Johnny pulled the heavy door shut. The rusty hinges
groaned into the chill night air. He shivered, this was
the part that still unnerved him, the getting away after
he'd done it. He started down the porch stairs but froze
in mid-step, chills prickling the back of his neck.
Someone was watching him.
Peering into the darkness, he steadied himself
against the square porch post and quieted his breathing,
the better to hear. Despite the near-freezing
temperature, sweat beaded his forehead. Minutes ticked
by, the stillness interrupted only by the mournful howl
of some wild animal. Finally, disgusted that he'd
allowed nerves to get the best of him, he stripped off
yellow vinyl gloves, hitched the duffel bag strap over
his shoulder, and hurried down the steps.
Seeing eyes in every shadow is one more reason for
this to be the last one.
At the car, he shed the oversized wet suit that had
protected him from coming in contact with anything
inside the old Bradford Mansion and stuffed everything
into the trunk. All these years he'd played it smart and
never come close to getting caught, but part of being
smart was knowing when to quit.
He started the ancient Corvette and took one last
look at the hulking, old building silhouetted against
the distant glow of lights from Park City, Utah.
Johnny sped down the winding drive. He smiled,
thinking of Heather, tiny, blond, and beautiful. He had
arrived in town last fall just before Thanksgiving but
hadn't found her until the second week in January. The
minute he saw her he knew she was the one. She had that
timid look in the eyes, like she'd bolt if somebody said
'boo'.
He thought of the others. Finding a blond with that
special quality sometimes took months. Often, he
wondered if he was too picky, but it was important to
get just the right one. The harder he had to work at it
the better he liked it, and the rush when he chose each
girl was the best high in the world. Time was never a
factor; patience and planning were, but now it was over
and the ever-lurking unease again began to gnaw. He'd
come to expect it, but that still didn't make it any
easier to deal with. His big hands trembled on the
steering wheel. If only the planning could last forever.
Preoccupied, he nearly missed the sharp bend in the
road. He struggled for control and as the car skidded
around the corner, two reflected points of yellow light
wavered in the headlights. He screeched to a stop and
watched a big black Labrador disappear into the
underbrush.
Buddy? Looked a lot like Buddy, but all black Labs
look the same.
Guilt ate at his gut. After work he should've gone
home and walked Buddy, but there wasn't time. He had to
be at the high school when Heather got out. Besides,
Buddy was a good dog. Johnny had trained him to hold it
until he took him outside. When Buddy was a pup,
sometimes Johnny had to take a stick to him to make the
dog behave, but now Buddy never messed inside. Not
anymore.
Slowly, he drove along the dark road. Tomorrow, he
and Buddy would head east. A new job waited for him in
Sydney, Nebraska. Now that he'd decided this was the
last one, maybe he'd settle down, find somebody special,
get married, and have a couple of kids. An ordinary life
sounded good. On mental autopilot, Johnny tracked along
those happy thoughts as he drove, turning off at
Ridgewood Lane and parking in his slot.
A distant siren jerked him back to the present. His
headlights loomed bright against a wall. He tromped the
brakes hard and in that instant realized he was already
parked. He punched off the lights. Panic seized him. How
long had he been sitting there? Had anyone noticed?
He stepped out, quietly clicking the car door shut as
he glanced about for curious onlookers. All was silent.
The windows in nearby apartments were dark. His thoughts
turned to his dog. Buddy would be waiting. He always
made Johnny feel better. His spirits lifted a little as
he strode to the apartment, turned the key in the lock,
and braced himself for Buddy's slobbery welcome.
Nothing?
He strode about the tiny, immaculate apartment
calling, "Hey, Buddy. Here, Buddy."
The only place he hadn't looked was the bedroom.
Johnny found the dog in the cubbyhole between the
dresser and the wall. He patted Buddy. "What's the
matter, fella? You can't get sick now, we've got a long
trip ahead of us."
Buddy struggled to get up but fell back, whimpering.
Stroking the smooth, black coat, Johnny grew more
alarmed as he felt the dog tremble beneath his hand. He
examined Buddy's nose. It was dry and hot to the touch.
"Damn! I gotta find a vet."
He hurried to the kitchen, grabbed the phone book
from the drawer, and flipped through the yellow pages
until he found 'Veterinarians'. All he got were
answering machines with messages to call after eight in
the morning. He chucked the book against the wall.
Surely there was a vet on call somewhere. Maybe Heber
City had a twenty-four-hour clinic.
He grabbed the phone book off the floor and searched
the Heber City listings, Wasatch Veterinary Clinic,
Sheldon Meyer DVM. He dialed the number. A sleepy voice
answered, and Johnny explained the problem. Dr. Meyer
sounded reluctant, but he agreed to see Buddy.
Johnny hurried to the bathroom, ran water over a
comb, and pulled it through his unruly hair.
He pulled an old blanket off the closet shelf and
wrapped the dog in it. Buddy yelped with pain when
Johnny tried to pick him up. It took several attempts
before Johnny found a position the dog could tolerate.
Gingerly, he carried him to the car. As he drove along
the nearly deserted streets toward the freeway, the
small voice inside his head nagged: This isn't part
of the plan, Johnny. It's bad luck to change the plan.
He willed the voice to be silent. The vet would make
Buddy well. They could still leave in the morning.
