“Just curious.”
Ozzie Dobbs apparently wanted to press charges, but I thought that Geo didn’t, so I took the trail of least resistance and went to visit the junkman first. I knocked on the door of his room, but there was no response. I could hear the television, so I waited a second and then swung the door back. Geo was walking around in a hi-here’s-my-ass gown, barefoot, and looking for his clothes. He was still wearing his disreputable hat with the flaps sticking straight out at the sides, so it looked like Geo was clear for takeoff.
“Whatta ya think them nurses did with ma pants?”
Burned them, I thought, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. “I think you’re supposed to be in bed, Geo. They have to give you one more going-over before they’ll let you go; probably something to do with the insurance.”
The response was predictable.
“Gaddam insurance.” He stood there in the middle of the room with his fists on his hips. His tan, still holding through the winter, started just above his eyebrows and paused in a deep V at his throat along which there was a substantial scar that appeared to run from ear to ear. The tan then recommenced at his wrists and ventured to his fingertips. I guess they had cleaned him up, with or without his permission, because the rest of him looked like boiled chicken. “Somebody gotta feed Butch and Sundance.”
“What about Duane or Gina?”
His answer was accompanied with a vague gesture. “Went off to Sheridan to go to the show and visit friends.”
“How about Morris?”
“Drinks.”
I thought about how I was supposed to have met Vic an hour ago, and how my current popularity was plummeting along with the mercury. “Well then, I can take care of that.”
He studied me from the corner of his eye. “Got a bird.”
I walked over and lowered the volume on the television. “I can probably take care of that for you, too.” It was Natalie Wood and some guy I can’t remember singing in West Side Story. I thought it an odd choice for the junkman but pretty good programming since we were coming up on Valentine’s Day.
“Got nary a feather.”
I turned back to look at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lindy. Got nary a feather.”
“The bird?”
He nodded. “Plucks ’em all off in spite.”
“In spite of what?”
“Daughter-in-law run off; only one that could stand the bird.”
I thought about it. “Geo, didn’t your daughter-in-law leave a while back?”
“Ten year ago, June 12th.” He evidently felt the need to add. “Parrot can live a long time; could be the spite.”
I crossed to the visitor chair and sat in hopes that he’d settle on the bed so we could discuss recent developments. “Geo, I need to talk to you.”
To my relief he came over and predictably beat me to the punch of my visit. “Not making a charge.”
I smiled at him. “I’m glad to hear that.”
He sniffed, probably unused to smelling anything but himself. “Perfect right to.”
“Yes you do, but then Ozzie Junior’ll probably bring up the fact that your gun went off.”
“Accidental.”
I nodded. “I agree, but I just wanted to nip any problem we might have in the bud.” I stretched my leg. “Geo, I’d like to ask what that was all about. Do you and Ozzie have something going on I should know about?”
His attention focused on his feet, which were aligned with the legs of his chair. “Nope.”
“Nothing?”
He pushed his welding cap back, revealing the stunning whiteness of his forehead and a perfect widow’s peak.
“Nope.”
I waited a moment and then stood. “All right then.”
“When are you gonna feed Butch and Sundance and the bird?”
It seemed like an urgent request. “Tonight?”
He nodded. “Dog food’s in the garbage can in the mud-room, birdfeed in the urn on the shelf by the cage. They’s cat food on the back porch for the raccoons.”
“Raccoons.”
He nodded. “Make sure they got water in the heated bowl and stay out of the basement, there’s snakes.”
I took a deep breath. It was turning out to be a long day. “You want me to feed them, too?”
“Nope.”
“Snakes, Geo?”
“Yep.”
“In February.” I stood there looking down at him, noting again that he was composed of thin, drawn muscle that displayed every strand and sinew. “Are those wolves of yours going to try and eat me alive when I go back there?”
The smile faltered a little on his lips, and not for the first time I noticed there was an odd elegance to the man. “Nope.”
I wasn’t sure if I believed him.
The effects of the drops were gone, and I no longer needed a personal chauffeur, so Dog and I drove the eight miles to the dump in the dark alone.
I cut the motor on my truck but left the headlights to shine on the snack bar/municipal solid waste facility office. I cracked the Bullet’s door open, and Dog looked at me expectantly. I looked at the office and could see them waiting, dark eyes flaring in the window. I grabbed my Maglite from the seat, reached in, and clicked off the headlights. “No, I think you better stay in here.” He didn’t look happy, but I closed the door behind me and slowly made my way toward the patched-together shack.
I shined the beam of the big flashlight onto the Plexiglas and into the two sets of glowing eyes. I placed a hand on the aluminum knob but then thought it best to introduce myself from the safety between us, so I put my other hand against the thick, clear plastic and spoke softly. “Okay, if I open this damn door and either one of you makes the slightest sign of aggression, I’m leaving the two of you to starve. You got me?”
I tried to think of the last time I’d been bitten by a dog and could only come up with a nasty little shih tzu that had nipped my elbow in the Busy Bee Café during rodeo weekend two years back. One of the big, lean heads stretched forward. I’m not sure if it was Butch or Sundance, but he licked the clear plastic against my hand. “All right, here we go.”
I pulled the door open, and they continued to sit there, looking at me like hundred-and-twenty-pound bookends.
“Okay. Good dogs, good boys.”
I reached a closed fist toward the one that had licked the Plexiglas and watched as the black-and-white muzzle moved forward for a sniff and then a lick. I rolled my hand over and let the wet tongue lap across my palm. His fanlike tail swept back and forth, and I thought so far so good, which caused me to make a mistake and reach for the other wolf mutt, who up to this point hadn’t made any movement or sound.
The rumble in his chest sounded like the internal combustion of a high-compression motor and just as urgent.
I looked at him. “Hey.”
He backed away just a little and pulled up one side of his muzzle to show me the business end of a canine tooth as he continued to growl.
“Hey.”
He backed away until his butt bumped against the far wall, which really wasn’t far enough. His lip dropped a little, but he stayed there watching me as I ran a hand over the head of the friendlier of the two in hope that if he saw the other dog respond well he might loosen up a bit. I turned my focus marginally to the dog I was petting. “Good dog . . . If historical reference is any good in judging personality, I’m betting you’re Butch.”
He looked up, and I was relatively assured. The other dog was no longer growling and dipped its head as I kept petting the friendlier one. “C’mon, Sundance . . . C’mon, Butch.”
I took the path from the office that led to Geo’s house and headed off at a slow walk past my truck. Butch kept pace at my left as we followed the frozen, hard- pack road—Sundance tagged along behind. I glanced at the truck and could see that my backup was watching and committing every movement to memory. We walked past the chain- link fence; the sign on the other side read STEWART JUNKYARD—NO TRESSPASSING, spelling notwithstanding.