CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Robert Crawford pulled his shoulders back and held his head high. He was a big, imposing man, tall, muscular, and thanks to a scar earned during a knife fight with an ISIS insurgent in Syria four years ago, intimidating.
Achilles was just as intimidating. Robert’s Rottweiler was one hundred thirty pounds of pure muscle with gleaming white teeth, perfectly cared for by Robert himself, and just as muscular as Robert was. He had a deep, imposing bark which he wasn’t afraid to use.
And use it he did. When the slow-moving couple in front of Robert stopped in front of a fruit stand and intentionally blocked his way, Achilles barked loudly enough that it echoed throughout the farmer’s market and pulled dozens of eyes to them.
The male half of the couple, a heavyset gentleman with a sour face, jumped. He looked at Achilles, then at Robert. For a second, he remained where he was, clearly upset to realize that the world didn’t move at his speed.
Achilles growled. Robert stared coldly at him. The older man decided it wasn’t worth the risk and shuffled to the side, mumbling to himself. Robert walked past him, catching a “damned assholes need to slow down,” as he passed.
He chuckled to himself, then chuckled again when a younger couple wisely sidestepped the man and his dog without needing a warning. See? What was so damned hard about that? Just get out of his way.
Robert liked that. As a kid, he’d constantly been told to watch out for other people.
Wait your turn, Timmy’s not done yet. Be gentle with Julie, she’s a girl.
Don’t play rough with the little kids, that’s not nice.
Just because you’re bigger and stronger doesn’t mean you just get to do whatever you want.
And he listened. He respected his parents, and they wanted him to respect his teachers, so he meekly followed the rules. He played gently with the little kids. He was nice to the girls. He waited his turn.
Achilles growled at a little rat shaped like a dog.
Some sort of fluffy breed that posh bitches carried like purses and fed berries out of their triple acai gluten-free low glycemic index smoothies or whatever.
The little dog yelped and hid behind her owner, who, wouldn’t you know it, was a posh bitch with a triple acai gluten-free smoothie.
“Can you watch your dog?” she said in a snotty voice.
Robert stopped and smiled at her. “I’m watching him.”
Achilles barked, causing the girl to jump and spill smoothie on her shirt. “Seriously?” She looked at Robert.
“Yep.”
She stared at him, and he smiled back pleasantly.
A flicker of fear crossed her eyes when she understood Robert wasn’t going to stop his dog.
The little rat figured out that her owner was afraid and poked its adorable little nose in between the woman’s legs.
She yapped, something that reminded Robert of those little pink toys they sold in department stores with those fathead dolls and their bigeyed pets. Something little girls played with.
Achilles barked again, snapping at the rat-dog, who finally realized it was one bad move away from being eaten in one bite and pumped its tiny legs away. The owner gasped, turned, and ran after her, calling, “Trixie! No, wait for Mommy!”
When “Mommy” felt she was far enough away to be spared consequences for idiocy, she turned around and flipped Robert off. Robert returned the gesture, still smiling.
A wide path had cleared for them now. Robert began to whistle, pleased. He was eighteen when he finally figured out he didn’t actually have to play nice just because he was bigger and stronger than anyone. He could do whatever he wanted. What were they gonna do? Whine?
Well, they did whine, but he didn’t care. If they needed to lick their wounds, so be it. He would get what he wanted, and the rest of the world would have to deal with it.
“Excuse me, sir, is that really a service dog?”
Robert turned to the voice and stared incredulously. The security guard who asked the question couldn’t have been a day above twenty. He was at least eight inches shorter than Robert’s six-four, and Robert was pretty sure he could throw the kid over his head with one arm.
Achilles was just as shocked. He stared at the kid without barking, blinking as though to make this clearly ridiculous hallucination disappear.
“You’re shitting me, right?” Robert said.
“May I ask what service he’s trained to perform?” the guard continued calmly.
Robert’s eyes narrowed. There was no way this kid would be so brave unless he had some sort of trick up his sleeve.
Or behind his back where his arms were clasped.
Robert thought for a moment. Not a gun, obviously.
Probably not a nightstick either considering the kid’s arms were skinnier than most nightsticks.
A taser, maybe, or pepper spray. Robert suspected the latter.
It was a lot easier to avoid lawsuits with pepper spray.
He chuckled. “Okay, kid. Tell you what. I’ll sic my dog on you, and you try to pepper spray him.
Think you’re fast enough to get him before he bites off whatever pathetic excuse you’ve got going on between your legs?
Think you’re fast enough to stop me before I break your arm, take your spray, and hold your eyelids open while I empty it into your face? ”
The kid’s calm vanished. His face turned white, then green. He swallowed and stammered what sounded like, “I’m calling the police.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Robert said. “Fucking little coward.” He moved on, jerking his head forward. “Come on, Achilles. Let the little boy piss his pants in peace.”
The guard remained where he was, staring at the ground. A few yards behind him, some twig of a girl, probably his girlfriend, looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment.
Find yourself a man, girl, he thought to himself.
He heard other people on cell phones, talking in low voices and looking darkly at him. Little bitches. All of them. Had to call Daddy to come spank Robert.
It just pissed him off. Why was he always expected to consider other people?
Why did he have to slow down, stop, share, smile, and speak softly just because he was tall and lifted weights and didn’t look like some pasty-ass roll of dough?
He’d fought for his country. He was a man.
He’d earned the right to be treated with respect.
What had these soft assholes done but complain every time a politician didn’t celebrate their choice to be different by looking, thinking, and acting like every other soft asshole on Earth?
He reached the end of the farmer’s market and broke into a jog. Achilles kept up with long, loping strides. Other people walking on the sidewalk, looked at him, and kept coming until he was right on top of them. Only then did they jump out of the way, throwing a curse at him as he ran on.
And again, why did he have to be the one to stop? Why was he expected to move for them? Why always him?
Clouds covered the sun, and a chill crept into the air. Robert’s lips thinned, and when the first splashes of water hit his head, he said, “Oh yeah. Go ahead. Rain on me. I love that shit.”
He wasn’t sure who he was talking to. It didn’t matter. No one. Everyone.
He picked up speed, remembering the day he’d been discharged. The base commander was another soft asshole named Colonel Tell. He’d called Robert into his office, and there were four MPs waiting there, all of them widebodies almost as big as Robert. Four MPs to escort one man.
He’d read the charges, mostly bullshit about Robert not kissing ass with enough tongue, the same bullshit they covered during his court-martial. Remember, officers are gods, and you need to be on your knees with your lips puckered at all times. Bullshit.
The sentence was two years in Leavenworth because he finally got tired of the shit and reminded his company commander that he actually was a soft little shit and shouldn’t presume to tell Robert what to do.
It was commuted in favor of kicking his ass out of the Army.
Those four MPs had escorted him out of the office, but not before Robert looked the colonel in the eye and said, “Remember this, Colonel. When you look in the mirror tonight, remember that you had to hide behind four big men. Remember that you were a coward. Know that you’re not a man. ”
And he’d seen the knowledge of that in the Colonel’s eyes. That was enough to soften the blow. Mostly.
The rain was coming down in sheets by the time Robert reached home. Achilles trotted up the porch steps, whining and preparing to shake.
“Hey!” Robert snapped. “Hell no. Get your ass down here.”
Achilles gave him a beseeching look, and Robert—fumbling for his keys—said, “No. You can shake in the garage. I’m not gonna have the house smell like wet dog.”
He found the button, clicked it, and watched the garage door slowly rise. Achilles whined and slinked inside, giving Robert a reproachful look.
“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river and drown in it. I’ll come back out with the blowdryer in a second. We’ll get you dry, and then you can come inside, and I’ll feed you some bacon bits. How about that?”
Achilles perked up immediately and barked enthusiastically. Robert chuckled. “Little wimpy-ass puppy.”
Achilles barked again, baring a wide puppy grin and thrusting his chin at Robert. Up yours.
“Up yours too,” Robert replied, also grinning.
So, some little bastards wanted to have a problem with him at the farmer’s market. Whatever. Achilles was the only friend he needed.
He closed the garage and opened the back door to get into the house. Achilles stiffened, then barked rapidly and rushed for the door.
“Nope!” Robert said, closing it before the dog could get in. “I told you I’ll be out in a second!”
Achilles slammed against the door, and Robert flinched. “Hey! Knock it off! Christ, one second!”
He shook his head and turned around. “God, it’s like…”
He forgot entirely what it was like when he saw the figure in front of him. It was the size and shape of a petite woman, but it wore a mask that looked like Achilles snarling.
It also wore gloves with long claws at the end. Little blades that looked like his utility knife at the warehouse. Robert stared at the makeshift weapons, looked up at the woman, and said, “Are you ser—”
She stepped forward and slashed, moving faster than Robert had ever seen anyone move.
Fire seared across his face, and he flinched backward, crying out in shock.
When he opened his mouth, the skin on the left side of his face sagged, and blood welled from three deep grooves.
He could feel air moving through one of the grooves where the blade had cut all the way through his skin.
The attacker laughed, a guttural sound that matched the snarl of her dog mask. Robert took a step back, heart pounding. “Hey.”
Then she was on him. Robert tried to fight back for a few seconds, but when the tendons that controlled both of his arms were severed, he only screamed. Then the claws tore across his throat, and he couldn’t scream anymore.