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

pointing it at me, but I didn’t take it as a “let’s be friends” gesture. I pivoted and ran out. When I threw open the car door, Pick leapt out and charged across the gravel lot. The dog that looked dead five minutes ago went bat shit crazy and the two of them lunged at each other with flashing teeth and snarls. Neither Larry or I moved. We watched silently as our dogs danced, he with his hand on a revolver, mine on my heart. Then a spray of blood hit the snow. Larry started yelling, “I’ll shoot that goddamn dog! Get him!”
    There was no way I was getting in-between those two. I got in the car and dialed 911. Larry was as good as his word. He fired one round. He could’ve hit his dog, but he didn’t. He hit Pick. The other dog barked and ran. Pick ran in a circle, nipping at his butt and then chased the other dog into the woods. I guess that butt shot wasn’t too bad, but it still pissed me off. I jumped out of the car, picked up a piece of firewood and launched it at Larry. It hit him square in the chest. He dropped the revolver and I dove for it. Being small has its advantages. Larry was slow. By the time he made a move, I had it and was pointing it at him.  
    “You won’t shoot me. You’re a pussy,” he said, rubbing his chest. His wife-beater tee was stained with blood in the shape of a Bird of Paradise.  
    “That blood says different.”
    “This ain’t shit.”
    “I’d be happy to add to it.”
    He looked me over, taking note that I wasn’t holding like a sissy. Dad taught me well. “You’re pretty cute,” he said.
    “Shut up, shithead.”
    He looked at the revolver again and made a break for it. I was surprised. I was more surprised that I didn’t shoot him. Larry ran around the corner of the building and jumped into a Trans Am. He squealed the tires and drove out of the parking lot. I followed him in Dad’s car. If Larry could outrun me, I’d eat whatever was left of Pick.
    It wasn’t much of a chase. Neither vehicle went over twenty miles per hour. The ice on the road was begging to send us into a ditch. I followed Larry closely enough to see him flipping me the bird. After fifteen minutes, a county sheriff’s car came around a bend towards us. I started honking and the car blocked the road in front of Larry. Larry jumped out and started running across a field. The snow was up to his shins, but he was making good time.
    The sheriff got out of his car, walked over to mine, leaned on the door, and lit a cigarette. I rolled down the window.
    “You Watts?” he said.
    “Yeah.”
    “I give him five minutes.”
    “Do you think he has a plan?”
    “Probably not. Larry’s never been the brightest bulb on the tree, but he can talk a blue streak.”
    “He shot my dog…in the butt.”
    “Sounds like Larry.”
    Larry stopped at the far edge of the field, his arms flapping in the wind. He turned around, flipped us the bird and started back. He’d lost his flip-flops and was more than happy to get arrested. The only thing he said was, “The only woman I’m married to is Sissy.” I told the sheriff the whole story and he searched Larry’s trailer. He found a stack of credit cards owned by women I’d never heard of. It looked like Larry had himself an off-season job and he was damn good at it. The trail went back to Evelyn. She was his first and his most lucrative. Neither she nor any of the other women had reported him. Larry knew how to pick em.
    I found Pickpocket in the woods and took him to a local vet. The wound wasn’t serious, and Pick was thrilled with all the attention. Skanky gave Pick a head-to-toe cleaning when I got him home. He was still coughing up black fuzzy hairballs a month later. Pick’s rump was completely healed by the time Chuck reclaimed him two weeks later.
    After the paperwork was done, I called Claire and told her the good news. At least I thought it was good news. She cried, not because we caught him, but because she'd been married to a redneck, I