The Goat

  Sparky rolled his attention to the girl on the phone.

  The lady bore a deer-in-headlights look from witnessing the cloaked stranger’s interaction with her coworker. The phone was attached to her ear still, but her lips were frozen. Sally’s knees buckled, she could barely stand, and she couldn’t run. Her insides flooded terror as his heavy steps clacked across the cement floor.

  “I don’t remember his name.” The words blurted out of her trembling mouth. She had caught a glimpse of the picture before.

  “What’s your name?” Sparky readily identified her trepidation.

  “Sally.”

  “Sally, did you see this man?”

  “I think so, he came in Saturday, I think.”

  “Please Sally, please, help me out. I need to know who he is, or at least where he’s might be going.”

  “I, I can’t give anything out about other customers, it’s against company policy.”

  “Listen, Sally, this man, has my children, he has my family. I need to know where he went.” Buried in his pleading tone Sally felt his pain. It called to her sympathetic nature. Sally bit her tongue.

  “Please he’s going to hurt them unless I find them,” Sparky stood vulnerable in the light, desperate for her answer.

  “I’ll see.”

  Sally danced her fingers over on the keyboard. She tried not to look directly at him. The fear inside led her to avoid any more eye contact for fear of retribution.

  “We rented quite a bit on Saturday. Do you know what size truck he rented?”

  “It would have been a big one.”

  Her fingers struggled to manage through her nervousness. Beads of sweat formed over her brows. She kept mistyping and having to go back.

  “Here; there was a rental on Saturday mid-afternoon, the name was Reilly Thompson.”

  Reilly! Just like the crazy little girl at the motel had said. Sparky celebrated silently his momentary gain. It would just be a matter of time. “Where is he going?”

  “He rented the unit for a one way-haul.”

  “But where is he going!”

  “I’m trying okay, please don’t hurt me!” Sally was sniffling, the tears weren’t far off.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to know Sally. Please.” Sparky eased his approach.

  “He’s scheduled to drop it off in Montreal at the end of the week.”

  “Where?” The goat yelled.

  Sally’s ducked and put her arms over her face. The faint whimpering triggered Sparky to step back. Sparky realized only now he had screamed at her. He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to hurt you. I need to know where he went.”

  “Call the police, why don’t you?”

  “I can’t. It’s complicated.”

  Sally’s eyes opened slowly. Her breathing settled. In his voice she could hear sincerity. Something in the way he stumbled over his response had swayed her. She moved her hand to the mouse and wriggled the arrow down to the ‘print’ button. The printer started grinding away at the loaded roll of paper.

  The two stood quietly as the machine worked it’s magic. Sally was still far too nervous to look at her attacker straight on and kept her eyes down. The printer stopped. Sally tore the paper free, handing it to him. Sparky seized the paper, bumping her hand with his hoof. She looked down at the stumpy mass, restraining a startled scream.

  “What, what happened to your hand?”

  Sparky pulled the paper away. After a quick review he placed it in his pocket, leaving his hoof there to hide.

  “Was it an accident?”

  “Thank you for your help.”

  He turned away from the young girl, the light shone over his profile. Sally couldn’t help but look now. The shape of his face defied everything she had ever believed possible. Sally watched speechless while the strange being walked out the door.

  She didn’t know whether or not she could believe her eyes.

  “Sally!”

  A cry came from the dangling phone.

  “Cindy?” Sally lifted the receiver to her ear.

  “What happened, are you okay? Did he hurt you, what’s going on?” Sally’s friend had hung on the line the whole time.

  Sally raced to catch her up, “You’re not going to believe this.”

  Chapter 26

  Sparky's eyes slakes in the printout, scanning it over and over: Montreal. His stomach growled. Hopelessness and hunger swirled inside him. Small memories of the pizza seeped into his mind. His eyes searched around for anything he could snack on. There was a tree by the bus stop, hardly a feast, but it would have to do. He stowed the paper and sauntered along the dark street.

  “Hey buddy,” Gus called out from the ally. The goat had expected the man to have run off after their last encounter.

  “Don’t turn around, I’ll shoot you!”

  Sparky stopped. “Gus, not now.”

  Gus put on a warm smile. “Who’s that? Oh hey! What are you doing here? Long time no see!”

  “I just saw you. It has not been a long time.” Sparky’s stomach reminded him that it wanted attention.

  “Are you working my street now or something?”

  Gus laughed. Sparky did not.

  “Hey, I’m serious! You’re not trying to run my game, right?”

  “I’m not trying to rob anyone up if that’s what you mean. I’m trying to find my way out to Montreal.”

  “Oh, a vagrant, and here I thought you were a gentleman thief,” the man mustered another laugh, this one more reserved. “Look, I know that I seem like a kook at first sight, but maybe I can help you out.”

  Sparky had no further desire to deal with people. He wanted to run through the countryside leaving behind the nasty human world. But it was just that, a human world. Any human no matter how disreputable had the upper hand on him.

  “You can help me?”

  “I have a friend that runs errands east of the city, he doesn’t get out too far, but it’s a start for you.”

  Sparky perused the man visually. Gus wore a dirty mismatch of stained cloths and a ragged outer coat. Unshaven and likely unwashed the man maintained an aroma that displeased the nose. Sparky thought the idea that between Gus’s lifestyle and attitude he had maintained anyone that considered him a friend was a miracle; especially knowing that Gus was a criminal.

  “A friend?”

  “Yeah, we go back a little ways, he’s good people.”

  Sparky looked past the man, the orange sign glowed overhead. Montreal. “Any chance we can get something to eat?” Sparky asked.

  “I robbed a little old lady earlier; she had some candy on her.” Gus extended his hand filled with peppermints. “If we hurry we can get you out tonight!”

  Gus led Sparky away down the street. “Hey come on! What was your name again?”

  “Sparky.”

  ~~~~~~

  The truck stopped late in the day. The goats shared parched throats and dry lips. Water had not been given to them once since they had been stolen from the farm. Much of the herd, already weak with exhaustion, lay on the ground. Hope was fleeting from them as each remaining ounce of their hydration evaporated away. A few remained hopeful and strong. The three bucks Oreo, Dipper, and Juan Diego, had reserved their strength as best they could for this moment.

  Light outside streaked through the crack in the trailer doors. Outside the goats heard the humans jostling about. It would just be a matter of time before they opened the door. Mudbubble kept his ear to the wall and signaled Oreo with his hooves. The three large bucks prepared to spring the moment the doors opened. Oreo would lead the charge.

  The lock on the door creaked. The small window above swung open. Oreo pounced at the sound, his head slammed directly into the still closed door.

  “So, you little monsters need water?”

  Reilly harnessed a hose in his massive arms. The overwhelming stench from the truck tore at his nose.

  “Nasty buggers!” He cal
led back to his men. “Turn it on!”

  Oreo came to his feet. He felt the small trickle of water. He viewed up the door to the opening he saw the hose in Reilly’s hands. “Get me up there.”

  Reilly again shouted to the men behind him, “Come on, I said crank it!”

  The water came on. Reilly attacked the goats with the gushing stream, laughing as he sprayed.

  “Come and get it!”

  The animals rushed to drink their fill. The water cleared away the floor. Clean, cool water collected in little pools on the trailer floor. Reilly pestered the herd with the hose like an angry bully after ants with a magnifying glass. He enjoyed aggravating the goats. He chuckled as he beleaguered a kid with the water jet; forcing the little one to topple over.

  Dipper and Juan Diego hoisted Oreo onto their shoulders. In one great heave they pushed him to the hole. Oreo caught Reilly with a left hook knocking the man clean off the ladder and onto the ground. Reilly lay momentarily paralyzed from the shock of the impact. He put out his arms as a shield waiting for the hose to follow after. Reilly eased his arms down as the hose remained stuck inside of the window. The water poured into the truck. The goats inside rejoiced.

  Reilly curled his body in the mud, unable to pull free. The other men laughed at his folly.

  “Help,” Reilly strained. Oreo pulled through the window and jumped through. The goat landed squarely on Reilly's chest, his hooves pressing deep into the man. Reilly would have screamed if the air in his lungs hadn’t ejected. The scene shook the three men nearby from their laughter.

  “Get him Cyrus!” one man yelled.

  “I’m not going to get him, you get him!” Cyrus passed the charged to the next man.

  Oreo charged at the closest human, bowling him over. The firm head butt smartly aimed at the man's stomach. The goat turned his head and stuck again, slicing with his horn, desperate to cause damage.

  The man exploded in agony from the deep jab of the goat’s horns. He collapsed into the wet sand clutching his side. Two men standing beside him scattered away from the fighting goat.

  Oreo sprang back to the truck. The goat sized up the rear latch and started to work. His clumsy claws impeded his progress. Oreo tilted his head in and tried to undo the latch with his horns. He could feel it begin give. The latch separated from the lock and the mechanism released. The doors let loose.

  Several great arms surrounded the goat and pulled him free of the truck. One of the men struck him over the head with a two by four. The goat collapsed down into the mud forming with the runoff water from the truck. Reilly loomed over Oreo dressed head to toe in slick dirty muck. The man wiped his muddy brow with his sleeve, his face unrecognizable under the caked earth.

  Collectively the four men dragged the struggling goat through the mud. Three men held him tight while Reilly sealed and locked the main door of the truck.

  “You think you can escape? I own you now!” Reilly scaled the ladder and pulled the hose out of the truck. “No more water!” He slammed the hatch closed.

  The rejuvenated herd struggled against the sealed doors. They all feared now for the single buck that remained outside.

  Reilly's flared eyes locked onto Oreo. He took his time coming down the ladder. The buck was struggling against the grip of Reilly’s goons, standing on his hind legs.

  “You want some of me? You think you have a chance? Your whole sick little group of freaks is mine.” Reilly said rolled up his sleeves.

  “Hold on to him,” the sludge-covered Reilly flashed his white teeth at the restrained animal, “tight.”

  Chapter 27

  Sparky pulled the brown fedora over his head. The room was very small, but luckily very dim. In the room’s center was a card table and chairs. The table had a punchbowl on top. Its contents were rancid. Green fuzz grew out of the top and grew around the lips of the bowl. It gave off a dank musty smell. Sparky licked his lips.

  The goat had been parked for twenty minutes in a chair covered with a white sheet. He had been the first to sit in it for some time. When he had first settled in the firm the seat, as Gus had instructed, a large billow of dust engulfed him. The chair was growing on Sparky though. He had not spent much time enjoying human comforts on the farm and sitting on the hard ground this way always pinched his tail. This supple chair he could get used to.

  Across from him was a small shelf with a few forgotten bottles and a single book. The cover was too worn to read completely. The only words legible on the faded yellow cover were “moonshine” and “idiot’s.”

  The cheap hollow door next to the bookshelf swung open. Gus emerged trailed by a slender, older man wearing a red baseball cap.

  “Gus tells me you need a ride?” Fat Jack had little round glasses and spoke with a clean Brooklyn accent.

  “Yes,” Sparky nodded his head low with his response.

  “Headed to, Montreal?”

  “Yes.”

  “He says, you’re clean?”

  Sparky thought hard for a response. The goat flashed back to the motel. The girl there had been offended by his smell. He couldn’t risk it. “Yes, very.” He would attempt to stay downwind.

  “Well good, provided you can help me drop off some packages, I can take you as far as Plunkett.”

  “Plunkett, packages?” Sparky asked.

  Gus waived his hands and stepped up to him. “It’s better off if you don’t ask a lot of questions,” Gus said.

  Fat Jack couldn’t get a clean look at the man. Tilting his head side to side he only caught a different shadow. It wasn’t his place to question images on the street; he’d at least wait until there was cause to question this new hustler’s discretion. Fat Jack extended his hand. “And say, I’ll throw in a hundred bucks for the trouble.”

  “Okay, sure.” Sparky's answer was firm yet quiet.

  “Good, good. Gus I don’t see any more reason for you to stay, why don’t you get back to work?”

  Gus nodded to the two in turn and disappeared out the rear door.

  “So, Sparky, Gus was telling me that you were just passing through,” Jack tilted back in his chair. His left arm lay across the table.

  “Yes.”

  “Where from?” he leaned forward in his seat, the light revealed his unshaven face and sharp chin. Fat Jack’s green eyes sat deep behind his glasses and highlighted his narrow face. He put his hand to the back of his head, adjusting the cap.

  “Asquith.”

  “Ahh, I used to know a man from Asquith. John Barton, used to be real big name around here, then he retired.”

  “Yeah, he’s quite a drinker.”

  “That he is,” the man chuckled, his glasses bounced down his nose. He pushed them back up with his index finger. “So, where are you headed, Montreal was it?”

  “Yes.”

  The man slammed his hand violently on the table. “Are you a cop?”

  “No.”

  “Good, good.”

  He produced a pack of cigarettes from his coat. Sparky winced. The man pulled out a smoke and then tilted the pack across the table.

  “No.”

  “Healthy choice,” he said lighting the cigarette. “I’m Fat Jack.”

  “Fat Jack?” Jack was likely the thinnest man Sparky had come across. His frame was built around narrow shoulders and boney arms.

  “I was twelve when I got started working and was a bit on the chubby side. My Daddy stuck me with the title. Said it would ring through the alleyways someday,” he pointed at a picture on the wall.

  A young, round boy in suspenders and next to him a tall gentleman with a handlebar mustache; both had their arm around the other. The two in the photo didn’t look all that alike, but as Sparky glanced back between the picture and the man at the table, he could see the resemblance.

  “Now it serves me well. I want the big life, people know that about me before I ever meet them. I want to be fat. Rich off the people. Rich on the women and the money. Isn’t that a good dream?”
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  “I guess so.”

  “Wouldn’t you want to be fat like that?”

  “I don’t know, I...” There was no room for Sparky to answer.

  “I see big things for you. You should come by again if you head this way, I always have a need for a helping hand.”

  “Great.”

  Out the rear door they went. Fat Jack led Sparky down a flight of stairs. They passed through a dank, foul hallway. On past a half dozen boarded doorways to the very end of the hall. Through the door, emerging into a garage.

  At the far side were two large workbenches covered with cobwebs and scattered with discarded tools. Papers and bottles were strewn about the expansive room. There were seven large wooden and glass garage doors. In each of the bays trails of spilled liquids tattooed the floor. A single pickup truck sat parked at the far end of the garage.

  “My father use to have this place full of trucks, all that’s gone.”

  “Where’d they go?”

  “The economy is a killer stress, even as an illegitimate business.”

  “I see.”

  “Yeah, of course by economy I mean Big Man Tony Venti.”

  “Huh?”

  “They made a mess out of the place with a few hundred rounds of ammunition. We firebombed them. They sabotaged some of our trucks. Then Venti was found with three ice-picks in his head, of course not until after my dad took two in the chest. Doc said that another inch over and there would have been a chance. We’re getting it back, though.”

  “Oh. That sounds-”

  “Clean, very clean,” he clapped the goat on the shoulder. “Just like you!”

  Sparky clambered into the truck keeping his head against the window. He was as much disguising himself as detesting the driver.

  “Hey, I always keep a spare in the glove box.”

  “Spare?”

  “Err, a spare deposit slip. These deliveries can get messy.”

  Chapter 28

  It was great to be out of the city. Sparky felt refreshed in the open countryside. Only a few sparse lights interrupted the still night. The road was devoid of traffic. The entire scene was softly washed in the white light of the half moon. It was a tranquil view.

  Even in the silent night, the ride itself had been far from quiet. Story after demented story poured from the driver. Fat Jack had some impressive credentials in the snaky Canadian underworld. Murder, extortion, bootlegging, kidnapping, plagiarism, some Sparky had heard of, many he had not. The last few minutes Fat Jack had been embellishing on his exploits in car thievery. His boisterous pride purportedly came from an insurmountable number of successful lifts.