DOG FOOD



It was late evening but still light when I pulled over. I'd been
driving all day and needed one more break - it was half an hour
or so to the cottage. I stepped down, went round to the passenger
door and let Connor out, he needed a walk too. I snapped the
lead on him, he was dumb enough to wander off and flop, out of
sight. The road was deserted. A small wood over to the right was
in shadow as night closed in. I knew the outskirts of this small town
and figured we were private enough. I took a leak against a tree
and Connor kept me company.

Walking back to the van I heard a muffled scream, cut off. The road
bent left up ahead, to where the sound had come from. I shortened the
lead and trotted up to the corner, knelt down with my arm around
Connor's shoulder and had a look. There were two well spaced
streetlamps before the rows of houses. A man came out of  the trees,
looked round brushing himself off, and began to walk away from us.
I sprinted for the van, hustled Connor in and started it, slowly backed
up to keep the sound low as possible until I had the distance to round
the corner at cruising speed. I reached in my bag for the Colt, safety on,
tucked it under my thigh.

The man had reached the first of the houses when I passed him and I
was looking round for a mailbox, anywhere to make a normal stop when
he turned off into a small row of houses. I parked, tied Connor to
the wheel, put away the Colt, and left the van with its lights on. I
walked over. He was there, putting his key into the side door of a
small house that had lots of lights on at the front, music playing,
not too loud. I hurried back to the van, started up and turned it
round, drove back to where the man had come from.

I parked by the spot and stepped out with Connor who was a little
surprised but he didn't argue. The trees started quite near the road
and as soon as we reached them Connor stiffened. He found her in a
second. Poor kid, she was bleeding steadily. I should have let the
bastard go and looked here ten minutes ago. Running back to the van
I hit the emergency key on my cellphone and got an ambulance on its
way before I spoke to the police. I said my dog had found her when
we stopped for a break and I was going back to her now with a blanket.
I could already hear the ambulance. I covered her still form. A tiny
sound came from her as she breathed. I stroked hair away from her
forehead. 'You hang on,' I said. Connor fussed round her, nuzzled
a trembling hand, cleaned off a trickle of blood. I looked for the knife.
Nothing there.

The police took four hours to process me, during which time I heard
that the kid was critical, on machines, but the signs were good. The
sun was low over the cottage when we got there. We didn't care. When
I closed my eyes to sleep the last thing I remembered was the cold
feel of her skin and her smell. It was afternoon when I woke, ran a
bath and took the radio in, turned on the news. The report was low key
but I found out what I wanted to know. He was out there, and I was
ready for him. I called the garage and told them I'd be keeping the van
for another week. I ordered a few steaks from the butcher and a sack of
bones for Connor. He was a big fucker, with a fancy name, a big shaggy
wolfhound with the brains of a flea and the table manners of a dog. Three
years ago I could carry him in my pocket. We ate a big meal.

That night I drove to the town and parked in the centre. Unloaded
 my bike and took a leisurely ride around, past the house. The lights
on, it was quiet. One of the houses opposite was dark and I circled
behind it, stashed the bike and climbed over the back fence, down to
the side to where I had a good view. I saw movement across the
window of his house and in a minute someone came out of the side door.
It was him. He turned to walk into the town. When I got there I
thought I'd missed him but I caught sight of him in a cafe. I put
the bike in the van and stepped over to the plate glass window and
looked at the menu. I saw him ordering from a waitress, a girl like
any other girl in that small town. She turned away. He made a con-
temptuous shrug and sneered. I went in. There was a young couple in
one corner, and another at the counter huddled close. The atmosphere
was sombre. The waitress served me hot coffee before she carried a
tray over to the man. I was two tables across from him and in the
neon light I looked at him. Light brown hair, his face slightly
waxy, freshly shaved, his mouth never quite closed, tight look to
his shoulders. He was in his late thirties.

A marked police car drew up outside and an officer came in. There
was a bag ready for him and he left with it straightaway. I saw that
the man had shrunk into himself when the car arrived but he did that
shrug again as it moved off. I was looking directly at him. I nodded
conspiratorially. He ignored me. I ordered a sandwich. We finished
eating. He picked up his check. We walked over to the till together;
I let him go ahead. Standing behind him I thought I might smell him.
He had a combed parting to one side with a fine sprinkling of
dandruff. I paid and left. Outside, I saw him looking in the window
of an electrical store. It took me ten minutes to walk as calmly as
I could to his house and I saw that there was a single light on in
an upstairs room. The neighbourhood was quiet as I went up the path
of his house to the side. I waited for him. His footsteps neared the
side door and as soon as I heard his keys I stepped out and sapped
him hard and he dropped. I dragged him out of sight, injected him,
took a look round and walked out and on into the town. I drove the
van back to his house and parked it, two wheels up on the curb, no
lights. I heaved him in. He had pissed himself, he stank. I covered him
up, drove back to the cottage, gagging on the smell. Connor came out
through the window and greeted me, hugely licking. Dumb dog, I'd
only been gone a couple of hours.

The man was stirring a little by now so I stuffed up his mouth and
tied a gag tight, making sure he had good breathing through his nose
before I ran the chains round him and secured him to the passenger
seat fittings. He could move his left leg slightly but he would have
agonizing cramp quite soon. I went in to the kitchen, made a pot
of coffee and heated pizza, I was hungry again, and so was Connor,
he was always hungry. I chucked a couple of bones down for him. I
always felt like David Attenborough, watching him. He looked as if
any minute he'd be ready to go hunt something. Local Jack Russells
put the fears up him just yapping out of their car windows, but he
looked the part.

It had been a tiring day. I went out to the van and the man's eyes
were open. There wasn't much light but I could see them. He'd been
crying. I hooked a couple of Connor's leads through the chains, got
him loose from the fittings and dragged him out of the back of the
van. He caught his left leg in the tow bar and, what with the dark
I didn't notice, and his leg snapped, just above the ankle. He did a
kind of balletic arch and I tugged on the leads more and he came loose.
I dragged him over to the shed and rolled him in. He came to rest
up against an old watering can and it tipped over onto him, dirty
water all over his shirt front. 'Good night,' I said, gave him a
smile, before I spiked him again. He shit suddenly, awful noise,
and I got out of there, nearly threw up. I was exhausted. Asleep
the minute I hit the sack.

Poor old Connor. He couldn't understand it. Most mornings down
here on the coast, we had breakfast together and then went for
a walk. Well, I had a quick cup of coffee as soon as I woke up
and then I went into the sitting room and listened to my messages,
not too many, I kept the line here private. Connor followed me
round with a look on his face. Puzzled. Hungry. I made sure all
the exits were closed then I went out to the van. I rigged up a
tow rope, backed up to the shed. When I went in I thought the
fucker had died on me, but he opened his eyes when I kicked him.
I think he was hallucinating, because he looked at me as though
I was the devil himself, and damned if he didn't shit himself
again. I threw some water in his face, the gag would soak it up,
I didn't want him mute. I looked at his leg. It was a clean break.
I hadn't realized last night. Made it easier to cut off. I'd have
liked him to have seen it but he was unconscious again. I left his
shoe on for purchase, drew a black plastic bag over his foot, and
cut it off with a carving knife by feel, nearly gave myself a nasty
nick. There wasn't much blood when I took the foot out, don't know
why I bothered with the bag, but anyway I'd made a nice neat job of
it, considering. I taped up the stump, put a bag over it, taped that,
put the foot in another bag, and then I hooked up the rope to his
chains and towed him out back into the trees. It was a squeeze but
I got the van through to the little copse I had in mind for him and
left him there. I drove the van back down and gave everything a
good hosing, cosmetic really, but it got rid of all the stinking shit
trails and blood on the floor. I took a good slice out of the foot,
from the heel, and went into the kitchen, sorted a couple of nice
juicy bones for Connor, he was practically beside himself, poor sod,
and in a couple of minutes he was done. Didn't seem too worried
about the man's meat, though he did take a good long drink from
his bowl.

I sat at my desk and wrote for a couple of hours, made a few phone
calls, and pretty soon it was lunchtime. We went up to the copse. I
took a bottle of water and a bowl for Connor, fussy bastard. I kept
him tied up nearby. The man had his eyes open, dull, which surprised
me. I noticed that the bag was sloshing a bit, and of course then I
realized all the blood in the foot wouldn't have filled a teacup.
His leg had been leaking blood all morning. Pity. I'd have to wash
it away eventually and the hose didn't reach up here, that was for
sure. I took out the foot and showed it to the man. He fainted. It
was a couple of minutes before I could bring him round. I smashed
the foot with a hammer a couple of times and twisted it about a bit.
I wasn't sure whether Connor would be put off if he recognized what
was for lunch. But I needn't have worried. I threw the foot to him
and held the man's head to be sure he saw what was happening. Well,
Con crunched the bones in a matter of minutes and was soon licking
his chops, ready for more. I faced the man and said, 'I'm going to
cut off your hands now, and feed them to Con, get rid of the prints.
Know what I mean?' I could have sworn he nodded, but anyway he had
fainted away and I cut his hands off. Took me ages, I broke them
about two inches above the wrist with the hammer, smashed the bones
really, rather than broke them, had to roll him over and kind of
stand on his arms to actually hack them off. Awkward, but anyway,
there they were. He chewed his nails. I taped him up. As soon as he
came to I waved his right hand but he was gone again. Con cleaned
out his bowl of water, and I took him back to the cottage, he liked
a doze after lunch. I locked him in.

When I went back up the man was awake again. He didn't look as if
he had much life in him. I untied the gag, and pulled out the flannel I'd
stuffed his mouth with and stood back. I thought the man might say
something, beg maybe, I had no idea what to expect. But all he did was
make this inarticulate noise and shake his head. I supposed he'd lost his
voice screaming silently all this time. I said, 'I'm going to cut your head
off next, just in case your body is found. Dental records.' His eyes
looked as if they were going to burst, 'Don't worry,' I said, 'I'm
going to knock you out first, you won't feel a thing.' Tears began
to roll from those bloodshot eyeballs. I stuck the carving knife
into the ground where he could see it and picked up the hammer. I
looked into his eyes and I said, 'She won't remember your face.'
He mouthed something. I went up close and then I saw it. A raw
swollen purplish stump. He'd bitten off his tongue. I'd have to
find it before it got dark - unless that greedy bastard had got there
first. The man began to sway back and forth, gurgling nonsense.
I sank the hammer into his forehead.

The phone call came later that night. Next morning two men arrived
early and took away the torso. I found the tongue when I was boxing
him up, it had landed behind the old watering can. Don't know what
made me look there. I had another phone call a couple of days later.
It was the detective in charge of the investigation. He said the girl
was making good progress. She said the last thing she remembered
before the medics knocked her out was something cold touching
her skin, and something warm and wet licking her. That would be
my dog, I said, he licks everybody.