Junkyard Dog(6)

The crowbar makes quick work of the wailing f*ck. He begs first before having a delusional moment where he threatens me with payback. I nail him in the ass for that bullshit and likely break his tailbone. Ass injuries are surprisingly bothersome, and I smile at the thought of him limping around Common Bend. Whenever people ask what happened, he’ll share my evil deeds. I look forward to my legend growing.

Joe and Greg dump the dealer back in Common Bend while I drive home. On the way, I pick up fast food for Nightmare and me. I also call the new sheriff in Common Bend.

Sheriff Carter is a whipped monkey. He takes his orders from a motorcycle club out of Kentucky. The last sheriff pushed back against the Reapers and their leader, Cooper Johansson, and he’s a dead man walking now. The better-behaved Carter plans to remain alive and well.

“You need to keep your people on tighter leashes,” I bark as soon as Carter answers.

“I don’t…”

“You will. If I find your people peddling their shit on my streets again, I’ll have a conversation with Johansson. I don’t mind if he sends his guys down here to look around. How about you, *? Are you okay with your boss checking up on you?”

I don’t wait for Carter to answer. Hanging up, I order my burgers and fries before heading home.

My house is my sanctuary. Sounds like a * thing to say, but I love my damn house. No one is allowed to visit. Even my dad doesn’t come over. Not when he’s always covered in cat hair, and Nightmare eats cats. Well, I’ve never actually seen my dog eat a cat, but I’ve seen him chase one with his mouth hanging open. I assume if the big bastard caught the furball he’d have made it a meal.

A maid cleans the place every other day. A gardener keeps the yard perfect. My house isn’t the nicest in town, but it’s built to fit me and only me.

The fence isn’t a delicate iron-rod like my neighbors’, but a thick, concrete mass capable of withstanding a car bomb. The style of the house is considered mid-century modern apparently. I’ve always preferred hard edges. As a kid, I enjoyed playing with blocks. That’s how my house feels - a well-built row of tall blocks with sharp lines.

In my house, I never have to duck. I can enter my shower without squeezing through the door. I’m able to stretch out in my bathtub. Everything fits a man of my size. The house is manly as f*ck too. I like dark wood. I like dark colors. I like leather furniture. I hate light and airy. This house looks like me, and I hear it scares the local kids. This idea makes me smile.

Nightmare meets me at the garage door. He has the run of the place while I’m gone. Through his giant-sized doggy door, he can go outside to do his business. Mostly he hangs out inside and owns the place.

My dog is Leonburger breed and huge like me. He scares the shit out of everyone even though the dumbass hunts squirrels rather than burglars. If someone broke into the house, he would watch them take all our shit. Well, assuming the * didn’t sleep through it.

Nightmare looks like his name, but he’s a softie unlike me. The dog follows me from the kitchen to the massive living room where I turn on the massive wall-mounted TV. I dump his burger and fries on a plate on the floor and then dig into my meal.

After searching my DVR, I settle on an episode of the survivalist show Alone. Nightmare finishes his meal and jumps on the expansive sectional couch. He has his spot, and I have mine, and it’s been this way for a decade.

“New assistant started today,” I tell the dog.

He looks at me with his brown eyes, and I wonder what he imagines I said. My guess is something about food. Only a few things perk him up lately. Food, squirrels, and food.

“She’s a f*cking bossy bitch,” I say with my mouth full. “I like her. She might work out.”

Nightmare rests his head on his paws and stares at me. I think he’s hoping I’ll toss him a few fries.

“She’s a helluva looker too,” I say, giving in and handing the dog a fry. He eats it before staring horrified that I might think one is enough. I give him a few more, and he’s a happy camper. “She has kids. Women with kids are too much of a hassle. You remember Brenda.”

I think to my last attempt to have a girlfriend. She came with a daughter, an ex-husband, custody issues, and too much whining to make the relationship worth my time. The woman was so self-absorbed I had to dump her twice before she noticed.

Candy might be worth trying again. When I yelled at her earlier about not answering the phone, she yelled she was in the bathroom. Did I want her crapping on the floor or was it possible for me to get off my ass and pick up the phone myself?

The chick is ballsy, and I like women with big brass ones. I figure office life will get very complicated if I decide to pursue my assistant. I consider waiting to make my move until she settles in, but I know other men will soon circle her like sharks. Available attractive women in White Horse are a rarity.

No doubt I’ll need to put my mark on Candy before it’s too late.





FIVE - CANDY


When I pick up the twins, I learn Honey’s douche husband is working late and won’t be home for dinner. My sister looks like crap, and her kids are writing on the walls. I want to kick their adorable little asses, but instead, I suggest she come with me to dinner at McDonald’s. Her kids can wear themselves out in the play area, and I can learn to be friends with Honey. A simple enough plan.