you wind up with AIDS or brain dead in a prison somewhere?”
“Is there a rule that no dogs are allowed in the hospital?”
“Of course there is. This is a hospital. Have some black coffee, dear. Clear your mind.”
When I got to the closed door of Dante’s room, my fear rendered me unable to push it open. I was suddenly filled with the idea that he was already dead. I began to shake again. And sweat. Panicking.
Changing direction, I stumbled and walked as fast as I could down the corridor, making my way toward the cool darkness and safety of the garage, my head hammering.
After endless lefts and rights in the hallways, I got through the hospital’s double-doors to the parking lot and breathed in the gas fumes and fresh air. The coolness helped to steady me until I could find a quiet spot between two parked cars where I knelt down and slammed almost the whole pint of Jack that I had in my coat pocket. Again I breathed deep. In and out.
In a few minutes the head banging slowed enough for me to light a cigarette. Then I waited some more, hoping to feelthe “click” from the Jack. I lit a second cigarette and smoked that too. No “click” happened, but gradually the edge was coming off.
I finished the bottle and scooted the empty under the dark green Benz I’d been leaning on. My shaking had stopped and I could stand, so I began searching in the garage for my brother’s Country Squire where I’d left my spare pint of Jack Daniels’ and my father’s dog.
I found the car quickly enough, but forgot that all the doors would be locked. I didn’t want to return to the waiting room, so I sat on the back bumper trying to decide what to do. The realization came that anal Fabrizio must have a hide-a-key somewhere under the car.
I was right. Feeling around under the bumper, it took a minute or two until my rattling fingers found a small metal, magnetized container with the spare keys in it.
Unlocking the passenger door, I looked through the back window and saw Rocco asleep with the dead lump of mangled hair and bones still between his legs.
He was awakened by the interior light, which went on when I opened the car door. Rocco raised himself to the level of the top of the back seat, where I could see his wide, shark-shaped head and the gopher once more dangling from his mouth. Then the impounded smell of the decomposing carcass hit me and my throat gagged shut from the intensity of the stink.
It was impossible to enter. I had to swing all the doors open and hold my breath long enough to climb in, start the engine, hit the air conditioner’s fan button, then hop out to breathe again.
When the rancidness was mostly gone, I was able to sit inside. I located my spare bottle of Jack from under the seat and took some long pulls, waiting once more for my pulsating brain to get quiet. My thoughts were always the enemy. That, and the headaches.
I needed time by myself, to escape. To take Fab’s wagon and get a hotel room and be alone. A quick check of my pockets told me I had sufficient money for several days. I’d find a porno movie and hang out and let the mouth of some stranger suck me off in the dark. I’d wait until Dante was buried deep, then go back to New York. Or somewhere. Wait until this shit was over. Just be anonymous. Not think. Not feel.
The booze had relaxed me enough to formulate that simple plan. First, I’d take Rocco into the hospital and deposit him at the old man’s bedside. There was no harm in that. Benny Roth and Fabrizio could deal with the dog by themselves.
When my head pounding had decreased, I made my move. Getting Rocco out of the back of the wagon was pretty easy. As before, he snarled and tried looking vicious, but I used the cheddar cheese hunks to distract him from the gopher, then snatched the dead fucker up by the tail.
Once I had the corpse away from the dog, I used the plastic supermarket bag to roll the body up, soaking it generously first with splashes of whiskey that
“Is there a rule that no dogs are allowed in the hospital?”
“Of course there is. This is a hospital. Have some black coffee, dear. Clear your mind.”
When I got to the closed door of Dante’s room, my fear rendered me unable to push it open. I was suddenly filled with the idea that he was already dead. I began to shake again. And sweat. Panicking.
Changing direction, I stumbled and walked as fast as I could down the corridor, making my way toward the cool darkness and safety of the garage, my head hammering.
After endless lefts and rights in the hallways, I got through the hospital’s double-doors to the parking lot and breathed in the gas fumes and fresh air. The coolness helped to steady me until I could find a quiet spot between two parked cars where I knelt down and slammed almost the whole pint of Jack that I had in my coat pocket. Again I breathed deep. In and out.
In a few minutes the head banging slowed enough for me to light a cigarette. Then I waited some more, hoping to feelthe “click” from the Jack. I lit a second cigarette and smoked that too. No “click” happened, but gradually the edge was coming off.
I finished the bottle and scooted the empty under the dark green Benz I’d been leaning on. My shaking had stopped and I could stand, so I began searching in the garage for my brother’s Country Squire where I’d left my spare pint of Jack Daniels’ and my father’s dog.
I found the car quickly enough, but forgot that all the doors would be locked. I didn’t want to return to the waiting room, so I sat on the back bumper trying to decide what to do. The realization came that anal Fabrizio must have a hide-a-key somewhere under the car.
I was right. Feeling around under the bumper, it took a minute or two until my rattling fingers found a small metal, magnetized container with the spare keys in it.
Unlocking the passenger door, I looked through the back window and saw Rocco asleep with the dead lump of mangled hair and bones still between his legs.
He was awakened by the interior light, which went on when I opened the car door. Rocco raised himself to the level of the top of the back seat, where I could see his wide, shark-shaped head and the gopher once more dangling from his mouth. Then the impounded smell of the decomposing carcass hit me and my throat gagged shut from the intensity of the stink.
It was impossible to enter. I had to swing all the doors open and hold my breath long enough to climb in, start the engine, hit the air conditioner’s fan button, then hop out to breathe again.
When the rancidness was mostly gone, I was able to sit inside. I located my spare bottle of Jack from under the seat and took some long pulls, waiting once more for my pulsating brain to get quiet. My thoughts were always the enemy. That, and the headaches.
I needed time by myself, to escape. To take Fab’s wagon and get a hotel room and be alone. A quick check of my pockets told me I had sufficient money for several days. I’d find a porno movie and hang out and let the mouth of some stranger suck me off in the dark. I’d wait until Dante was buried deep, then go back to New York. Or somewhere. Wait until this shit was over. Just be anonymous. Not think. Not feel.
The booze had relaxed me enough to formulate that simple plan. First, I’d take Rocco into the hospital and deposit him at the old man’s bedside. There was no harm in that. Benny Roth and Fabrizio could deal with the dog by themselves.
When my head pounding had decreased, I made my move. Getting Rocco out of the back of the wagon was pretty easy. As before, he snarled and tried looking vicious, but I used the cheddar cheese hunks to distract him from the gopher, then snatched the dead fucker up by the tail.
Once I had the corpse away from the dog, I used the plastic supermarket bag to roll the body up, soaking it generously first with splashes of whiskey that
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