Read Touch and Go (A Mercy Watts Short) for Free Online

yet. Uncle Morty was back from his so-called vacation and I got him to nose his way into Tisserling’s life. The best he could come up with was an expired license and a couple of addresses in Reynolds County.  
    The next morning I was awakened by the animals watching the Today show. I fed them and gave Skanky a gentle boot in the butt for becoming so fond of a dog. I still couldn’t get ahold of Chuck. I needed to take a drive down and check out those addresses. I was afraid to leave Pick alone for that long. Mrs. Jackson was spending the day at the senior center. Pick’d already eaten all the tissues and pooped on the bath mat. I had to take him.
    I spent the two hours to Lesterville with a drooling snout over my shoulder and occasional ear licking. We stopped for lunch and had the best cream of broccoli soup of my life. Even Chuck would’ve liked it and he avoids vegetables like he does commitment. In the parking lot, Pick scarfed Milk Bones and I decided on my next move. The locals were eyeing us and smiling a lot. I guess they didn’t get a lot of giant black poodles with pink ribbons on their ears. But Pick looked adorable and I knew it would drive Chuck nuts to know I’d been running around with his dog, his male dog, in pink ribbons. What the hell? He deserved it. Chuck, that is, not Pick. The dog didn’t care what was on his ears.  
    After Pick got petted about thirty times, I went to the addresses, but they were a bust, so I’d have to ask around. After trips to the Dairy Queen and auto parts store, I hit pay dirt with a liquor store. Larry had an overdue account with them and they weren’t feeling too kindly toward him. I got his work address, a double-wide on the river. The clerk was chatty and told me that Larry’s mom had been in a serious car accident a couple of weeks ago. He’d left Claire prematurely. He could’ve taken her for more, but even criminals have obligations.
    I followed the signs to Swifty Canoe Rental on the banks of the Black River. There were piles of canoes rusting beside a couple of ramshackle trailers with beer signs and what looked like a dead dog by the front door. Pickpocket was barking his head off. The dog didn’t twitch and I had to fight to keep Pick in the car. I walked past the dog, who lifted an eyelid, and went inside.  
    A beat-up metal desk and chair was the only furniture in a large room with exposed wallboard and wiring. Piles of life jackets and paddles littered the floor. A couple of empty ice cream freezers droned pointlessly and there was a thin layer of dirt on everything. A kettle belched out steam on a wood stove and filled the air with earthy moisture that felt good in my lungs.  
    “I could go to the other trailer,” I said to myself.
    A voice behind me said, “Who are you talking to?”
    I turned and it was a man, thirty-five, with a potbelly and thinning hair. He wore an undershirt tank top, sweatpants and flip-flops despite the cold. It took me a second to recognize him as Evan. Larry was in full redneck mode.
    “Evan?” I said without thinking.
      Larry stood with eyes half open chewing on an unlit cigar. He gave no sign that he heard me.
    “Guess there’s no point in beating around the bush. I’m here about Claire,” I said.
    “Who?” said Evan scratching his stomach.
    “Claire Carter, your wife!” I said more shrilly than I intended.
    “Look, girly. My wife’s Sissy and we’re closed for the season.”
    “Does Sissy know what a jackass you are?”
    “I don’t have to listen to this crap. Get off my property.”
    “Your property! Which wife paid for this?” I kicked an ice cream freezer and gave it a nice dent.
    “Don’t do that!” yelled Evan. He went to the desk and rummaged around.
    “Or else what?” I yelled back.
    “I’m calling the police.”
    “Please do, scumbag.”
    Larry straightened up and held out his hand. There was a revolver in it that looked like it’d been used by Buffalo Bill. He wasn’t exactly