A silver minivan pulled up beside them. Sparky leaned back, but there was nothing to occlude him from the man's view. The driver of the van looked over and casually waved. Sparky waved back as the man turned his head back to the light. The man’s jaw dropped and his head spun back. Eye to yellow eye with Sparky.
Frank jumped up. “It’s green! Go! Go!”
The engine roared as they tore away. The minivan didn’t move.
Sparky turned off on a secluded side road behind an out of business supermarket. He pulled out of sight, parking behind a short row of trees. He popped open the cab door and hopped down from the truck. He stretched out on all fours as his hooves sank in the sand.
“I didn’t realize how uncomfortable driving was.”
“I don’t think they had you in mind for this car,” Frank plopped down, his nose dropped level to the ground. “Smells like a make out spot.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Smells like teenagers and cheap beer,” Frank wandered the grounds with his nose in the dirt. “Hey, you tried beer? We could get some.”
“I don’t think so. We need to get gas, remember?”
“Party pooper,” Frank sat up narrating with his paws, “I could lure some people this way and you can beat them. Once they’re down and out, we take their clothes. Then you’ll be able to pass as a normal guy.”
“I’d rather not hurt anyone,” Sparky stroked at his chin with his hoof. The exhaustion of the nightlong drive was strong. His eyes teared up in the glare of the rising sun. “It might be best to wait for dark. I’d feel more confident using a disguise in the dark. You can’t drive can you Frank?”
“Unfortunately, no. Damned fleas!” he jammed his snout in between his legs, chewing and gnawing.
Sparky looked back up the side road. They were parked well out of sight. Sparky could see nothing of the small town that surrounded them.
“Can you scout around, see what our options are?”
“Sure, yeah, whatever. I’m expendable.”
Frank trotted up the road, waving his backside as he walked. Sparky didn’t catch the meaning. He was smiling innocently at Frank as the dog headed away.
Frank waltzed out onto the sidewalk and looked at the surrounding businesses. No more than a handful, including the gas station at the end of the line. No coat and hat stores.
“Drat.” Frank had failed to notice the young girl walking nearby with a small bag of popcorn.
“Mommy, that dog can talk!”
Her mother stared down the mutt, wrinkling her brows. Frank paused and then scratched his ear with his hind leg. He bounded over and dropped to his rear. His paws shot up, begging. The woman waived her hand to shoo him off. Frank didn’t flinch.
“Throw some popcorn over there, maybe he’ll leave.”
The little girl tossed a handful of popcorn on the ground and Frank gobbled it down. She giggled as he drew in each piece with his silly-looking tongue. Frank thanked her with a lick on the hand.
“Ew, God, honey that dog likely has some form of disease, don’t touch it.” The girl’s mother made a motion to kick him and Frank jumped away. He released a limp bark. The lady ushered her daughter along, furthermore ignoring the scruffy mutt.
Frank walked on and caught sight of a small roadside stand. They sold authentic Canadian souvenirs, including ridiculously oversized cowboy hats and slickers. Frank grinned. It appeared the vender had yet to open shop. The proprietor was still setting out her merchandise. He knew she was distracted.
He crept up to the booth, keeping a sharp eye on the woman. His back slid across the outer edge of the booth. With only another few steps to go, the lady turned her head. Frank dropped to all fours as her eyes settled in on him.
Frank knew her expression well.
“Shoo! Get!”
Frank rolled out his tongue, panting at her, unwavering. He gave his little whine and then proceeded directly into his full pout. Frank backed down laying flat on the ground, his eyes as wide as melons.
The woman’s lower lip shot out. “Oh, you poor little thing,” she bent down and petted Frank; he in turn nuzzled her legs. “Aww, aren’t you adorable,” she was using the baby voice. Frank wagged his tail. This game was so easy for him.
“Are you hungry boy?” Frank was always ready to treat his stomach. He bounced up and put his paws on her thighs, his tongue swinging back and forth.
The lady returned to her booth and pulled out a little brown bag. Frank sniffed but caught nothing through the paper. He ran back and forth in front of her stand.
“Whoa, boy!” she patted him gently as he trotted by.
Frank sat. The lady opened the bag and pulled free a glistening apple. She set it on the ground in front of Frank. The mutt appealed with a whine. If he were taller he would have slapped her face. What was she thinking? Giving him an apple?
The lady looked down at him puzzled. “Not hungry?” She reached for the apple. Frank barked and lunged for her hand with his mouth flaring. The woman withdrew as a look of terror flashed across her face.
“Down boy!” A man called out.
Frank halted. The male voice was familiar, but the smell was different.
“Is this your dog?” The woman asked as the stranger approached her. The glare of the sun was behind him, silhouetting his figure to the lady.
“Yes ma’am, I’m sorry. He doesn’t have a lick of sense sometimes.”
“He just about ripped my hand off! You need to put that thing on a leash, and get a muzzle.”
“I'll do that right away.”
Frank looked up. Sparky’s face remained shadowed by a mangled straw hat. The goat kept his head tilted at a down angle. The trench coat Sparky sported was long and silver. It was that moment that the dog new that something in the silver coat was the source of the very sweet smell. Frank huddle up by Sparky, sniffing at the scrumptious spot in the jacket.
“I’m very sorry,” Sparky said.
“You should be. Keep that mongrel in check.” The lady caught a whiff of a smell she couldn’t recognize. It was foul. She instinctively turned her nose up.
“Come on Frank!”
The two headed back to the truck.
“Where’d you get the food?” Frank whispered as they walked.
“What food? I don’t have any food.”
“Sure you do, don’t hold out on me, I’m your natural predator you know.” Frank looked up at the goat’s makeshift disguise. Noticing the silver coat was blotched with faded white stains. The hat made of straw appeared to have had a bite taken out of the front of the rim.
“I’m telling you I don’t have any food.”
“What’s that smell, then?” Frank prodded the goat’s leg with his snout.
“It’s this coat. I found it in a plastic bag where we parked the truck. Lucky find,” Sparky wasn’t fond of the smell, but the new coat did a great job of concealing all of him, even his legs. The hat managed to do its part to conceal him, although it was nearly in shreds.
“Smells like protein. You might as well be wearing a steak.”
“Can’t you forage for something to eat?”
“I don’t see much around here that looks tasty besides you, unless you want to spring for beer.”
“I’m not food, I am twice your size. I’m going to have to insist that you not talk to me like that.”
“I’m joking goat. You’re too serious all the time. Let’s pick up some cheap burgers and some beers after we get gas,” the goat sprung the door to the truck and Frank hopped into the passenger seat.
“Burgers are a food?”
“You’ll love them. They soak them in this red and yellow stuff. It’s heaven.”
“I’ll try a burger, but no beer.”
“Take all the fun out of my day. Don’t bite people. Don’t eat your friends. No beer before noon.”
“No beer at all.”
“Just like my mother.”
Chapter 33
“How many burgers did you want?” Sparky scanned the menu board of the fast food joint. Side to side he hunted for the dog’s selection on it, but it was nowhere to be seen.
“Seven.” Frank chirped.
“Is that a lot?”
“Jesus, if you’re going to make a big deal out of it just get me the nuggets,” Frank threw his paws in the air.
Sparky leaned toward the speaker. “Can I get seven hamburgers?”
“Please hold,” a young man’s voice erupted from the speaker.
“Oh, okay, I’ll wait until you-”
“I said hold!”
Sparky settled down in his seat and looked over at the dog. “Is everyone like this?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Works pretty well for me though, you know what those suckers call dogs?”
“What?”
“Man’s best friend.”
“What do they call goats?”
“Goats.”
“That’s no good. Why aren’t we…man’s other best friend?” Sparky flashed back to his farm home, romping in his youth around the pastures with Oliver.
“That doesn’t have the same ring to it.”
The man’s voice returned, masked by a web of static; Sparky leaned into the speaker again to hear more clearly. “I’m sorry what did you say?”
“Can I take your order?”
“Yeah, sure,” the goat reviewed the menu again briefly. “What’s a Caesar salad?”
“It’s a salad with Caesar dressing.”
“What is Caesar dressing?”
“Um, salad dressing, it’s named after some Greek guy.”
Sparky looked to his companion, “Is it any good?”
Frank looked back bewildered. “How should I know, I always get the burgers. You should get one of those.”
“I'm not into eating meat.”
“Meat?” The speaker cackled. “Could you be more specific?”
“Just a minute. What’s the difference between the Garden salad, and the Caesar salad?”
“One has your choice of dressing, one has Caesar dressing.”
“Why is that? I mean, why have two salads that are the same except for the dressing? Why not sell one salad and then offer a choice of dressing?”
There was a moment of silence.
“Bubby, I don’t know, I just take the orders. Do you want something or not?”
“Yeah, let me have seven burgers and a salad.”
“Sorry, all we’re serving right now is breakfast. Do you want breakfast?”
“Oh.” Sparky looked over to Frank. “Well then, what do you want?”
“I don’t know what they have, other than burgers.”
Sparky read the headings, “Breakfast platters, biscuits-”
“Oh, oh, oh get me the one with all the meat, seven of them,” Frank’s drool hit the seat between his words.
“Which one?”
“Are you still there, sir? Can you complete your order, there is a line.”
Sparky looked in his mirror. Behind him there was no one. He tilted his head out the window, confirming that this was indeed true.
“What line?”
“It’s a figure of speech, meaning I need your order.”
“I’ll have seven biscuits with meat. And what’s a hash brown?”
“Christ, were you raised on a farm? It’s potatoes fried in oil and splashed with salt. They’re spec-fuckin-tacular, you want some?”
The goat reviewed the breakfast section of the menu again.
“What kind of meat on the biscuits?”
“Excuse me?”
“The biscuits, you ordered, what kind of meat do you want?”
“Um,” Sparky looked to Frank.
“Just say ‘pig.’”
“Pig.”
There was no immediate response just a low buzz of static. A repeating thud rose through the static. Sparky cocked his head. Frank leaned over further and perked his ears. The sound continued in an uneven rhythm. Sparky rolled his eyes down to the dog head that was now fully extended into his lap.
“I think it is broken.” Frank returned to his seat.
Sparky eased the accelerator. They advanced to the window. The young blonde male, Guy, looking no older than eighteen human years, was repeatedly hitting his head against the register. Sparky recognized the importance of the human’s actions, he himself having personally enjoyed a good ramming. Sparky tapped on the glass window.
Guy looked over and glared. He threw open the window.
“Yes?”
Sparky hesitated. “Establishing dominance?”
“What, did Siebert put you up to this?”
“I don’t know who that is.” The goat was determined to keep the face-to-face brief. “We decided on the pig biscuits and some hash browns.”
Guy stretched his neck to one side and gritted his teeth. “Fine. How many?”
“Seven,” the word came slowly as Sparky looked over at his passenger, Frank nodded in compliance.
The man closed the window and began tapping at the computer, this time with his hands. Guy looked out to the pickup and studied the driver sitting alone with his dog, knowing he had heard at least one other person in the truck. He hated being played for a chump. Guy slid open the window; his eyes went level with Sparky’s hat rim. “I bet you think you’re so funny. Where’s the other guy?”
“Other guy?”
“Yeah, I heard two people, at least. You know my life isn’t easy, and working here is the pits. When people like you and your friends come through being jerks it really doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“I’m sorry, I guess I...” Sparky wasn’t sure what the man was upset about. The blonde teenager’s firm stare made the goat’s heart rate quicken. “Life is hard.”
Frank leaned his body out the window pointing his snout into the greasy kitchen. The dog’s tongue drooped fancy free in the morning breeze.
Guy turned back to the register screen, scowling. A dark brown bag dropped on the counter in front of him. He picked through to double check the order. From the corner of his eye Guy watched for an opening to spit.
“That man is an ass.” Frank’s body now hung halfway out the window.
“Shh. We don’t want any more attention than we’ve already earned Frank.”
An arm extended into the car window right by Sparky’s face. Guy could see the form of the driver much more clearly. “Are you wearing a mask?”
“Ass,” Frank snorted.
“You’ve got some fuckin' nerve!” Guy withdrew his arm.
The loaded bag came back into the cab in a sweeping motion. A strong aroma of oil wafted up Sparky’s nose as the paper crinkled into his face. Sparky raised his arms in time to deflect a second blow. The bag burst. It’s hot contents scattered across the truck cab.
“I’m going to kill you man!” The young man dived through the window and struggled to get his hands around the driver’s neck. The goat’s straw hat dislodged, Guy’s rage paused. His eyes went wide. “What is this? W-What the hell?”
“I’ll tell you what this is. This is really poor service man. I hate eating off the floor.” Frank ruffled through the paper wrapped pig biscuits. He looked up at the Sparky. “I’d wail on him man, and no tip.”
Guy retreated back into the restaurant, his stomach churned as his eyes stayed focused on the creature. His skin went pale.
“I, uh,” Sparky looked to Frank for direction. The mutt huffed along the floorboard, sweeping the mess of food into his mouth with his paws.
Guy let out a yell. Sparky’s arm clumsily ran its way to the column gear shift lever by the steering wheel. His claw fumbled over the device twice before he could grip it and shift into drive. His foot smashed the pedal, the engine roared but stayed in place.
“No brake,” Frank shifted his friend’s hooves from the floor to solve the confusion. “Just gas.”
The vehicle exploded in a burst of speed. They t
ore through a low wall of shrubs separating the drive thru lane from the road. The bushes grated against the sides and undercarriage of the pick-up. The truck emerged onto the main street, Sparky spun the wheel. The truck settled into the left lane, Sparky’s foot still heavy against the pedal.
A small coupe was directly oncoming. Its feeble horn belted out. The squealing of the old truck’s brakes rose over the engine’s hard groans. Sparky veered the pickup back into his lane as the coup drove off into the ditch. The goat’s foot stayed steadfast against the accelerator as his eyes sharpened in on the on ramp ahead. He blew through the red stoplight and merged onto the freeway.
Sparky turned to Frank. Biscuit crumbs covered his face and seat. The mutt picked at another wrapper with his muzzle. “These are good, goat. Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Don’t you ever do that again!” Sparky screamed.
“Hash brown?”
Chapter 34
The wear and tear of the endless highway was almost too much for Reilly to contend with. He was losing the battle with his eyelids. But the proximity to his destination lit a fire inside him. The sun rose ahead of him. The truck flew past the marker for Hawkesbury.
“How far are we out now?” Reilly’s exhaustion carried through his words.
Cross, his companion, carefully studied the landmarks on the map. His eyes had been affixed to it for the better part of ten minutes. “I think another inch, inch and a half.”
Reilly’s hand came against his forehead with an audible clap. His loose fingers trailed down after impact. His loathing for Valerie and her incompetent staff was growing every minute. Never again would he let her organize a job. No matter what the boss said.
“I’d be better off with one of those damned animals up here navigating.”
“What do you mean?” Cross asked.
“Nothing.” Reilly was a ball of hatred.
“What the hell is that?” Reilly looked into the mirror. Red and white lights flashed not far behind. “Not now.”
Reilly eased off the accelerator and waved the officer by. The police officer chirped the siren and stayed steadfast on the truck’s rear. Reilly turned to his accomplice. Cross was still fumbling with the map.
“Put that away.” Reilly ordered.
He gently pulled off on to the right shoulder of the highway. Loose gravel crackled and spit from the tires as the semi came to a complete stop.
“Stay in the truck, and stay quiet.” Reilly pointed at Cross as he spoke.
The man only nodded.
Reilly hopped down from the truck cab. He watched as the police cruiser pulled up behind them. Officer Brighton climbed out of the squad car wielding a clipboard in a deadly fashion. Reilly met the officer halfway between the cab and his car, directly beside the rear doors on his truck. The rising sun flashed in Officer Brighton’s glasses. The trooper was several inches shorter and Reilly had to look down to him.