In the weeks that followed, I spent my time throwing myself into my work. From five in the morning to around three in the afternoon, I could be found at the track. Riley followed me everywhere and was constantly underfoot. Although the horses had been shy of him at first since he was so big and, well, downright bouncy, they soon learned to tolerate him, even when he was constantly trying to pester them.
Every afternoon, I would jog back to Manhattan to spend time with Mush, Chance, Jack, and the others. At first, it hadn't dawned on me that Sheepshead, where I worked, was right on the edge of Brooklyn's territory. In fact, according to Racetrack, it had always been considered off limits to any other newsboys except himself, and he was only allowed because he had grown up in Brooklyn. After this discovery, I felt a little bit nervous about being so close to what I considered to be a disaster waiting to happen, but after weeks went by and nothing happened, I soon forgot about my worries.
Mush and I continued to grow in our friendship, our relationship.
One lazy afternoon as I waited with Mush for Les and Chance to finish selling their last papers, we looked at the lazy afternoon sun, which was starting to disappear behind dark clouds.
"Looks like a storm's comin' in," Mush observed, leaning his heavy arm on my shoulder, pretending to put all his weight on me. I chuckled and ducked quickly out from under him, making him lose his balance.
"Sure does," I drawled lazily studying the dark blue and black clouds, ignoring his mock annoyed look. We sat on the side of the busy road, watching as the afternoon traffic pass by. On the opposite side of the road I spotted a little girl, maybe five or six years old, carrying a small basket in her chubby hands. In the basket were three fluffy kittens, mewing pitifully. I smiled as I saw her caress them and try to sooth them.
Mush was just getting up to fetch Les and Chance, who had just finished, when a quick glance at Riley told me he had come alive. Catching site of the kittens, his ears perked up and he leapt to his feet. Before I could open my mouth to call him back, he lunged into the street and barreled towards the little girl. Not looking either way, he shot right in front of an oncoming buggy, being drawn by four horses. I choked on a scream as I heard the horses squeal as they tried to avoid stepping on the huge dog. But their momentum carried them forward, and I covered my ears as Riley disappeared with a screech under the legs of for horses and the wheels of the buggy.
Mush shouted, and, shaking, I uncovered my face and dashed around traffic towards the buggy, whose driver had pulled to the side of the street. The surrounding people murmured quietly as they resumed walking, slowly looking back at the scene.
I rounded the back of the buggy, and saw Riley lying on his side, but he was struggling to get up. The driver, a middle aged man, knelt kindly beside the dog and told him to lie still. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't stop." I nodded, tears streaming down my cheeks. Mush put a strong hand on my shoulder. Riley was breathing hard and fast, and whimpering. There was a trickle of blood coming out of his mouth, and he looked up at me painfully, a confused look in his amber eyes. I laid my hand on his head. "Shhh. It's alright. You big ugly monster. You never did listen to me, did ya."
"He is very much alive, Marty." Jack, who had appeared on the scene, said quietly. "But his back is broken. Look." I brushed angrily at my eyes and refused to look. Dang it, I had already seen. My big ol' dog's backbone was snapped right behind his shoulder blades, twisting at a perverse angle, and he held his forelegs out straight, typical of a spinal injury. Gashes in his side and legs smeared blood on the cobblestones.
Mush was trying to figure out what to do. Talking with the driver, they finally decided to move the heavy dog. An officer had come along by now, and was trying to make sure that everything was safe for traffic. Riley was so heavy that it would take at least two of them. But as they tried to lift him, he snarled and snapped at them, barely missing Mush's hand.
I cried out as I saw the policeman pull out his pistol. Mush put out a strong arm, pushing the gun away, for now. "Not here, mister. Not here." He looked up at me. "Marty!" He motioned for me to come to Riley's head.
He softly cupped my chin, looking me in the eye. "I need you to hold his head. Its gonna hurt him. Me an' Jack and this nice officer will lift him then. I'll help you get him to Sheepshead. He ain't gonna die in the street." Of course, I knew Riley was not going to make it. But the fact that Mush had saved him for only just a few more minutes made my heart leap with temporary relief.
I knelt tenderly beside my big, curly black dog, caressing his ol' head. "Easy, son. Easy now." His reddish eyes locked on mine, and the goofy, playful look came back for a minute. I nodded to the boys to lift, and they immediately strained against the weight. Riley whined and groaned, but didn't offer to bite me. I held his head gently, and we lowered him into the big wheelbarrow that Les and Chance had brought. My heart was heavy as we walked the long way back to Sheepshead.
As soon as we got there, Mush made everyone leave. As we entered the open field behind the tracks, I saw a figure waiting there. Red Suspenders. Spot. I marveled at how quickly news had flown. He probably had his birdies at the scene of the accident.
We got closer. I still had my hand clutched in the black fur of my suffering best friend. I tried not to see the cold iron object in Spot's hand as we came up even with him. I ignored the big mound of earth that had been misplaced on the patch of ground. I didn't look as Spot and Mush began to talk softly to one another. I just gently lowered the wheelbarrow and set my dog on the soft ground. He looked up at me and grinned, his eyes sleepy and his tongue lolling out of his mouth; the goofy expression I knew so well.
"Ya big, ugly monster." I choked, tweaking his ears. Then I whispered, "I am Neyeli. I will not forget you."
I heard both boys walk up behind me. "Marty," Mush started.
"Give me the gun." My face was set.
"Marty, you don't have to do it." Spot's voice was gentle, so soft that I barely knew it was him. "That's why I came."
"Give me that gun, danggit. He's my boy. Please, fellas, he wouldn't have it any other way."
I looked at them, tears still on my face, but determination. I was going to see my ol' dog through to the end.
Both boys wore a pained expression as they watched me take the gun. Each regarded me with a new respect as I tenderly scratched Riley's ears one last time. Riley swiped his bloodstained tongue across my face. He knew.
Standing up with difficulty, I cocked the gun, aimed between the sad, amber eyes, and pulled the trigger.
When I woke up it was nearing sunset. The sky was the first thing I saw. Through the smog of Manhattan, streaks of orange and red and pink could be seen on the horizon, over the bay. I realized that the storm that had been coming earlier this afternoon had never cut loose. It had just faded away. Many things in life seem to do just that.
I shifted and realized that I was leaning against Mush's strong arm. I glanced to my right and saw that Spot was supporting me from the other side. They had been just sitting here, holding me, watching the sunset, and waiting.
After a long silence, "You are one heck of a gal, Marty." Mush kissed the top of my head. I felt Mush's arm tighten around my waist as I sat up slowly.
Spot's gaze was back to normal almost, except for a hauntingly familiar look that I was still not placing. He simply sat there, silently, his icey orbs gazing at me sympathetically. A look that told me that he knew what I was feeling. Not just about Riley, but everything. What was it about him? A deadly foe at one moment, and a supporting friend the next.
I shifted, a worried note in my voice as I spoke. "Mush…where…"
"We took care of him, Marty. I don't think he even felt a thing. You were quick and accurate."
I swallowed. That was a relief. I had seen my pa shoot a horse five or six times before it had finally died. Mush got up and went to my room to get me a cup of water and something to wash my face. As I watched him go, the dull ache in my chest was so intense that I could hardly bear it. I wanted to scream, to run, to hurt something. Why does everything have to die? To be taken away?
I stood up, choking on my rage. Why did my mother have to be taken away with my little brother? Why did my Pa die last year, leaving me with nowhere to go? And…Why did my one friend in New York, my old dog, the one who had an unwavering, selfless interest in me, have to die? It seemed too much.
I felt a gentle, calloused hand on my shoulder. Then…everything cut loose. Finally, with something to let out this raging anger on, I turned and belted Spot hard it the face. Blood spurted from his lip, and he stumbled back.
I let out an anguished howl as I attacked him with everything I had. I couldn't see anything as I drove in, nails scratching and kicking and hitting with deadly accuracy that my father had taught me. I couldn't see that Spot didn't fight back. I didn't see his hand that could have fought me only rise to shield his face from blows.
I only saw faces. Faces of people who discriminated because of race. I saw people who hurt other people just so that they could take their land. I saw people who only were kind to others when they could get something out of it. I saw the people who had taken my ranch away, leaving me with not even a horse to ride.
I had not begun to realize what I was doing when I heard Mush yell behind me. Spot reached forward with both arms and firmly pulled me close into a monstrous embrace. I fought him momentarily, and collapsed against him sobbing brokenly. He said nothing, just held me gently, his hand resting on the back of my head.
Mush walked up, slowly, timidly, looking at Spot's face.
"Oh, God." He said, his voice breaking.
Spot shushed him, and I all of a sudden felt sick. I tried to pull back to look at Spot, but he firmly held me close, soothing me like a small child. I knew he probably had a few bruised ribs. Not to mention his face.
I balled my fists against his shoulders and squeezed my eyes shut. Gritting my teeth in anguish, I whispered, "I'm sorry, Spot. I… am… so sorry." He nodded against me, wincing as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
Mush just stood there watching.
A/N
My big dog actually did get hit by a car this week. Saddest thing you ever saw. Sorry I had to do that, but Riley was based on my "big, ugly monster."
Review. Let me know what you think about pairing. I feel slightly at a loss of where to go now…oh well, the muses will return!