Me & Jack (13 page)

chapter 29

E
very night, I set up the tape recorder, and every morning I listened to the cassettes. Sometimes Ray came over and we'd bend our heads close to the speaker, trying to hear something—anything—but so far, nothing. Even with the longer tapes, I was only getting an hour and a half or so each time, and it was about the same slice each night.

I started setting my alarm for five o'clock in the morning to insert a new tape and then I'd go back to bed. Most mornings, I'd fall right back to sleep, but Friday morning I felt restless. Jack's legs sprawled across the bed and I couldn't get comfortable. I tried lying on my side, my back, my stomach, but finally, I got up and changed into my clothes.

Dad was just leaving as I went downstairs. I hadn't forgotten what he said the other day about getting rid of Jack if anything else happened. Inside, I felt mad at him for that—he knew Jack; he liked Jack. How could he even think about giving him away? But I couldn't let on my feelings without reminding Dad about it, so I got my breakfast and tried to act like everything was normal between us. Maybe he'd forget what he said about Jack.

After he left, I felt fidgety; I needed to get out of the house. I left a note for Millie, then hooked up Jack and got on my bike. “Let's go to Ray's,” I said. Jack didn't care where we were going; he just loved to be outside running. He looked like a racehorse, slicing through the wind.

After we rounded the curve to Ray's, I spotted a police car and a bunch of people standing outside the house before Ray's. That old lady's house. Maybe she died or something.

As we got closer, I saw Ray and waved. A look of horror crossed his face when he saw me and he made weird gestures I didn't understand. I heard sobbing and hysterical wailing.

“That's him!” someone shrieked, and that's when I saw her, Mrs. Brenner, pointing at Jack. Her hair was wild and her eyes looked crazy. She wore a housecoat. “That's the dog!”

I felt like someone had punched me in the gut.

“Now, hold on a minute, Mrs. Brenner,” the police officer said, holding her arm.

As the policeman tried to calm the old lady down, Ray cut through the crowd to me. “Something killed her cat,” he said quietly. He puckered his face. “It was all shredded apart on her sidewalk.”

Before he could continue, the old lady shuffled up to me with the policeman right behind her. She shook her finger at Jack.

“I saw him,” she hissed. “I saw his yella eyes glowing. I saw his bushy tail—”

“His tail's not bushy!” I yelled.

The policeman looked at Jack's wire-thin tail. “You sure this is the same dog?”

“I saw him!” she insisted.

“Son, where was your dog early this morning?”

Just then a car screeched to a stop.

All heads turned as Dad got out of the car and strode up the sidewalk. I felt proud and relieved as I watched him walk up in his sharp, blue air force uniform, with its ribbons and stripes. They wouldn't gang up on me now.

Dad acknowledged me with a sharp nod. “Joshua,” he said. He was in air force mode. He looked at the policeman. “What's going on here, Ed?”

The policeman sighed. “Another attack on small game.” He shook his head.

“I'll tell you what's going on!” the old lady yelled. “That devil dog killed my cat.” Tears ran down her face. “I saw him my own self. I went to get the newspaper and saw him—” She broke off, sobbing.

The policeman shook his head. “I'm sorry, but I got to ask you this, Rich. Was the dog out this morning?”

Dad didn't even pretend to be friendly. “My boy and his dog were eating Pop-Tarts half an hour ago.”

“And the dog was in the house all morning.” It was a question, but the policeman made it sound like a statement.

“Ed, this is ridiculous.”

“I know, I know, I'm just doing my job here, Rich.”

Dad glanced upward and sighed. “Look, Joshua and Jack were just getting up when I left a little while ago.”

The policeman nodded his head. “Okay, then.”

“Joshua, get in the car,” Dad said.

“You're letting them go?” the old lady shrieked.

“Joshua,” Dad said firmly. “Get in the car.”

“I'll come over later,” Ray said quickly.

I got into the backseat with Jack as Dad loaded my bike into the trunk. Dad settled in behind the wheel, but before we could leave, the policeman walked up to Dad's open window.

“Hey, Rich, no hard feelings, okay? Just doing my job. A lot of talk's been going around about your dog, but her description and the timing don't work out.”

“That's 'cause Jack didn't do it,” I yelled from the backseat.

“Joshua,” Dad warned.

I grabbed the back of Dad's seat and pulled myself forward. “You should look up on the mountain—there's a coyote up there.” I said. Good. Now the police knew. Maybe they would do something about it.

But instead of concern, a look of doubt crossed the officer's face. “Son, I've heard a lot of things about your dog. I'd advise you to not go around making up stories.” He turned to Dad and tapped the top of the car. “Sorry, Rich.”

Dad gave him a quick nod and drove home. He didn't say one word the whole way. This was going to be bad.

chapter 30

“W
hat were you thinking?” Dad yelled once we were home in the kitchen. Millie decided to make herself scarce in the basement with laundry or something.

“You don't go spouting off to a policeman like that.” He wiped his palm across his face and stared at me. “I'm not sure we can keep Jack anymore.”

“What?” My heart pounded. My mouth went dry.

“He was supposed to be a fun watchdog—instead, he's terrorizing our neighbors.”

“Dad!” My insides wrenched, and my gut filled with a wild, anxious feeling. “Even the policeman said Jack didn't do it.”

“This
time,” Dad said. “But there's been other trouble. I can't have our neighbors coming after us like an angry mob.”

“But you said that if anything else happened,
then
you'd do something. This wasn't Jack. This doesn't count.”

Dad stared at the floor for a long time. I wanted to shout for Jack's innocence, but I knew I'd already made my point. Better to not push it. I looked at him, waiting for his judgment.

“Okay,” Dad said. “I'm late for work.” He mustered himself together, picking up his briefcase, the reason he'd come back in the first place. “One more chance, Joshua. That's all,” he said. “I can't keep bailing Jack out of trouble.”

A few minutes after Dad left, someone tapped the glass on the back door. After all that had just happened, I was afraid of who it could be—the policeman, that old lady, maybe even Prater.

I ignored the tapping and hid out on the stairs, but Jack leaped away from me, barking. Whoever it was, Jack wanted them to know they'd have to get past him first.

The rapping came louder.

“Joshua,” Millie called from upstairs. “Can you get that? I'm ironing.”

Oh, man. There goes my cover. I sauntered to the door, prepared to face trouble.

Instead, it was a friendly face.

“Hey, Mark,” I said. “Dad's not here.”

“I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. The muscles in his arms flexed, and I noticed for the first time his left bicep sported a tattoo of an eagle holding olive branches. “I was coming out of Tysko's when I saw all the commotion. Just wanted to make sure you were okay, little man.”

“I'm okay, but …” I didn't know how much I wanted to tell him. Whose side would he be on? “Did you see that cat?”

He nodded. “I've seen worse.” Jack jumped up and down, pawing Mark at the chest. Mark held his hands out to pet Jack.

I measured him, taking in his open expression, the eagle tattoo, his hair, which was getting scruffy again. He was okay, I decided. Even Jack thought so.

“Um … you want to come in?”

“Sure.”

We hung around in the living room, throwing Jack's rope as we talked. I told him what happened, including all the stuff that happened before, like Prater when we first moved here and the Fourth of July. I even told him about the coyote.

Mark drummed his fingers on the side table. “Maybe you should try to catch it.”

“I'm trying, but the tape recorder's not picking up anything.”

“I mean actually catch it—trap it.”

Okay, that got my attention. “How would I do that?”

“Trip wire would do it. Maybe a pit.”

“But he would jump out.”

“No, you put metal spikes in it.”

“That would kill him!”

Mark looked at me. “Yeah, no one likes killing.” Settling back into the cushions, he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. His body seemed to sink into the couch.

“Mark?” I asked quietly. “What was the war like?”

“Mmm, don't want to talk about it.”

“You talk about it with my dad.”

He put his hand down and glanced at me plainly. “Your dad … he's easy to talk to.”

I thought about how I had tried to explain the trash cans and chickens and Jack to Dad and how he didn't care. “Maybe for you.”

“Maybe for you, too, little man. Give him a chance.”

I thought about that for a second, too, but then I remembered something. “How come you don't talk to
your
father about the stuff you and Dad talk about?”

Mark's mouth flattened into a line. “My old man … he dropped out of school and took a job to help his mother when his father died. He's still driving that same bread truck.” He laughed with disbelief. “Just because I don't want the same kind of life he settled for, he says I think I'm too good for it. And it's not that.

“It's just … it's hard for me to be
here
when I know what's going on over
there
.” Mark leaned forward and looked directly at me. “Some guys didn't make it back—I
did
. I can't just drive a bread truck. What he doesn't understand is that I feel like I've got to do something more important, something bigger.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know.” He sank back into the cushions. “I just want to make a difference.”

I stared at him, trying to think of how he could make a difference. Become a doctor, maybe, or a pastor. Firemen, they help people.

After Mark left, I thought about the traps he mentioned. Spikes nailing the coyote in the chest. Paws sliced up. I pushed those thoughts out of my mind. All I wanted to do was clear Jack's name. That old lady, Mrs. Brenner, almost had the policeman believing Jack had killed her cat. If it hadn't been for Dad pulling up at the right moment, I wasn't sure what would have happened. Anyway, Ray said he would be over later, and he'd fill me in on everything.

chapter 31

I
was sitting on the back stoop watching Millie hang laundry out to dry when Ray finally skidded into our driveway. He was practically bursting with news, so we ducked inside, out of Millie's earshot.

“She was trying to say it was Jack. She didn't know his name, just kept going on about the devil dog.”

“I told that policeman there was a coyote up there.” I whipped Jack's rope across the living room. He galloped after it.

Ray looked hopeful. “What'd he say?”

“That I was making up stories.” I shook my head. “Dad says we have to get rid of Jack if anything else happens.”

“What?” Ray's eyebrows shot up.

I looked at him and nodded.

“Maybe you could just keep him home all the time.”

“He was home this morning and still got blamed,” I pointed out.

“Maybe I could go with you whenever you go out, and I could be a witness that he didn't do anything.”

“No,” I said. “They'd think you were lying, too.”

“What about the tapes? Have you listened to the morning tapes?”

“Yeah.” I shook my head. “Nothing.”

We fell into silence.

Millie came in, set the basket down, and served us each a piece of pecan pie. Then she grabbed her purse. “I'm going out for groceries,” she said. “Chicken, ham, some things to get you and your dad through the weekend. You boys stick around here, okay?”

No problem there. I wasn't exactly eager to set foot in town today. My thoughts went from the groceries to the policeman saying “small game” when my gaze settled on the laundry basket.

Suddenly I got the idea for the perfect trap. “We're going to catch that coyote,” I said to Ray.

He put his fork down. “How?”

“Well, he eats chicken and cats. We'll leave some out for him.”

Ray looked horrified. “You mean tie a cat up outside?”

“No!” I said. And then I unfolded the beauty of my plan. “We'll put Millie's chicken in the trash can.”

Ray gasped with understanding. “Yeah, put it in the trash can and leave the lid off so he can really smell it.”

“When he knocks it down, I'll hear it and run outside and—” And what? It wasn't like I could grab him with my bare hands.

“Maybe you could …”

This was going to be harder than I thought. On TV, they always put the bait under a little cage held up by a stick. When the animal went for the bait, they pulled the stick out and the animal was trapped. The laundry basket wouldn't hold a coyote. Neither would an overturned trash can.

I shook my head, resigned. “No one's going to believe us unless they see him.”

Ray thought for a second. “What about your camera?”

My heart quickened. “Yes! That's it!” A picture was undeniable proof.

With the camera as our weapon, the plan quickly fell into place. After Dad was in bed, I would sneak out and put the chicken in the trash cans. I'd leave the lids partly on; that way, they'd still let the smell out, but they'd also make a lot of noise when the coyote knocked them down. I'd leave the camera on my windowsill; since my windows overlooked that side, I could shoot the picture from there and have instant proof.

Ray and I sat back, full and satisfied. Our plan could not fail.