Gringo Page 2

  Daniel went inside and set the mail on the coffee table, got himself a beer, and turned on the TV. Then he went to the window and looked out again. Greg said animal control had come around in the morning. Obviously nobody had answered the door, hence the tag. From the looks of it, they weren’t home now. Just when the hell were these people ever there? They had to be home sometime. To feed the damned dog, if nothing else.

  As if summoned, the dog came around from the side of the house and lay down under the tree.

  Daniel snarled and swigged his beer. He watched the neighbor’s door off and on for the rest of the evening, but he never saw anyone go in. When the dog woke him at midnight, he pounded on the door again, but there was no answer. By the light of the moon, he read the tag. It said ‘noise complaint – barking dog.’ That was it.

  “That’s all?” he shrieked in the moonlight. “Fucking dog keeps me up all week and this is it?” A tiny little red tag that didn’t threaten anything? A red tag that hadn’t even been received? This was his tax dollar at work?

  He slammed the screen door shut and watched the tag bounce against it.

  “Loser neighbors. Loser dog.” He marched back across to his house, weirdly lit in the night by the moon and Greg’s gigantic porch light. Fucking porch light. That was a pain in the ass, too: shone right into his house like a miniature sun. But he lived with it, didn’t he? Ignored it. It wasn’t that bad.

  But this barking wasn’t something he could ignore. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and threw himself down on the couch, fuming. He’d done all the right things. He’d been polite about it, he’d knocked, he’d called the authorities. Where the hell was this neighbor?

  Even from the couch, he could hear it. If it would only stay in rhythm he might tune it out. But it stopped and started in fits, impossible to get used to. He drank his beer and thought about the dog and got angrier and angrier. When he finished that beer, he got another one.

  When the dog stopped barking, it was three am, and Daniel stumbled into bed.

  His drunken dreams were all about dogs.

  Chapter 5

  The man slugged down his whiskey like it was water and tapped the bar for another. “So. Where’s Bud?”

  “He’s off for a while. I’m covering his shift.” Daniel set the new drink in front of the man, who looked at it, and him, as though they were foreign objects. At the other end of the bar, a group of four huddled, discussing politics. They’d looked at Daniel the same way. Regulars staring down an interloper.

  “Covering for the boss man, eh? Must be some exciting.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen you here, other times. What’s your name again?”

  “Daniel.”

  “Daniel. Dan.” The customer grinned and threw back his drink, set the glass back on the bar, and tapped it with his finger. “Dan, Dan, Bartending man. Get me a drink as fast as you can. You don’t mind if I call you Dan? Call me Clive.”

  “Fine by me.” He placed another shot in front of the man, and wiped down the bar next to it. “Clive.”

  “Thankee, Dan.” Clive picked up his drink, and this time he sipped it. “That’s a good drink… soothing medicine for a weary heart. You a drinking man, Dan?”

  “Sure, I drink.”

  “Have one on me.” Clive pushed a twenty across the bar. “Make it a double.”

  Daniel shook his head. “I can’t drink on the job, guy. Clive. But thanks anyway.” He pushed the twenty back with a polite smile.

  “No? Suit yourself.” Clive patted the cash and left it between them. “Bud’d have a drink with me, if I asked him. Course, I guess he’s the boss, right?”

  “That’s right.” It was true. Bud could do whatever he wanted. It was Bud’s bar. Daniel nodded and looked around. Christmas decorations were already in place, winking their lights at him in the false midday darkness. At the end of the bar, the waitresses had wrapped the lights around a huge inflatable beer bottle and put a giant bow on top. Daniel wondered if the lights would melt the plastic. The bow was old velveteen and had permanent creases in it. Merry Christmas. He covered his mouth to stifle a yawn.

  “Look tired there, kid.” Clive raised an eyebrow. “She wear you out last night or what?”

  “Who?”

  “Your girl.” Clive laughed, and knocked back the last of his drink. “You look well used, I’d say. Rode you hard, did she?”

  “Heh, well. I wish. It was the neighbor’s dog.”

  Clive hooted laughter. “You really don’t seem the type, Dan. Tell me you aren’t serious.”

  Daniel broke down and laughed with him. “No. Barking. Neighbor’s dog barks all night; kept me awake, is all.” He explained a little about the week he’d had and, even though it was all light-hearted banter, his black eyes flashed with the anger he wasn’t trying very hard to conceal.

  “Well, to hell with that, I say. Shoot the damn thing.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “I got a gun in car. Want to borrow it? Where do you live? I’ll come shoot it myself.”

  Now it was Daniel who raised an eyebrow. “No… Clive. That’s alright. I’ve got my own.” He did. Six months ago, a man had come into the bar so drunk he could barely stand up. Daniel had refused to serve him drinks, and the guy had threatened to beat him up in the parking lot after work. When the guy actually tried that, not just that night, but the next night, Daniel had called the police. Of course, there wasn’t much they could do, as there were no witnesses and the offending party had run away. The next night, he came back again, and promised to find out where Daniel lived.

  So Daniel had gotten a gun. He kept it in the drawer by the front door, in case the guy did show up. But it never had happened. After a few more yelling matches in the parking lot, he’d just disappeared. Probably to harass some other bartender.

  So, yes, he did have a gun. “But I’m not about to shoot my neighbor’s dog, sorry.”

  “No point in having pets if you just…ignore ‘em.” Clive said. “Shoot the sucker. Just a dog, right? He’d be better off, prolly. Not like a dog is a man.”

  The crowd at the other end of the bar roared in argument over something, then drifted into quiet agitation again. Overhead, the television went largely ignored. Clive reached over and took a charity mint, dropping some coins into the slot.

  “Tell you, if my neighbor’s dog barked all night, I’d shoot it. Hell, shoot the damn neighbor too. Hey, at least it’s quiet in jail!”

  Daniel laughed a small laugh and shook his head, taking Clive’s empty glass. “Nothing’s that easy. Ready for another?”

  Clive nodded and took another mint.

  Chapter 6

  Daniel rolled over, got out of bed, and opened the curtains. Brightness leapt in at him and made him squint. The dog across the street was lying under the tree, peacefully sleeping.

  “Fucker.” The dog had kept him up half the night, as usual. Daniel made his way to the kitchen and brewed coffee, thinking about his plans. Today was his day off. He needed to do his laundry. Probably should pick up some stuff at the grocery store. Maybe he’d call Bud, too, and see how his wife was doing. See if things were still on schedule for Bud to come back on his normal shift in a couple of weeks.

  He hoped he could stand it that long. He shambled back to the living room and looked across the street again. Still no sign of the neighbor. There was a garage, but the junk piled in front of it left no doubt it wasn’t being used regularly. The windows were heavily draped. The red tag was gone, though. So they must have seen it. He wondered if they were going to do anything about it. From the look of things – from the sound of things last night – they weren’t.

  Daniel rubbed his eyes and looked over at Greg’s place, all dolled up for the holidays. Lights, plastic reindeer, inflatable snowman. Fake luminarias. Ho, ho, ho, he thought. He should put a few things up; maybe he’d feel better. More in the spirit. But he didn’t have the energy. He turned on the television and
flopped down on the couch.

  He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in almost a month now. The talk show droned on in the background as he clipped his toenails. It seemed so unfair that he was being denied this basic thing: sleep. Even more frustrating because the barking seemed not to bother anyone else. They had better insulation maybe, or worse hearing, or just were sound sleepers. He was alone.

  He fogged his way through the day, and got some laundry done. He didn’t make it to the grocery store and he didn’t get around to calling Bud. He flung himself into bed at eight, with cotton balls stuck in his ears, hoping it would muffle the barking enough to let him sleep through the night.

  But it didn’t. At midnight, right on cue, the dog across the street started barking. Daniel stood in the street and yelled at the top of his lungs, then pounded on the door again. The dog barked frantically at him as he rattled the door and rapped on the windows and cursed at the neighbors.

  “Bastards!” His feet were freezing, naked in the November air. He looked down at them and realized he was standing on the red tag. They’d gotten it, and ignored it. Thrown it down on the porch. They didn’t care what their dog did. They weren’t even home, now or ever. The dog wasn’t a pet, Clive was right. It was just a nuisance.

  Should have taken Clive up on it. Daniel stepped off the porch and walked back to the street, watching the dog leap against the small fence at him over and over, barking and growling as though Daniel was an axe murderer.

  “Shut the fuck up, goddamn you! Shut up! Shut up!” He picked up a rock and threw it at the dog, but it only made the barking louder. Someone else down the street yelled, too, but not at the dog.

  “Why don’t you shut up, you drunk fuck!”

  That was when Daniel lost it.

  With barking ringing in his ears and adrenaline roaring in his veins, he went back to his house, grabbed his gun from the drawer, marched into the middle of the street, and fired three shots.

  The barking stopped.

  Chapter 7

  Daniel stepped quickly back to his house and shut the door behind him, listening. Surely someone had heard that? Maybe even seen it?

  He looked at the gun in his shaking hand, and put it back in the drawer. Dear God. He’d shot a dog. How could he have done that? What was he thinking? Right in front of the whole neighborhood. Oh, Jesus…

  But maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe. Still, someone had to have heard the shots. Had to have, didn’t they? But perhaps not, or maybe they didn’t care. Could be nobody saw me. He listened for yelling, for sirens, for anything. He opened the door a crack and stuck his head out. Silence.

  Was the dog dead? Daniel took a few steps forward on the porch. No movement. What if he’d just gotten it in the lung or the belly or something, and it was just lying there in agony? It’d make some noise. Wouldn’t it? If he’d gut-shot it, it’d be…whining. Crying. Something. He took another step forward, and then another. Soon enough he was standing at the edge of his yard. He looked up and down the street, and there was still no sign that anyone had seen or heard a thing. Just the street like it was: dark all over, except for the Christmas lights, and the fat pool of light that blanketed Greg’s porch. Across the street, the black hulk of the dog was unmoving.

  Daniel went back inside and poured himself a shot of whiskey. He looked at his trembling hands and was amazed that he’d hit the dog at that distance. Lucky shot, Amazing Grace. Holy fucking shit. But he wasn’t out of hot water, yet. Nobody seemed to give a damn about it now, but he was plenty sure when the people across the street finally did notice it, they weren’t going to be happy.

  And who was it that killed their precious darling? Well, it was Daniel Straub, of course. He’s the one who called the animal control guys. He’d been the one standing in the street every night screaming at the dog. Good old Danny Straub. He could just see Greg telling them all about it: Oh, yeah, Danny’s been over there pounding on your door for days. He hated your dog. Too bad.

  “Fuck.” Daniel poured another shot and washed his hands, thinking for the second time that he should have let Clive do it. He sat and drank his whiskey. Clive was right about one thing: A dog is not a man.

  Thank God for that. Daniel slugged down a third shot of whiskey and went to bed. He couldn’t sleep, even though there was no barking, or maybe because there was none. He lay there, staring drunkenly at the clock, replaying the whole thing in his head, and wondering just what the hell he was going to say when someone finally got around to asking him about it.

  Chapter 8

  He dragged himself out of bed, disoriented and hung over. Shit. He was running late. He rinsed his face off and ran a damp comb through his hair, brushed his teeth, got dressed. Then he looked out the window.

  But it hadn’t just been a dream; there the dog was in a black heap. So still and quiet and peaceful, but Daniel knew it wasn’t sleep. No sign of anyone being home, either. Are these people ever home? But of course, it was now to his advantage that they weren’t, so he dropped the curtain and went to the kitchen to microwave a cup of yesterday’s coffee. He pried open the aspirin bottle and swallowed two pills, then looked at the whiskey bottle and took a third.

  When he got to work, Margie ruffled his hair and told him he looked like hell. Hector laughed at him too, and snapped him lazily with a bar towel.

  “You need to get a woman, keep you in line.”

  Daniel smiled thinly, thinking of what Clive had said. “How do you know? Maybe a woman was what kept me up late.”

  “Nope. Not how it looks, Danny-boy. You don’t look well-screwed, you look hung over. Hung over like a bitch.”

  Nodding, Daniel turned back to his work. True words, those were, and he knew it. He had Margie run a greasy breakfast order to him at the bar, and ate bites of it between drink orders. The grease helped a little. He begged another aspirin from her, as well. When she pressed it into his hand, her skin felt so cool and soft against his, he had to resist a sudden urge to caress it.

  “Thanks Margie.”

  She nodded and whirled away to tend customers. Daniel leaned on the bar and watched the lunch crowd come and go. Burgers and fries, wings and rings. He wondered how many of them had jobs they hated. He wondered how many of them had lovers they cheated on. He wondered how many of them had dogs, and if any of them had ever shot one.

  He accepted a tip from a customer and put it in his pocket. Takes a certain kind of man, to shoot a dog. He wasn’t that kind of man. Was he? He didn’t think so. But something had happened, and now he guessed he was. He was a dog-killer.

  This wasn’t fair. He’d done the right things. He’d knocked. Called authorities. Tried to ignore it. What do you want from me? Just to live without sleep forever? And speaking of that, how could anyone blame him, the state of mind he was in? Half-crazy, is what he was. No decent sleep for three weeks, plus. Anyone would have lost it. Anyone.

  Hector leaned across the bar and stole a cherry. “Can I take off early today?”

  “Again?” Daniel eyed him, squinting. He should say no. Hector left early almost every day, and half the time Freddy showed up late – or didn’t show up at all. But to hell with it: he shrugged at Hector and nodded. Hector took another cherry and popped it in his mouth on his way into the kitchen. He passed Margie coming out, and she shook her head at him.

  “You’re letting him leave early again?”

  Daniel took her ticket and mixed the drinks. He hoped he too could cut out a little early today. Get some rest. Tonight, he planned to sleep like the dead. Smiling at Margie, he passed her drink order to her and moved down the bar to check on customers.

  When he got home after his shift, the dog was still lying there across the street. He checked his mail, glancing over his shoulder at the house. Still not home, apparently. Well, that was their problem, wasn’t it? The more time it took for them to notice, the harder it would be for them to figure out what happened, and that was just as well.

&nbs
p; He watched out the window off and on through the rest of the evening, but never saw anyone home. He got up a few times in the night to look, too. Nobody was ever there.

  Chapter 9

  He was off the next day, so he’d planned to sleep in, but he couldn’t stay in bed. He kept thinking about the dog. He got up and went to the window to look, but nothing had changed. Daniel rubbed his face and went to take a shower.

  He stood in the hot spray and thought about the problem. It wasn’t good to leave a dead dog lying around for days like this, but what could he do about it? Not his fault the damn people were never home.

  My fault the dog’s dead, though. He rinsed soap out of his eyes and snorted. He thought briefly of calling the animal control people, but realized that was a bad idea. They’d see the dog had been shot, and they might assume it was Daniel who’d done it because it was Daniel who’d called in the previous complaint. How much trouble he might get in, he wasn’t sure… but any trouble was more than he cared for.

  He toweled himself off and got dressed then looked out the window again, frowning. Maybe it wouldn’t be obvious what happened. Maybe the animal people wouldn’t look too close. He could say it was hit by a car. If he moved the body out to the street, and rolled it over so the bullet holes were on the bottom… Daniel grimaced. Move a dead dog? Roll it over? Even if he could stomach the idea, Greg would see him doing that… wouldn’t he? Greg saw everything. Well, almost. He’d missed the big event, somehow, but he did see almost everything.

  But Greg was going to help the hernia lady up the street today. He’d be gone in the afternoon, running her to the doctor for a follow-up on her stitches. None of the other neighbors would notice, Daniel was sure.