with a sound that wasn’t quite a bark but a scream. She
sprang from the bed amid low growls and the howl of the hound as it
turned to defend itself. Linda didn’t have the patience to run
down the hallway to the living room, into the dining room, and out
the door, so she raised the blinds, sat on the windowsill, swung her
legs out, and jumped to the grass. She sprinted toward the kennel,
muttering to herself, “He’s absolutely retarded.”
When she reached the high
chain-link fence she could already see the bloodhound backed into the
corner trying to keep the Rottweilers away from his hamstrings. His
left ear had been chewed, and there was blood dripping from his
muzzle.
Earl was standing in the corner
of the pen, absently rubbing the bristle of his unshaven chin as he
watched the big, heavy black dogs hurl themselves at the hound.
Linda spoke loudly enough for
him to hear. “Call them off, Earl.”
He turned slowly and looked at
her, but she didn’t wait. She barked, “Halt! Aufhören
damit!” The two Rottweilers stopped and backed up until
they were beside the fence.
“Oh, it’s you,”
said Earl. “The face didn’t ring a bell.” She
traced his line of vision and found herself looking down. She hastily
closed the robe and tied it.
“What are you doing?”
she asked wearily.
“Trying to see how two of
them work when they’ve got something cornered.”
“They bite the hell out of
it until it bleeds to death. What more could you possibly find out?”
“I wasn’t sure.
That’s why I did it. Now I know.”
“And?”
“It might come in handy
some time. I think I could beat two of them. Don’t know anybody
else who could.”
“So what are you going to
do with this thousand-dollar purebred bloodhound you brought home a
week ago? You can’t enter it in a show now that it’s all
chewed up. You can’t even put it out to stud.”
Earl glanced at the dog cowering
in the corner of the exercise yard, not daring to move. He shrugged.
“Science.”
Linda walked into the house and
opened the cupboard beside the sink. She pulled out the Heckler &
Koch .45 A.C.P. pressed the button at the rear of the trigger guard
to release the magazine, and checked it. She had to be sure Earl
hadn’t left it unloaded the last time he had pissed her off.
No, there was a full load often Federal Hydra-Shok hollow-points. She
slipped the big pistol inside her robe, clamped it there with her
left arm, and stepped out the door.
When she reached the kennel, he
had already let the bloodhound out of the pen into the run, and he
was busily giving the Rottweilers chunks of red steak. She walked
beside the fence of the long, narrow track to the spot where the
bloodhound was lying on its belly trying to lick some of the gashes
in its chest, but not really able to. She flicked off the safety,
pushed the muzzle of the pistol through the links of the fence, aimed
at the dog’s round, bony cranium, and blew it apart.
The report of the big pistol
brought Earl around the kennel into the exercise run. He looked at
her blue face with the staring eyeholes, but he didn’t speak.
She answered him anyway. “Any
vet who got a look at him would have called the police.”
He said, “You going to
bury that?”
She had already started back
across the lawn. Her blue mask had hardened, and now it burned
against her skin as she whirled and snapped, “You know
goddamned well I’m not”
Linda walked back into the
kitchen, released the magazine, and left the pistol on the counter
for Earl to clean. She knew if she cleaned it, he would clean it
again. In her bathroom, she gently washed the mask off and patiently,
thoroughly rubbed moisturizer from the tiny jar onto her face with
her fingertips, staring into the mirror over the sink.
That was Earl. She had no doubt
that he had figured out how to kill two Rottweilers attacking him at
once. But the part that made him Earl Bliss was that if he hadn’t
been sure, then tomorrow or the next
sprang from the bed amid low growls and the howl of the hound as it
turned to defend itself. Linda didn’t have the patience to run
down the hallway to the living room, into the dining room, and out
the door, so she raised the blinds, sat on the windowsill, swung her
legs out, and jumped to the grass. She sprinted toward the kennel,
muttering to herself, “He’s absolutely retarded.”
When she reached the high
chain-link fence she could already see the bloodhound backed into the
corner trying to keep the Rottweilers away from his hamstrings. His
left ear had been chewed, and there was blood dripping from his
muzzle.
Earl was standing in the corner
of the pen, absently rubbing the bristle of his unshaven chin as he
watched the big, heavy black dogs hurl themselves at the hound.
Linda spoke loudly enough for
him to hear. “Call them off, Earl.”
He turned slowly and looked at
her, but she didn’t wait. She barked, “Halt! Aufhören
damit!” The two Rottweilers stopped and backed up until
they were beside the fence.
“Oh, it’s you,”
said Earl. “The face didn’t ring a bell.” She
traced his line of vision and found herself looking down. She hastily
closed the robe and tied it.
“What are you doing?”
she asked wearily.
“Trying to see how two of
them work when they’ve got something cornered.”
“They bite the hell out of
it until it bleeds to death. What more could you possibly find out?”
“I wasn’t sure.
That’s why I did it. Now I know.”
“And?”
“It might come in handy
some time. I think I could beat two of them. Don’t know anybody
else who could.”
“So what are you going to
do with this thousand-dollar purebred bloodhound you brought home a
week ago? You can’t enter it in a show now that it’s all
chewed up. You can’t even put it out to stud.”
Earl glanced at the dog cowering
in the corner of the exercise yard, not daring to move. He shrugged.
“Science.”
Linda walked into the house and
opened the cupboard beside the sink. She pulled out the Heckler &
Koch .45 A.C.P. pressed the button at the rear of the trigger guard
to release the magazine, and checked it. She had to be sure Earl
hadn’t left it unloaded the last time he had pissed her off.
No, there was a full load often Federal Hydra-Shok hollow-points. She
slipped the big pistol inside her robe, clamped it there with her
left arm, and stepped out the door.
When she reached the kennel, he
had already let the bloodhound out of the pen into the run, and he
was busily giving the Rottweilers chunks of red steak. She walked
beside the fence of the long, narrow track to the spot where the
bloodhound was lying on its belly trying to lick some of the gashes
in its chest, but not really able to. She flicked off the safety,
pushed the muzzle of the pistol through the links of the fence, aimed
at the dog’s round, bony cranium, and blew it apart.
The report of the big pistol
brought Earl around the kennel into the exercise run. He looked at
her blue face with the staring eyeholes, but he didn’t speak.
She answered him anyway. “Any
vet who got a look at him would have called the police.”
He said, “You going to
bury that?”
She had already started back
across the lawn. Her blue mask had hardened, and now it burned
against her skin as she whirled and snapped, “You know
goddamned well I’m not”
Linda walked back into the
kitchen, released the magazine, and left the pistol on the counter
for Earl to clean. She knew if she cleaned it, he would clean it
again. In her bathroom, she gently washed the mask off and patiently,
thoroughly rubbed moisturizer from the tiny jar onto her face with
her fingertips, staring into the mirror over the sink.
That was Earl. She had no doubt
that he had figured out how to kill two Rottweilers attacking him at
once. But the part that made him Earl Bliss was that if he hadn’t
been sure, then tomorrow or the next
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