CHAPTER 26

The job in Santa Rosa was almost finished. Ken said that he had more work for me. The job in Ross was still in progress, but I said no, not Ross.

“You’ll have to wait for the next one,” he said. “I’ve got one coming up in Vallejo, if you’re willing to drive that far.”

“No problem,” I said. “Just give me a call.”

Tuesday and Thursday, that’s when he left his house, bound for some sort of company meeting. And on a Tuesday morning I would put the New York Times in his way. I continued my routine of walking Grizzly in the morning, he had become a companionable dog, lying in the evening at my feet. I became accustomed to him, and occasionally stroked his head as he lay here. No one had come to the door and he hadn’t had any opportunity to charge at it. I was beginning to get used to him, a welcome companion in an empty house. I went off down to the coffee shop, leaving him to guard the house, sat at the window of the coffee shop watching the Spandex-clad bike riders and the mothers with baby strollers. I had my coffee, and counted the days. It was Friday. Saturday, Sunday, Monday and then Tuesday. I picked up some hamburger from the grocery store and some hamburger buns. Grizzly would like the leftovers. In fact, I would make him a burger without a bun. , But when I got to the door of my house and inserted my key, the familiar rush and growling weren’t there. I opened the door and there, on the floor was the carcass of the dog. Its throat was slit and there was a pool of blood on the floor. I stopped, waiting to see if anyone was in my house but it was silent. Somebody had gained entrance and had killed the dog. I looked into the bedroom and it was in a chaotic state. Someone had thoroughly searched it, and I had no idea what they had been looking for. The kitchen space was the same way, pots and pans on the floor, dishes and cups broken. It was a message to me. Here we are, they had said and nothing will stop us. Not even your fierce dog. I went out to the garage and my tools were spread out, shelves stripped. But the Glock was still in my tool box in the trunk of my car. They hadn’t found that. Now I was more determined than ever to do in that sonovabitch. His hired hands had come into my house and had slaughtered a dog, and if I had been there they would have slaughtered me, too. You fucking cowards, I said out loud, you killed a dog that wasn’t going to harm you. You did it to send a message to me. It is an evil thing you have done. And Earl Winslow, you will go up in a shower of explosion. You will lose your limbs and you will no longer be able to fuck that pretty wife of yours. You will be either a shell in a wheelchair or a body on a slab in the morgue, I promise you that.

I got a shovel and dug a hole in the slope below the house and buried the dog. I went back into the house to begin the process of cleaning up the mess. And while I was doing it, I kept thinking of the explosion in the hills, the crater my device had left and the destruction it would wreak on Winslow’s expensive car. It was not armored like the Hum-Vees in Iraq. It would shatter and the ball bearings and nails I had packed around this edition would tear through the body, ripping apart Winslow and his driver. I felt a mild disappointment that the driver would have to suffer. It was Winslow I wanted to punish. But there was no other way. Tuesday would be the day.