Biting the Moon (41 page)

She got her hands underneath the old man's armpits and lifted him to the ring, putting his arms across the post. It was like arranging a suit of clothes. She did all of this none too gently, hating this old man whose dog was going to maul Jules. He kept cheering on Mule (who was running back and forth, dementedly), raising his fists and nearly falling every time he did so, for he needed the fence for support.

Suddenly, Mary realized that they might have an ally in Asa Stamper. She said to him, “Well, nobody's ever going to know whether Mule's any good or not, not if they put that poor old Labrador in the ring with him. He's weak as a kitten, just look at him.” Jules did look weak, like the old man himself, nothing but skin and bones, slinking down behind Dewitt, straining away from him. Smelling danger.

Asa yelled, “Get that damn sissy dog outa here. That fag dog ain't gonna fight my Mule! You call this a dogfight?” He raised his fist, struck at air. His body defied gravity and stayed put.

Marie said to him, leaning on the fence, “Dixie, tell 'em to put Dixie in the ring.”

“Dixie! Let's see Dixie and Mule!” shouted Asa.

The call for Dixie made the rounds. It grew to a whistling, foot-stomping demand.

Marie yelled to the woman collecting the bets: “I got five hundred here to put on Dixie!” She slipped five bills off the roll, passed them to the Kruppa relation when she came around the ring.

Goaded by this huge bet, others followed, demanded Dixie be brought. Kruppa hadn't much choice; the crowd was too excited, wanted to see blood for real. He shouted to Dewitt to get Dixie, but Dewitt had his hands full with Jules.

“Dixie ain't in the stalls; where you got her?”

“In the damn house. Go get her!”

Jules was still straining at the leash and, with surprising strength, all but toppling the skinny Dewitt.

Mary stepped over to him. “Here,” she said. “I'll take him back and you go get the other dog.”

Dewitt looked doubtful but was glad to be rid of the Labrador and handed over the leash. Immediately, seeing Mary, the dog stopped
pulling away and sat down. Mary looked at Marie, who made a sign with her thumb and finger, smiling and nodding in the direction of the door. Mary left, with Jules calmly following after.

Her chest hurt with breath she hadn't even been aware of holding, and she let it out once they were out in the night, the door shutting off some of the noise of the crowd. While Dewitt was hurrying off toward the house, she made for the stalls and went inside to wait. Jules was silent, lay down with his head on his paws. Mary went back to the stalls, empty now but for the puppy. God only knew what was in store for it.

She watched through the little window that faced the house, watched until she saw Dewitt come out of the screen door with the other dog, Dixie, heard him curse and Dixie bark. When they disappeared into the barn, Mary left the stalls, flicking the leash to get Jules to follow. They crossed the gravel and she walked briskly up the path to where the cars were parked on the grass.

Suddenly, the man materialized beside her.

“What are you doing here, girl?”

It was Krueger. Mary felt herself go stone cold. Even her mind went numb. Pretending to a calm she certainly didn't feel—but, after all, what was there to say?—she said, “I just stopped by to pick up my dog.”

Even Krueger seemed amused by this. But he stood blocking her path, and when she moved a little, either to right or left, so did he. Mary felt like the kitten must have.

“Well, I think there's a misunderstanding, little girl. I think this dog here belongs to Buck Follett. And I'm interested in how you come to be here, not only you but his wife too. I imagine Buck'll find all this very interesting.” His smile in the dark was like a blade.

Mary heard a low growl. She could
feel
the growl, for the ground beneath her seemed to vibrate with it. Jules launched himself at Krueger and, as the man yelled, fastened his teeth in Krueger's shoulder. His scream was only one scream among many, nearly washed away by the excited voices coming from the barn.

“Jules,” said Mary. The dog responded. It released Krueger, fell back, but still stood tensely beside her. “Seems you don't make friends easy, Dr. Krueger.”

Pressing a handkerchief against his shoulder and neck, Krueger yelled at her as he made for the parking area, “I'll get that damned dog put down!”

“Gee,” said Mary, unimpressed.

He yanked the door of his luxury car open, switched on the engine, and spun out and down the drive. She stood looking after it, wondering how they—how she and Marie—could shut down Peaceable Kingdom.

Jules was quiet, sitting now, turning his head to look up at her.

“Good dog,” she said and patted the head.

Marie came out as Mary was putting Jules in the Ford. She walked quickly away from the barn, a din of voices following the opening of the door, fading when it closed, waves advancing, retreating. “Jesus, let's get out of here.” She climbed into the driver's seat.

“Wait a minute,” said Mary, taking off down the path.

“Mary!”

“One minute!” Mary called back to her.

The puppy seemed to be in a daze in the dark of the stalls, probably rendered that way by fear. Mary knew she herself would have been. It was compliant when she picked it up. Soft like butter, it tried to slither out of her grip as she ran with it to the car.

Marie had the engine going and the car out off the grass. Mary popped the back door and slid the puppy into one of the cages. Jules whined and clambered over the other two cages to inspect it.

“And just what's that for?”

Mary slammed the passenger door. “You deserve a reward.”

“Thanks.” Marie accelerated, whipped the wheel around, and sped away from the house and barn.

Mary told her about Krueger. “There must be some way to close his practice. Look at all those ‘missing' dogs. He's been supplying them.”

Marie nodded. “It would be hard to prove, though. First off, you'd have to prove Jules was one of his patients. He probably covers his tracks pretty well.”

Why do you think I took the picture?
Andi's voice came back to Mary. She sat up. “The camera's in the car!”

“What?”

“Andi took a snapshot, him and Jules together at Peaceable Kingdom.”

“No kidding?” Marie sounded excited. “That might do it . . . except then you'd have to show Jules was brought here for the fights. Somehow, I don't think you'd find Dewitt or Kruppa eager to testify. Who would? It doesn't exist, remember?”

Mary slumped down in her seat. Suddenly, she sat up. “That old man! Asa Stamper! Look, he doesn't care about anything but that damned dog of his—it didn't get killed, did it?” she asked.

“No. I hate to tell you the shape Dixie's in, though.”

“He'd be sure to remember that ‘fag dog' he didn't want fighting Mule. He might be old and nuts, but it's worth a try.”

Marie laughed and sped on down the straight-arrow road.

Mary leaned back, feeling good. She turned her head toward the passenger window. The moonlight was so dense and bright the stubbled fields looked covered with snow. It made her think of the winter mountains, of Andi in her cabin. She thought Andi would have approved of this night's work.

•   •   •

“Everybody wants to drive me home.” Mary shook her head, but the truth was she was bone-tired and glad to have someone offer.

“I can think up a story to tell your housekeeper.”

She had told Marie about Rosella. At this point, though, Mary didn't much care what Rosella would say. She closed her eyes.

Marie went on talking about the trip. She talked about routes and distances. For a woman who never left the house, she was amazingly conversant with maps. (She and Andi would get along like a house afire.) Perhaps it was because she spent a lot of time looking for ways out. “We can start early and drive right through. It's not too far to do that. And when I get tired, you can spell me. Mary?”

Mary was sleeping with her mouth open.

Marie turned to look at Jules, sitting up straight and panting and ready for action as if he were overseeing the whole operation. The puppy yapped.

“Okay,
you
can spell me.”

It took some explaining: Rosella looked at them with deep suspicion, though she seemed better able to accept the presence of Marie Follett than she did the dog, Jules.

“You got a coyote, you don't need no dog.”

“It's not mine, Rosella. I mean, I'm not going to keep it for long.”

Rosella was stirring a polenta mixture and answered as if Mary hadn't spoken. “Sunny won't get along with no dog.”

“Sunny's a dog too. Anyway, he's not even here. Sunny's been gone probably ever since I lef—”

Rosella stopped stirring. “Left? What do you mean, you left?”

“I mean the days when I went into town. You didn't expect me to stay in the house for a whole week, did you?”

“Yes,” said Rosella, and then turned to Marie (who had tactfully kept out of this squabble, realizing the squabble was habitual). In a not unfriendly fashion, and ironing the special sarcasm she reserved for Mary out of her voice, Rosella asked Marie if she would care to stay for supper.

Marie declined, but thanked her. “I've really got to get back to Idaho Falls tonight.”

“But you said you'd dropped your car off at the dealership.”

“No, not dropped it, I dumped it, is what I said. And now I'm going to get a lawyer and sue the bastards.” Marie smiled her gilt-edged smile. “There's such a thing called a lemon law and that car definitely qualifies. I'll get a flight from the Santa Fe airport, or go to Albuquerque, if I have to.”

Mary smiled. There was enough of the truth in it that Marie's account was thoroughly convincing, only the venue had been changed to Santa Fe. And Rosella loved going up against things: government, institutions, industry. She loved hearing accounts from people who went up against these faceless organizations.

“Sue,” said Rosella. “Sue their pants off.” She looked around. “Where's that dog?”

Mary was leaning her chin on her arms, which were splayed on the table. “Around.” She could hear his nails click against the tiles in the
living room. She wondered what he made of the coyote smell deeply etched into the furniture, the cushions, the hearth rug.

“You know what will happen. Sunny will come around with his coyote friends and get that dog to go with them.”

Mary snorted. “That's just too weird.”

“You don't believe me, you wait. That's what coyotes do. They visit houses and get the dogs to join them. People go around looking for their missing dogs? That's probably where they are, gone off with the coyotes.” Moving between range and table, Rosella
humphed.
“Andi, why isn't she here? She was going to stay, that's what I thought.”

Mary slumped in the kitchen chair, looked up at the ceiling. “She had to leave.”

“As I do,” said Marie.

“I can drive you to the airport,” said Mary, getting up.

Rosella turned from the stove. “You're driving no one nowhere, miss. You don't have a license. You go and call your friend a cab.”

Mary winced. Was she really back in the you-don't-have-a-license world?

•   •   •

They stood in what Mary liked to call the “Not-so-Badlands,” the desert around their adobe house that stretched as far as she could see, treeless and dotted with piñon and squat cacti. Out here there was no protection from the elements, from the intermittent rains and the frequent winds. The wind was strong today. It whipped Marie's hair like yellow foam around her face. Mary was wearing her black hat, the cord tied beneath her chin. Even so, the wind tried to take it.

“Barren,” said Marie, “but gorgeous.” The sun had started to set, gold streaming across the mountains.

They stood beside the large flat rock worn almost to the tension of the seams of Mary's jeans. She loved to come out here and sit on this rock and contemplate the arid stillness. Her hands stuffed into the pockets of her parka, she was looking off at the Sangre de Cristos.

“Marie, do you think we can really shut down that vet's office?”

“Krueger? Sure. When I get back I'm going to see about it. There are all kinds of animal rights organizations that you can complain to.
There are lawyers who specialize in that. Sure, with that snapshot and everything, Krueger'll get run out of town on a rail. A
veterinarian,
for God's sakes, supplying animals for dogfights?”

“But the fights will still go on.”

“Not for a while they won't.”

“But sometime.”

“Probably.”

“They'll find another source.”

“Probably. Are you always as up when the sun goes down?”

Mary smiled. “Yeah.”

Marie said, “There's something—”

Mary looked at her. “What?”

“That bus you told me our friend Andi was on.”

Mary nodded.

“That accident was really bad, so bad it must have been reported in every newspaper in Idaho and probably in the big papers coast-to-coast.”

“Probably.” Marie was looking at her, but Mary did not turn her head. She went on looking at the mountains.

“She went to the library and looked through papers.”

“She didn't know what she was looking for. I mean, she wasn't looking for reports of accidents; she was looking for missing persons reports.”

“But this institution, the one the bus was taking the kids back to—knowing the name of it, a person could go there, could find out who she is and where she came from.”

Mary was silent. “Maybe she doesn't want to know.”

“Yes, you said that. But I wasn't talking about her.”