In The Company Of Monsters

Hi, Jack

SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

14 year old Maddie pedaled her bike hard down the sidewalk, dodging a basketball someone had left outside. Her parents had called the brand new, lime green Diamondback Cruiser ‘cooly retro’ with its wide handlebars and large metal mud flaps. She just called it quite the shit, and loved showing it off.

As Maddie approached Mr. Arnette’s house, she saw him standing in his front yard, staring at the long grass. Whizzing past his mailbox, she took her feet off the pedals, leaned back, and gave him a wave.

Jack smiled and nodded, but his mind seemed somewhere else. It usually did, she thought. He always seemed sort of distracted and sad, at the same time. She felt kinda sorry for him.

Jack Arnette knew he should mow the grass. He looked around, checking the other yards as Maddie zipped away down the street. Yeah, his looked like crap. But the thought of pulling out the mower just made him tired. Maybe after a little more sleep. He picked up his newspaper and walked back inside.

* * *

Four hours later, Jack’s cellphone rang. It sat forgotten, beside the bedroom alarm clock. Noonday sun streamed in through the blinds, playing across the empty bed.

Ring...

In the living room, Jack stirred. Slouched into the sofa, bare feet propped on the coffee table, he roused himself, kicking the almost empty bottle of rye whiskey off the table.

“Dammit...” Jack mumbled, rolling to sit up. The house once had a woman’s touch, but that was years ago. Mixed in with the period antiques were tall piles of books and DVDs. The whiskey slowly bled into the crimson persian rug Nicole and he had found in Morocco.

Ring...

The sound bored into his head, and he winced. He still wore the jeans and black T-shirt he’d gone out in last night. Behind him, Zeva, his German Shepherd, quietly padded in, then sat watching and waiting.

He vaguely remembered settling into the sofa last night and passing out. Before that, whiskey... pizza... and... Casablanca. And earlier? Ah, yeah. Yesterday would have been their seven year anniversary. That explained things. And, did he see that Maggie girl?

Ring...

Zeva danced about, then barked once, loudly. Jack nearly leapt from the sofa.

“Fine!” he growled back. Zeva’s only response was a slight cocking of her head.

Jack ran into the bedroom and answered the phone.

“This is Jack.” He listened, eyes closed, stroking his three day stubble. If the jackhammer in his head would take a break, he’d be eternally grateful.

“Yeah, hey William. What’ve you got for me?”

He listened, rubbing his temple. Did he remember to buy more aspirin?

“Bullshit,” replied Jack. His eyes shot wide open. William offered assurances that it was not, in fact, bullshit.

“Believe me, if this is real, you’ll get the reward money. No problem,” he said, now fully awake. Of course it would happen today!

Jack hung up, then opened the bedside table drawer. He took out his badge, and a holstered .45 Sig Sauer. Jack paused, staring at the newspaper article taped to the bedroom wall. Yellowed with age, a picture of a better looking Jack walking beside a gurney covered with a white sheet. The headline announced "Hostage Situation Ends In Tragedy". Jack turned and walked away.

In the living room, Zeva had found the last slice of pepperoni, and she was happily rooting in the pizza box for scraps.

Jack sighed. “Zeva...”

She turned his way. What?

“Come on,” he said, headed for the kitchen. She knew that room, and good things usually came from it, so she left the pizza box behind and followed Jack.

The fridge door still had a great picture of Nicole and him, on a friend’s dive boat in Cozumel. Hot sun, clear water, shrimp tacos. Good times.

He opened the door to find something more suitable for Zeva. His choices were limited to a quart of chocolate milk, a six pack of beer, 2 bags of takeout, a jar of olives and a brick of Extra Sharp Cheddar.

Jack grabbed the chocolate milk, guzzled some, then opened a bag of take out and poured it into a bowl. A half-eaten burrito. He put the bowl on the floor, and Zeva seemed satisfied.

Jack put his gun and badge on his belt, then headed to the front door. Zeva left her burrito behind to follow him.

He threw on a jacket, and opened the front door, blinking at the crazy bright day out there. A small side table by the door held his keys, an ankle holster with a silver snubnose pistol, and a small silver flask. He strapped on the ankle holster, pocketed the keys, and picked up the flask. 

He started to slip it into his jacket when something caught his eye and he paused. Zeva sat nearby, looking at him silently.

Jack returned the stare. “No one asked you, mutt.” 

He pocketed the flask, and petted Zeva’s head.

“Be home soon.”