Hounds--Chapter03

approximately 1900 words

Hounds of Hollenbeck
Chapter 3
One AM Tuesday, October 9

         Bobby slouched over the steering wheel and peered out the grime-smeared windshield of his van. Puddles of yellow light from the streetlamps alternated with shadows and stretched to infinity before and after him.  He reached out to stroke the scarred head of the mongrel that rested in the passenger seat next to him. "It looks like it's too late to find something to have fun with tonight.  What do you think, Spot?"

         The dog tipped his too-large head and seemed to consider the question.  He put his forepaws on the dashboard and scanned the boarded-up warehouses lining the empty street.  Finished with his inspection, he looked back at Bobby and shook his head no.  His tongue flopped out of his mouth over enormous, yellow teeth.  Drool leaked onto the van's ragged upholstery. 

         "Yeah, I guess you're right."  Disappointment dragged at Bobby.  "We don't have anything better to do, though.  May as well keep cruising." 

         Spot responded with a happy woof, and stuck his head out the passenger window.

         Bobby ran his palm over the stubble that bristled on his sunken cheeks.  He pushed greasy ropes of dark hair back onto his balding head and reached out to pet his dog.  His hands were filthy, and grime fouled his untrimmed fingernails, but Spot didn’t care.  He'd would do anything Bobby asked.

         Under the mud matting the animal's shanks, his fur was mostly yellow, but flecked with traces of gray.  One ear flopped in two pieces from an old injury.  A faded tattoo reading 2.1 marred the other ear.  The dog was a misshapen, scarred mess, but Bobby loved Spot for what he was, just like Spot loved him. That was what made their relationship successful.

         He sighed and wished someone, anyone, would appear on the street.  Well, anyone but a cop.  He could do without a repeat of the excitement last night, when the cops had found the broken toy he'd dumped at the lawn mower factory.  He'd have to go back to using his other location, even if teenagers sometimes showed up for their revolting sexual encounters. 

         Enough of that.  He scanned the street, hoping.  Disintegrating warehouses crowded on his left.  Brambles and weeds entwined a chain link fence on the right.  An old cemetery, dark and silent, lay beyond the fence. 

         Sometimes he found playthings deep inside the cemetery, near a statue of a grieving monk that stood on a small hillock.  It was a pretty good place, a place where no one who mattered would see the pickup.  Even the statue couldn't see: a shroud of stone cloaked the monk's features, his face forever hidden from view.  Crumpled cigarette butts, IV needles and used condoms usually littered the base of the monument, marking it as a meeting place for drug deals and male prostitutes.  He grinned.  They made good toys, when he could get them.

         The blue van wheezed along near the boundary of the cemetery. Now and again the dog's nose twitched as new scents wafted through the night.  Eventually, he dropped back inside and woofed at the Bobby.

         "You found someone for us, Spot?" Bobby practiced his sickly voice, the one that seemed to bubble past a phlegm-congealed throat.

         The dog barked, gazing up at his master. His head nodded up and down.  Yes.  Spot's tail wagged like a crazy metronome. He pawed at the steering wheel.  Bobby pulled to the curb and doused the lights.  Spot whimpered. The engine stumbled and coughed to a stop.

         "Where is he at, Spot?" Anticipation made the hair on his neck prickle.  His craving gnawed at him.  Insistent.  Lust flamed in his veins. 

         The dog stood on the seat and pointed his nose toward the cemetery.  He tossed his head and woofed again.  His eyes reflected the street lamps with a verdant internal gleam.

         "There in the cemetery, Spot? He's out there?" 

         The dog chuffed and jerked his head.

         Bobby smiled. He reached into the back seat and pulled out a filthy fake cast. He twisted it onto his arm and flexed his hand to make sure it was secure.  With a shuddering breath, he opened his door. "Anyone else out there, Spot?"

         The dog bounded over him to the street, twitching his nose as he tipped his head this way and that.  He peered back at Bobby. This time he shook his head back and forth. No.

         Things were looking good. His throat tightened, and visions danced in his head. Intimate visions, tinged with blood and sealed with pain. Bobby licked his lips, his tongue passing over a missing eyetooth.  Soon.  He adjusted his jeans to cloak his desire. Spot ran ahead, leading the way in the murky night.

         "Spot!  Come back here, dog!"  His call wafted through the night, trailing after his mutt. Spot was well trained.  Bobby knew he wouldn't answer the call until they'd completed their mission.

         When the statue of the monk loomed out of the darkness, Bobby hid in the shadows. He could just make out a figure huddling there, under the statue, a young man.  He was hunkered down, resting with his back against a tombstone.  He shivered and clutched at his bright yellow and green letter jacket.

         The dog sped forward.  He paused at the base of the statue to relieve himself.

         "Spot.  Where are you, Spot?"  Bobby called out, using his feeble old man voice.

         The dog scratched at the dirt and sniffed around the base of the statue.  He looked directly at the young man and trotted over to him.  His tail wagged in frantic swirls. 

         The young fellow ruffled his ears.  "Are you Spot, fella?  How ya doin’?  Yeah, you’re a good dog." 

         Woof!  The dog licked at the target's hands and face, accompanied by frenzied tail-wagging.  Woof, woof!

         Time to move in.  "Spot!  Is that you, dog?  Come here, boy.  Come to Pappa!"  Bobby panted, and clouds of breath puffed from his mouth while he wiped a sheen of cold sweat from his brow. 

         Spot turned toward his voice and barked.

         Bobby wove his way through the shadowy tombstones.  As he approached, the scene coalesced out of the darkness and took clearer form.  Someone had embroidered the young guy's letter jacket with his name, "Walt Sedgwick."  Walt was young and slim, with shaggy hair and a discouraged beard.  Dirt smeared his face.  As Bobby approached, Walt's stomach rumbled.

         Bobby grinned. Good.  He's probably desperate, maybe even looking to trick.  Well, he's gonna get what he's asking for, and more!  A dry chuckle rasped in his throat.

         "Hey, mister, didja lose your dog?"  Walt's clear tenor rang through the darkness.  His voice quivered in the cold. 

         He'll be fun to play with, all right.  Bobby's loins surged, and he fought back against his urgent desire.  He stopped short, feigning surprise. 

         Woof!  Spot slobbered ever more frenzied licks onto Walt's hand before stopping and looking at Bobby. The mutt’s head bobbed up and down.  This was their target, all right.

         Bobby plastered his most woebegone look across his face.  "Yeah, he's my dog.  Spot, come here boy."  He dangled the leash.  Spot didn’t move. He was a smart dog.

         Bobby sighed and edged closer.  "I was gonna take him for a walk, y’know? To do his business.  But he ran off afore I could get his leash on him."  He rubbed his cast.  "It's hard, what with my arm the way it is." 

         He'd had to practice to degrade his grammar and speech.  It helped if the target thought Bobby was an ignorant dumbass.  He let a smile bend his lips. He'd show them.  He knew things, intimate things.  Soon, Walt would know, too.  Bobby couldn't wait see it in his eyes.  His eyes would become a window to the divine.  Bobby would open the doorway to eternity, but only Walt would pass through.   

         Walt smiled and tousled the dog's ears again.  "I think he already did his business, over there by the statue."

         "Okay, that's good."  Bobby struggled with the dog's collar.  "Could you maybe help me, young fellow?  My arm hurts so bad, and I can't get the leash on him.  He don't like it much."

         "Sure, why not?"  He took the leash from Bobby and clipped it to the collar.  Spot sat on his haunches and looked first at Walt, then the Bobby.

         Tension gripped Bobby's gut.  Almost there.  "I wonder, could you please help me get him back into my van?  My arm hurts when he tugs at it.  It takes two good arms to get him back inside the van."

         Walt narrowed his eyes and peered at the older man.  He wrinkled his nose.  "What's in it for me?"

         Bobby suppressed a sneer. You stink, too, kid. Stay pathetic.  Don't spoil it now that you're so close.  "I ain't got no money nor nuthin' to give you, but I'd sure be grateful if you'd help."  He paused.  Time for the hook.  "I've got some chips in my van what you could have.  Is you cold?  I got myself a warm place to sleep. Big enough for you to have your own bed."  He clutched himself and shuddered.

         Walt’s stomach growled again, but he still hesitated. The trees rustled in a gust of frigid wind, and his features firmed. With a shrug, he said, "Sure, why not?"  He wrapped the leash around his hand.  "C'mon, Spot, let's go."

         "Oh, thank you so much, young man.  It is so good of you to help an old man like me."  Bobby rubbed the cast and beamed.  Even he could smell the stink of his rotting teeth.  It was okay. It would just make him more pitiful and help reel in his latest playmate.

         All the way to the van, Bobby babbled about how badly his arm hurt, about how Spot was so hard to handle, about how good it was for Walt to help him. 

         "Here, let's put him in the back."  Bobby rushed ahead and opened the rear door of the van.  "If you'll climb inside, then maybe he'll go in after you."

         Trash and an overpowering stench clogged the rear of the van.  Walt seemed to balk for a moment, but then a frigid gust of wind must have changed his mind.  He bit his lip, climbed in, and pulled at the leash.  "C'mon Spot, let's go!"  The dog resisted a moment and then leaped into the van.  His forepaws thrust against Walt's shoulders and delirious licks cascaded across the boy's mouth and cheeks.  Woof!  The two tumbled to the floor, Walt laughing and the dog barking, wagging and licking. 

         Bobby climbed into the van with them.  "I'm so sorry.  Spot, what are you doing? Get away from there!"  His voice was sharp and biting.  Keeping a wary eye on Walt to be sure he wasn't looking, he picked up a crowbar from the clutter on the floor and hid it behind his back.

         The dog whimpered and withdrew. 

         Still laughing, Walt sat up and wiped at his face. 

         In the streetlight, his cheeks glowed with a perfect, peaches-and-cream complexion.  So lovely. So sublime.  His flesh cried out for the caress of razor-sharp blades.

         Bobby's yearning flared white hot and steel hard. His breath caught in his throat, imagining the first incision. That was when those crystalline eyes would speak to him. That moment of epiphany,that was what he lived for.

         Walt stroked Spot's back.  "It's all right.  He's just happy to be here I guess." 

         Bobby edged closer, gazing down at Walt's innocent features.  So trusting.  Spot crouched and panted, watching, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and slobber pooling in the trash. The dog tipped his head as though to get a better view. 

         Walt's expression turned cunning, and he touched his crotch.  A sly smile bent his lips, and he waggled his hips.  Disgusting.  What he offered wasn't what Bobby craved.  He was just a tramp after all, not the innocent he pretended to be. 

         He deserved what was going to happen. He was asking for it.

         Bobby smiled back, and then, with no warning, swung the crowbar.  Walt flopped to the floor of van, blood spouting from a wound in his scalp.  The van shook as Bobby swung the crowbar four more times in rapid succession, careful to not to strike the head again.  Dropping his weapon, he bound his victim’s wrists and ankles with duct tape.  One long piece went all the way around Walt’s head, muffling his mouth.

         Bobby rumpled Spot's ears.  "Good dog.  We'll have lots of fun with this one.  Lots." 

         Spot nodded in fervid agreement.  Woof! His tail convulsed with hysterical wags.

         Bobby slammed the rear door of the van and crawled to the driver's seat, while Spot leaped into the passenger seat.  The engine coughed and smoked before it started.  Together they drove away, a man, his dog, and their newest playmate.