God, she loved him. So little, so innocent, so patiently enduring of one hardship after another. Nothing must happen to him. He must have his chance to grow up, become something in this world.
She could enjoy dinner only as long as she kept thoughts of the policeman to a minimum. The policeman who could change shape. Who had almost become a werewolf like out of a movie. Who had become Vince, while thunder rolled and lightning flashed, and who had halted Woofer in midair.
After the encounter in that alleyway earlier in the day, Janet had driven north in the pouring rain, out of Laguna Beach, heading for Los Angeles, desperate to put a lot of miles between them and the mysterious creature who wanted to kill them. It had said that it could find them no matter where they ran, and she had believed it. But just waiting to be killed was intolerable.
She got only as far as Corona Del Mar, the next town up the coast, before realizing that she must go back. In Los Angeles, she would have to learn what neighborhoods were best for scavenging, when the garbage pickups were scheduled so she could search the cans just ahead of the sanitation trucks, which communities had the most tolerant police, where cans and bottles could be redeemed, where to find another humanitarian like Mr. Ishigura, and so much more. Her cash on hand was low at the moment, and she could not afford to live on their meager savings long enough to learn the ropes in a new place. It was Laguna Beach or nowhere.
Maybe the worst thing about being dirt poor was not having any choices.
She’d driven back to Laguna Beach, mentally chastising herself for the gasoline she’d wasted.
They parked on a side street and stayed in the car all during the rainy afternoon. By the gray storm light, with Woofer dozing in the back seat, she read to Danny from a thick storybook rescued from a trash bin. He loved being read to. He sat enthralled, while pearl and silver water shadows played across his face in patterns that matched the streams of rain shimmering down the windshield.
Now the rain was gone, the day was ended, dinner was finished, and it was time to return to the old Dodge for the night. Janet was exhausted, and she knew Danny would drop quickly into sleep like a stone sinking in a pond. But she dreaded closing her eyes, for she was afraid that the policeman thing would find them while they slept.
When they gathered up their dirty dishes and carried them to the sink where they always left them, Janet and Danny were approached by a cook whose first name was Loretta and whose last name was unknown to Janet. Loretta was a heavy-set woman of about fifty, with skin as smooth as porcelain and a brow so free of lines that she must never have had a worry in her entire life. Her hands were strong, and red from kitchen work. She was carrying a disposable pie tin full of meat scraps.
“That dog still hanging around?” Loretta asked. “The cute fella who’s been trailing after you the last few times?”
“Woofer,” Danny said.
“He’s taken a shine to my boy,” Janet said. “He’s out in the alley now, waiting for us.”
“Well, I’ve got a treat for the cutie,” Loretta said, indicating the meat scraps.
A pretty blond nurse, standing at a nearby butcher’s block and drinking a glass of milk, overheard their conversation. “Is he really cute?”
“Just a mutt,” Loretta said, “no fancy breed, but he oughta be in pictures, this one.”
“I’m a dog nut,” the nurse said. “I have three. I love dogs. Can I see him?”
“Sure, sure, come on,” Loretta said. Then she checked herself and smiled at Janet. “You mind if Angelina sees him?”
Angelina was evidently the nurse.
“Heavens no, why would I mind?” Janet said.
Loretta led the way to the alley door. The scraps in the pie tin were not fat and gristle, but choice bits of ham and turkey.
Outside the door in a cone of yellow light from a security lamp, Woofer sat in patient anticipation, his head cocked to the right, one ear pricked up and one ear floppy as usual, a quizzical look on his face. A cool breeze, the first stirring of the air since the storm had passed, ruffled his fur.
Angelina was instantly captivated. “He’s wonderful!”
“He’s mine,” Danny said so softly that it was doubtful anyone but Janet had heard him.
As if he understood the nurse’s praise, Woofer grinned, and his bushy tail vigorously swept the blacktop.
Maybe he did understand. Within a day of encountering Woofer, Janet had decided that he was a smart mutt.
Taking the pie tin full of scraps from the cook, Angelina moved in front of everyone and squatted down before the dog. “You are a cutie. Look at this, fella. Does this look good? Bet you’ll like this.”
Woofer glanced at Janet, as if seeking permission to feast on the scraps. He was just a collarless street dog now, but evidently he had been someone’s house pet at one time. He had the restraint that came from training and the capacity for reciprocal affection that in animals — perhaps in people as well — grew from being loved.
Janet nodded.
Only then did the pooch take his dinner, snatching hungrily at the chunks and slivers of meat.
Unexpectedly, Janet Marco perceived a kinship with the dog that unnerved her. Her parents had treated her with the cruelty that some sick people directed against animals; indeed, they would have dealt with any cat or dog more humanely than they’d dealt with her. Vince had been no kinder. And though there were no indications that the dog had been beaten or starved, he had surely been abandoned. Though he was without a collar, he clearly had not been raised wild; for he was too eager to please and too needful of affection. Abandonment was just another form of abuse, which meant that Janet and the dog had shared a host of hardships, fears, and experiences.
She decided to keep the dog regardless of the trouble and expense he might pose. There was a bond between them, worthy of respect: they were both living creatures capable of courage and commitment — and both in need.
While Woofer ate with canine enthusiasm, the young blond nurse petted him, scratched behind his ears, and cooed to him.
“Told you he was a cutie,” said the cook, Loretta, folding her arms across her immense bosom and beaming at Woofer. “Oughta be in movies, he should. A regular little charmer.”
“He’s mine,” Danny said worriedly, and again in such a low voice that only Janet could have heard him. He was standing at her side, holding fast to her, and she put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.
Halfway through his meal, Woofer suddenly looked up from the pie tin and regarded Angelina curiously. His good ear pricked again. He sniffed at her starched white uniform, her slender hands, then pushed his head under her knees to get a good whiff of her white shoes. He sniffed her hands again, licked her fingers, chuffing and whining, prancing in place, increasingly excited.
The nurse and cook laughed, thinking that Woofer was reacting only to the good food and all of the attention, but Janet knew he was responding to something else. Mixed up with all the chuffing and whining were brief low growls as he caught some scent that he didn’t like. And his tail had stopped wagging.
Without warning and to Janet’s great mortification, the dog slipped out of Angelina’s cuddling hands, shot around her, streaked past Danny, between the cook’s legs, and straight through the open door into the kitchen.
“Woofer, no!” Janet cried.
The dog didn’t heed her, kept going, and everyone in the alleyway went after him.
The kitchen staff tried to capture Woofer, but he was too quick for them. He dodged and feinted, claws clicking on the tile floor. He scrambled under food preparation tables, rolled and leaped and abruptly changed directions again and again to elude grasping hands, exhibiting all the agility of an eel, panting and grinning and apparently having a good time.