Storymania - Winston (Part 3) by Wolfa

Winston (Part 3)
Wolfa

Trujillo pulled the tattered blanket closer around his narrow shoulders. The cold had moved in suddenly, in the space of a few days. He was thankful for the kindness of the people at the shelter. He usually thought of them as Suckers, but everything changed with the approach of winter.
    Right now Trujillo was very pleased. He had found a $5 bill crumpled and caught at the lip of a storm drain, and used it on KFC and a beer. Merry Christmas to me, he thought reflectively, contentedly. And he was reasonably warm, with a good spot in an alley that served to protect him from wind and rain. Yes, life was definitely good. Trujillo took the view that it was best to appreciate all the little things in life — a view that was essential to someone with so little.
    Upon entering his alley Trujillo was startled by the sounds of someone digging frantically through the rusted Dumpster leaning against the alley wall. There was a muffled crash and then silence. Watchful silence. Trujillo froze and then backed slowly away from the Dumpster, aware of the perils of gangs. He wasn't about to get shot by a starving man over an alley.
    There was another crash and something leapt clumsily out of the Dumpster, landing on all fours and shaking itself vigorously. A dog. Trujillo could have laughed. Looked like a pit fighter, big and ugly and scarred. The red lines of fresh wounds showed through its dirty, greasy fur. It glared balefully at Trujillo, a rumbling snarl starting up from deep within the dog's chest. Trujillo noticed that it's eyes were very pale, a sort of yellow-green. He wondered if it belonged to a gang. It had a collar, but … probably not. It looked too raggedy and starved.
    "Hey dog, want a bone?" Trujillo waved a half-eaten chicken wing suggestively. 'Tis the season. He felt sympathy for his fellow outcast.
    The dog's growl intensified, then subsided. Its pale eyes followed the chicken with fascination.
    Trujillo tossed the chicken wing onto the alley floor before the dog leapt at him, and watched with satisfaction as the animal pounced on the scrap of food and wolfed it down. Must be very hungry.
    "Here's another, doggie." Trujillo pulled out another piece of chicken. The dog's head whipped up instantly. Smart dog. "Go get it!" He threw the piece of chicken in the dog's direction and it leapt up and snatched it out of the air.
    "Good boy." Trujillo ripped the last piece of greasy chicken in half and tossed it at the dog's feet, walking past it to his makeshift home near the other end of the alley. The dog ate it happily and then turned to follow him, trotting swiftly after.
    "There's no more, dog, see? Empty."
    The dog barked imperiously. Trujillo tossed the empty box at it. "Empty."
    The dog stuck its nose into the box and licked the insides clean, then returned its attention to Trujillo. When no chicken was forthcoming, it turned and trotted back up the alley to the Dumpster. Trujillo heard crashes and scrabblings from the Dumpster as the animal searched through it. After a little while there was a thump as the dog jumped out of the Dumpster and landed hard on the garbage-strewn alley floor. There was a snuffling from outside Trujillo's box. He opened his eyes. The dog was crouched on the ground, gnawing industriously at part of an old turkey carcass, remnant of someone's Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe from a restaurant.
    When the dog was finished it looked up at Trujillo again, and then laid its huge head down on its paws and slept. Trujillo was oddly flattered. Perhaps the dog felt a sense of kinship with him as well.
    "Good boy," Trujillo said, reaching down to pat the dog on the head. It opened its eyes, but did nothing. Trujillo laughed. "Good dog."

I'm still not sure how I found my way back into this nest of humans, but it is sure that my hunger drove me. I miss the wild, empty place, but here there are interesting smells, and most importantly, food. Once I discovered how to find food, the humans were no difficulty. It is amusing to evade the humans, almost like a game. And they are not searching for me — they only stumble upon me occasionally.
    But this new human I have met seems … different. I still do not completely trust him, but I think I am beginning to. It is so strange to me, trusting a human. But he gave me food, and he is not threatening. He seems to like me. This, too, is amusing. I think I will stay with him for some time. He is kind and he feeds me, and I'm afraid that once I experienced the companionship of another being, Spot, I've been lonely. I wonder if Spot is lonely as well.

Rubio stared at the dog lying on the floor. Blood was leaking slowly out of the ragged hole in its chest. The man opposite him in the room was silent. Rubio could tell that he was anxious to speak, but didn't dare.
    "So. This the dog you told me 'bout?"
    "Yeah, Rubio, but —"
    "This dog, Mikey, this is a dead dog."
    "I know, but the thing is when we were taking it out —"
    Rubio rubbed his forehead and started to pace around the room. He sighed. "Ok. I get a call from Carl. Says his damn dog run away. Wants to know if I was responsible. Then, I start looking for the thing, and you tell me you found it. In an alley, right?"
    "Right, but see —"
    "And you bring me the dog, but when I get here, the dog is dead. Why is that, Mikey?"
    "Er. See, we had to shoot him Rubio. Um, because er. Crazy sonofabitch, tried to kill Luis, and. David shot him. Errr." Mikey backed slowly away from the dead dog, from Rubio.
    "Ah. I see." Rubio kicked at the corpse, rolling it over. It was still limp, rigor mortis having not set in yet. It was dark red-brindle in color, and Rubio thought that if you hosed the blood off its chest then white might be visible. The eyes had already begun to film over, and he couldn't tell what color they were. Pale, looked like. Rubio sighed again. "Dammit, Mikey, I can't tell if this is him or not."
    "Looks like it," Mikey said helpfully. "It's got a collar, see, and it's the same color."
    Rubio squinted at the dead dog. Ears cropped, dark reddish brindle, similar, definitely. How many pitbulls with those markings could there be? It might be a bit smaller, but that was probably from starvation out on the streets. It looked like the same dog. Definitely the same dog.
    "Ok, call Carl, tell him we got Ripper." Rubio laughed nastily. "This'll be a nice little surprise for him, eh Mikey?"
    Mikey laughed nervously. "Yeah, Rubio."

A little while later some men came and hauled the stiffening body into the back of a van, and drove away. There was a lot of blood in the alley, but it swiftly congealed into a sticky dark film, which faded into incongruity long before anyone passed by the crooked little alley. Carl cursed when he saw the body of the dead dog, and the carcass was thrown from the van onto an empty lot in the city. It lay there and the flies picked out its eyes, and the maggots ate away its insides. There was an apartment building beside the empty lot, and some of the people that lived there saw the dead thing, but this was familiar. Such was the fate of all pit dogs. Some thoughtful person, an old man, put a sheet of cardboard over its head. Its only dignity. And so it rotted away into obscurity, and the cold dry air masked the stench of decay.

    "Check this out, right? This chick gave it to me. A stray."
    Laughter. "Perfect. I thought we were gonna have to get one from the animal shelter again. And that old lady there's getting suspicious." The second speaker shook his head mournfully. "What's been happening to all the strays in this damn city?"
    "Cold, must be." First voice.
    "Where's the bag?"
    Some shuffling. "Got it here. And here's the rope, too."
    "Ok."
    The stray cat, a calico with tattered fur and one ear, kicked and twisted in the air, dangling from the first man's grip. He was not a happy cat. When the man tried to stuff him into the cloth bag, he clawed and bit and hung on like a demon. But they finally managed to pry the cat off and tie the bag closed with the rope. The cat screamed in fury, and then fell silent.
    The first man cursed. "Jesus. I hate cats."
    "Well, we're almost ready."
    The second man tossed the end of the rope over the tree branch, about six feet above the ground, and tied it tight. He tugged on it to make sure, and nodded with satisfaction. "Good. You got the dog ready?"
    "Yeah." A third speaker, standing back a ways from the first two, holding tight to the chain around the dog's neck.
    The first man, doubtful. "You think he's ready?"
    "Yeah, we been training him on tires for weeks now. Strengthen his jaws. Course he's ready." The second man signalled to the dog's handler. "Okay, let him go."
    The man loosed the dog and immediately it surged forward, eager. It did not bark. The dog leapt easily and caught the bag in his mouth. It ripped slightly, the cat inside screaming and blood oozing out into the dog's mouth. The dog snarled and twisted in midair, the weight of its entire body supported by those massively powerful jaws. It dropped back to the ground finally, panting, its mouth hanging open and the cat's blood dripping from its stained white muzzle.
    "Heh heh. Good dog!" The second man rubbed the dog's snow-white head affectionately, pulling his hand back as it snapped at him. The man swiftly grabbed the dog's chain collar, picked up the catchpole from the ground, and slipped it over the snarling animal's head. "That gave you a taste for blood, eh?" The dog snarled in response, trying to back away from the man holding it captive.
    They turned and headed back towards the van. After a moment the third man spoke. "What did you do to that dog, anyways?" The second was silent. "He was so … cute, before."
    The second man, walking beside the dog, laughed easily. "Toughened him up a little. No one gonna mess with this dog now."
    "Fuck no," agreed the first speaker, nervously staying out of reach of the huge dog's teeth. It was lightning fast.
    They loaded it into a cage in the back of the van, and drove home.

Trujillo and the dog became great friends. In that neighborhood, alone, Trujillo was glad of someone as menacing as that dog on his side. Trujillo, after some thought, named the dog Max. When he was a child, long, long ago, Trujillo had had a bulldog named Max. Max was a good name for a big, tough dog.
    Max wasn't really what you would call a nice dog, Trujillo thought, but Max was loyal, and good company. Max never face-licked or barked excitedly when Trujillo returned from whatever soup kitchen where he ate lunch. Max never pressed himself against Trujillo's legs or jumped up onto his chest, begging to play. Max just sort of sat and stared at him. The dog was perfectly suited for staring. The high cheekbones and pale, flat eyes in the dark face bore an eerie resemblance to a human countenance, for some unfathomable reason. Soon after teaming up with the pit bull, Trujillo was menaced by some street kids and their pit bull. But after seeing the hulking, vicious dog emerge from the shadows behind Trujillo, they backed off. Even the little crackheads could tell the Max was different, mused Trujillo. Trujillo counted himself lucky to have acquired such a dog.

I feel shame. I have allowed myself to trust a human. My instincts scream out against it, but I cannot help it.
    Sometimes I doubt my instincts. They are the foundation of my being, but now, I think maybe it is smart to form a partnership with this human. It has been good for me. Sometimes, the mind knows best.
    I have learned something new. A name. The concept amazes me. A sound that means only one specific entity. Not a thing, I am a dog. Not a dog, I am a pit bull. Not a pit bull, I am…'Max'. This is new to me. Before, in the dark times, they called me a sound, a name, but I did not know that it meant me.
    Humans constantly amaze me.

Dana sat in the restaurant opposite Jude. A fancy restaurant, rich with the tinkle of expensive crystal and china. She was wearing a deep blue dress that shimmered slightly when she moved, and dangled earrings. She was smiling, and her smile and eyes caught the light like her dress. She glittered happily.
    "This was nice, Jude."
    Jude smiled. "I told you I'd remember our anniversary. Six months."
    Dana's grin was infectious. "Liar. Tina told you."
    Jude laughed his smooth laugh. Smooooth criminal, thought Dana. But sincere. She adored him.
    The waiter clinked up to the table, and they ordered, Dana still smiling her dazzling smile. The noise of the other diners and the soft, thick yellow light flowed around her like syrup, slowing down time, in respect for her moment of happiness, making it stretch on for years.
    She was trusting and kind. She thought that her happiness would last forever.

Trujillo shuffled along the sidewalk, Max ranging around at his heels. The first snows of winter had already come, and dirty embankments iced the curbs. The fresh, glittering layer of white was already turning to dirty grey-brown. By tomorrow morning it would have melted and washed away much of the muck on the streets. Trujillo loved the first snow for this reason. The second snows… well, those were another story.
    CAMILLUS HOUSE, read the graffiti-tagged plaque in front of the dull building. Trujillo climbed the steps wearily, the cold biting through his thin, ragged clothing. Max hopped clumsily after him, unused to stairs.
    Hm. Trujillo had never tried to bring Max into the shelter before. He didn't think they'd want a dog, but he didn't want to leave poor Max out in the cold, alone. He was always worried that someone might try to steal the dog, anyways.
    Trujillo got through the door with Max, and no one seemed to notice. Good. Inside was a large hall filled with tables and benches. At the opposite end of the room there was a lunch line, with tired-looking volunteers serving equally-tired-looking homeless people. Trujillo took hold of the string he had tied to Max's collar, and dragged the dog after him towards the food line.
    "Excuse me, excuse me!" A woman, running up to him. "You're not allowed to bring animals in here."
    Trujillo shuffled, thinking. "He's my only friend, it's snowing, can't you let him stay?"
    A disapproving stare. Finally, "All right. But only for a while." She stood still, frowning after him, as Trujillo continued to the food line.
    Max was delighted with the bread and piece of meat Trujillo gave him. He sprawled on the floor by the bench, gnawing happily. Trujillo patted the dog's wide head, semi-affectionately.
    After half an hour, the woman returned and made Trujillo put Max outside. Trujillo was disappointed. He'd been hoping that she would forget. Max rumbled questioningly as Trujillo closed the door.
    "Good boy. Stay."
Max the dog stared at the door for a while, and then wandered off into the alleys in search of a place to sleep.