Part 49 (1/2)

Hank dropped the book on the floor, pulled down his trousers, and started to p.i.s.s on it. Instinctively, Andy reached out to rescue it, but quickly withdrew his hands. He knew better than to interfere.

”There,” Hank said, finis.h.i.+ng. ”It just needed a man's opinion.”

Laughing, he stomped out of the room, stumbled sideways into the hallway, and then headed for the stairs.

Andy shut the door and blew out his candle. He climbed back into bed.

His head throbbed. His chest ached. The air stunk of p.i.s.s. He started to cry.

Dead.

He wanted his pa dead.

He wanted him shot, cut into bits, and fed to hogs. He was sick of it; all those years of getting beat for nothing.

He found his screw token.

He held it in his fist.

After Hank pa.s.sed out, Andy left The Ram. Across the street, the livery gates were still open and a lantern glowed inside. It was late, but occasionally Cole would stay to give the stalls a thorough cleaning. That night, Andy was thankful for his diligence. He crossed the street and slipped inside.

”Cole?” he called.

”Who is it?” Cole said, emerging from a stall with his pitchfork. On the opposite side of the livery, Don leaned against the wall, flipping that bone handled knife of his.

”It's me,” Andy said, squinting into the lantern light.

When he saw him, Cole nearly dropped his pitchfork. ”What happened?” he asked.

He must've looked bad this time. Andy felt the tears coming but managed to hold them back. He said, ”Sally doesn't want to hump because of her sc.r.a.p with Devlin.”

”So he beat you,” Cole said, shaking his head. ”He beat on Jack as well?”

”I don't think so.”

”Of course not. That son of a b.i.t.c.h.”

Cole always got riled up when someone picked on Andy. When they were kids, Cole had a hard time learning his letters, so Andy helped him. In return, Cole became a loyal bulldog for Andy, beating down any fella that tried to make a fool out of him. Any fella except his pa.

”You are always getting the tar end of the stick,” Don said. ”Why don't you ever knock back? You some kind of coward?”

”Shut up, or leave my livery,” Cole said to him.

”I meant no disrespect,” Don said. ”All I'm saying is he should give as good as he gets. We all know Hank can't move worth a d.a.m.n. Box his ears a little? He'll let you be.”

”You go do that,” Cole said. ”You go beat on Hank Dupois and see how long it takes to swing from Hannigan's Tree.”

Don folded his arms and kept quiet.

”I'm sorry for what he did to you,” Cole said to Andy.

”I'll be all right,” Andy said. ”He doesn't hit as hard as he used to.”

Cole shook his head. ”Your pa is one lump of s.h.i.+t that needs shoveling. He robs the wh.o.r.es, he beats on you without cause, and I can't be seen with Liza lest I want my backside shot off.”

”I want him gone,” Andy said.

Don burst out laughing. ”Gone!” he said. ”That's a good one, Andy.”

”Gone?” Cole said.

”You heard me.”

Cole stared at him, but he wasn't laughing. ”What do you propose?”

”Whiskey,” Andy said.

”You gonna make him drink till he's dead?” Don said. ”d.a.m.n Andy, I once saw your pa drink a whole jug of s.h.i.+ne and not bat an eye.”

”No,” Andy said. ”I mean Whiskey, my dog.”

”Ain't he dead?”

”Yes he is. And I know why.”

”Of course you do,” Don said. ”Is there anything you don't know besides throwing a punch?”

”Tell me,” Cole said.

”I found him beside the creek. When I cut him open, I found these small, green berries in his stomach.”

”You cut him open?” Don said, wrinkling his nose.

Andy nodded. ”I read about it and thought I'd give it a try.”

”Did he choke?” Cole asked.

”No. I think the berries are poisonous. After I took them out, I placed them in a jar to observe them. They rot quickly, turning into a syrup of sorts. It gives off a powerful stench. In fact, it smells like a dead body.”

”I never knew there were poison berries in the creek,” Don said.

”Neither did I,” Andy said.

”Nor I,” Cole said, rubbing his bottom lip. ”And if we didn't know about them, then a doc from Seaview might not either.” He started pacing, the straw crunching beneath his boots. ”It's an idea,” he said. ”But a dog ain't a man, especially a man the size of your pa. If it only made him sick, he'd get wrathy as h.e.l.l.”

Andy hadn't considered that. He leaned against a stall door, suddenly exhausted. The skin around his right eye was swelling. He felt a strange clicking sensation in his chest every time he breathed. He needed to go home and rest. Maybe in the morning he'd see things differently. ”You're right,” he said. ”It was a foolish thought. We would have to try it out on someone else first, and I'll not do that.”