The Dogs of Main Street

Chris slid the picture across the bar and looked at me with cold and calculating eyes.

“It’s happening, Rip,” he said. “There’s no other way.”

The picture showed Melissa coming out of the Bootlegger bar on Main St, looking behind her, waving to her friends. Her smile so natural, and real. Her brown hair blowing in the early fall wind.

“I-I-I can’t.” I said. “Jesus, Chris.”

He sighed, sucking the air deep into lungs, before interlocking his fingers and placing his elbows on the table.

“You remember Randy Geary?” Chris asked. Of course, I remembered him.

“Yeah.”

“That’s how this game started, man. He killed my pit bull, Angel, my best girl. He went around slaughtering dogs in town for how long, Rip? Three, four months, and what did the city cops do? They never caught him. They never fucking caught him. We figured it out in two days, Rip. Two days.” He waved his index and middle finger inches away from my face.

“Yeah, we did, man. We did.” I was still staring at the picture. Her face. God, she was beautiful.

“All we did was figure out where the dogs were being killed, and knowing Annandale like we do, we set up in our old high school dugout, remember? Frankie wouldn’t shut up about how he lost his virginity there to Polly Anderson. Jesus, that girl got around.”

Chris laughed, that big psychotic hyena laugh.

“We caught him walking down Wellington, man. Boom. Just like that, we got him and the Main Street Dogs were born.”

I didn’t answer.

“Right, brother?”

“Yeah” I was still staring at the picture. Chris grabbed it, sighed, and stuffed it into the front pocket of his leather jacket. “Earth to Rip, hello, Earth to Rip.”

“Yeah, man. The dogs.”

“Wearing those masks, man. That was therapy, you know? My mah went to therapy after the old man hightailed it. She said it helped, but all he did was supply her with her own big pharma factory, ya know? Did he ever actually help, or just say, wow, you’re really messed up, miss, here, take all these pills, and you’ll feel better?”

He paused and looked at me. He stared at me the way my father used to when he was angry, demanding an answer to a rhetorical question.

I hated it. He’d say, Rip, are you stupid? And I’d look at him in silence, trying to hold the tears back with sheer will. But he would wait for an answer. He would never just let it go. If I said no, he would scream, Well then why are you acting like it? If I said yes, he would think I was being a smartass. Either way, when he was in that mood, all you could do was pray that time would speed up. And you’d still be around when it reached its destination.

Chris was looking at me the same way, and it was making me feel sick.

“I love her, man. I love this girl.” I finally said, my voice cracking like a prepubescent boy; and I looked at the half-drunk pint of draught to my left. Watching the suds float to the top effortlessly, wishing I could shed my skin, and go live in the glass. Floating. Rising above the bottom. Elevating

“The girl won’t die, brother. She won’t even know you had anything to do with it. She won’t be any the wiser, Rip. You have my word.” His brown eyes looked less psychotic, almost human, compassionate. But that’s what made him so dangerous.

I’d seen him change from cold to compassionate when Rory Macdonald had his way with his sixteen-year-old cousin, or when Damien Wells hit a kid with his car, high on methamphetamines, and look how it turned out for them.

Sure, they deserved it. They did, but now he was grouping Melissa in with these lowlifes. Thinking that she was guilty, simply by association. By blood. Like that was something a person could control.

She didn’t kill anyone, or mess around with a minor, but to Chris she represented something that he hated. The society within a society.

A rich family. The heiress to Roy & Son’s. A nice big home out by Killarney Lake with acres of land and money to burn. A family of dishonest socialites, drowning in a liquidated gold mine, putting people on the streets that had no business being there.

“She’s not like them. She’s not.”

He smiled at me and slowly shook his head from side to side. I felt like a child, begging for a snack. Just one more. This will be the last one, I promise, and looking in the eyes of my folks, who knew damn well that I wasn’t getting what I wanted. Beg and barter, and lay down on the ground, their eyes would say. Our minds were made up a long time ago, boy. Chris’s eyes said the same thing. Almost like he pitied me. Almost.

“It doesn’t matter anyway, Rip. It has to happen. The greedy bastard could stand some humility, and a lesson on ethics, man. It won’t even hurt his bank account, and it’ll keep us above ground, right? Listen, I’ll take her to the cottage and call her old man. He might give us what he wants right away. Then it’ll be quick, and you can live happily ever after with the lawyer’s daughter. Okay?”

He paused, staring into my eyes. Reading them and understanding that I was going to try something. I was going to get Melissa out of this town. I had to.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Rip. Don’t try to take off like you’re a character from a goddamn Springsteen song, alright? Just don’t do it. Let her go out to the bar tonight, have a good time, drink a few drinks, eye fuck a few sweaty morons, and when she leaves, and cuts through Bridge road, instead of taking the main drag, we’ll snatch her up quick, no one gets hurt. Okay?”

I shook my head slowly from side to side. Trying to wake up. Please, be a dream, I thought. Please, let me wake up in bed with Melissa softly snoring in the comforting darkness of my apartment. Please. I promise, I’ll never put that stupid mask on again.

Chris massaged his forehead, feeling stressed out, trying to contain his anger, much like my father.

“Rip, I’ll kill her, and you. I’ll kill you both if you screw this up. If you just keep your mouth shut, you’ll have deep deep pockets, man. Just keep your mouth shut, and your payday will be grand. I guarantee it.”

“F-f-fine.” I stuttered, seeing no other way out of the trap that I built myself, the day I decided to let this man into my life.“Then I’m done. Melissa and I are getting out of town. I’m throwing the stupid mask in the garbage. No more vigilante shit. I’m done. I’m goddamn DONE!” I screamed that last word. The few bar patrons momentarily turned in their seats to see what was going on, and Chris waved them off.

“He’s okay, he’s just on the rag.” He said, a few of the drunks laughed.

I left and walked back to my place as a soft rain began to fall from the sky. My hand reached out and let the water drop on the lines of my palm. I wondered what a fortune teller would think that meant. Maybe that the floodgates had opened, and my world was coming to an end.

Melissa was coming out of the apartment as soon as I started walking on the cracked concrete slabs. She was all dolled up. She was different; I thought. She wasn’t like them. Melissa loved me, and didn’t care about the class difference. This woman walked out of my slumlord villa like she couldn’t have been any more at home. Because this was her home. She was my home.

“Hey, baby.” She said, “How was your day?”

I stared at her. Picturing her gagged and bound and knowing that it was either that or we were dead. Simple as that. Two options. Non-negotiable.

“I love you, Mel,” I said. “I love you so much”

“I love you, too, even though you’re acting kind of weird.”

“Sorry.” I placed my hands gently on her cheeks and tried to hold it all back as I kissed her. I held onto that kiss as long as I could, before she backed off.

“See you tonight, and we’ll pick up where we left off.” She winked, and she was gone.