deegan stared at it sadly too.

“Whatever you want to do,” Mr. Freeman was saying. He handed a huge fold of cash to Mr. Deegan. “I mean, it’s your dog now. You want me to shoot it?”

Mr. Deegan stared down at the white dog. “Let’s have a look.” He squatted beside the dog’s square head, then ran his palm over its side.

“Didn’t fight very well, did it?” Mr. Deegan asked with a frown.

“No, it did not, and I wouldn’t like talking about it now if you don’t mind.”

“I could patch up his eye and paw and neck all right, but I’m just wondering if it’s worth it.”

“I’d just the same shoot it as waste the time,” Mr. Freeman grunted, digging his hands into his pants pockets. Mr. Deegan stood and stared down at the dog and shrugged his shoulders.

French glanced down at me, then my brother, and frowned. “Go ahead and wait in the car. I need to talk to someone from the plant.” He raised his voice just a little, staring down into the dirt. “Go on,” he repeated when we didn’t move, and he began to walk toward Mr. Deegan.

I pulled on my brother’s shirt. He shook his head, cussed a little, then turned and headed out of the barn. I followed, not saying a word, just watching how he kicked the dirt with his shoes, then punched the side of my mother’s rusted-out car. The line of big trucks and stock cars began to file out, their headlights flashing on, then their engines, before disappearing into the dark. The night sky hung right over our heads, lit up with the stars and the moon. The air was cool and dusty and blew against our backs. Pill-Bug punched the car once more and stared back at the barn.

“I hate him,” he muttered, digging his fists into his pockets.

“I do. Thinks he can tell me what to do. I’ll cut his throat in his sleep.”

The red barn door swung open after a few minutes and French and Mr. Deegan stepped out, carrying something between the two of them. They walked up to us and the car, kicking up dust, as the broken light from the stars and the barn flashed across our faces.

There was the pit bull, all bandaged up and quiet, wrapped in a thin blue blanket, resting in their arms.

“Don’t say a word,” French mumbled, breathing hard.

My brother shook his head. His face went all red and tense. “What the hell’s that?”

“I said, don’t say a word.” French frowned, unlocking the blue hatchback. Mr. Deegan and French gently slid the big white dog inside.

“You can’t bring that on home,” Pill muttered. “What are you doing?”

“Keep quiet,” French whispered, slowly closing the hatch-back. French wiped some sweat from his forehead and dug in his back pocket. He pulled out his brown leather wallet, the same wallet me and my older brother had stolen from so many times, and fished out two crisp twenty-dollar bills and planted them in Mr. Deegan’s soft white palm.

“There you go, Mr. Deegan.” French smiled, shoving his wallet into his back pocket. Mr. Deegan shook his head, folding the cash up. He looked down through the back window at the slumbering animal inside.

“Now, I can’t guarantee that that animal will live for long,” he said. “He’s on a sedative right now, so he should be all right for the night. But if he gets wild on you or you notice the wounds not healing right, give me a call. You should bring him by the office in the next few days and I’ll change the dressing and give you some more medication.”

French nodded and shook hands with him.

My older brother was dumbfounded. I couldn’t help smiling, shaking my head at the crazy thought of it all, grinning as we piled into the blue car.

“Mom’s never gonna stand for it,” Pill grunted, slamming the car door shut.

“She will if we tell her we found the dog on the side of the road and we brought it home to keep it from dying all alone out there.”

“She ain’t ever gonna believe that.” Pill stared straight ahead with a mean, sour look, crossing his arms across his chest. “Who asked you to get that damn dog anyway?”

“No one. I did it for myself. I need a bird dog for the winter.”

“Bird dog? That ain’t a bird dog. That dog can’t even see. It’s missing a goddamn eye. I ain’t gonna lie to my mother.”

“Enough already. You tell your mother what you want, Pill. I ain’t asking you to lie to her. But on account of that poor animal lying back there, you might just wanna keep your mouth shut so as not to ruin our chances here.”

He sounded like one of us now. He stared at the open black road, gripping the wheel tightly. He checked in the rearview mirror every couple of seconds, watching as the dark blue blanket rose and fell with the dog’s breath.

Before long, we were home, and Pill shot out of the car and into the trailer before the car’s engine even died.

“Give me a hand with him, pal?” French asked, unlocking the hatchback. The door rose and squeaked as French leaned over and rubbed the dog’s side.

“How come you did it, French?” I asked, peering up into his long white face. He rubbed the sweat between his glasses and the bridge of his nose and then let out a sigh.

“I don’t know, kiddo, I thought it was the right thing to do. Your brother’s been in a kinda mood since we moved here and he seemed pretty upset by that dog getting hurt, and so I thought maybe I could, you know, make him feel better about things, but I guess it didn’t work out so well, huh?”

“Guess not.”

“Can’t get rid of the poor thing now, can we?” He seemed to answer himself with a shrug of his shoulders. “You gonna stick to the story?” he asked, leaning over the car. His face was shiny with sweat and his eyes were dark behind his glasses.

“I guess so. Long as I don’t get in trouble for lying.”

“You won’t. Here, now give his legs a little lift.”

I dug my hands under the blue blanket. The dog stirred a little as we made our way up the front steps. The screen door clanged open and my mother shot up from the couch, raising her thin black eyebrows.

“What is this?” she asked, covering her mouth in surprise. French and I laid the dog down on the sofa and frowned.

“Found him … on the side of the road,” French grunted. “Brought him to Mr. Deegan.” French couldn’t even look at my mother as he lied. He just stared down at the animal as it dug its face into the cushions of the couch. Pill was nowhere to be found. He had gone off to our bedroom to pout.

“But why didn’t you leave it with Mr. Deegan?” my mother asked.

“Oh, he was gonna put it to sleep and the boys took a liking to it so …”

“It’s huge,” my mother said. “See how big its paw is? We can’t keep that thing in here.” Her eyes went big as she looked over the animal’s body. “What happened to its eye? Oh, and its other paw.”

“Must’ve been hit by a car or something,” French replied. He stared at me and gave a little nod with his head.

“Can we keep it, Mom?” I asked on cue. “It won’t bother no one, I promise. And I’ll take care of it. Pill will help too.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, staring at the pit bull’s square jaws. She bit her bottom lip, thinking hard. “Where’s it gonna sleep?”