The Wrong Side of the Grass by Stephen Solomita

Author:Stephen Solomita
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2023-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Four

Mike Tedesco wakes up horny at six o’clock in the morning, a common occurrence. Not being a man given to postponed gratification, he rolls over, prurient intent uppermost in his mind, only to come nose-to-nose with Pug. As Pug’s nose is both wet and cold, Tedesco jerks away.

“Damn.”

Pug jumps to the carpeted floor, but doesn’t run off, though he looks contrite as he lowers his massive head and whines softly.

“Jesus Christ, Pug,” Tedesco says. “What am I gonna do with you?”

In light of the fact that Skippy’s more or less ordered him to get rid of the dog, this is not an idle question. But Skippy isn’t running the show anymore, a message he’s yet to internalize.

Tedesco slips into the same clothes he wore yesterday, including his still-damp socks. He completes the outfit by shoving a pistol inside his belt, then walks down a corridor into the living room where he finds Daniela seated before her altar. Daniela’s wearing Oshun’s colors. Beaded bracelets, sun-yellow, run from her wrists to the center of her forearms. Red and yellow necklaces, three of them, drop onto a kimono-like robe. Too large to be real, ruby-colored rings grace the fingers of both hands.

Daniela doesn’t glance up when Tedesco walks into the room. With her eyes closed and her expression lazy, she has the look of a stroked kitten. Tedesco’s seen her in this state before and he’s not tempted to interrupt. He walks into the kitchen, finds a plastic supermarket bag, puts a leash on Pug, and heads out the door. His route along Riverside Drive takes him past the charred remains of Asher’s Lincoln and he pauses, but only for a moment. The sky above the river is streaked with long wispy clouds and the humidity continues to rise, second by second. The cool spell is about to end, ozone time about to begin. Tedesco looks across the Hudson at the retreating blue skies, while Pug stands before a light pole, one leg raised.

“Hi, is that a rescue dog?”

Tedesco glances up to find a young woman, a student by the look of her, walking a small terrier. Despite the terrier being a third of Pug’s size, it pulls its master toward Pug, who drops his leg to the ground. Tedesco represses a smile. Pug could—and very well might—eat this mouse for breakfast. But Pug’s apparently retired from the game. The two dogs stand nose-to-nose for a moment, flanks tense, then abruptly relax.

“Yeah,” Tedesco says, “he is a rescue. The cops picked him up when they raided a dog fight in the South Bronx. They took him to a vet I know, Dr. Lincoln. Jim didn’t think Pug would survive, but he’s doing real well now. How about your pup? Did you rescue her?”

The lies come easily, as they always have, but there’s no payoff. The girl smiles, shakes her head and says, “Ashley’s not mine. She belongs to my boyfriend.”

That’s enough for Tedesco. He guides Pug up the long hill leading to New York–Presbyterian Hospital, taking his time as he focuses on an immediate goal, one of many.

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