The Reckless Oath We Made - Bryn Greenwood Page 0,82

get me killed? You don’t think they’d come after me if I was passing information to the cops?”

“Oh my god, Uncle Alva. Do you think I’d go to the cops? I know we haven’t seen each other in a long time, but you think I’m that crazy?”

“What the hell you planning on doing if I can find out where LaReigne is?” he said.

“I’m gonna go get her.”

“Just go in there guns a’blazin’?”

“If I have to,” I said. It was total bullshit, except that I’d brought a gun with me. Still, I had no clue what I would do. I was hoping Uncle Alva might have an idea.

“Girl, I can’t be part of that.”

“You don’t have to be part of it. I just—”

“We can’t talk about this tonight.” Uncle Alva got up and went to look out the screen door. “I’d ruther not talk about it at all, but we’d best wait til tomorrow, when we can have some privacy.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me, because I was grateful he hadn’t refused outright. I finished washing up the dishes, and while I was drying the cookie sheet the bratwursts had been brought in on, Uncle Alva said, “I hope that son of a bitch ain’t about to bite him.”

I went to the screen door to see what he was talking about. Out in the yard, Gentry was making his approach to the dog. He walked slowly, with his hands held out in front. The dog got up from where he was lying and trotted to the end of his chain. Gentry stopped a few feet away.

“Is he a biter?” I said.

“What dog ain’t?”

I reached past Uncle Alva, pushed the screen door open, and stepped out on the porch, where Dirk and Dane were watching Gentry and the dog, too.

“What’s the dog’s name?” I said. What I really wanted to ask was Can you call him off? I knew Gentry just well enough to be nervous about what he might do.

“Don’t have a name,” Dane said. “Dirk bought him for fifty bucks offa this nigger over by Rolla. Used to be a fighting dog, I guess, but—”

“He’s a good guard dog, because he don’t like nobody,” Dirk said.

“Oh, good. You got a guard dog you can’t call off. What happens if he decides to eat some Jehovah’s Witnesses?” I said.

“I guess I’d have to shoot’m.” Dirk grinned at Dane.

I went down the steps and started across the yard to where Gentry was squatted in front of the dog. When I came up behind him, I could hear him doing the medieval version of Who’s a good boy.

“Thou art a noble beast. ’Tis right thou shouldst bristle, for thou knowest me not. But I bring thee meat that we might make amity twixt us.”

“Be careful,” I said. He had one of the leftover bratwursts from dinner in his hand, and he nodded before he tossed a piece to the dog. For a couple seconds, the dog went on standing at full alert, before he lowered his head and sniffed the meat. He looked at Gentry and me, growling the whole time. Then he picked it up and ate it.

“Yea, I hear thee. A bit of meat maketh not fast friends,” Gentry said. “How do they call him?”

“Dog. They bought him from some guy, and I guess they don’t know his name.”

For once I could read Gentry’s facial expression pretty clearly. He wasn’t impressed. He threw another piece of meat, and that time the dog gave it one quick sniff before he gulped it down. Up close, I could see how skinny he was. Whatever they were feeding him, it wasn’t happening often enough. He was some kind of pit bull, big, but stripped down to muscle and bone. Gray or dingy white, with brindle on his neck and back legs. He had a ropey pink scar on his left shoulder and a limp on that leg. His head was about the size of a microwave and somebody had cut his ears off down to his skull. He was a sad, ugly dog.

“’Tis wrong he hath no name,” Gentry said. “And to see his chain so short liketh me not.”

“I’m not a fan of it, either, but don’t get any ideas about making friends with him. My cousin says he used to be a fighting dog.”

“He is a noble beast all the same.” Gentry tossed out some more bratwurst, and then he gave me a piece. I didn’t want to be a