Read The Mad and the MacAbre for Free Online Page A

smile, but he had a cute
dog.
    * * *
    "You need a name," Charlie told the dog as
they sat on the couch.
    The dog squeaked its bone.
    What was a good name for a dog? Fido? Rover?
Duke? Prince? Spike? Clowny-Face?
    Killer?
    Hmmmm. He liked Killer.
    "Do you want to be named Killer?" he
asked.
    The dog squeaked its toy again, but it was a
non-committal squeak.
    Killer wasn't exactly subtle. He should
probably brainstorm more options. Charlie went to get a pen and a
notebook, then sat back down and started writing down ideas. He
wrote down every dog name he could think of, the first names of
everybody he knew, and other names that might be appropriate for a
dog whose cuteness was going to lure women to their death.
    After about an hour, he had a list of
forty-seven names. He read them slowly, one at a time, to see if
any elicited a reaction from the dog.
    None of them did. The dog just kept chewing
on its toy. Charlie had to admit to himself that he was taking his
newfound willingness to communicate with the dog a bit too far.
    He read the list of names again, to himself
in a whisper.
    Cutter sounded the best, but it didn't look
right. He wrote it on a separate page. Cutter.
    He wrote it again: Kutter.
    "That's your new name," he said. "Kutter the
dog."
    Charlie took Kutter for
another walk, tearing down the " Found
Dog " signs as they went.

- 5 -
    "Did the address help at all?" Alicia asked
the next day.
    "I'm keeping it."
    "Seriously?"
    "Yeah. Its name's Kutter."
    "Well, that's great. Congratulations on the
new addition to your household."
    "Thanks."
    Charlie looked at her more closely. He'd
always liked freckles. Perhaps someday she'd let him take her out
for coffee or--
    --his basement. Perhaps someday he'd lock
her in his basement. That's what he meant.
    But maybe coffee to start.
    Charlie wasn't even going to try to pretend
to himself that he'd be even remotely close to capable of asking
her out right now, so he ignored the thought and glanced back at
his monitor.
    "Do you have pictures?" asked Alicia.
    Charlie shook his head.
    "You need pictures."
    "Okay." Charlie had no intention of buying a
camera, even a cheap disposable one. Still, it couldn't hurt to
pretend to go along with her idea.
    "Well, I'm glad you kept the dog. Give it a
great big hug for me." Alicia patted Charlie on the shoulder and
then returned to her desk.
    * * *
    Alicia asked him about Kutter photos every
day for the next three days. After the third day, Charlie realized
that saying "I forgot again" just wasn't going to continue to work.
It was really not her place to guilt him into photographing his
dog, but finally Charlie decided to cave in to the pressure. He
bought a surprisingly inexpensive disposable camera on the way home
from work.
    Taking the camera downstairs was not an
option. Some clue about the basement activities, no matter how
subtle, might appear in the photograph, and Charlie couldn't take
the risk. He also refused to appear in the picture himself. He'd
just get a couple of quick snapshots of Kutter and take them
straight to the photo-developing lab at the grocery store.
    He opened the door to the basement. Kutter
happily bounded up the stairs. Charlie put on his leash, took him
for a quick walk, then brought him back inside.
    "On the couch," Charlie said, patting the
cushion.
    Kutter jumped up onto the couch.
    "Good boy. Now smile." As Charlie peeked
through the viewfinder, Kutter jumped off the couch and ran into
the kitchen.
    Stupid dog. "Hey, get back in here!" Charlie
called out. He heard Kutter thundering around in the kitchen for a
moment, and then the Boston terrier came running back into the
living room. He patted the cushion again. "C'mon. Picture
time."
    Kutter woofed at him.
    "I don't like it either. We don't have a
choice."
    Charlie patted the cushion a few more times,
then decided that although the couch was the most aesthetically
pleasing location for the photograph, it didn't much matter either
way. He pointed the camera