Timothy Johnston - The Current

No point even calling his name, you couldn’t bring him back from that chase until he’d given it up on his own.

Danny pitched the truck seat forward and found the MagLite and tested it—the beam not at its strongest but strong enough—then he took the keys from the ignition and set off into the park. Following that beam into the woods, listening for the tags, for any sound that wasn’t the autumn leaves in the wind, the high limbs creaking. Calling casually to the dog, Wyatt, come on. Whistling. Cold wind, now. First bite of winter in it. The moon following him through the treetops like an interested party. Like a fellow searcher.

Dumb-ass too drunk to hold on to a dog leash. He thought about going home with no dog. Or a dog that had been hit by a car. Thought of his brother’s face when he saw the body. Not good.

He heard the tags and swept the light, but nothing there. The tossing branches, the blowing grass. He called to the dog and told him he had treats—did he want a treat? He knows you don’t have no treats, dummy. Pressing on under the swaying branches and boughs, the moon keeping pace. Good ol’ moon, there’s ten bucks in it for you if you find him first.

It was called a park but where were the lamps, the friendly walkways—the swing sets and the shelters and the grassy spaces where parents could set their kids loose to kick a ball while the wieners roasted? It was like the city planners had dreamed of a park but then, having engineered a single road through the little wilderness end-to-end, had forgotten their dreams and moved on. As kids you’d come here with your crew to drink PBRs and smoke and shove each other around, but which of you would ever come here alone? In the dark, in the moving shadows of the trees?

For all the distance and the wind he heard the motor clearly and when he turned he saw the headlights skimming along the road and he knew the sound of the motor and he even knew the cast of the headlights and he thought Jeff would stop when he saw the truck or honk at least, but he did neither and instead drove on at a good clip and at least he was going home, at least he had the good sense to go through the park and stay off the streets where the cops were parked and waiting for the kids as they got out of the bars with their fake IDs. Later, Danny would remember the headlights, and think, and try to remember more. But there was nothing more to it than that: the Camaro passing by and not stopping, not honking.

His cell phone buzzed and he fished it up from his pocket and flipped it open, thinking Jeff, but it was Jeff’s sister.

Hey you, he said.

Danny—?

Katie—?

—hear me?

I hear you!

Where are you, it sounds like a—

What? I’m in the park. The wind is insane. Wyatt got loose.

You’re where? I can’t—

The park! I’ll call you back, I think I see him.

Danny—

But he’d flipped the phone shut and returned it to his pocket. Tags jingled and he swept the dying beam in the direction of the sound and just caught two eyes in the dark, lighting them for an instant like weird marbles floating in the night, green and see-through and blinking out again. Stay right there, God damn it, he said. Tags jingling. Sound of paws rooting in the turf. A desperate snorting and snuffling. When he reached him the dog had just been on his back, paws to the sky, and now he was on his feet again and shaking the debris from his coat. Danny put the light on his own face and said the dog’s name quietly, calmly. The dog stood watching his face, waiting, and Danny reached and took up the leash and wrapped it twice around his fist and pulled the dog to him. The smell was just awful.

Jesus, what is that? Is that bear shit? You dumb dog. Christ—it’s all over you.

He began making his way back to the river, the dog panting happily alongside him, the chase forgotten, at peace and much pleased with his adventures.

Dumb-ass dog, I oughta just throw you in the river, you know that?

The dog panting and padding alongside him and no remorse in him whatsoever.

The dog was a good jumper and he leapt onto the tailgate and Danny fastened the leash to a tie-down cleat. He drove through the remainder of the park, then out onto the county road on the other side, and he’d not gone a quarter mile before he saw the headlights in the rearview mirror and then above those he saw the blue-and-red barlights flashing and Shit, shit , he said and pulled off onto the shoulder and threw the truck into park again.

He got out his wallet and he thought to get the registration from the glovebox and then he thought again—the cop back there running the plate, watching him—and he put his hands high on the wheel and waited. He tried to remember if you were supposed to agree to the test or say no and ask for a lawyer—but now the cop was out of his cruiser and walking up with the beam of his flashlight slashing before him, his free hand holding down his hat in the wind. Wyatt began barking and the cop stopped and swept his light over the dog and he swept it around the truckbed and then he stepped up to the driver’s-side window and Danny powered down the glass. He was with the sheriff’s department—Danny just had time to see that before the light was in his eyes.

You want to cut that engine, sir?

Yes, sir, Danny said, and did so. And turned off the headlights.

The deputy or whatever he was swept his light over the seat and then he put it on the passenger-side floor and he put it on Danny again. The deputy was chewing gum; the wind blew the minty smell of it into the cab.

Think you can get your dog to shut up a minute, sir?

Danny leaned out the window and yelled the dog’s name and told him to hush and he did. In the cab you could hear his nails ticking on the truckbed. The truck rocking slightly as he paced the length of his leash.

Can I see your license, sir?

Yes, sir. He handed over the card.

And your registration.

It’s in the glovebox.

Is there a firearm in there too?

No, sir.

All right then, go ahead and get it.

Danny reached over and opened the glovebox and found the registration and handed that over too, and the deputy put his light on the document and on his license and handed both back, then stood there not quite square to the window, his beam aimed at the ground now and looking at Danny.

You been drinking tonight, Daniel?

I had one a while ago.

Just one?

Yes, sir.

And where was that at?

Smithy’s, sir.

You got a fake ID?

No, sir. They didn’t ask for my ID.

The deputy leaned in and sniffed at the cab. What is that smell? Did you shit your pants, Daniel?

Danny stared at him. The deputy staring back.

No, sir. That dog back there rolled in something in the park.

What was she doing in the park?

I took him there so he could do his business but he got away from me.

Did you see the sign when you entered the park?

Which sign?

The one that says the park is closed after dark.

No, sir. I’d have to say I didn’t notice it. I was just driving through on my way home.

Just driving through.

Yes, sir.

You just told me you took your dog there and let her out. Did she jump out of the moving vehicle?

No, sir. I stopped and put the leash on him but then he got away.

The deputy looked at Danny.

Sit here, he said. And then he walked back to the truckbed and raked his beam inside it again. He walked behind the truck and he walked to the passenger side and he walked all the way around to the front, and when he got there he put his beam on the windshield and into Danny’s eyes as if playing some kind of game. As if to see how his face would look in the bright instant before a head-on crash. Then he came back full circle and looked once more into the cab.