Bait Dog An Atlanta Burns Novel - By Chuck Wendig Page 0,80
up into the full-size, he calls out over the top of the door, “You better watch out, Atlanta Burns. All you want to do is burn everything down around you, but don’t forget that people you love will get burned, too.”
“Is that a threat, Mister Erickson?”
“Well, girl, you take it to mean however you—“
She shoots out one of the Tahoe’s headlights. Orly cries out, hurries into the car and throws it in reverse. The SUV wibble-wobbles backwards, bounding in and out of the shallow ditch along the driveway, then back up the driveway until it’s gone.
Atlanta lets out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding in.
She hunkers down and hugs Whitey.
The smelly beast licks her ear. Sandpaper and slobber.
It’s quite nice. But she can’t help but worry she just made a real bad decision.
* * *
“That dog’s still freaking me out,” Shane says, staying about fifteen feet away from Whitey at all times. At present Shane stands there, rubbing his hands all nervous-like. “Are you sure you’re keeping him?”
Whitey sits, panting. Atlanta waves Shane off. “I’m not keepin’ him. I’m just… holding onto him until this storm blows over. That’s all. I don’t want a dog.”
“Did you call a shelter or anything?”
“No. Not yet. And I can’t take him to a shelter, anyway. He’s some kinda… rare breed.”
“You could sell him on the Internet.”
“To some stranger? I don’t think so.”
“You bought dog food for him.”
“And a dog bed,” she adds.
“I’d say he’s your dog.”
Again she waves him off. Whitey drops to the ground on his back, squirming around. Maybe itching his back or pretending he’s rolling in gopher shit or something. She’s not a dog psychologist and doesn’t care to find out what’s going on in that bowling ball he calls a brain.
Shane says he’ll make lunch. Though Atlanta hit the grocery store this morning, it’s not like she knows what to do with most of the ingredients she procured—so she was figuring again on a packet or Ramen noodles, or maybe a microwave pizza (though admittedly a higher-grade microwave pizza than she’s normally used to). But then she called Shane and told him what happened and, here he is. Offering to stay over for a couple-few nights until her Mama comes home. She asked him what good he would be if Orly came back, and he said he’d “bring his katana.”
Sure enough, he brought his katana.
He cooks up another of his famous grilled cheese sandwiches. Way Shane cooks is very focused, hovering over the skillet like an artist or an archaeologist, brow knitted and mouth pursed into a tight pucker. His is the face of seriousness. The very visage of concentration.
Eventually he plops a sandwich on a plate for her, garnishes with a little green sprig of parsley.
One bite and her eyes close and she can’t help but make a Mmmmguuuhhh sound around the bulging cheekful of bread and cheese and—a little bit of mustard? “Besht shandwich effer.”
Whitey stands there and starts to drool. Big glistening ribbons of saliva hanging from his jowls. Shane scowls at the dog, and scoots his chair around the other side of the table.
“So you going to talk about it?”
“Whut?” she asks, still chewing.
“Orly coming over here.”
“It’s fine,” she says, swallowing a delicious clump of sandwichy goodness. “I ran him off.”
“He threatened you. You shot at his car.”
Atlanta sighs. “I know.”
“And you didn’t give him what he wanted.”
“I know.” She pokes at the half-eaten sandwich, her hunger vanishing. “He’s a bully. They’re all bullies. What would you have done? Would you have given him the dog?”
“Yes.” He blinks. “No! I dunno.” Suddenly he sees what she’s doing and he yelps—“Hey!”—but it’s too late. She tosses the last half of her sandwich to the dog, who catches it in his mouth and basically just dry-swallows it without chewing. Gulp. “That was a good sandwich!”
“It was. He sure seemed to enjoy it.”
Shane pinches the bridge of his nose like a frustrated librarian or tax accountant. “You think Orly killed Chris?”
“Shoot, I dunno. He said it was a suicide, same as Mitchell said, same as the cops said. But then he went and threatened me. Told me that… basically that I was burning the house down with all my loved ones in it.” She decides to mimic Shane and pinch her nose-bridge. It’s oddly and surprisingly satisfying. “I dunno. Maybe he’s right. I just keep making trouble for myself and everyone I love. Why can’t I just be a normal girl who doesn’t know what