“That new guy giving you a hard time? Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.”
And so on and so forth. Sarge drank deep. Too deep before he realized he was on the take. But by then, it was too late. ABCs eventually cornered him in the darkness one late night outside the 6in1. Sarge was reeling a little from the shots he’d intentionally been fed and was surprised by ABCs when he stepped down from the door of a monstrous SUV.
“We need to talk,” The Alphabet King demanded.
“Who are you?” Sarge asked.
“I’m your sponsor,” ABCs growled.
𓂓
After the encounter, Sarge confessed everything to his buddy, Hines. The memory made Hines grin as he arrived at Sarge’s desk. He had successfully recruited a senior officer, and in the process, earned a bit more respect, such that it was, from ABCs. His take became a little sweeter. More drugs. Better girls.
Hines hustled through the office maze like a rat searching for a treat. As he approached his desk, Sarge looked up. “Hey.”
Hines shifted the toothpick from one side to the other as he looked around cautiously. “We need to talk.”
𓂓
Pico circled the enclosure, seeking an opening. He paused at the corner again and pawed the chicken wire. He had broken through here before, but it had been refastened. His claws caught the thin wire and he pulled out the staples from the wooden post once again. The chickens inside the enclosure cackled, running back and forth nervously.
The bottom corner of the chicken wire broke free. A medium-sized mutt, Pico had to work in order to squeeze through. Once inside, the chickens erupted in a cacophony of noise. Quickly, Pico pinned one of them against the small ramp that led up to the coop and skillfully grabbed it by the neck. He almost made it back out of the coop before a man came charging out of the nearby dwelling.
Spooked by the man stomping toward him, Pico panicked and tried to get out quickly but got stuck in the opening he’d made. The wire had folded back and dug into his fur and skin. The man came around the corner and caught him by the collar. He yanked him out, causing Pico to yelp and drop the now-dead chicken. The man looked down angrily at the dog, recognizing the collar. He tightened his grip, picked up the dead chicken and dragged the animal two houses down.
He stood before the door, banging and yelling, the dead chicken flopping around in his hand as he hit the door. Little Armando opened the door a little. “Si?”
“This is your dog?” the man asked.
Armando loved Pico. Weeks had passed since the rangy mutt had befriended him the day after his mother was taken. To his father’s dismay, he began feeding the animal table scraps and the dog wound up following him everywhere. The animal’s presence had helped to soothe the pain of his mother’s disappearance. One day, he fashioned a colorful collar from scraps of fabric left behind in his mother’s closet.
“Si?” the boy replied.
The man held up the dead chicken and began to speak but Armando’s father pulled the door open wide and interrupted him. “Why are you banging on my door so early?”
The man recoiled at the liquor smell on his breath. “It is not so early, as you say. And your boy’s dog has broken into my chicken coop again.” He held up the dead bird. “This time, you must pay.”
“It is not our dog,” his father lied.
“You lie! Your boy just admitted it. Besides, I recognize the collar he put on it. They walk by my house together every day.”
Armando’s father looked down at him. “You make a liar out of me?” Eyes half-lidded, he lazily backhanded the boy, knocking him back on his butt. “Get back, I’ll deal with you later.” Then he looked back at the man. “I will fix this.”
“You will pay me for my chickens!”
“Build a better pen,” Armando’s father snapped back before he reached into his pocket for a coin. He handed it to the man. “This chicken will be mine now, si?”
“Yes,” the man replied.
Armando’s father looked down at the dead chicken and snatched it from the man, then dropped it to the ground in front of the dog, who eyed it hungrily. He grabbed the dog by the collar, wrenching Pico away from the man’s grip. “Now, leave us.”
The man scoffed then stepped back, pausing to watch.
Clutching the dog by the collar, Armando’s father reached inside the door and pulled a small section of thin rope he used as a belt before he had his suspenders repaired. Kneeling before the dog, he spoke softly as he wrapped the rope around his neck. “So, you are a little thief, are you? We will fix your taste for chickens.”
He tied off the rope and left extra on the end, then jerked the dog toward him and tied the end around the neck of the chicken. Pico backed up, trying to bend his head down and clamp the chicken in his jaws but could only get a feather or two. He continued struggling, walking backwards, growing more confused and distressed. Standing up to admire his work, Armando’s father looked after the neighbor as he turned to walk away. “He will not bother your chickens anymore.”
The man glanced down at the dog struggling to move with the weight of the dead bird around his neck, then shook his head and hustled away.
“Papa, no!” Armando yelled from inside.
“Shut up,” his father replied, then gave the dog a kick in the gut for good measure before he slammed the door shut. Turning to Little Armando, he pointed a crooked finger, broken many times by angry men who did not receive payment on a bet. “As for you...”
Armando cowered in fear.
“You will learn. Someone has to pay,” his father snarled as he reached for his thick leather belt.
𓂓
Jackie returned to the room to find Clay sitting up on the bed, legs dangling over the side. Sean held his left arm to help him keep steady. A nurse stood at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed.
Elena stood nearby, looking down at his feet. “You have funny-looking toes, Mr. Clay, like different size peanuts,” she giggled.
Clay wiggled them for her. “Looks like they work pretty good for a buncha peanuts,” he said.
Elena shuffled her feet, swinging her arms in a little dance as she laughed out loud.
The nurse chimed in, “okay, that’s enough. You need to lie back down.” Frowning, she pointed at the bed. “Too much movement too soon is not a good idea.”
