Elder Abuse

Nelson Dunne may have lived his life as a thief, but the code most career criminals lived by didn’t apply to him. He wasn’t part of some deep-rooted, widespread mafia who would come after him for ratting on his friends. He wasn’t full-blooded Italian, and no one was tracking his family back to the old country. He was accountable to no one. In his mind, he had nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

The moment the interview room door latched shut, he began negotiating. By detailing every heist that Gord, Earle, and himself had been part of over the last six years, he worked his sentence down to two years of probation. Gord and Earle were already going down, with or without his help, so Nelson gave himself permission to take the easy road. The police had nothing to close the cases in the previous twelve towns their crew had terrorized before they mistakenly walked into Alliston. The allure of “solving” those crimes was too much for the crown attorney to pass up, so Nelson helped them pad their stats.

Spreadsheets, detailed heist plans, and bank statements helped to make Nelson’s case and provided a slam dunk for the prosecutors.

His plans of retirement would have to wait, as he was forced to get a real job and prove to his probation officer that he was no longer a menace to society, but you know what they say? You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. And as much as he wanted to ride off in the metaphorical sunset, there was an old dog he had a score to settle with.

Every August, the town of Alliston, known as the potato capital of Ontario, hosted a three-day long potato festival to celebrate their most prolific crop. Friday evening was always marked with a parade marching through town—specifically downtown, right past the businesses that were impacted by the crime spree earlier in the year.

As a special thank you, Alvin purchased a “float” in the parade which he planned to use to advertise his veterinary clinic, but it had a much more important purpose. His daughter Chloe helped him decorate the float, which was essentially a flatbed trailer pulled by a pickup truck. After some handiwork and creativity, the father-daughter pair stepped back to look at their finished product and couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s perfect.” Alvin dusted off his hands, which were still sticky from the excessive amount of hot glue and duct tape used to create their masterpiece. “Thanks for your help, baby girl. Now we just need to get our guests of honour on board.”

The night of the parade, half of the town showed up to line the streets. The Watchdogs and their families were gearing up to walk the two kilometres to the edge of the parade route for their annual tradition. This year, as they were waiting outside of their houses for Brendon to finish loading his bag with snacks, a parade float pulled up in front of Justin’s house and honked its horn.

When Morrie, Josh, Justin, and their families looked up at the monstrosity, they all beamed with excitement.

Justin poked his head in the truck’s cab and spotted his good friend, Dr. Alvin Harper. “What’s up, Doc?”

“Thought you guys might need a lift. Hop on!”

The parade float looked incredible, with a massive papier mâché French mastiff head with streamer drool hanging out both sides. It must have been four feet wide. A white picket fence surrounded the entire trailer, which made it safe and look more “suburban”. The best part of all, aside from the mural of the criminals sitting in a jail cell, was the giant banner saying, “Thank you, Suburban Watchdogs.”

Brendon came running out of his house carrying a backpack full of who-knows-what and halted when he spotted the creation occupying space in front of his house. “This is amazing!”

Even June hobbled down the sidewalk to see what the ruckus was about. If the Suburban Watchdogs were to give honourable mentions, June would be top of the list. Even though she fell asleep, her and Scarlett’s intel was the final nail in the Magic Men’s coffin. Though the neighbourhood was safer now that June’s gun was no longer in her possession.

“What have we got here?” the old lady asked the group of kids gathered around the float.

“Dr. Harper made a parade float for our dads.” Ollie beamed with pride at his father, standing on the float’s platform. As scared as he was of June, he couldn’t neglect his manners. “Would you like to join us, Mrs. Garin?”

For what may be the first time since her husband died twenty years earlier, June smiled. “That would be lovely. Thank you, young man.”

The four members of the Watchdogs assisted June onto the float and got her settled, so she was safe and had a good view.

By this point, any neighbours who had yet to leave for the parade were outside watching the commotion. The smiles on everyone’s faces couldn’t be missed as all eight children, one elderly woman, four men, one beast, and three wives, stood atop the remarkable display. Karma had taken up her rightful place at the front, mimicking her likeness in papier mâché form.

Justin walked to the edge of the float and reached a hand out to his wife. “What do you say, Sweet Cheeks? Can I bring my leading lady? None of this would have been possible without you.”

Scarlett eagerly jumped on board with a wide smile, and without hesitation, kissed her husband.

The whole experience of chasing criminals put things in perspective for the Petersons. After discussing with the guys what happened to his father, they helped Justin see that life was short, and it was important to cherish those who were important. Scarlett and Justin still had a lot of reconciliation ahead of them, but for the first time in years, they were both willing to try.

“I’m proud of you.” Scarlett said to Justin as she gave Karma a pat on her massive head.

Justin returned her smile. He knew his parents would have been proud of him, too. His mom had passed away a few years earlier, but he’d vowed to never stop trying to make up for the ultimate sacrifice his father had made.

The next two hours flew by in a blur of cheering residents, smiles, and autographs. June had a nap. The children tossed candy at spectators. The wives soaked everything in, appreciating their husbands, children, and neighbours. The men were able to hop on and off the float throughout the parade route, and even Karma met and greeted a few adoring fans. Her drool was readily distributed to anyone who came within an arm’s length; not one person complained. She had reached the type of celebrity status where bodily fluids of any sort were seen as some kind of blessing.

Once the parade was over, a local reporter asked to photograph the Watchdogs, including Karma, in front of the parade float for an article in the paper. With no new threats on the horizon, the Suburban Watchdogs soaked in the praise and cheers of everyone around.

At least, they thought all threats had passed. But while they were busy having their photo taken, Nelson Dunne made his way to the edge of the crowd near the men’s wives and children. Knowing the dog was busy having her wrinkly face photographed gave Nelson the confidence to strike while he had the opportunity.

The sly man walked up behind a short blond kid, who was standing away from the other children, staring at his father with an irritating smile. Nelson’s blood boiled over the attention the four loser fathers were getting. He finally understood Gord’s blinding rage, causing him to reach out and grab the boy’s black polo shirt.

The boy swivelled his head, and asked politely, “Please don’t touch my Watchdog uniform, Sir.” Once he finished speaking, fear flashed in his eyes, but before he could shout, Nelson clapped a hand over his mouth. Amongst all the clamouring of the crowd, no one would hear a brief tussle with a skinny kid.

Nelson stepped backward to pull the boy away from the safety of his friends and family but dropped like a sack of Allistonian potatoes. He hit the dirt, and before he could understand what happened, he was being beaten with something hard, but it wasn’t doing any damage. Beyond that, there was screaming and cries for police from others around him. He knew he had to make a break for it.

The old lady they’d spotted mowing her lawn months earlier was whacking Nelson with her cane. Nelson would have laughed at her efforts, but she shouted, “Scarlett, get my Glock from my handbag.”

Nelson knew he had to get away, or this deranged granny would shoot him. He pulled himself up onto his elbow, using his other arm to swat away the old batty, but didn’t make it to his feet.

The monster dog that had tackled him at the jewellery store was on top of him again—this time, she wasn’t in a friendly mood. Her jaws were clamped around Nelson’s throat as he stayed perfectly still with his eyes wide. He knew one wrong move, and he’d be dog chow.

The entire confrontation occurred in less than forty seconds. One minute, the townspeople were watching their local heroes have their photos taken, the next, their local villain had his plan foiled once more.

Nelson knew his opportunity had passed. In a split second, the dog could rip out his jugular and he’d be a goner for real. He didn’t even have the chance to shove her off and make a mad dash. She just would have caught up with him again. He resigned himself to the fact that he was busted and cursed his stupidity for not taking off to Mexico.

“Over here, Sergeant Pee-cult. This guy tried to grab Ollie. He’s one of the baddens.”

Even with jaws of death gripping his throat, it didn’t stop Nelson from scowling at the short man.

“Karma, release.”

The dog relaxed her hold on Nelson but didn’t move from her position overtop of him until a familiar man with dark blond hair stepped up beside them.

“Thanks, girl.” He reached down to pat the dog’s head. “Mr. Dunne, I can’t say I’m surprised to see you again, but I hoped I wouldn’t.” He grabbed Nelson’s light blue button-up and forced him to stand. “You couldn’t take your second chance and leave well enough alone, could you?”

Nelson sighed, not needing the cop to preach to him about his bad choices.