WHEN LAMONT AND Maddy returned from the park at two a.m., they paused in Lamont’s usual spot across the street from the apartment. Lamont looked left and right. When the street looked clear, he tapped Maddy on the arm.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”
As they started to move toward the building, Lamont heard a jangly sound from around the corner. He pulled Maddy back. Suddenly, Bando ran between his legs, his leash dragging behind him.
“Bando!” yelled Maddy. She bent down to rub his belly and felt something sticky in his fur. When she pulled her hand back, it was streaked with crimson.
“Lamont!” she cried out. Lamont gently lifted Bando off his feet and rolled him onto his side, revealing an angry-looking red stripe across his belly. Maddy screamed. “No!”
“Gunshot,” said Lamont. “But just a graze.”
Bando whimpered as Lamont pressed lightly along the length of the wound, feeling for fragments. All clean.
Maddy felt her stomach sink and her chest tighten.
“If he was out, Grandma was with him!” Maddy stood up and shouted, “Grandma!” Lamont pulled her down.
“Quiet!” he said. “We’ll check out the direction he came from. Stay close to me.”
Maddy picked Bando up in her arms, careful not to press his wound as she nuzzled his head. “Shhh, baby,” she said. “We’re going to fix you up. We just need to find Grandma first, okay?”
They peeked around the corner. Nothing moving. It didn’t mean there was nobody there. They moved slowly across the street, peeking into every stairwell and doorway. At the curb, Lamont’s foot kicked a small piece of metal in the street. He picked it up. A shell casing. He sniffed it. Recently fired.
There was a rustle from behind a row of garbage cans. Lamont pushed Maddy and Bando behind him. Slowly, a head popped up in silhouette over the metal containers.
“Don’t shoot!” a voice said.
“No guns,” said Lamont, holding his hands up. “Who are you?”
Slowly, a man emerged from behind the battered containers. He had sores on his face, fingerless gloves on his hands, and plastic sandals on his feet. As he approached, a wave of stench preceded him. Garbage, urine, maybe worse.
“Is the little guy okay?” he asked, angling his head to look at Bando.
“He got shot,” said Maddy, holding Bando close.
“I know,” said the man. “They did a little target practice on him. But he’s quick, that one.” He reached out to pat Bando’s head. The stench was overpowering. Maddy pulled back. Lamont stepped in between them.
“Someone was with him,” Lamont said. “A woman. Sixties. Small. Feisty.”
“Yeah,” said the man. “They got her.”
Maddy rocked back. “They shot her?”
Lamont leaned down, right into the man’s face. He could smell the decay wafting from his mouth.
“Did they?” asked Lamont slowly. “Did they shoot her?”
“The lady?” said the stinky eyewitness. “No. They wanted her alive.”