Рита Браун - Tail Gait

Snoop was perched on a large planter of colored concrete, on the Downtown Mall. Half in the bag this morning, he was nevertheless alert and observant, watching the world go by.

Harry never could tell what those enormous planters were made of, although the plants filling them reflected the season. In this one were daffodils, unfurling ferns for a background, along with small white teardrops. The gardeners serving the city could do only so much in the changing season. Had they filled these big pots with tulips, or many early colorful blooms, one hard frost would kill them off.

As it was on her mind, killing propelled her to the mall, not a place Harry normally patronized. If Harry were going shopping, a dreaded chore, it would be at Southern States Feed or AutoZone. If money were to leave her hands, it would be for something useful. This is why her friends, twice a year, would throw her in a car, drive her to Short Pump, and force her to buy new clothes at Nordstrom. They thought of it as a benevolent fashion intervention. She thought of it as kidnapping.

Snoop smiled when he saw the corgi and the attractive woman wearing jeans and cowboy boots approaching him. At his feet was a small bucket filled with hardwood letter openers he carved. Tucker, at her heels, added to the vision. Few women approached Snoop, once a successful and good-looking cabinetmaker. He had lost his battle with the bottle. It seemed doubtful he could ever fight his way back.

Harry didn’t understand addictions, nor did she evidence much sympathy for them. But, raised to respect people, she tried not to sit in judgment. Mostly she sidestepped the whole issue, but she didn’t want to sidestep Snoop. She had noticed him standing nearby the day Frank blew up at Olivia.

Holding out her hand, she said, “Hello, Sir. I’m Harriet Haristeen. Harry, for short.”

Fortunately for Snoop, he still had all his teeth, so when he smiled he looked fine. “I saw you before, you and the dog.”

The handshake was firm, and Harry then disengaged. “May I ask you a few questions?”

“You’re not from the Salvation Army, are you?”

“No, Sir.”

“Snoop, my name is Snoop.” He placed his hands on the edge of the planter, slightly tilting forward. “There’s room to sit if you like.”

Harry smiled, pleased somehow that he hadn’t forgotten his manners to a lady. “No, thank you. I won’t take much of your time.”

“Miss Harry, time is all I got.” He said this without rancor, just a fact.

“I see. Well, let me get to the point. So you saw me the other day, when Frank Cresey screamed at my friend, the lady with the blonde hair?”

“I remember.”

“Did you ever see Frank act that way before?”

“No.”

“Actually, I should back up. Do you know him well?”

Snoop drawled, “Well enough. We all live down here on the mall. Sometimes we sleep under the railroad bridge in bad weather. Winter, sometimes at the Salvation Army. Sometimes we tough it out. Best I can remember, Frank’s been here off and on for ten years, maybe more.”

“Does he ever pick up work?”

Snoop thought for a bit. “He does cleanup for construction, gardening. He works for old buddies. They slip him a few bucks. He gets them to hire some of us too. He’s good about that.”

“Ever talk about his past?”

“Nope.”

“Did you know he was a star halfback for the UVA football team in ’75? Made All-American.”

“Some of the other guys told me. Frank never mentioned it. Not much of a talker.”

“Ever talk about lost love?”

Snoop laughed low. “Hell, no!”

“Do you like him?”

“I do.” He rocked back and forth a little on the planter. “How come you’re asking?”

“I’m wondering if Frank knows reality from fantasy. I’ve heard the alcohol kills brain cells. People have hallucinations.”

“Screamers.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Usually they see things, they start screaming. Frank never screamed. Like I said, he was never much of a talker. Why would hallucinations matter? He knew who that woman was.”

Harry realized that Snoop was no dummy and, for now anyway, he thought clearly. “Well, first answer me one more question, then I can answer yours. Was Frank on the mall April eleventh?”

Snoop had no calendar, but counted days backward. “Don’t think he was. So what’s this about?”

“You’ve noticed he hasn’t been here for a couple of days?”

“Right. Figured he made enough for a bottle and he’s still drunk.”

“No. He confessed to a crime. He says he killed Professor McConnell, the father of the blonde woman he was yelling at. The professor was killed April eleventh on Farmington’s golf course.”

Snoop burst out laughing. “Old Frank couldn’t set foot on that golf course. Someone would throw him off. No bums allowed, except rich ones!”

Harry wryly smiled. “But he says he did it. Says he shot Professor McConnell, and he did get the location correct where the murder occurred.”

“Ma’am, why listen to a drunk?” Snoop stopped for a moment. “ ’Cept for me, of course.”

She couldn’t help but like the man. “Thank you. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You didn’t bother me. You talked to me like I’m a human being.”

This hit her. “Snoop, you are. Look, I don’t know you from a hot rock. Of course, I’m sad that you are in this state because you are intelligent and respectful.” She blurted out, “You’re a nice person.”

Snoop, dark brown eyes searching her face, replied in a hoarse voice, “I…Thank you.”

She reached into her pocket to hand him a ten-dollar bill. He put his hand over hers.

“Couldn’t you use a hot meal?” she asked.

“I will not take money from you. I’m afraid I’d go buy a bottle.”

Thrown for a loop, Harry paused for a moment, shoved the money back into her front pocket, reached into her back pocket, and pulled out her farm business card. “Here. If you need something, or you think of something that might help Frank, call me.”

He read the card in his hand. “Sunflowers. Bet your farm is something.”

“It is to me. Please, keep the card. And I mean it, you call me.”

As she walked away, Snoop watched. He pulled out the card, read it again. He wouldn’t lose it, no matter what.

—

Patiently accompanying Harry, Tucker said to her, “He’s telling the truth.”

“We’re almost at the car, Sweetie,” she said to the corgi.

“I can smell things. When humans lie or they are afraid, there’s a scent. That’s one of the ways I know how to protect you. Wrong scent, I get between you and that person. That Snoop, he’s okay, even if he does need a bath.”

Miracle of miracles, Harry had found a parking space big enough for the truck in front of David Wheeler’s office right by Jackson Square. A wooden door to the small front yard creaked as she pushed it open. David was Harry’s accountant and a good friend. She was bringing him documents she’d filled out for the U.S. Department of Agriculture. The copies would be useful when she itemized her fertilizer and seed expenses.

After climbing a small series of wooden steps, she opened the office and found Marshall Reese and Paul Huber standing with David in the corridor outside his office.

“Well, hello.” Marshall beamed as the other two men also rushed to greet her and the corgi trailing her.

“Tucker and I just wanted to say hello. This looks like a UVA versus Tech standoff.” She knew David loved his alma mater and gloried in Virginia Tech’s football prowess.

David was never averse to expressing his opinion. “No standoff. The Cavaliers aren’t going to do squat.”