CHAPTER 41
The racket of a couple dozen dogs barking shouldn’t have hit me so hard. It was an animal shelter, right? Caged animals bark. Still, I cringed to think of my dog there. Concrete, metal pens, utilitarian food bowls, nothing cushy or comfortable—some of our perps had it better than this in the county lockup. And most of them didn’t deserve better than my dog.
The receptionist’s pack-a-day voice greeted me from behind the counter. This was my third visit since Wilco’s impoundment. Mel was her name and we’d become fast friends. “Moved him to a new cage.”
“Why?”
“Bigger pen. Better location. I arranged it. Dog’s a damn hero protecting you that way. As far as I’m concerned, he’s one of us.”
Wilco had worked his charm on Mel. Good. I thanked her and headed for the back room. Wilco sensed me immediately, letting out a soulful bale as I worked my way down the kennel past several penned dogs: a cream-colored lab, whining and whimpering, his tongue slopping over his snout; a yappy little muttlike pooch, head bouncing like a bobble doll; and an unidentifiable mix, charging and snapping, ramming his snout through the metal cage. I knelt down by Wilco and reached between the bars. “Hey, boy, how’s the doggy slammer treating you?”
Wilco rubbed his cheek against my hand, his eyes never leaving my face. My heart melted; then a wall, built of logic and caution, sprang up. I wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for my dog, but I’d been surprised by the fierceness of Wilco’s attack on Riana. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it concerned me. I’d seen him defend me before by growling and snapping, but never an actual bite, let alone practically shredding someone’s face. Wilco had acted out of his own will. To most people—Mel, my colleagues at work, Pusser even—Wilco had acted heroically. I knew better. I was Wilco’s master, head of the pack. His only obedience should be to me. By acting on his own accord, even though it was to protect me, he bypassed the chain of command. He took the dominant role in our relationship. Left unchecked, he could eventually become a safety hazard, biting anyone he perceived to be a threat to me. Eventually he may have to be put down. I’d never forgive myself if that happened. As soon as he got sprung, we’d work on training and reestablishing our relationship roles, his and mine—with me as alpha.
Alpha dog. Humans are no different than dogs when it comes to pack mentality. Except for people, it’s all about status and exclusivity. I’d learned that lesson early on in high school. I was part of a pack: Riana, Leena, Shannon, and me. Riana was the alpha dog back then. And she’d dominated us like the true alpha bitch she was. And when I dissented, she and the others held me down and shaved my head. Cruel, yes. But simplified, it could be seen as nothing more than a means to reestablish role dominance. A pecking order was reinstated, Riana on top, me—the half-breed Pavee—on bottom.
Status and position were esteem needs to all humans, regardless of our economic or social position. Riana was nothing more than a Pavee, outcast by normal society, yet the head of her own social group. A big fish in a small pond. We all need to feel like we’re a bit better than those around us. Some people establish their status through money, brand-named clothing, expensive cars.... Others, like Riana, perhaps because financial means are so limited among us Travellers, do so by manipulating and bullying others. She’d done so through grade school, high school, young adulthood, and now she’d arrived on top. By Bone Gap standards, she had it all. Married, five boys, a double-wide trailer, and a famous husband. Nevan’s sexual orientation threatened all that. It threatened her pack position.
She tried first to manipulate Nevan by threatening him, beating it out of him. But it didn’t work. Then Addy became a direct threat. A settled girl, coming around and threatening her—Addy needed to be put in her place. Or eliminated. Or maybe Pusser was right: Things simply got out of control and Addy ended up dead. And then there was Pete, another pack member under Riana’s rule: covering for Addy’s murder, threatening my family . . . all of it carefully orchestrated by Riana.
I’d seen this type of thing on other occasions, too. Years ago, in Iraq, New Year’s Eve; a party on base, music, liquor . . . and Emily. Lance Corporal Emily, from somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Kansas. A pretty farm girl. Tough, resilient, and, unfortunately that night, drunk. Bleary-eyed and stumbling, she was cornered by a pack of guys who blocked her way and surrounded her like hungry wolves, groping her, running their hands up her skirt. None of them would have violated her on their own, but together, as a rowdy, horny pack, they became animals of a different nature—predators. It took a half-dozen of us ladies to rescue her from their single-minded pursuit. But even then, the damage had been done. Maybe not physically, but psychologically. Victimized by her own.
Pack mentality. Collectively, humans can do so much good, but with a bad leader, that same collection of people so often descends to its lowest common denominator. It’s our animalistic nature.
And Nevan. What type of psychological trauma had he suffered at the hands of his own family? Hopefully, he and Eddie had escaped far, far away from all this ugliness.
* * *
I woke at three the next morning, my mouth dry, my body soaked with sweat. The craving for a pill already thick on my tongue. I walked through the darkened trailer to the kitchen. Out the window, there was nothing but stillness. The blackness of night had settled heavy on Bone Gap. And on me. Yesterday had been a difficult day and I’d taken more pills than normal, but today would be better. I was going to cut down on my dosage again.
Water spurted from the tap. I cupped my hands and raised palmfuls to my mouth. I lapped and slurped like a dog. My dog. That was the problem. I couldn’t sleep without my dog. My bed felt empty and lonely without his warm body curled around mine, our breathing in sync, rhythmic and comforting. I was alone. He was alone. Was he having nightmares, too? Did he think I’d abandoned him?
I went back to my room, tried to sleep for a couple hours, but couldn’t. At six, I phoned Pusser at home. He’d lived in the same home for almost forty years, a one-story ranch on Depot Street. He loved to tell the story of how he scrimped for the down payment on an officer’s salary to buy the place for his new bride. Many wonderful years they’d spent in that little house. It was a happy little story that Pusser told over and over, but never finished. I only recently learned the ending of the story. Mrs. Pusser was a fastidious housecleaner. She held firm to the adage: “A place for everything, and everything in its place.” That’s why she’d shot herself in the bathtub. She couldn’t bear the thought of all that blood and brain splatter mussing up the house.
Pusser finally answered, his voice graveled and abrupt. “What is it, Callahan? It’s six in the morning.”
“I know. And I can’t sleep because my dog’s not here. When are you going to get him out of the doggy slammer and get us back to work?”
“It’s just a matter of timing. I’m working through this crap with the mayor’s boy, trying to get—”
“What is there to work through? We got him for drug dealing, right?”
He grumbled over the line. “Winnie Joyce recanted her testimony. She says Golden Boy didn’t bring anything to them that night except a little beer.”
“The mayor got to her. That’s what’s going on here. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know it. What do you want me to do about it? Maura and Addy were the only other two who could testify against him.”
“So he gets off scot-free again?” I swallowed down the anger rising in me. Hatch Anderson was nothing more than a scumbag drug dealer. And once again, Daddy was going to get him out of trouble.
“Listen, Callahan. I want you back. And your dog. I hate the idea of him being locked up the way he is. Just trust me. I’m working on it.”
I took him at his word and hung up. But it bugged the crap out of me that the Anderson kid was going to get nothing more than a slap on the hand.
Outside, lights were just starting to break through the darkness: a pinpoint of a porch light here and there, headlight beams from early-morning commuters, and the soft glow of kitchen lights. Morning was dawning over Bone Gap. Winnie Joyce would be getting ready for school. I threw on my parka and headed out the door. She had some explaining to do.