Dodger threw himself into providing for the gang, determined to avoid another slip up. Rita had helped him out that one time, but he didn't want anyone taking care of him. Since their little talk after her split with Scout, Rita had been less focussed on Dodger and whatever might be wrong with him. It was a relief, and they were back to co-existing quite comfortably. Dodger could quietly go about trying to work through the pain of his past without intrusion, and took every opportunity to be alone, away from the need to put on a show. Francis, Tito and Einstein were baffled by the change in him, though eventually it was assumed that it was down to adolescent hormones causing him to run off seeking out ladies. That was partly true anyway. Although he made sure to avoid the warehouse where he'd run into his mother, Dodger was back to his womanising ways, cheering himself up with encounters with beautiful girls- he had his fun and then made himself scarce. It was easy, and helped take his mind off everything else. As the weeks passed, each much the same as the next, Dodger began to think that he'd soon have to break out, to escape. The old barge brought memories of his mother back whenever he woke each morning, and whenever he came home each night. It was getting to the point where he could barely stand it. It was just the thought of running away… he'd been furious at Rita's betrayal of trust, and now he was considering doing the very same thing. Not exactly the very same thing, he told himself; Rita had disappeared without a word, leaving her supposed family wondering if she was even alive. Dodger couldn't do that. He'd simply tell everyone that he was moving on, it was all part of growing up. Rita was more than capable of taking over leadership of the gang if it came down to it, and though Dodger had no doubt she'd kick up a stink when the plan was put to her, she really had no business trying to stop him after what she herself had done. At the same time, he didn't want to part on bad terms either. Rita was his friend, and he really didn't want to hurt her or seriously damage their bond. If he was going to leave Fagin and the gang, Dodger would need to be careful in how he approached it.
Alone in the city, Dodger enjoyed the freedom he felt- no one out here knew the shame of what his mother had done to him, no one expected him to take care of them. He was a master of this world, in tune with the movement all around him and perfectly hiding the storm that continued to rage inside him. It would be better this way… returning to the gang for only brief visits. They didn't have to stop being friends, but Dodger had to get out of there if he wanted any chance of getting over the pain he was feeling.
Dodger crouched low against the concrete, observing the scene before him. The midday rush was in full swing, and the demand for lunch caused the heaving crowds to congregate around anywhere that might be serving food. As per the norm, hotdogs were a favourite with citygoers, and Old Louie was pumping them out a mile a minute to keep up with the customers. It was the perfect opportunity for Dodger to make a meal himself- in the chaos of lunchtime, it was all too easy to sneak away with some sausages. Licking his lips hungrily, Dodger moved forward. He could almost taste the ketchup. Swiftly, he made his move, taking advantage of the distraction created by an angry customer who'd grown tired of waiting. A small string of sausages came away, which Dodger wrapped around his neck for safe keeping. He bolted behind the next corner to ensure he was out of sight when Louie made the discovery that his wares were missing. Again, Dodger waited until tensions between the vendor and his impatient clientele het up, and then swooped in to snatch the bottle of ketchup. As expected, it was all too easy- but then Dodger was a pro at this by now.
Before Dodger could really tuck in, a growl behind him caught his attention. Unconcerned, he looked up to see a shaggy grey mutt standing stiff-legged and snarling.
"Move along; you want to dine like a king, you gotta learn it yourself," Dodger smirked, "but you don't look the sharpest, best stick to trash, all right buddy?"
The dog growled a low and rumbling growl. "I wasn't asking, punk. Throw 'em over or I'll take 'em the hard way."
Dodger got to his feet, confident. He wasn't about to lose a meal to a pushy idiot like this guy- the stranger was not too big, and didn't look all that healthy. "If that's how ya want it," he said, still showing no sign of submission.
They clashed, each fighting to get a strong hold on the other. Serious though the intentions of the grey mutt may have been, he remained quiet, as though unable to make any intimidating noises to impress his rival. Dodger quickly twigged why- the stranger was fearful of humans, and unwilling to bring attention to the presence of a pair of sparring dogs. Had his mouth not been full of the stranger's fur, Dodger would have grinned; he knew exactly how to get one over this dog while making little effort.
Dodger relaxed his grip and howled so his echoing voice surrounded them, bouncing off the concrete. For every slight hit he received from the grey mutt, he'd yelp or scream, all the while finding the situation hilarious- he was of course, totally in control. Unnerved, the stranger backed off a little, only for Dodger to slam into him, hurling him back toward the roads… and the humans. Dodger pushed further, growling as loud as he could manage and noting the panic in his rival's face. His eyes flashing back to the walkway that he was almost upon, the grey mutt could see no option but to turn tail and flee. He just couldn't see how this crazy kid was seemingly not terrified of the humans that loomed so close. He ducked and ran out, his tail between his legs, leaving Dodger watching from the mouth of the alley, a smug smile plastered on his face. Piece a' cake.
As Dodger turned back to claim his hotdogs, another canine figure was standing there. He growled a warning, though he figured it largely unnecessary- this newcomer had already seen what he was made of.
The dog, who looked to be part American bulldog, relaxed his body, hoping to appear non-confrontational. "That was pretty impressive," he said, eyeing the younger dog. "I don't know many dogs who'd pull a stunt like that- you know you could get yourself killed getting so close to humans, right?"
Dodger shrugged and smirked. "You don't get killed if ya know what you're doin'," he said. This dog seemed friendly enough… and didn't appear that interested in his hotdogs. "If you're after handouts you're gonna be disappointed, I got my bros to feed. Name's Dodger by the way."
"I've already eaten," said the bulldog. He looked at Dodger with great curiosity. "I'm sure I've heard your name, seems you've got yourself a reputation, kid. They say you consort with a human, which is pretty weird if you ask me… but it looks like you're doin' all right for yourself."
Though he was used to taunts about his friendship with Fagin, Dodger didn't feel this bulldog had intentions of mocking, he just seemed intrigued. He nodded. "If you're smart enough to handle 'em, humans are no trouble. Biggest resource in the city, you'd be dumb not to take advantage."
"You've never thought of leaving and joining a real pack then? If you're interested, I've got a little band together- we lost a few recently, disappeared, we could use someone like you. You've clearly got some nerve, you'd do us proud."
It was as if this bulldog had known that Dodger had been considering leaving Fagin. The thought was tempting… it was after all, the familiarity of the barge that he wanted to get away from, he didn't necessarily want to be alone. Dodger was always at his happiest when he had friends to show off for. But did he really need to get involved with other dogs? How could he really trust anyone new after what his mother had done? Of course, he didn't have to get close to this new pack, they'd just be companions with little emotional attachment. The prospect seemed a good one, but then Dodger realised that his taking up with a bunch of strangers was likely to lead to some hurt feelings back home. Even if he couldn't live with them, he wanted to stay friends with the gang.
"Like I said, I got my own gang to take care of," Dodger said, "but I'll think about it, could be time for a change."
The bulldog looked a little disappointed. "Well, if you want to take me up on it, I'll be round these parts. Dogs round here know me, just ask for Mac."
Dodger nodded. "Thanks for the offer anyhow, maybe I'll see ya round sometime." He gathered up his sausages, ready to head back to Fagin.
"Maybe," said Mac, "A dog like you is wasted with a human; just think about it."
Having fed everyone back at the barge, Dodger went back out, unwilling to be cooped up and trapped with thoughts of his mother. It had taken a while to get away from the others; Tito had been raring to go along with him, having missed his usual playmate and fellow mischief-maker. Surrounded by his friends, Dodger had felt guilty as he continued to seriously consider leaving them for good.
Trying to assuage his guilt, Dodger headed to the area where it was likely he'd find Fagin- the place where the man had left his dogs earlier that day. He could put in that bit more work for him while he, Dodger, was still around. Away from the barge, at least he didn't have thoughts of his mother swirling around his head.
As he came near to where Fagin had left his scooter, Dodger heard the sounds of a scuffle, but not dogs- humans. Something, though he was not sure what it was, put him on edge. Something wasn't right. Suddenly fearful for Fagin, Dodger rushed around the next corner. There was a loud bang as a metal trashcan was knocked to one side, rubbish flying everywhere. Two young humans, surely adolescents- they couldn't be fully grown- were laying into a quivering figure on the ground. It was Fagin, and he was in big trouble. Dodger charged over, his every hair on end and a deep growl vibrating in his throat. He barked fiercely, squaring up to the teenage brutes. The boys looked around, pausing their assault on the defenceless man. One of them laughed, but the other looked nervous. Dodger had no fear of them. These scumbags were simply testing out their bravado on someone weak, unable to put up much of a fight; they'd be sure to scarper if it looked like they'd be hurt, there'd be nothing to gain if they didn't.
Dodger came closer, stiff-legged and threatening. The braver of the two teenagers kicked out, knocking the mutt to the side.
"No- stop!" Fagin cried.
His snarls intensifying, Dodger leapt forward, getting hold of a red bandana that the youth had around his neck. Obviously frightened, the other boy scrambled to untie it so that the furious dog would fall away. Not easily discouraged, Dodger moved in again, biting the first teenager hard between the legs, causing him to give a great yell.
"Please, don't- don't hurt him," Fagin called out as he finally pulled himself back to his feet. He was terrified for his beloved dog and didn't want him beaten for his sake.
As Dodger had expected, the more nervous of the two boys was quick to flee and, deserted, the other soon followed. Dodger barked defiantly as he watched them get away, and then turned back to his poor friend.
Fagin flung his arms around the mutt, who was a little bruised, but had come away with no serious injuries. He sobbed noisily. "What would I do without you, Dodger?" he sniffed, "Come on, boy, we'd better get out of here in case they come back."
Dodger whined and licked his master's face. Fagin had a black eye and a few cuts and scrapes, but it could have been a lot worse. It dawned on the young mutt why so many street dogs couldn't understand his friendship with a human- there was no doubt about it, they could be vicious and cruel, with not a care for those they made suffer. Fagin wasn't like that though… he had no one else, just five dogs. It was hard not to think of him as being more dog than human. They shared so much, Dodger and Fagin; both abandoned by supposed family and, Dodger was certain, carrying the scars. It was as if they were brothers.
Struggling back to his feet, and feeling rather sore, Fagin went to pick up the red bandanna that had fallen to the floor and turned back to the pup with a little smile. "Here you go, Dodger, I think this is yours now."
Dodger sat still as his friend tied the bandanna around his neck. It wasn't like wearing a collar, a mark of ownership, but a gift to signify their bond, their partnership. It was them against the world, rejected by cruel society and families. Dodger grinned up at Fagin, proud.
Soon they were back on the scooter, careening towards home. Dodger couldn't help but feel a little shaken. What would I do without you, Dodger? Fagin had said. And there he was, thinking of leaving, of running out on him. Dodger realised that it just wasn't an option; there was no explaining to poor Fagin what it was that was going on, no telling him why. They were in this together until the end.
"Woah, man! What happened?" Tito exclaimed as Fagin limped down the stairs with Dodger at his feet.
Dodger lifted his head, showing an air of almost disinterest. "It was nothin' just a couple of human creeps throwin' their weight around. I put them back in their place."
Tito's eyes were wide with pure excitement. Why was it, though, that he missed all the action?
Whimpering their concerns, Rita, Einstein and Francis gathered anxiously around Fagin as he collapsed into his chair, groaning.
"Good dogs, good dogs," Fagin muttered, dodging the licking tongues that were coming at him from all directions. Truth be told, he didn't mind being slobbered on. The dogs were all the family, all the friends he had left, and that they cared for him meant more than he could say.
As Tito ran over to join the others with Fagin, Dodger walked slowly over to his own bed. It seemed he wasn't going anywhere. He felt as though the bond he shared with his human had suddenly gotten a lot closer, and to feel such love gave him a wonderful warm feeling inside. But still, this place… all the memories that haunted the creaking, dirty boat. Now he couldn't escape, he was trapped. Dodger would have to somehow come to terms with what had happened and just move through it- but how could he?
Rita quietly padded over, now satisfied that Fagin would be all right. "Hiya, Dodgie-baby, you're not hurt are you?" she asked, a look of concern on her face.
Dodger looked up and gave her a small half-hearted smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. It would take more than that."
"What's with the new accessory?"
"Oh, that," said Dodger, "Just a little souvenir, Fagin wanted me to wear it." He didn't want Rita to think of him as some common pet wearing a collar, but for whatever reason this bandanna held meaning to him. Perhaps because it linked him to his family- the ones who hadn't left him.
"It suits you, Dodge," Rita said with a grin, and she walked over to her own bed, ready to rest for the evening.
Dodger couldn't help but agree. He was trapped, and it scared him, but he at least had something worthwhile to show for it.