King of Dogs by Andrew Edwards

Author:Andrew Edwards [Edwards, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Golden Goat Guild
Published: 2019-12-04T20:00:00+00:00

4

The Animal

In the mid-morning some black guards unwrapped the chain from the tree and looped it back through the cuffs with a padlock. They stood and walked Grayson over the lot inspecting him as they went and commenting on his gait and proposing probable tales of ancestry as if they were breeders at a track or cattlemen at an auction. The sky was overcast from one end of the valley to the other, but it was warm nonetheless and a charged alkaline taste hung in the air. His shirt clung to his back still wet with dew and sweat. As they walked, the guards prodded the purple, yellowing bruises and cuts from the handcuffs on his wrists. One gave a playful kick to his hip and whistled. They spoke in French but from the modulation and excitement in their voices, he could tell they had bet against him in whatever was coming. He could smell creek water and wildflowers carried on the currents rising from the valley and he thought about how sweet the water would taste and that its mere presence in the desert was a mystery that he didn’t understand.

They swung the chain and steered him to the edge of the lot where some dustcaked Humvees were parked. One of the Africans ran the chain through both of the tow hooks in the undercarriage to account for the slack and then snapped the padlock shut and shook it as he smiled to the others. Another of them tested it and then they walked off to the shade to smoke.

Across from him on this side of the lot, Denny sat on the rear bumper of his truck staring at him through his sunglasses. He stared back for a long time until Denny took a fancy pocketknife from the area of his waist and began to clean his fingernails. A half hour passed in the clearing with the camp noises of birds above and men going into the bushes and utensils being washed in tin cups at water stations. He counted forty breaths and stretched his back, side to side, to work out his hip. Guards moved slowly between posts and those off-duty began to collect themselves on the lot and others stood on the hillside in the leaden light. A stout white mercenary in full kit jogged up the trail with his rifle in one hand. Denny turned when he heard the footsteps and the jostle of gear and Grayson watched him as he rounded the tailgate smiling at Denny who also smiled. The mercenary kept coming straight at him unbuttoning his battle dress pants with one hand as he went. He came to a stop at Grayson’s boots with his business out and stood pissing on down in the dust between his legs and on his boots.

“The coffee is terrible here, bruh,” he said.

He was South African by the accent, his ice blue eyes that had seen the desert and the jungle. The men lined up to watch,

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