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Mad Dog and the Dream Ch. 01

By: SirThopas



The doorbell at the Melor place rang twice. The two punctuating pushes of the button conveyed persistence, but not impatience. Without word, the caller declared both "you will answer," and "I will wait for it to happen." 

Ronald Melor got up from his breakfast. Oatmeal and toast would cool rapidly, and not be very good cold, so he would have to be brief with whoever it was. 

He glanced briefly at the handcrafted wooden clock on the wall, a gift from hiss, as he passed by it. Fifteen minutes after ten. That was early for friends to be popping by, so it likely wasn't that. Neither he nor his wife were expecting a delivery of any kind, and most of the more intrusive people who might ring a stranger's doorbell in search of money or god were usually smart enough to wait until after lunch. 

Probably, it was just the lawn guy. Ron never could figure why the kid sent out to seed and spray his lawn always insisted on giving him lengthy reports of every visit. His mini-lectures became rambling, monotone notations on everything he felt needed to be done to keep the lawn looking good, especially on what Ron could do to help maintain it between visits, and were as off-putting as the acne scarring on his face. But they were at least survivable, and he did seem to keep the lawn looking great. 

More than once, Ron had done insulting impressions of the kid for his wife's amusement, giving her ridiculous, nasally, serious-voiced suggestions for how to keep the dishes from getting dirty as he loaded the dishwasher, or lecturing on how to properly remove her clothes as he watched her undress. Once, he had ruined the moment and left them both rolling with laughter when he broke into his impression of the kid as he was settling himself between her legs to perform. "You know, ma'am," he'd said, spontaneously affected the ginger's youthful attempt to sound like an expert, "this turf would grow a lot better if it were getting seeded more often. Regular seedings can really make a big difference. It's a very important part of the process, and shouldn't be neglected. See?" he'd taken a token lick, "It even tastes unseeded. You may not care now, but when your neighbors notice the difference, you'll wish you could just roll it up, put it away, and keep them from looking at it. Am I right?" She'd looked down at him in exasperation as he'd said that last part and he'd gone cross-eyed. By the time the giggles ended, neither was feeling particularly sexy anymore.

Reaching the entryway, Ron did a quick check to see that he hadn't left any crumbs on his black shirt. Then he rubbed his hands on his jeans and unlocked and pulled open the door. He was halfway through forcing a polite grin when he saw who was standing there. He froze, hand tightening on the handle. He had never met the tall man who entered his vision, but Ron immediately recognized what the man was and why he was there. As the stranger looked him over, Ron's eyes went wide. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then seemed to sag into weary sadness. His breathing stopped.

Ron felt his mouth move numbly. "No," is all he said.

The man in the doorway smiled. He was lean, garbed in a thin, dressy leather jacket in spite of the heat, and was equally well-tailored underneath. His skin was dark but of indecipherable origin. It had qualities that could be Hispanic or Middle Eastern, but his face had a very handsome Italian design.

"Hello, Ron," he said. 

Desperate, Ron swung the door shut with all his strength. The man reacted with a lazy electric speed, catching the door hand out and palm against the grain. He held it open against Ron's efforts without any sign of strain. "Well, that won't do, will it?" he asked.

Unable to shut him out, Ron felt raw terror. He was struck almost immobile. Instead of attacking him, though, the man craned his head upward. He gently stroked the frame of the threshold with two fingers from his free hand.

"It's strange, isn't it?" he asked. "A doorway, I mean. It's functional. Its necessary. And yet, it betrays the protective nature of the house. It takes away that feeling of being able to shut out the world, or shut in whatever we want kept safe. It changes the house. It ruins it. And what's the purpose of a house that offers no protection?" He took a deep breath, slowly lowering his eyes back down to meet Ron's horrified stare. "Still, it serves a purpose. Most things do. Even you, Ron, though I don't think you know it yet." He tilted his head in curiosity. "I can't help but wonder: a door like this...is it an entrance, or an exit?" With a lazy strength he pushed the door open, forcing Ron backwards. Ron's hands were still held up at chest level, palms out, as they had been when they held the door. He pushed them outwards towards the intruder, as if the gesture alone might stop him.

The man ignored him. Absently brushing at his jacket, he walked casually into the house. Once inside he shut the door behind him, and looked bemusedly at it for a moment. Then he turned back to Ron and inclined his head again. "Well," he said, "Look at that."

"Listen," Ron said quietly, "I know why you're here, and-"

With impossible speed, the man closed the gap between them and drove his fist into Ron's stomach. The impact was concussive, dropping the smaller man to the floor and leaving him gasping for breath. 

"Don't ever!" he snarled. Irritation wrinkled on his face. "Don't ever say that. How could you possibly know such a thing? Why I'm here. Jesus." His face relaxed, and he scratched at his chin. "It's an interesting claim to make, though. I'll admit that. It's just not something you can support. Nobody knows the answer to that one. Probably, it can't be known." His face relaxed, and he brushed at his jacket again. "But enough philosophy. Let me tell you why I'm here."

Ron looked up at him. He felt as though he might vomit. "Please," he said. "Don't do this. I have a new life here."

"It would certainly seem so." The tall man looked around the room. "This is a nice house. You have a nice wife to go with it." His gaze fell back on Ron, "Her name's Maddy. She's at the DMV getting her license renewed right now. She planned on going yesterday, but yesterday was a Monday and the DMV is always so damn busy on a Monday. Why is that, I wonder?" He seemed to consider the question for a second before continuing. "So, she decided to wait and go today, and went grocery shopping instead. She didn't buy much, just the basics, but it took a long while. She told you she was gone for so long because she had tried waiting in line at the DMV for a while before giving up. That's a lie. She never waited in line at all. She was at the grocery store almost the whole time. She ran into somebody there." He raised his eyebrows. "It was a man. Someone she's met before, actually. Someone she was glad to see. They talked for almost an hour. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were hungry. I saw it." He licked his lips. "For some reason, known only by her I suppose, she neglected to tell you about it. Interesting, how easily we keep secrets from the people we love." His eyebrows dropped, his eyes narrowing. "Tell me, Ronald, what does Maddy not know about you? Hm? Does she know who you are? Does she know what you've done?"

Ron climbed to his feet, not responding.

The intruder stopped looking around the room, fixing his eyes on Ron. "Does she know, Ron, what happens to the people who trust you? Have you ever told her that?"

Ron opened his mouth, but didn't speak. He shook his head.

"Hm," the tall man said. "I didn't think so. It begs a question, though. If she doesn't even know you, if she looks at you and sees a man who isn't real, then who did she marry? I imagine some would argue that she's not really married at all. Or was that your plan?" He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you hoped that, by marrying her to a shade, you could make the shade real. I don't think it works that way." He rubbed his chin, his eyes straying from Ron's face to continue their examination of the room. "I don't think documentation makes a person real. But, then, there's always the DMV, so who knows."

"What do you want from me?"

"From you? I don't want anything from you." The tall man walked over to the coffee table and picked up a picture of Ron with his wife. "This is a nice picture, of both of you. I think it's the tan. It adds a soft color to you both. You look healthier with it, you know?" He shook his head. "Seems like a sick habit. We are active participants in the purposeful warping of our perceptions of this world. But, there it is." He held the picture up for Ron, like it was a novelty. "Do you remember what kind of camera you used?" Ron shook his head. "Too bad," Andro went back to looking at the pitcure. "A camera is a remarkable device. Mysterious. I took one apart once, real careful. Did it real carefully, real smart. Like surgery. Like it was alive." He shrugged. "It didn't help me. I still don't understand how they work. I only know that there are many pieces, and they're all essential. I couldn't put them all back right, and it never worked after that. Like surgery. Like it was alive." He reached out, putting the picture back down where he'd found it. "Has your wife ever been raped?"

Ron felt a chill. "I..." he stammered, "I...she isn't....this isn't about her. I'm the one you want. I should have stayed. I shouldn't have left him there, alone. I know that. It's me."

The tall man frowned. "You are a difficult man to have a conversation with," he said, but his voice sounded strangely admiring. He looked at the clock. "Write your wife a note. Let her know that you're going into work. You'll be back by one."

Ron swallowed hard. "Will I really?"

The tall man shrugged again.

"She'll...she'll call me at work. She'll be mad that I didn't let her know, and she'll call. She'll know I'm not there."

"I imagine that she will. Write the note."

Seven minutes later, Ron was sitting in the back seat of a black sedan as the tall man drove across town. He closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing, reminding himself that right now his only goal was to stay alive. He looked at the tall man and wondered if he could overpower him. He had no advantage physically, and the man seemed more than a little unhinged. Ron wondered for a moment who he was, where he'd come from. He tried to remember if anybody he'd run into in his old life reminded him...

The tall man looked back over his shoulder at him. "Andro."

"What?"

"My name's Andro. You asked."

"I didn't. I didn't say a thing."

"Really? That's strange." he shrugged. "You probably should have."

"Where are you from?" Ron asked.

"That's the question, isn't it? Yeah. That's exactly it." The man laughed, then looked over his shoulder at his passenger. "Do you think you could shoot me?"

Ron swallowed. "What?"

Andro reached down and tossed his gun back to Ron. It landed heavily on the seat next to him. It was a Smith and Wesson nine millimeter, silver and heavy. Ron picked it up nervously, watching the tall man carefully. Somehow, holding the gun didn't make him feel any more in control of the situation.

"So?" The tall man asked. "The gun is loaded. I know you know where I'm taking you, who's waiting for us there. Can you do it?"

"You're out of your mind."

"That's a stupid saying. Your mind is in you."

Ron stared at the back of the man's head, holding the silver coolness in his hands. Could he do it? Surely the tall man wouldn't really let him. The gun must not be loaded, or maybe it didn't work at all. Probably, when Ron pulled the trigger and nothing happened, he would use it as an excuse to beat him. Or worse. 

But he was right about one thing: Ron knew where he was taking him. And he desperately wanted to avoid that.

He told himself he could do it, that he had to do it. But taking a human life is such a monumental thing to do. Some people can, some even find it easy...Ron was certain the tall man would have no trouble with committing murder...but to actually take that step? Ron had only faced that terrible choice one other time in his life, and he'd run away from it then. He wondered, was he stronger now?

Was that what someone was, when they could willingly end a person's life? Strong?

And anyway, what if he did it? Here, on the busy street. What then? Would the car crash kill him anyway? Would he end up in jail? Or would it just mean another unhinged thug sent to reel him in? A lifetime of fear, of knowing that it would all happen again. It didn't seem like the path to survival, and survival was truly what he hunted for now.

Still, did his immediate future look any brighter with the tall man alive than it would with him dead? Would the tall man's death discourage others from coming after him?

Could the new Ron Melor live if the old one came back to clean up his mess?

The tall man turned into a side street, and then into a run-down looking garage attached to an equally-rough looking two-story office building. Stopping the car, he lazily reached back and removed the gun from Ron's hand. His expression was one of disappointment.

"Well," he said, "that's one more thing we know about you."

Ron didn't respond. He simply followed as Andro climbed out and walked to the door leading into the office building. "This," the tall man said, tapping the door frame as he passed through it, "is definitely an entrance."

Inside, he led Ron up a short staircase and towards a large room that had clearly been a conference room. There was no furniture anywhere, although the faded and dust-coated carpet revealed shadowed evidence of an oval table and a dozen or so chairs. A loud rattling in the ceiling announced the jagged efforts of the air conditioner. Almost a third of the lights were nonfunctioning, giving the room a dim and hazy feel.

"Well, hello, Ron," Piero Medina smiled as the two men entered the board room. "It's been a long time. What do you think of my new place?" He waved his hands around, meaty fingers spread wide. The yellow teeth he exposed in his grin, unpleasant in the finest light, looked even darker and unhealthy in the flickering dimness.

Ron didn't respond, just watched his old employer carefully, his jaw set and eyes defiant.

"Come now," Piero's smile remained, although new lines appeared around his eyes and his hands fell to his sides, "there'll be none of that. It's been so long. We have catching up to do."

Ron maintained his silence, and ignored the bead of sweat that slid down his cheek. Posturing was the only defense left to him, and he knew that he was in with a crowd that awarded defiance almost as strongly as silence.

Piero turned his heavy-lidded gaze on the tall man. "Was he as rude to you as he is being to me, Andro?" he asked, although his eyes betrayed approval.

Andro shook his head, playing his part. "I rather enjoyed our time together. Somewhere in there, I think he understands."

"Well, that's good." He shifted his feet, redistributing his heavy weight. "You know, Ron, by rights I should have killed you years ago."

"I got the money back," Ron snapped, "or most of it, before I left. You know I-"

Piero was in his face in an instant, eyes blazing. "Money!" he roared. His heavy cheeks wiggled the word out, and grew red. "Money? You think it was the money I cared about?" He sighed wearily, lowering his voice. "Things go wrong, Ron. They go wrong." On that last sentence, his head swayed softly from side to side with each syllable, giving the statement a strange emphasis. "No. It wasn't the money. It was Lee. It was Lee I cared about."

Ron swallowed hard. "I know. I tried to talk to him. To get him to come with us." He let his regret show on his face. "I didn't want him to go alone. That was never what I wanted."

"But he wouldn't come with you," Piero noted, in the same tone of voice he might use when indulging a small child. "He was too loyal."

"I...yes." Ron looked at each of the other men. "But you know it wouldn't have helped. If we had gone with, Tony and I, we would have been killed, too. We didn't stand a chance. It wouldn't just have been Lee dead. It would have been me and Tony, as well. All three of us, dead for nothing."

"We'll get to Tony in a minute," Piero wagged his finger. "Right now I'm talking about Ron. I want to tell you about him. It's been so long since you've met him, maybe you've forgotten. He was a good guy. He wasn't cold or hard the way some of the men get, but neither was he so soft that he can't be trusted. He had value, and not just to me." He looked up at the flickering lights, as if deep in thought. " It was a calming thing, I think, to know that Ron Melor had your back. It gave the men confidence they might otherwise have lacked." He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his brow. "I know Lee thought so. Maybe not at the end, but right up until he watched you walk away, he did. I still have people telling the tale. Do you realize how upsetting that is to me? How does it help the men to go about relaying the story of the man who left his brother on the field? Who left a friend to die? Who was so fucking stupid, that he walked away from it all thinking his greatest sin involved the loss of money? No. You don't realize. People need to know that this thing has been addressed. People need closure."

Ron swallowed. "I came here because I knew you never went further west than Chicago. I came here so that people wouldn't have to know that I-"

"People know. They know, Ron."

His shoulders fell. "I'm sorry."

Piero smiled sadly, putting a heavy hand on one of those shoulders. "I know you are, Ron. That's why I'm going to give you a chance to make amends."

"Amends?"

Piero's smile turned hard. "I know why you had to leave, Ron. Why you thought you had to run. You got weak. We all do, once in a while. But it's not escape that we really need, when we get weak. And it's not punishment either. It's redemption." He leaned in close, his breath warm and tinged with halitosis. "I intend to give you that redemption, if you'll have it."

Ron felt a bead of cool liquid drop down his back, and realized how much he was sweating. "And if I can't do that?"

Piero's eyes flickered over to Andro and back again. Then, he stepped back and nodded. 

"Come with me," Andro said simply, and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Ron panicked. "Wait, I..."

Piero laughed, belly shaking with amusement. "You're not going to die, Ron. If you don't struggle, he won't even hurt you. He's only going to answer your question."

Reluctantly, hopelessly, Ron followed Andro down into the building's basement. As they approached a room on the opposite end of the structure from the board room, Ron began to hear muffled voices. When they reached the door, Andro held a finger up to his lips before opening.

When he saw inside that room, Ron knew that his life was over.

Tied to a chair, gagged and facing away from the door, was Tony Sadovsky. His shaved head was coated with stubble, and the exposed skin of his arms was covered welts and pressure marks from where ropes had gripped him. Ron figured he'd been here a week, or more. Tony was a limp rag, sagging into his chair, too weak in either physical strength or spirit to offer any kind of struggle. Ron looked him over. The injuries he saw weren't severe. The man didn't appear to be dehydrated or starved.

But it wasn't Tony that told Ron that his life was over. It was the other person in the room . On the far side, half-buried in shadow so that your eyes had to adjust, tied to a chair facing Tony was a nude woman. 

Or what was left of one. 

Her head hung loosely to the side. Large chunks of her bloody scalp showed through the tangled, thin remains of her hair. Her face was mangled, retaining only some of the defining elements of its humanity. The area around her right eye socket was swollen grotesquely, the unseeing eyeball bulging out of the socket and clouded with blood. The left one appeared uninjured but stared vacantly, giving no indication of consciousness. Her nose had been removed, the cut jagged and messy. The darkness of the gaping hole it left had an unsettling purity, as though no light could ever hope to enter it. Drool ran down her chin, and she made little gurgling noises as she breathed. 


Mad Dog and the Dream Ch. 01



Shaking, Ron forced his gaze away from her face. The skin of her shoulders was split with dozens of tiny lashes. Track marks lined the inside of her elbows. Her left breast was gone, the wound exposed but meticulously cleaned and cared for. Ron noted that, and understood. 

Before he could look away, he saw the dried blood caked to her inner thighs, and was grateful that her legs were pushed together. He didn't want to know. 

He stepped back, away from the scene. 

"My god," he whispered, "The Doctor is here."

Andro didn't respond. Glancing at him, Ron noticed that he was looking into the room. He studied the wounded creature with pity...a powerful, emotional sorrow that seemed out of line with his personality.

Then, Andro shut the door. "You didn't know," he asked, "that Tony got married, did you?"

Ron shook his head. "She's his wife?"

Andro nodded.

Realization was upon him in an instant. "Tony turned Piero down."

Andro nodded again.

"How..." Ron looked at the closed door, and then away, "how long have they..."

"Almost two weeks. It was worse for them that it will be for you. When we brought them here there was a child. She was...very young. The Doctor..." his mouth twitched. For a moment his gaze shifted, as though he were thinking about something else. Then, it returned. "Tell me, Ron...have you ever traveled north?"

"What?"

"North. Have you ever gone north?"

"Never further than Wisconsin, no."

"That's a shame. You get far enough north, and the snow starts to take everything. You go even farther, you begin to reach places that feel like eternity. To see them, you would think that they were without hope or life. You would think that they were the void. But that's not true. Stay long enough, and you begin to see it. There is always life." Andro lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag. "Whatever the conditions, whatever the sacrifice, something always survives." He shrugged, turning away from the door and heading down the hallway. "Does that make them stronger, I wonder? The survivors? To struggle every minute for existence, to never stop fighting off that endless black void? Or are they just foolish?"

Ron didn't respond. He just followed the tall man back to where Piero waited.

"So tell me," Piero said, waving them in, "is Ron Melor a man interested in redemption? I admit I hope that he is."

Ron closed his eyes. "He is interested."

"Excellent! I can't tell you how happy I am to have such wise friends," Piero rubbed his hands together. "Of course, the Doctor will be disappointed."

Ron reopened his eyes, glaring at the fat man's amusement. "How can you keep working with him? After...after everything?"

Piero's smile diminished. "That's not your concern. It's enough that I do work with him, and that you know that I do."

"Andro..." he glanced at the tall man, who stood impassive, "Andro said there was a child."

Piero's face grew even darker. "I work with the man. I do not control him."

Ron nodded, closed his eyes, and sighed. He tried not to imagine what games the Doctor might have played with such a captive. He tried even harder not to wonder what it was like for Tony, to have to watch. He remembered that the captives appeared well-fed, and felt sick. "What is this redemption you mentioned, Piero? What do I have to do?"

Piero's face relaxed, his smile returning. "Come back to work. That's all. Just come back and do your job."

Ron shook his head. "You know that can never happen. You may be willing to forgive, but there will be others who can't. And if I go back home-"

"No, no, no," Piero waved his hands in annoyance. "Not Chicago. Not home. You can't do anything for me there. Here. Work for me here."

"Here?"

He nodded.

"But I thought-"

"I'm sure you did. And you wouldn't be alone. But I've decided that it's time we stop living in cages. Others will seek to limit us. We must not. So, while I will be going back East, Andro here will be staying. And whatever Andro says to do, you will do." 

Ron swallowed. "It's not that easy."

Watery eyes rolled underneath thin eyebrows. "Don't you think that I know all of your arguments, Ron? Listen to me. You will not have to do much. You won't even be quitting your job as a...what...a teacher? How lucky for you that you never accumulated the police record most of your peers did. And how lucky for us, as well. See, there are people here who don't want my business, and in our little world your betrayal is a known thing. A very known thing. You will be able to complete the occasional...task...and nobody will ever suspect you. So long as you avoid getting caught or seen, you remain completely safe."

"My wife..."

"Needs never know. Just like she need never know of the Doctor, or of his sickness."

Ron sighed. "I understand. I'll do what I have to do. Just please leave my wife alone."

"Oh, Ron," Piero shook his head, chuckling. "You have no idea. No idea at all."

"Yeah. Well. What kind of business are we doing here, exactly?"

"The best kind. Now go home, Ron."

"What? I need to know-"

"Almost nothing. You need to know almost nothing. And Andro will tell you the rest. Andro," he turned to the tall man, "we will be talking. Frequently."

"Of course."

Ten minutes later they were back in the car, riding an on-ramp onto the highway. Ron sat in the passenger seat, now, his hands absently holding his seatbelt as a child holds a stuffed animal or a protective blanket. 

"What will I tell my wife?" he asked the window. But it was Andro who responded.

"What," he asked, "will you tell yourself?"

Ron nodded. Then, he turned to look at the tall man. "That stuff you said about my wife," he said. "Was that all true?"

Andro gave him a look of mild annoyance. "Wake up, Ron."

They rode silently for a while, until they reached the Melor home. 

"You've invited me in," Andro stated. "And that's very polite of you." He swung into the driveway and killed the engine "It's a rarity these days, politeness. There should be more of it."

Ron grunted. "I'll do what I have to do, but I'm not bringing you back into my home. Once was too much."

The tall man gave his passenger a long, examining look. "You know what a brave man does, Ron, when he dies? That a coward never does?"

"What's that?"

He opened the door and climbed out. "He smiles. Be sure to do a lot of that." He straightened his jacket and ran a hand through his hair. "You go in first, then invite me in. Keep it simple."

Stepping inside the front door, Ron was almost immediately confronted by his wife. She stood in the kitchen entryway, hair back in a ponytail and dressed in sweatshorts and a tanktop. It was her housework outfit. She'd been home long enough to do some cleaning.

"Where on earth did you go?" She asked. "I called the school." Her tone and her face were concerned, but the squint in her eye told him that she suspected she wasn't going to be satisfied with his answer. Ironically, it occurred to him that nothing short of being kidnapped by mafia hitmen would probably justify vanishing and lying about where he was, and that was the one excuse he couldn't use.

"Uh, it's complicated, I guess. But..." a small noise from behind the door told him that Andro was impatient. "...well, I sort of ran into an old friend, and-"

The door opened a little further, and Andro peaked his head in. "I hope I'm not getting you in trouble, Ron, I..." he stared at Maddy, who in turn was staring back. Her expression was strangely fearful. "Maddy?" Andro blurted out. "Maddy?" Ron turned to stare at him in confused shock. "Ron," Andro continued, "you didn't tell me your wife's name was Maddy!" With that he threw the door open and came rushing in. "This is incredible! What a coincidence!"

Ron was rendered speechless, both by this sudden change in the hitman's behavior and by his wife's equally stunned silence. He watched as Andro came up to Maddy and offered his hand. She took it, looking uncomfortable and maybe a little guilty, but Ando kept up his cheerful demeanor.

"Ron, you won't believe this," he said. "I told you I'd been in town for a few days, right? It's more like a week, really. Well, ever since I got into town I keep running into this woman. She gave me directions to a few places, she told me a little about the town, and now she's standing right here! I'm sure she must have told you. First we were in line together at Razzy's Deli, and while we were waiting we got to talking. She helped me figure out where I was going, and told me about some of the better places in town to eat. We both had a little time, so we sat and had lunch together. Then, just yesterday, we ran into each other at the supermarket. And now here we are! Isn't that incredible?"

Ron looked at Andro's big smile, finding no hint of the madman he'd spent most of the day with, and then at his wife's ashen face, the guilt still lingering there. He thought about what Andro had told him before...Maddy was at the supermarket, she ran into a man, someone she was glad to see, and they talked for an hour. She neglected to tell you. She lied about it.

"That is incredible," he said with a feigned excitement he didn't think sounded convincing. "Really." He swallowed, and then continued. "Maddy, hon, this is A-"

"Hey, she knows my name, Ron. Really, tell me you see how spectacular this is! It's almost like fate...or like that joke your dad used to tell us. Remember, the one where the punchline was 'The brave man smiles and the coward eats shit?'"

Maddy gave Ron a questioning look. He may have kept secrets from her, but she did know some things about his family. He'd told her the truth...that his father was a dour, humorless man. But Ron knew what Andro was really saying. Smile. Be happy, while I play my little game. The image of Tony's wife, dead as she was alive, flashed through his mind. 

He smiled. He held his arms out. Some animals adapt.

Moving forward, he put one hand on Andro's arm and one on Maddy's shoulder. "This is perfect! I can't tell you how great it is to know that my wife and my oldest friend have this chance at friendship! I mean, the two people I love and trust most in this world. Who would have thought."

"Ron," Maddy's voice carried a message, and that message was 'what the fuck is going on?' "Why didn't you tell me you were going out to meet a friend?" Her eyes flicked over to the tall man.

"Actually, that's probably my fault," Andro said, his voice dripping with apologetic humility. "I have a way of bringing up some painful memories for Ron, as I'm sure you know."

Maddy shook her head.

"You...don't know?" He looked to Ron, a question on his face, then turned back. "I'm sorry. It's not my place." To Ron: "You should have told me not to say anything."

Maddy sighed. "Well, someone's going to tell me what's going on." She looked at Ron, who shook his head. He was too exhausted by this charade to even think of a lie. Rolling her eyes, Maddy turned on Andro. "Out with it," she said.

He shook his head. "I don't think Ron would want me to do that. I'm really sorry."

"No," Ron said, knowing his part, "go ahead and tell her. It's okay."

Andro looked at him a moment, as though searching, and then sighed. "When we were younger, Ron and I were...I guess you could say we were ambitious," he chuckled. "Naïve, but ambitious. We started a company, something we thought would let us make our own way in the world, and it was really touch and go for a while. Not, like, regular start-up problems. More like, 'our butts are on the line' kind of touch and go. Ron got cold feet and sold me his half. Not long afterwards, things just started exploding. I offered to sell back to him, but he had devoted himself to teaching by then. I don't pretend to know, but I always wondered if maybe he felt a little bit ashamed, like he'd bailed on me. You know what I mean? He just acted differently, like he felt like he'd left a man behind," he looked at Ron with an unreadable expression, "even though that's not really what he did. After that, our friendship just...disintegrated. It became awkward, you know? Not the difference in our incomes, but I guess...hell, I don't know. Maybe I was a reminder to him of what he almost had. He never said anything about it, he just stopped making the effort to call. And then he stopped answering his phone. And then, well, he moved. And now," he shrugged, "business has called me here as well. I was hoping that enough time had passed for us to be friends again. And it seems like it has. In fact, I even offered Ron a job. Nothing big, just a little extra work for the next six weeks. He'll be done before school starts. It will pay a lot better than teaching, and give me a chance to give Ron a teeny bit of the money he missed out on...money he really deserves." He held up his hands apologetically. "If it's okay with you, of course."

Maddy glanced at Ron. "How much money, can I ask?"

"Three grand a week," Andro smiled. "Eighteen altogether."

Her eyes widened. "Wow. That is a lot. That's like, half a year's salary! I...I guess it's okay. What kind of business is it?"

Andro shrugged. "When we started out, it was mostly sales. Small niche goods. Items that have a relatively small market, but sell high...and for big profit. We weren't really all that different from, say, a high end art dealer...only we didn't have the prestige."

"And now?"

"And now we have the prestige. What I'm hoping Ron will agree to do is what he did the first time around...help get a new office off the ground and running. His talents in that area proved...invaluable, before."

"Oh." Maddy seemed to be gathering herself together, calming down, suddenly realizing that her attire and manners needed minute adjusting. "Why don't you two have a seat in the living room, and I'll go get cleaned up and get some drinks."

Andro held up his hands. "Thank you, but I'm afraid I only just stopped to meet the lovely, if spirited, woman that Ron spent all afternoon talking about. I have some things to do." His eyes lit up. "Actually, I've been told that there is a bookstore on the West side of town that has a fantastic atmosphere, and I thought I'd spend the evening there. Poisoned...Parchment, or Pencil. Something like that. Anyway, I know where it is." He flashed a smile. "Ron, if you'll pop back out to my car, I'll get you that address you needed before I go."

"Oh. Okay."

As soon as the door shut behind them, Ron turned on him. "What the fuck was that?" he half whispered, half snarled. "You've been stalking my wife, haven't you? You've been fucking following her around town, setting up these little meetings."

Andro gave an easy smile. "Maybe I'm not. Maybe it's a coincidence."

"Like hell."

Andro lifted his gaze to the starry sky. "Do you believe in guardian angels, Ron?"

"Fuck you. Answer my question. Now."

He didn't. Instead, he opened the driver's side door, leaned down, and picked up a piece of paper. On it, he wrote an address. "Go to this address tomorrow. Be there by eleven. Plan to get home around seven."

"Goddamn it, Andro! Answer the question! Are you following my wife around?"

Andro just shook his head. "Look, Ron, whether you believe in guardian angels or not will determine how I answer. Really. So, again, think about it. Do you believe in guardian angels? Or do you not?" 

Ron thought again about Tony, and Tony's family. "I don't."

"Well, then," Andro flashed another smile and climbed into the car. "There you are." He started the engine. "Maybe I just figured it would make your life easier if your wife had positive thoughts about the man who will be taking you away from home, so I started greasing the wheels a bit. Or maybe," he raised one eyebrow, "maybe my mommy never told me she loved me. Maybe she was real mean to me, and now I have a desperate need for all women to like me. Maybe I even get real angry when they don't. Angry, and violent." He leaned out the window and looked back up at the night sky. "It's always so hard to read these situations."

Ron put his hand on the roof, as if by doing so he could keep the car from leaving. "You knew that The Poison Pen is Maddy's favorite bookstore, didn't you? That she loves to read. You knew. That's why you mentioned it."

"Is that what it's called? I keep forgetting the name."

The window rolled up, and Ron stepped away as the car pulled away.

Coming back through the front door, Ron found his wife still standing in the kitchen entryway, her eyebrows raised in annoyance.

"Care to explain?" she asked.

"You, uh, you got most of it," he scratched at the back of his neck. "I just wanted to...to be sure everything was cool between he and I before I brought him over."

"I still don't get the lying. And I don't appreciate it."

You mean, Ron thought, like meeting a strange man twice and hiding it from me? Or lying about why it took you so long to get home?

But he didn't say it, trying instead to let the anger flow out of him. It pissed him off that Andro had been so easily able to shake his faith in his wife. In less than a single day, he had brought to harvest an entirely new and destructive paranoia. Ron had never doubted Maddy before. Their connection had been so complete, so immediate and so warming, that the very idea that one would cheat the other in any small way seemed offensive.

And now?

Ron looked at his wife. Had she really done anything wrong? He didn't doubt that all she'd done is be friendly to someone who was new in town. But running into the man twice? Standing around talking to him, like old friends, for an hour? Lying about it to her husband? It was compounded by the fact that Andro was obviously an attractive man. He was taller, fitter than Ron, well dressed, and had a handsome face. 

And Maddy had stood around talking to him in the grocery store and then lied about where she'd been. Lied straight to Ron's face.

The idea of Maddy being around someone as dangerous and unstable as Andro had another effect as well. The dark reality of her unknowing danger bred fear like an unstoppable mold. He was tempted to find some subtle way of warning her against the tall man, but Andro's last message before leaving resonated. Giving Maddy reason to fear or hate Andro was just asking for trouble.

"I'm sorry," he said. "This is all down to my bad judgment. Believe me."

Maddy smiled, coming up and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Well, I do believe that. And I do love you." She kissed him, a lingering but closed-mouth kiss, and then pulled back.

He looked down at her. "It's so weird that you two ran into each other. What a small world, eh?"

Maddy's face didn't change, except that the smile left her eyes. "Yeah. Small world." She studied his face. "We just talked, Ron. He was new here, and I was being polite. It didn't seem important enough to mention."

"Okay."

"You're not mad?"

"No. I wasn't accusing you of anything." 

"Good," the smile returned to her eyes, "because you're in no position to be accusing anyone." Her hand slid down his front, and she grabbed him by the belt. "But you could be."

He thought of Tony.

He thought of Tony's family.

"I, uh...I'm not really in the mood right now. Can we just...cuddle?"

She gave him a funny look. "How manly of you."

He kissed her, and said, "Well, we both know who has the balls in this relationship."

She pretended to scratch herself, and grunted. "Fuckin' men," she drawled. "All you ever wanna to do is talk about yer feelin's."

He batted his eyes. "And you women only want the one thing."

She grabbed his waist and pulled him to her. "That's because you've only got the one thing, honey."

Sleep came unexpectedly easy that night. He only woke in the night to pee, although when he did he stopped to look at his wife's serene face, and to try and picture how Tony's wife might once have looked, as she slept. Some animals adapt.




Mad Dog and the Dream Ch. 01



The next morning, Ron pulled up to the address Andro had given him. Unsurprisingly, it was the same office building they'd visited the day before. There was no immediate sign of Andro, but a short, youthful man wearing a gray driving cap was sitting out front smoking a cigarette. He waved at Ron to pull into the garage, followed him in, and then shut the door.

"Mornin', Ronald," he said gamely, the slightest twist of Irish brogue on his tongue. "You're a punctual one, I see. I'm pleased to meet you, and I mean that." The man extended his hand, smiling warmly. He was maybe mid-twenties, and had a four or five day growth on his face that he wore casually enough for Ron to assume he wore it often. It was patchy, yet, and he would need some years before he could turn it into anything. A narrow streak of bald skin ran across one cheek where no hair grew. The scar may or may not have resulted from his choice of profession, but it appeared to be rather old. He wore a grey and red flannel over a black shirt, unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up. 

Ron ignored the offered hand. "You know my name, but I don't know yours."

The hand fell, but the smile remained. "Larry. And you can grumble all you want, but you won't cause no offense. Not while the sun's up, anyway. Come on, we've got our work cut out for us."

Ron sighed, steadying himself, and followed Larry into the building. 

He'd spent the entire drive over worrying about just what kinds of things he may be asked to do, knowing that refusal would mean his life, his wife's life, or both. He thought back on some of the things the old Ron Melor had been capable of, and wondered if he was capable of them now. He hoped so. It was the only way to stay alive until he could find a way out of this mess.

Larry led him to a collection of cleaning products, sitting piled alongside two large buckets and a variety of construction materials. "Here we are, my man," he waved down at it as he hopped over to the other side. "The tools of the trade. Weapons, I suppose."

Ron blinked at the pile, then at Larry. "What is this?" he asked, looking around at the dusty, decaying building. "Are you telling me that we're-"

"The cleaners, and sure to be the best. It's an honorable job. You'll break a sweat, not a law." Larry gave Ron a sideways glance. "Or had you hoped to get some murdering done today?"

"No! No. Cleaning is...fine."

Larry got a twinkle in his eye. "You sure you're not too good to scrub floors? Maybe it's beneath you?"

"No. No, not that. I just...I don't understand why Piero would threaten me, force me to come back...for this. It doesn't make sense."

The amusement grew, spreading across the young man's face. "Are you kidding? It makes all the sense. All of it. He brought you back for this, I think. This exactly."

Ron frowned. "What do you mean?"

Larry lifted a mop handle, resting on it like an old man with a staff or a drunken singer with a mic stand. "The way I see it is this: Ronald Melor and Tony Campbell walked away. They walked away and they let a man die. This kind of thing just isn't done. It's unusual, right? So it's a story that people tell, when they drink or when they play cards. Whatever. And what can Piero do, except to find these guys, and then kill or degrade them? He has to do something, and it has to matter. Really, in his perfect world he would be able to do both. So that's what he sets out to do. Both. You understand? Tony died for a good cause. He died for your sins. Like Jesus. And now," he held the broom out, "like the worst of apostles, you have to clean up after."

Ron stared. "Tony died?" He wasn't scared, he was hopeful. Death was the only escape left to the man he'd seen in the basement the night before.

The question hung in the air, and Larry's good mood faltered at last. "Best to think of him that way."

"Is he-"

"With the Doctor. They took him with, when they left last night." 

There was a silence between them, interrupted by the air conditioner's aching rattle, before Ron stooped to pick up two yellow latex gloves. "If I'm getting this job as punishment, why did you get it?"

Larry's smile returned in full. "You kidding me? I volunteered!"

"Why?"

He shrugged. "They had no other work for me, today. And what is life without work?"

"You're joking."

"About what?"

"There's more to life than just work. You're young enough that you should still believe that."

"Maybe there is more to life. But work always improves the living."

"That depends on what kind of work it is."

"I don't think it does."

Ron gave him a sideways glance. "You sound like Andro."

Larry shook his head. "No," he laughed, "I really don't. And I hope that I never do."

"No argument there."

They divided up materials and chores, and set about cleaning up the main office. They talked while they worked, and Ron set about trying to learn more about his new enemy.

"So," he asked casually, after a while, "have you worked for Andro long?"

"Oh, yessir," Larry was facing the opposite wall, scraping the already-peeling wallpaper off. "Three years now, give or take. And I can tell you, it's been a trip."

"Is he always so...cryptic?"

A pause for thought. "I don't think he's cryptic at all. I mean, yeah, it comes across that way, but if you could cut to the heart of it I think he's being one hundred percent direct all the time. You know what I mean? He gets so direct that you can't hear it. At least, that's how it works with the boys."

Ron frowned. "Is it different with women?"

"It's hard to say. His behavior definitely is. The way he behaves is real odd." Larry paused for a moment but didn't turn around, instead staring listlessly at the wall. "You know, around women Andro becomes...it's like he's someone else. Someone normal, but like...better than that. Charismatic." He tilted his head in thought. "Or maybe that's the real him and the other thing is the act. Maybe he's just a normal guy who has found a way to be scary at work." He shook his head. "I don't think so. I think he likes trim as much as any man, more than some, and he just goes for any bitch in heat. You'll see it happen: a nice looking woman comes around, suddenly he's charming and...fuck, real normal. It's unnerving to see."

"I've already seen it."

"So you know. But the behavior...that's not what makes it so weird. It's almost like he's...intuitive? Is that the word? He moves in on a woman, you watch out, because it's like he's known her his whole life. It's like a piano player, or something. Those fingers move across her keys, and the whole song is his to play. And I've never seen a woman who didn't rise to it. It's a gift."

Ron tried to hide his fear. "What about married women? Does it work on them, too?"

Larry turned to look at him, curiosity on his face. "Hell if I know. I suppose they would, if given the chance, but he only ever chases single women. Likes to say he lives by a code."

Ron nodded casually, waiting until Larry turned back around to let out a sigh of relief.

"Still," Larry continued, "I wouldn't ever want to be in competition with him for a girl. He gets under their skin. You're done before you start."

Ron thought about the look on his wife's face when she saw Andro peak his head through the door. "Yeah," he said to himself.

"So why'd you quit?"

Ron cocked his head. "I wanted out. But, even if I hadn't, I no longer had a choice. As far as anyone was concerned, I was the great betrayer. The coward who ran. Nobody anywhere is gonna want a guy like that."

"Maybe. But you must miss it sometimes, right?"

He shook his head, though the other man was facing away from him, focused on his work, and therefore could not see. "Not ever. I've got a good job, now. I'm not just teaching, I'm helping kids who are at risk for gang behavior or worse. Okay, so the pay isn't great, but I feel good about myself at the end of the day. And I've got a wife I wouldn't trade for any of those women who hover around that lifestyle."

Larry chuckled. "I don't know. Some of those woman are downright magic!"

"Yeah. They're magic all right. Witches, every one." Both men laughed at that.

Afterwards, Larry said, "Some guys aim to have both. The wife, the honest life, the work, and the other thing tucked away."

Ron grunted. "Yeah, well, that ain't me."

He was quiet for a while. "It won't be me either."

As the hours passed, the work became their thoughts. Like men anywhere, they easily lost themselves into the minutia of the task at hand, and rested only for small increments. It wasn't until after six, when they were starting to flag, that they were interrupted by Andro's arrival.

He walked around, examining the improvements and finishing his cigarette. "A fabulous bit of work today, boys," he smiled. "I mean that. It looks great. I'm sure you won't need but another day or two to finish, at the rate you're going. Larry, feel free to be on your way. Ron, please do stay with me for a minute."

Larry gave Ron an amused look, and wiped his hands on his now-filthy jeans. "Sure thing. See you in the morn, Ronald." And then he left.

Andro walked around the room, inspecting the work. "Have you given any more thought to the possibility of guardian angels, Ron?" he asked over his shoulder.

It took Ron a moment to remember what he was talking about. "I guess I've been a little preoccupied. Was it supposed to be homework?"

"Not exactly. And I suppose you have been busy. Well. Alright. I had been hoping that today would be an opportunity for you to reflect, so that you would be better prepared. But maybe..." he trailed off. He was quiet for so long that Ron was about to ask if there was anything else when he suddenly said, "I want to give you something, Ron. Something you will want, and cherish."

"What is it?" Ron asked, suspicion in his voice.

"A promise," Andro smiled. "It wasn't my initial intention, and it is against Piero's wishes, but I've decided to promise you that I will release you from any and all obligations you have to me in one week's time. I will square things with Piero for you, and it will all be over. You will be done. Free. You will never have to look over your shoulder or worry about any of this ever again."

Ron studied him. "Why would you do that?"

Andro shrugged. "Consider it a selfless act." He watched Ron. His brows lifted, eyes growing wide, as if waiting for a question. When it didn't come, he continued. "Do you at least believe in selfless acts, in the honesty of a gift, Ronald who doesn't believe in angels?"

Ron sighed. "I don't really feel like playing games right now. I'm very tired."

"So you are." The tall man nodded. "So you are. Okay, then. All you have to do is listen. Once upon a time I traveled to India. I never take vacations, but I do travel. I despise the very word 'vacation.' It's like dying...vacating your life for a while. Like that's possible." He looked over at the door, where Larry had only recently exited the room. "You can't just die and come back. It doesn't work that way. But people try anyway. They run away from the life they constructed for themselves so they can spend too much money to sit on their asses and be served food and drink by people who have less than they do. They vacate. And I travel." He sniffed, and scratched his nose. "But back to India. It's a terrible place, but I couldn't help going. It just tells so many riddles that I had to see it firsthand. I suppose I thought that, if I could answer some of those riddles...or even just one..." he trailed off, then shook his head. "While I was there, I gave most of my money to children. Wounded children, specifically. Cripples. Amputees. They come out like snakes. Mostly they hunt foreigners, as if they've been charged with protecting the sanctity of the country. A lot of them are self-maimed, or cut up by parents, so they can be more efficient beggars. And they are all so beautiful. Beautiful, ruined, and ugly, so that you pity them and give them money." He laughed. "And I gave. I gave it all. I almost didn't have enough to feed myself by the end. But I understood, you see. I did. The children who cut into their own flesh? The parents who carve their own babies like pumpkins? They understand, too. They understand that when I give them my money, it is a selfish act on my part. I do it for me. It is a gift to myself."

Ron nodded. "That makes sense, actually."

Andro stepped forward, "Yes, you see it, too." He squinted at Ron. "They cut themselves to feed my soul. Purposeful, national self-mutilation...a truly selfless act. They tore their bodies apart, tore their children apart, spilled endless amounts of blood, so that I might give them something simple. Something small. So that I might feel better for it. So that I might grow."

Ron swallowed. He thought about Tony. He thought about Tony's daughter.

"They gave me this gift," Andro stepped still closer, "even though I was a stranger to them. Just as you, now, are a stranger to me." He pulled a hand out from his pocket and for a moment Ron froze in terror, but the hand was empty. Andro held it out palm up. "Give me your wallet," he said.

Ron fought the urge to step away from the madman. "What?"

"Now."

He handed it over, and Andro put it in the pocket of his jacket without looking at it. His eyes never left Ron. "Go home," he said. "You know where the exit is."

Ron wasted no time getting to his car and heading out onto the highway. He breathed a sigh of relief as he started putting real distance between himself and Andro. More and more, he was becoming certain that the man was insane. 

He thought about their conversation. The man definitely seemed out of his mind. And yet Larry was on to something, when he said that Andro was always as direct as he could be. So direct, in fact, that he could artfully use it as a kind of miscommunication. What he said was always truth, but it seemed twinged with an underlying misdirection, like a magician using sleight-of-hand. Could Ron really count on him to uphold his promise to let him go, and never bother him again? Or was there something else there, that was both said and unsaid? 

And why had he taken the wallet? What was the point to that little game? Was it supposed to send a message? Was the tall man even sure of why he did what he did?

One thing for certain: any time spent with Andro was unquestionably dangerous. And not just to Ron. To anybody, and everybody.

He thought about Larry. He seemed to almost admire his boss. It was strange that such an unburdened soul would fit so well with someone who seemed tapped into something base at the center of all animal desires. And Larry didn't seem drawn in for the usual reasons that young men get inducted, either. He was neither mean nor greedy, and he seemed like he would be just as happy with a legitimate job as he was as Andro's thug. In fact, he almost seemed to be along for the ride, loyal, amused, and unquestioning. As though Andro had conjured him out of thin air.

As though he were no more real than Andro himself.

Ron shivered, and put pressure on the accelerator.

Even though it was half past seven, Maddy was still in the kitchen making supper when he arrived home.

"Boy, am I glad to see you," he came up behind her, kissing her ear and wrapping an arm around her middle.

"Ron," she laughed, "I'm cooking." She didn't turn, but just kept chopping onions, so he went over to the table and fell into his chair.

"Today was exhausting," he muttered.

"What did you do?"

Ron opened his mouth, then wondered if it was a good idea to get in the habit of telling Maddy about his days working for Andro. If he started now, he'd have to get into the habit of lying about it later. "Boring stuff," he said instead. "Nothing worth hearing about. But exhausting nonetheless."

"Hmm," Maddy said. She seemed distracted.

"What's for supper?"

"Fettuccine carbonara. I made some biscotti, too."

"Oh, god, that sounds delicious," Ron pulled his shoes off. "I haven't eaten since noon and I'm starving."

"Well, you'll have to wait a little longer. It'll be another thirty minutes or so before it's ready."

"Supper at almost eight o'clock? Why so late?"

"I just got started a little late," she said. Her voice was suddenly tense. "I'm used to you being here and able to make dinner, and I do have a job as well, you know. It's not that big a wait."

Ron frowned. "I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to sound like I was attacking you." But in truth he knew well that his words hadn't sounded like an attack. Just as he knew that Maddy's six hour shifts usually ended by two o'clock.

Maddy put down the knife, and turned around. It was the first time she'd faced him since he got home. "I'm sorry, too. I'm just tired, that's all. I love you."

"I love you, too, babe."

She turned back around, and didn't say anything more.

The carbonara was delicious, and Ron made a point of saying so. When Maddy brought out the biscotti, however, there was only enough for them each to have a few.

"The recipe was so big, I tried cutting it down. I must have cut it down too much," she apologized.

"No worries. They're delicious." Ron winked at his wife.

After supper he showered, put on a robe, and was on his way out to watch a little TV before bed when Maddy intercepted him in the bedroom. 

"Where are you off to, sailor?" she smiled at him.

"No place I can't cancel," he smiled back.

Gently, she pushed him back onto the bed. His robe fell open as he laid down, and she bent down to playfully bite at his thigh. It tickled a little, and his muscles spasmed at the sensation. Giggling, she ran her fingers up his legs and, when she found what she was after, wrapped them around it. 

"There's my friend," she crooned, moving upwards with moist kisses. Ron groaned, his hips tensing instinctively at the touch. He felt her warm breath in the last moments before she opened her mouth to him, and then her mouth became his world.

Later, when she climbed up his body, cradling his head in her hands as she knelt above it, she spoke quiet promises. She looked down, making eye contact as she moved, whispering her love and gently placing her body upon his mouth like a kiss.

When it ended, they lay with their bodies pressed together. Her hands remained as they had been, pulling him against her. His lips were pressed to the side of her neck. 

"Thank you," he whispered into it.

She hummed and stroked his back.

The next morning Andro was waiting at the office for Ron's arrival.

"Good morning," he said. "I do hope you're feeling ready for another productive day."

"I am," Ron said flatly. He wished it were Larry here to greet him. The shorter, saner man was nowhere in sight, though his car was in the garage.

"Have you thought any more about angels?"

"I made it a point to think even less."

"Hmm. You are, no doubt, well-fed and rested?" Andro prodded.

"I...yeah, sure." Ron made a point of starting to go through the cleaning materials, identifying items he would be using first. He was hoping Andro could be encouraged to leave sooner rather than later.

"Good," the tall man said. "I hope the fettuccine carbonara wasn't too late getting finished. I was worried you might be in bed by the time she got it done."

Ron froze, his hand resting on a three-eights inch nap paint roller. He took a breath in through his mouth. "What did you just say?" 

Behind him, Andro was silent. Ron stood up, turning to face him. The taller man's expression was, if anything, searching. He looked like a teacher waiting on a struggling student, hoping they might reach the correct response if given enough time.

"How do you know what I had for supper last night?" Ron asked.

Andro's shoulders sagged. He looked disappointed. "I am sorry about the biscotti, by the way," he continued, eyes narrowing. "I only intended to have one or two, but I guess I got carried away."




Mad Dog and the Dream Ch. 02



Ron Melor lay across the couch, his head in his wife's lap, and sighed. His wife's soft, caring fingers stroked their way through his hair, curling slightly as they moved. As they traveled down the side of his face, they followed the curve of his temple and cheek. Her thumb grazed his jawline each time, at which point she would return the hand to its starting place and began the motion all over again. It was a soothing touch, starting up near his crown (where the bullet that killed Larry had entered) and running fully down the right side of his face (where Tony's wife's eye had hung out from its socket, red and useless). Ron felt Maddy's stomach announce every breath she took. Somewhere, above the formless static of missing thoughts, he counted each completed exhalation like a prayer.

"I wish you'd tell me what's wrong," her voice slipped down from above. The tone was concerned, tinged with fear. Or maybe, Ron thought, with guilt. He wondered if she had reason to be worried, to think that his unexplained melancholy was the result of something she did. "Was it work? Is that what's bothering you?" Maddy prodded. "Did...something happen?"

Ron closed his eyes. He didn't answer.

"Baby," the concern in her tone swelled. "Please."

"I'm tired," he said dismissively, lying to her now with an ease that he didn't enjoy. There were so many lies, piled one upon the other like corpses to be burnt. What was one more? "That's all."

She sighed. He didn't hear it so much as feel it, her body pushing out against the back of his head and then relaxing again. He knew what it was. It was a sigh of helpless frustration. Now, he thought, we reach a kind of emotional checkmate. We both know that the other is keeping secrets. We're both upset about it. And yet, neither one is prepared to deny the other the option of keeping those secrets for fear we might have to expose ourselves in the process. Whatever else Andro has done or will do, he has succeeded in taking us away from each other in that way. I might as well be alone in this room. 

Maddy's hand stopped moving, resting instead atop his head. "Do you think you could be getting sick?" she asked, willingly playing her part in a deception neither believed.

"No," he said. "I just don't feel like talking, right now. But I do like hearing your voice. Tell me about your day."

There was silence. He imagined she was designing new lies to tell, to avoid unpleasant truths. Painting pictures about her day, so that the unflattering photographs could remain tucked away. He almost didn't begrudge her the effort...it was hardly different from what he was doing. 

Actually, he hoped that he was being unfair in making that assumption. He hoped she didn't have nearly as much to hide as he suspected she did. He hoped she didn't have as much to hide as he did.

"Well," she said, "work was pretty ordinary. The Szespaniak boy is still going in his pants, so that was unpleasant. He starts kindergarten this fall, but his mom doesn't seem worried about it. I really wonder about that woman sometimes."

Ron grunted. Two prior Szespaniak children had come through the daycare where Maddy worked, and each had given her its own unique reason to bemoan the parenting skills of the mother. The first one bullied and acted out, the second was behind her peers in reading and writing skills, this last one pooped his pants. All of these disappointments were placed, by Maddy and her coworkers, at the feet of the mother. To Ron's knowledge they never said anything at all against the kids' father, although when he asked Maddy about it she admitted that the couple was not divorced and that it was probably unfair to focus all her frustrations on the mom. 

For a very long time, Ron suddenly remembered, she had ended each tirade by noting how much better she and Ron would be when it came time to raise their children. Their kids would never bully, or defy adults, or struggle with reading, or refuse to be potty trained. Their kids would be perfect little angels. 

She didn't say that now. And he was pretty sure this was not the first time she'd left it out. When had she stopped? When was the last time she'd mentioned the idea of them having kids together? He wasn't sure. 

"At least this is the last one, isn't it?" he asked her. "No more Szespaniaks coming through after this one, to shit their pants or pinch the girls or whatever else they all did."

"Thank heaven for small miracles," Maddy acknowledged.

"What did you do after work?"

"Not much," her hand pulled away from his head. "Paula saved her lunch break until I got off so we could go out together. I had a good time talking with her."

"Where did you go?" Ron seriously doubted that it was Paula Maddy had spent her afternoon talking with. Or that talking was all she had done.

"Just to Chico's Grill. Paula loves that place, you know."

"Hmm. Did you remember to put the receipt in the jar?" Since they traditionally hadn't had a lot of room to spare in their budget, the two had long ago started collecting all receipts for nonessentials, or "pleasure purchases," in a glass jar. Any time the total at the end of the month added up to less than two hundred dollars, which was admittedly rare, they would go out to a celebratory dinner at their favorite restaurant: Cibo. It was a sort of reward for living frugally. But Ron wasn't asking because he was interested in the receipt. He was asking because he didn't think there was one.

Maddy paused a half second too long before saying, "Paula paid for my meal. She's still in a celebratory mood from her daughter's wedding, I think."

Ron grunted. He didn't bother asking why Maddy would let her dirt-poor friend pay for her meal, especially when she had just helped pay for a wedding and they were getting a big financial boon from his new job working for Andro. "That was nice of her," he mumbled. Then, on a whim, he said, "We should go to Cibo tomorrow. I know it's not the end of the month, but we're doing really well right now. We can definitely afford it, and it'll be like a special treat...going to our special place."

Maddy's stumbled reply of "Uh, sure, dear. That sounds...lovely," told him everything he needed to know. Maddy loved Cibo, even more than he did. Any other time, the idea would have been met with great enthusiasm and joy. Tonight, she sounded unsure of herself and uncomfortable with the idea. 

The only reason he could think of for it was that she must have eaten there very recently. 

Like today.

With someone she knew she shouldn't be with.

It was too much. "On the other hand," he snapped, unable to keep the anger out of his voice, "we probably shouldn't." He sat up, pushing up off the couch and heading for the bedroom. "It's too much of a cheat, and I know how much you hate cheating. Once a person starts indulging that kind of behavior, it's really hard to stop." He glanced back over his shoulder. "You know what I mean?"

He was past the bedroom door and shutting it behind him before she ever got a response off. She didn't follow him. Ron didn't know what time Maddy came to bed, but he knew it wasn't before he'd fallen asleep.

Saturday morning was traditionally a time for catching up on chores in the Melor household. Neither spouse was particularly inclined towards the act of cleaning, so this was much like the receipt jar in that it was routinized for the purpose of forcing them into action. It was usually a grumbling affair, but it was almost a relief to the two of them on this particular weekend. They fell into the robotic comfort of routine, letting their unspoken teamwork restrengthen the thin tether of their bond. It affected them, but more like a shot of morphine than a true act of healing.

After spending the three previous days cleaning and doing repair work at the office, Ron felt drained by the very idea of performing his chores. His hands were flaked with dry skin and marred by fresh calluses. He wasn't complaining, though; thoughtless tedium was exactly what he craved right now. The absence of any kind of plot was seductive in its motionlessness. He let the time pass by him, allowing himself the small, cheap escape the chores provided. When his mind rebelled, bringing unwelcomed images or fears out to play, he pushed them back and zeroed in on his work. 

But, after a time, questions about his wife refused to be driven out. Instead, they simply took root and grew.

What Maddy might be thinking, Ron couldn't guess. She seemed uncertain herself. One second she might be watching him with a sad, or a yearning expression. The next she might be humming to herself, apparently indifferent to his presence. When she'd first rolled out of bed, she'd tried to start a casual conversation. Nothing more than a "how did you sleep," really. He'd ignored it. Maddy had looked surprised, though he very much believed she knew why he was upset with her. He wondered at that surprise. He just couldn't believe that she might honestly have thought that he would so easily get over it so quickly...but she didn't push him to talk. 

That was very telling, he thought. Maddy had a real pet peeve about being ignored. In fact, it pissed her right off. And now here she was, timidly accepting his silence. He was shunning her, and she was playing as though she couldn't imagine why, yet she guiltily allowed it to continue.

She did try again, though. After her shower, she prepared a lunch for the two of them, and took advantage of his sitting across from her at the table to strike up a conversation.

"So," came her reserved opening, accompanied by a nervous glance up from her casserole, "did you want to go anywhere today?"

He was tempted to continue the silent treatment, but he didn't feel like it was getting him anywhere. It felt like too much of a passive aggressive response to him. He knew direct confrontation was not an option...Andro stood invisible between them....but there had to be a better option than to just sulk.

"Not really," he admitted. "Did you?"

"No." A small smile flickered across her face. She pushed her advantage. "I just want to be wherever you are. I didn't realize how much I'd miss you, with you working during the last weeks of summer."

"Well," he said around a mouthful of food, "just so long as you don't go replacing me."

"I could never replace you."

"Huh."

She gave him a deadpan look of annoyance. "What's going on with you, Ron?"

He couldn't help himself. The words flew out, tumbling over each other in a heated rush. "You know damn well what's going on. Better than I do, probably." As soon as it was out, he wished he could take it back. 

For a second Maddy just stared at him. Her eyes widened, and her mouth hung slightly open. Then, both eyes and mouth narrowed and she leaned forward. Either that had been something of a last straw, or she had decided that the best defense was a good offense. Setting her fork down on her plate with a little too much pressure, she tilted her head and raised her other hand to point up at the ceiling. The clang from the silverware was like a bell, rung to open the first round of boxing. 

"Ronald Melor," she began, "I don't know what your problem is lately, but I am tired of you talking to me like-" 

Two punctuated rings of the doorbell cut her off. Ron knew immediately what they meant, and he knew who was responsible for them. 

'You will answer,' they said. And: 'I will wait for it to happen.'

He fought the urge to curse. There would be no match between them now. He'd almost welcomed it.

Maddy, caught in the start of her lecture, still had her mouth open and finger in the air. Ron saw a flicker of uncertainty cross her face as she struggled with whether or not to continue. He hoped that she would, that she wouldn't open the door, that the person on the other side would not, in spite of their promise, wait. He tried to think of something, anything, to say that would get her started again.

It was too late. She fell back into her chair with a sigh, giving him a vexed look that promised a return to this discussion at a later date, and then pushed away from the table and went to the foyer.

"Maddy," Ron called after her. "Wait. I-"

He heard the sound of the door opening, and swore under his breath. He pushed his food away, appetite lost, and resigned himself to the journey ahead. 

Andro had arrived.

Standing, Ron moved to join the others in the entryway. Then, something made him stop. 

At the last second, he moved instead to press himself against the wall and then leaned over to listen in. There'd been no footsteps, just low-level talking, so he knew they were still in the foyer. While they weren't whispering, they were definitely speaking in hushed tones. Their words weren't quite loud enough for him to be able to make them out. The front door was a good twenty feet from where he was standing and the usual low-level household sounds like air conditioner, refrigerator, and dehumidifier were getting in the way of his eavesdropping. 

He caught Andro's voice, muttering something in a consoling tone, and then his wife's distinct cry of "Exactly!" 

The tall man said something else, maybe three sentences long, and Maddy responded in a quieter voice. She sounded uncertain, or nervous. Andro continued, his words soft and gentle.

Then it fell quiet again.

Ron leaned further, risking exposure by letting his right ear slide just beyond the threshold. Still, he heard nothing. No voices, anything.

What the fuck were they doing?

He decided he had to move. Whatever limits were placed on his actions by Andro's threats, he would not be reduced to an outsider. Just as he was about to leap out, however, he heard a noise.

It was the click of the front door closing.

The silence returned.

He didn't have to look to know, but he looked anyway.

He was alone.

"Son of a bitch!" he snarled. Stepping forward, he tossed off a useless call to his wife in case she was still in the house. He got no more answer than he expected. Reaching the door, he opened it in time to see Andro's black sedan pull out of the driveway. It sped off to the end of the block and turned the corner.

"No," Ron moaned under his breath. She left. He couldn't believe it. After everything, she just left without a word. Cursing, he ran to the phone. He was tempted to jump in his car and follow, but he knew he'd never catch up. And even if he did, so what? What would he do? Hell, what was even the point? It seemed like Maddy was making a very clear choice. She was announcing it in increments, but there was no mystery to it. The lies, the time spent in the company of another man, and now the casualness with which she had abandoned him. Ron wasn't sure if there was anything left to fight for. Even if she hadn't cheated on him yet, in the strictest sense, she was rapidly becoming someone he didn't know or understand. He trusted her less and less, and it seemed like her regard for him sunk lower by the moment.

And then there was Andro.

The mad dog was not only loose, but running the show. He'd killed Larry just to make a point. Or maybe he had killed Larry just to kill him. Ron wasn't totally convinced that the tall man knew why he did the things he did. He may just be completely out of his mind. Sane or not, he was incredibly dangerous.

And he'd warned Ron about upsetting Maddy again.

How had he phrased it? Something about how women and life "often require you to do things that you may not want to do." And when they ask these things of you, these difficult things, then you'd better give them what they want and do it with a smile. "Because if you don't, well..."

And that was when he'd murdered Larry. Easy-going, quick smiling, empathetic Larry.

Give them what they want and do it with a smile. And Maddy, more and more, seemed to want Andro. Did Andro expect Ron to just give her that? To stand back and let it happen? Did he expect him to smile as he did it?

Ron didn't know how to do that.

His mind was folding in on itself. Seeing the woman he loved...the woman he had thought loved him...turned so easily against him. Taken so lazily, so effortlessly, by another man. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit her, to hurt her, to demand that she explain herself. He wanted to see her in pain, full of regret. To hear her begging for forgiveness. 

He thought of Tony's wife.

No. He didn't want that.

But he also wanted to live with her and love her, and have none of this in their past. To be what they were, before.

And he wanted to protect her.

He was aware, deep down, that he was still far from knowing the whole truth of what was happening. But he also realized that Maddy knew even less. And what she didn't know could cost her her life. 

Even now, as he stood helpless in the hallway of their home, she was out there traveling unprotected in the company of a mad dog.

He stood staring at the phone, hand on the cradle. There was no point in calling Maddy's cell phone, or Andro's. Still, he felt a strong urge to do so. A moment passed while he weighed his options. Then, his brain pulled invisible strings and and an idea formed. 

He picked up the phone, and dialed a number.

Andro was, for all his insanity, playing towards a defined goal. He clearly counted on fear to keep Ron in line, and up until now that had worked. Deep in his core, Ron had prayed that this storm would eventually pass over him and be gone. That maybe that this was all just a way of torturing him, enacting a strange protracted revenge for the mistakes of his past.

But last night, Andro had made a critical error. Last night Andro had killed Larry. 

And he had killed him for nothing.

In doing so, Andro had defined himself in a way that left Ron with no uncertainties about intentions or endings. This was no violent hurricane, ravaging the terrain for a time and then passing on. No, Andro would be raging against this world long after the people who covered it today were gone. He would hate it until it was a lifeless, blackened hulk. Until all of it was burned. And then, in the final moments of breathable air, when the skies turned endless gray and soot fell like a mourning snow, he would cry out for more.

Ron Melor knew he would not be around to see it happen. His own end would be such a small part of Andro's story, such a flickering lazy afterthought of a moment, that the tall man wouldn't even remember that it had ever happened. He pictured Andro's reflective, handsome face, alone in a world of corpses, looking up to the heavens where angels murmured their disapproval. "Why," he would ask them, "are we still talking about this?"

Fear was still the operative sense. But Ron knew he had to do something, and soon, if he wanted to have any chance at all. 

He had to become unpredictable. As unpredictable as Andro himself.

He listened to the dial tone.

Three rings in a booming voice answered. "Hello?" it asked.

"Hey, Mark," said Ron, keeping his voice casual, "what are you up to?"

"Ron? Is that you?" The tone turned amused. "It's still summer, so this can't be about work. I assume you're just calling to tell me what a great guy I am, and what a big fan you are."

After the pressure of the last few days, the joke warmed him like the first sip of whisky. "Actually, it's about that forty bucks I lent you in January," he responded.

"No entiendo. Lo siento. No speak English, wrong number."

"Very funny."

"I know! I keep telling people, really trying to somehow describe to them just how funny I am, but only you ever seem to believe it. What's up for real, though?"

"Well," Ron sighed, "you know that ELMO projector I've got? The one that you've been wanting for the last four years?"

"Shit yeah."

"How open are you to trading favors?"

A laugh. "I did all my experimenting in college, Ron. I'm over it."




Mad Dog and the Dream Ch. 02



"I guess that explains the way that you walk."

Another laugh. "What kind of favor are we talking about?"

"I need your help. Tonight. But the mission is simple: you come over around five, bring your two favorite films and some beer, and we watch them."

"That's it?"

"That's the hard part, anyway."

There was a chuckle, though the man's voice was naturally so loud it sounded bigger than it was. That natural volume had served him well as a teacher. "Ron, are you buying friends now? That's so sad."

"Only this one time. The actual price of the ELMO, or most of the price, is that you never ask why."

"Is something wrong?"

Ron allowed himself a wry smile. "Yeah. I'm in big trouble. Like, mafia stuff. And the only way I can see out involves letting you force me to watch fucking Star Wars again."

"That's my kind of trouble. But what makes you think you can even promise me the ELMO? All that requisition stuff goes through Ellison's office."

"Bullshit. All we have to do is have you borrow it for, say, a week in September and a week in October. We do two weeks in November, three in December, and then we just keep it in your room after winter break. Principals stop in so rarely that when they ask, you'll say you're borrowing it, and by the next time they come in they'll have forgotten that it was ever not a part of your room. As for Ellison, there's no request needed for a lend. And when you put it on your inventory at the end of the year, and I leave it off mine, hey presto! The building totals will stay the same, and the end of the year forms never get looked at other than for tallying purposes. We head off for the summer having just begun creating a paper trail that connects the ELMO to your room. No administrators involved."

"And you're really willing to part with it?"

"If your wife will lend you out for the night."

"Fuck her. There's an ELMO at stake."

The two men laughed. Ron knew that, in truth, Mark Blum was totally whipped by his wife. She was nice, and clearly loved the man, but she was a bit possessive about those precious summer months together. That was why he had to offer the ELMO: he needed someone he could count on not to ask questions, and in order to get one he had to outbid Michelle Blum. 

It was, truthfully, a high price to pay. Supplies for classrooms, especially technology, were hard to attain in the best of times. In economic downturns, they were literally impossible. But he couldn't think of anybody besides Mark that would work for his plan.

Ron did have other friends he could have called, some closer than Mark, but Mark had an advantage over all of them: although he and Ron hung out at work and occasionally went to the bar together, Maddy had never even met him. The few times he had actually been to the Melor place had all been times when Maddy was at work. This meant that he could play the part Ron had in mind, a character of sorts, and Maddy would never be the wiser. It also meant, Ron hoped, that since nobody involved would know who he really was he would not be traceable enough to face Andro's retributions, should they come.

It occurred to him that Mark would need to hide his car.

"One last thing," he said. "When you come, park around the corner from the house."

"So you need my help, but you're ashamed of me?"

"Nope."

"This really is sounding a bit like an affair. If I should be bringing a numbing agent, tell me now."

"No."

"Ron," the voice grew serious, "what is this? Really?"

"The deal was, no questions."

"Ron."

He sighed. He supposed that he was going to have to give some sort of story eventually, if he was going to get Mark to play his part later.

"My anniversary is next month," he said, realizing the fact almost as he was saying it. It made him sad to think about. "I'm planning something big for my wife. I've been dropping hints all over the place to throw her off, make her guess wrong, but she's relentless. I've worked really hard on it, and it's important that she not figure it out ahead of time."

"What is the big gift you're hiding?"

"Not telling."

"Where do I come into all this? Is it me? I'm the gift? Oh, I hope it's me."

"No! Fuck. Maddy doesn't know you. So you're going to be...let's say, acting a bit. You'll be playing a part for a scene I need her to see."

"Hmm. Well, alright. I'll do it. But only because I'm such an awesome guy."

"Good."

"So tell me what I have to do."

He told him, and, hanging up five minutes later, Ron grabbed his keys and headed out to the garage. He doubted his wife would be back home before five o'clock, but he had no intention of being there just in case. Besides, he had some errands to run.

Once in his car, with a soft splattering drizzle falling from an expressionless gray sky, his mind began to drift to the truths distilling within him. Truths about himself, about Maddy, about their future together and apart. He joined the rain, misting his eyes and cheeks. Maybe he was one of the bad guys...he was certainly starting to think so...but he did love that woman as strongly and honestly as any good guy ever could. That was his truth, and he named it so that it might grow stronger and survive.

He still had hope for it.

But now, right now, as he hatched hopeless, ineffectual plots, Maddy was taking that hope away from him. Right now, she was with Andro. Alone.

Heated images, painful to touch, flew at him. They steamed up his brain and made clear thinking an impossibility. 

Maddy, her eyes closed contentedly, lying sweat-sheened and pink in a bed beside Andro.

Moments before, her legs wrapped around his body as her hips flexed, pelvis pushing upwards to meet his thrust. To not only grant, but plead for his deepest entry.

Much later, her body clothed and swollen with child. Her skin glowing proudly. Her eyes turned up to the tall man with deep affection.

He slammed his fist down on the steering wheel. Why?! Why was it so easy for her to turn away from him? To dismiss him? Had she always been capable of it? Had she only lacked the impetus? Or was Andro that heavy an influence? Had he redefined her to fit his wants, the way he had redefined Ron and Larry?

He thought about the events of the last few hours. Trading jokes with Mark had been therapeutic for its casual normalcy, but it couldn't dull the exposed nerve slap that whipped through him as he remembered the sound of her voice from around the corner as she confided quietly in Andro. Soft, and pleading, open and affectionate. Or the indignation she so lazily threw his way when his frustration overthrew his self-control, and he snapped at her. It was that righteous how-dare-you that belied the known facts: she had indeed met with Andro on several occasions without telling her husband, and she apparently continued to do so.

Who was this woman?

It was a sick twist to the storyline of his life, that Ron should suddenly feel as though Maddy was the one who had deceived him...as though she were somebody other than the woman he thought he'd married. All this time he'd harbored his precious little guilt, learning to control and ignore it. All this time he'd been the one with the secret. 

Now he wondered.

Did Maddy Melor wear a mask, just as her husband did? Or was she something worse?

"If she doesn't know you, then who did she marry?" Andro had wondered. "Maybe she's not married at all."

The time was one-fifteen. Maddy and Andro had been alone, now, for about one hour. Ron tried not to wonder where they were, or what they were doing.

But it was hard to stop.

He had his errands finished by two, and could have headed home, but he needed to not be there yet in case Maddy returned. He went to Borders, and stared at a book without reading it on the couch for a while, then browsed at Home Depot before heading home. It was almost five when he pulled into the driveway. Just as he'd suspected, Maddy was still missing. Maybe she'd come and gone again, but he doubted it. There was no sign that anybody had been there since he'd left. 

Mark showed up fifteen minutes late. Maddy had been alone with Andro for five hours.

It had, briefly, occurred to Ron to wonder if Andro might harm her. He doubted that the tall man would feel little in the way of guilt about it. But there was nothing he could do, if that were the case. All he could do was plan for the known, and hope for the best. Anyway, while Andro might appear to be the very definition of loose cannon, Ron thought that this might be one subject upon which he was nearly, if not totally, predictable.

He did think back on Tony's wife, on the hard sympathy in Andro's eyes at the sight of the ruined woman. Then he thought of Larry. He offered a little prayer for both.

Once they had reviewed the plan, Ron supplying Mark with the materials needed for his part, the two men retreated to the basement den to watch their movies. They kept the volume a little lower than usual, in order to both mask the sound from traveling upstairs and to make it possible to hear the door close when Maddy returned.

The films went by at a snails pace for Ron, who watched the clock above the TV as much as the screen itself.

It was eight-thirty before Maddy got home. Eight hours after she walked out the door without goodbye, and got into Andro's car.

As soon as Ron and Mark heard the door shut, they killed the movie. Upstairs, Ron heard Maddy calling his name. He didn't answer. Mark threw the films into the pitch-black backpack Ron had given him, and they put their shoes on.

"Do we go right up?" Mark asked, a smile on his face. For the first time Ron thought about the sick game he'd made the poor guy a part of, and felt real guilt. He had no idea of the danger involved.

"I do," Ron said. "You don't. If I cough, you follow. If I don't, you stay." He'd only heard one set of footsteps, but for Mark's sake he would make sure that Andro was gone before calling him up.

Climbing the stairs into the foyer, he saw Mady's shoes set by the closed door. She called his name again, this time from the bedroom area. He peaked out the window and saw nothing...no sign of Andro whatsoever. He coughed.

Like a royal decree, the cough sent both Mark and Maddy moving in his direction. Maddy was further away, but she was near-scurrying, moving much faster. Still, it was pure serendipity that they should reach him at the same time. Really, Ron couldn't have asked for better results: Maddy hurried out into the entryway and moved to throw her arms around her husband, only to be brought up short as she saw a strange man climb up the stairs to stand next to him.

She looked back and forth between the two men, no recognition in her eyes. That was good...Ron had told a few small stories about Mark, over the years, but had hoped that she wouldn't make the connection.

"H..hi, honey," she said awkwardly. 

Ron nodded to her, said hello, and turned to Mark. "You were saying, before?"

Mark, in spite of his role, couldn't help grinning. And why not? After all, he thought he was part of some big high stakes shot at a 'husband of the year' award. Ron wondered how Maddy would take that smile, though, as this progressed. "I got what you wanted, no trouble," he said, opening his backpack and removing a manila envelope. "They made it real easy."

Ron nodded solemnly. "I thought they might. And it's both of them? There's no mistaking?"

Mark shook his head, grin expanding. "No way, man. I'm good at what I do. I take pictures like these all the time. And, like I said, they made it real easy." His eyes flickered to Maddy, an innocent moment of breaking character that she read completely differently. It obviously made her more nervous, and that pleased Ron to no end.

"Alright, what do I owe you?" he asked, fishing into his pocket.

Mark held up his hands. "What you've already paid."

"That's generous."

Mark shrugged. "Well, see if you still feel that way when you see my work." In the directions Ron had given him, this statement was designed as a self-deprecating joke. It had been important to Ron that Mark say it, though, because he knew that in Maddy's interpretation it would mean something else entirely.

Ron nodded, opening the door and patting his friend on the shoulder. "Thank you," he said. "For everything."

As he shut the door after him, he saw Mark give him two big thumbs up.

And when he turned around, he saw Maddy watching him, studying his face. There was fear in her eyes. She didn't even try to hide it.

"Who was that?" she asked in a voice that didn't even remotely pass for casual.

Ron shrugged. "Just a guy doing me a favor." 

"He said there were pictures. What are they of?" 

He shrugged. "Just pictures." 

"Is it for school?"

Ron gave her a hard look, not responding, and he saw her eyes widen. It was almost-imperceptible, but it was there. Then, he walked right past her and down the hall.

"Ron?" she called after him, but she didn't give chase as he went into the guest bedroom and shut the door, locking it.

He sat down on the bed, suddenly exhausted. He couldn't sleep, not yet, but for a few seconds the weight of everything fell upon him. The memories of the last five days drew a curtain over what had been his momentary good mood. He thought about his ineffectual posturing, his attempt to scare his wife into reevaluating her actions. Helplessness and self-ridicule swelled up in his chest.

Then, Maddy tried to open the door. She called his name, knocked, and stood silently for a few suspended minutes before walking away. As she left, he heard a sniffle. 

And just like that, the weight was gone.

He was getting to her.

Listening more carefully, he heard her make a phone call in the kitchen. Her voice sounded anxious. It raised in volume a few times, but never so that he could make out any words. He checked his watch. Almost nine. The whole world was waiting for something, it just didn't know it.

It would have to wait a little longer.

Ron's breathing was shallow. He only moved to blink.

By ten o'clock Maddy was in their bedroom, the door shut and lights turned off. By eleven-thirty, Ron felt confident she was asleep.

One of the things he'd always loved about his house was that, because of the way it was put together, almost no noise from the garage trailed into the bedroom. That had been a boon to him on summer mornings, when Maddy worked early hours, and on the rare summer nights when he'd gotten home late from the bar. 

Now, it he counted it among his assets again.

Slipping through and out of the house, he was soon driving down the highway. He listened idly to the sound of his supplies rolling around in his trunk as he headed towards part two of his little plan.

Night driving is a gift. It has a way of softening your troubles, of making them feel neutered. They become abstract shapes in the distance, harmless and safe for quiet reflection, rather than imminent dangers. Like the lights of cars on the other side of the divide that draw a line across your consciousness and are gone, the challenges in your life seem like little more than blurry objects speeding by. Although there was some small danger to the work with which he was engaged, Ron found that by the time he returned home a great calm had washed over him. No sooner had his head touched the unfamiliar pillow of the guest bed than he fell into a sleep that was like peaceful death.

Sunday morning, he awoke feeling a hopefulness that felt wholly unfamiliar. He had thought that the sight of Andro on his front door that first day had taken it away for good. As he showered and dressed, he tried to picture what this day might have in store. Good or bad, he knew an end of some sort was approaching. A storm was darkening the in the distance, and last night he had seeded the clouds. It would be better, when his last moments arrived, to know that they hadn't done so while he was kneeling in the dirt, crying into his gag. 

"You might die today," he told his reflection in the bathroom mirror, "but at least you pulled the trigger."

Coming out into the kitchen he was surprised to find Maddy sitting in her chair, wearing her apple red robe and sipping a cup of coffee. Thick and blanket-like, the robe was something she usually saved for cooler winter mornings. Even then it rarely got much use; Maddy was such a morning person that she rarely needed any kind of comfort wear. It was almost ten o'clock right now. On a normal day off she would be showered and dressed, having already exercised or completed some leftover housework.

She looked up at him as he came into the room. Her expression was hurt, like a child who has been overly punished for a small mistake. He bit the inside of his lip. If she thought that playing the wounded woman was going to bring out the protective man in him, she was in for a disappointment. He made a point of not looking at her too long, but just glimpsing as he passed by to get a coffee cup from the cabinet.

"I missed you last night," she said. And then, when he didn't respond, she continued, "I wish you would talk to me." 

"Are you sure you have the time for a conversation?" he said, without turning around. "It seemed like you had a lot you wanted to say yesterday, but then you just decided to run off on me instead."

"You were acting strange. I thought maybe we needed time to think."

"I was ready to listen. I just don't think you were ready to say what needed to be said."

"Don't make this about me, Ronald Melor!" she warned him. "Every time I try to find out why you've got such a stick up your ass, you try and turn it back on me. I've done nothing wrong, and I don't know why you keep talking to me like I should feel guilty about something."

He poured his cup, and took a tentative sip. "It wasn't so long ago, Maddy, that if one of us was upset about something the other was there for them, one hundred percent. We didn't get defensive, or angry at each other...we acted out of concern and care. And if either of us found out that something we'd done had upset the other, it mattered to us to make amends."

"That's true. You used to tell me what you were upset about, too. Now you sulk and refuse to tell me what's going on. You're still talking like I've done something wrong, but you won't tell me why. The truth is that you're the one who keeps acting guilty, and that scares me even more. Why don't you just say it, Ron? Say whatever it is you're just dying to say."

He turned around to face her, tempted to do just that. Hell, why not? After last night's actions, he was balancing on the edge of the knife anyway. He might as well tell her the truth, all of it. 

But when he saw her face, he closed his mouth. She was looking up at him with a posture that demonstrated angry defiance, but the look in her eyes betrayed something worse. It was a curved, watery look...an emotional high tide. the same one she'd had the time she told him she'd accidentally thrown his box full of childhood photographs away during Spring cleaning. As soon as he saw it, and realized all the implications of it, the fight went out of him. He sagged against the counter top, crumpling. "Maddy," is all he could say.

Her face tensed, the corner of her mouth twitching in a desperate attempt to control her emotions, and then she started crying. "God damn you!" she blurted out as she ran from the room. He heard the bedroom door slam shut, and the lock click.

And that was it. There would be no more discussion.

Sad as it made him, he knew that it was just as well. There were other things to do, or there would be shortly. He dumped the rest of his coffee down the sink and started getting ready. No sooner had he brushed his teeth than the phone rang. He already knew what it was about.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Ron," Andro's voice said. "To the office. Now." And then he hung up.




Mad Dog and the Dream Ch. 02



In spite of everything...of his plans, his prior optimism, and his having already acknowledged that today might be his last...Ron felt cold dread. 

He went to the spare bedroom and grabbed the envelope Mark had "given" him. He didn't want Maddy opening it in his absence, hoping to get a glimpse of the photographs inside, and discovering that it held only blue construction paper. He'd used the heavy paper he bought for his classroom projects because it gave the illusion of photo paper better than regular printer paper would. He took one last moment to admire the familiarity, the normalcy, of the domestic setting. Who knew if he would ever see it again. 

"I have to go to work," he called down the hallway. The door to the bedroom was still closed. He got no response.

He waited an extra second, hoping for some kind of word from his wife, but none came. "Goodbye," he whispered under his breath, and left.

Ron made it to the office in record time. He tried not to think too much about where he was going. Pulling up to the building, he stopped his car in the front lot. Andro was standing near the front door, smoking yet another in his endless line of cigarettes.

"Holy shit," Ron muttered, acting stunned as he stepped out of the car. He looked around and scratched his forehead as he stared at the front face of the office. 

"It's a problem," Andro said flatly. He didn't so much as glance at the building's front, which was covered in big spray painted letters. In alternating green, white, and red, the words 'LA RAZA' lit up behind him. Andro kept his eyes on Ron, a vague hint of amusement in his otherwise serious glare.

"Who is La Raza?" Ron asked.

"The LRZ is a gang. Not really our usual competition, but they do a lot in the way of cocaine trafficking. They know we're here, obviously, and they must not read that as good news. It will have to be addressed." 

Ron just nodded. He wasn't about to say that he knew all of that and more. As in nearly every city in the country, his school district held yearly mandatory gang awareness meetings. Police and social workers would present updated information regarding gang activity in the area, symbols or signs that were significant, and what to do if these things made any appearances in the classroom.

For the first time since he'd started teaching, Ron had found that knowledge useful last night.

"I suppose you want me to clean it off?" he asked.

Andro took a pull off his cigarette, wincing as he often did and blowing the smoke out. "It's been taken care of," he said. His mouth stretched in a bored yawn, and then he asked, "How did you sleep last night, Ron?"

Ron answered as calmly as he could. "I've slept better." Shrugging, he pushed further. "I stayed up too late, I suppose."

"I suppose," Andro seemed distracted, peering out at the empty side street. "I had a strange dream. Stranger than most, anyway. It's bothered me, some. You and I were in Chicago, it was winter, and we were in a bar. A real dive. We were having a conversation with the bartender, I don't remember what about. What I remember was that the bartender had a real jagged face. Like it had been put together wrong, or like he was some strange painting come to life. And I was working for you."

Ron coughed a laugh. "You were working for me?"

Andro nodded, still distracted, and then turned to look at Ron. "You were in charge. Definitely in charge."

"What about Piero?"

Andro nodded. "That's the question, isn't it? What about Piero." He squinted at the shorter man. "How could Piero ever allow such a thing? Or was he even around? What about Piero...yeah," he took another hit, "that's exactly it." He flung the remainder of the cigarette to the ground. "We'll have to ask him when he gets here Tuesday."

"Piero's coming back? Here?"

Andro nodded. "With the Doctor, I'm afraid." Ron felt his insides twist in cold fear, but Andro was still watching the road. "Don't hide your emotions, Ron. I can read them easy. They drip right off you, right onto the ground. And to be honest, I had the same thoughts you are," he admitted, "and you're right. It's a piss poor way to manage. You don't come running to deal with every little problem. You don't panic. You appoint people you trust, and then you trust the people you appoint. Am I right about that?"

"That makes sense."

"Of course it does." Andro turned to look at him. "Are you proud of what you've done?"

Ron swallowed. "I don't know what you mean."

Andro looked surprised. "You don't know what I mean? Which part? Are you saying that you don't know what you've done, or that you don't know what pride is?" He squinted at the other man and then, as Ron struggled for a response, he smiled. "Ahh. I get you, Ron. I get you. That's gotta be real hard, living like that."

"What are you talking about?"

"Pride. It's a sense of accomplishment, tied to happiness."

"I know what pride is."

"Oh." Andro raised his eyebrows. "I misunderstood. So do you feel pride about what you've done, Ron? When you look back at your life, when you reflect on all of our choices, are you proud of it all?"

Ron let out a weary sigh. Was Andro telling him he was about to die? "I don't know. Some, I guess. There's a lot I'm not proud of."

Andro nodded. "That's good. That's good." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know, they say that the harder you have to work for something, the greater the challenges involved, the more pride you'll end up feeling regarding it. The longer it takes to achieve a goal, or to build a thing, the more you love it. They say we value something more if it was hard for us." He ran his teeth over his tongue. "They say that God took just seven days to make the world." He shook his head. "Does that seem right to you?"

Suddenly, Ron became aware of the smell of smoke. 

"I don't understand," he said.

"I can't just let them think that they can get to me," Andro said quietly. "And I can't operate my kind of business out of a hub that's been discovered."

Ron nodded, trying to control his growing panic. The smell of smoke was stronger, now. He thought he saw a flicker of light through the windows of the office building.

"It took the two of you just three days to get that place cleaned up," Andro noted. "That's six working days total. Less time than it takes to make a world, I'm told." He shrugged, as the fire began to light up the insides of the building and the sound of breaking glass drifted to them from somewhere. "I don't think Larry would mind."

Ron stared vacantly, as the fire rapidly began consuming the small structure. "We should get out of here," he said.

"We're in no danger," Andro said. "But I suppose you're right." He pulled his keys out of his jacket. "You, however, will need to be back here in..." he checked his watch, walking over to his car, "...twelve hours, minus fifteen minutes. And you'll need to bring these with you." Opening his backseat passenger side door, he withdrew a briefcase, an envelope, and the same handgun he'd given Ron to shoot Larry with. "Don't open the briefcase, don't open the envelope, and don't ask questions. Just give it to the men who meet you here. Got that?"

"Who am I meeting?"

"Nevermind. Just do it. And Ron," Andro handed the two items over, "think a little on pride for me, will you?" With that, he started heading back to his car.

Ron looked down at the gun, and up at Andro. He could shoot him now. Maybe the tall man would be too fast for him, but...

"Oh," Andro waved his hand in the air. "I almost forgot!" He climbed into his car and shut the door. Starting the engine, he swung the vehicle around so that he was next to Ron. He rolled down the window and reached out his hand. In it was a small, black object. "The clip in the gun is empty. You'll want this." 

Wordlessly, Ron took the offered item, and Andro sped away. Somewhere in the distance, sirens were approaching. Something inside of the building exploded. He stared at the ruined structure for a moment, seeing the words he'd spray painted across the front vanishing in the smoke.

He wondered if he should feel bad about it. He wondered how Larry would feel, if he saw it. 

Andro said he wouldn't mind. The sirens were getting closer.

Ron hurried to his car and drove away in the opposite direction.

Breaking multiple speed laws on the way home, Ron tried to calm himself and evaluate what his next move needed to be. The truth was, he had no idea. In fact, he'd had no real structured plan to begin with...he'd been acting out almost randomly from little more than the overwhelming urge to make things not go Andro's way. Sure, he'd had assumptions about the possible consequences, and hopes about best case scenarios, but none of them included Andro burning the fucking building down and sending him alone to meet with members of a dangerous street gang. 

None of them included Piero bringing the Doctor back into town.

It seemed more and more like he just wouldn't be able to phase Andro. The tall man didn't expect the world to behave the way he wanted it, and he seemed almost unaffected by any shift in the proverbial landscape.

Ron had thought that he was beginning to understand Andro. He had thought that he knew what the man was after. Now, he felt as lost as he had ever been.

There was still hope that he might get through to Maddy, but even that hope was slim.

His tucked his thoughts away to rest as he pulled into the garage. Maddy's car was gone. He put his head to the steering wheel and cursed. Had she run off, again, to let Andro comfort her? To tell her new friend all about how difficult her husband was being? He slammed the door to his car, leaving everything Andro had given him lying on the passenger seat, and walked into the house.

A letter, written in Maddy's neat hand, sat alone on the kitchen counter.

He picked it up and read. It was a short message, brutal in the way that it was short and direct.

"Ron," it said, "I'm sorry to say that I can't be around you right now. You're actions and words have been so hurtful lately that I think we need some time apart. I've taken most of my stuff and I'm staying with a friend. Don't call me. I will call you if and when I'm ready to talk. Maddy."

He stared at it numbly. So that was it. There was no question in his mind who the 'friend' she was staying with was. In fact, he had a hard time believing that she wouldn't realize that he knew who it was. Could she possibly think that he wouldn't put two and two together?

He wondered if Andro had already known, when they had spoken earlier.

He wondered if Andro knew everything.

It was interesting that Maddy seemed so unconcerned with the photographs, what they might be of. He'd done everything he could, without directly accusing her, to suggest that they might be evidence of her doing something inappropriate. She might have appeared worried at first, but this morning she'd seemed strangely unphased by the possibility. Maybe she just wasn't ashamed of her actions. Maybe she had already been planning on walking away.

Christ. Had the woman ever loved him at all?

He closed his eyes. To an outside observer, Ron might appear to be standing pensively in an otherwise vacant kitchen. 

But he knew better. 

The world was on fire. All around him. Nothing was left to salvage. Nothing would be remembered. He stood alone in the ashes, consuming the last of the breathable air and staring up at the heavens.

Him. 

Not Andro.

His eyes opened, and turned his gaze back towards the garage. He thought about that briefcase.

It was more than ten hours later, the sun having fled from his part of the world and the streetlights struggling feebly to take its place, when Ron stood next to the blackened corpse of the office building. The suitcase rested against his left leg, and the envelope was in his back pocket. Fifteen feet away, leaning up against a white SUV, were two Hispanic men. One of them glanced at the other from time to time, but was content to let his friend do the talking.

"You work for the tall man?" the other one asked. He had almost no accent. Probably, he'd spent his whole life in the States, and what little accent he had was just a carry over from his parents.

"I do."

"Then you have something for us," he said. "And we have something for you in return." He smiled. "Easy work, a nice night...it's a good way to get paid. I think we're all gonna be good friends, man."

"Yeah," Ron said flatly. "I do believe it. Too bad about the building, though."

The smile disappeared. "Like I told your boss man, that wasn't us. I don't know who it was, but they're fucking full of shit. La Rasa did not paint up your building...somebody's fronting, probably to stir shit up. If we find out who it was, we'll take care of them."

"So, if you find them, you'll kill them?"

"You know it, man."

"Then I should tell you," Ron said, affecting Andro's casual indifference, "that it was me." The gun was in his hand and the first shots fired before either man could react. The shorter of the two, the one who had been doing the talking, hit the ground clutching his chest. The larger man, surprisingly, didn't reach for his gun. He simply swung around, making a desperate attempt to climb back into the SUV. Ron watched the bullet catch him in the lower back. He fell to his knees, reaching up for the door handle and fumbling desperately at it. The shorter man was jerking spastically on the ground, screaming. In the distance, a dog was barking.

Ron walked over, leaving the briefcase where it sat. Percussive bursts in his temples rang loudly in his ears, reflecting his heartbeat back to him. He leaned down and looked at the wounded men. "Do you have a cell phone?" he asked. Neither man spoke. The one on his knees looked back at him with terror in his eyes. He must have finally remembered his gun, because his hand fumbled at his waist. "Please don't," Ron whispered. But the man didn't listen; his left hand inched towards the weapon in his waistband. Ron shot him in the forehead, and he ended up sagged lifelessly against the car.

He turned to the man on the ground. "Do you have a cell phone?" he asked again. The wounded man nodded, still vocalizing without forming words and clutching at his chest. Ron fished around in the man's pockets, found the phone, and forced it into one blood-slicked hand. "I'm sure you have people you can call. Maybe they can even keep you alive. You'd better do it fast, though. That looks pretty bad."

The man fell silent. He clutched the phone hesitantly, uncertainty mixed with fear. 

Ron nodded solemnly to him, stood up, and walked back to his car. He left the briefcase on the ground. Opening the door and putting on foot in, he surveyed the scene before him. Then, he cupped his hand to his mouth. "If you live long enough," he called out to the man, "tell your friends Andro says hello." Then, he climbed in and drove off.

Alone in the contained space of his vehicle, he dropped the facade. No longer choked off for the sake of survival, his nerves began to get the best of him. His hands shook, first lightly and then so uncontrollably that, halfway home, he had to pull over at a gas station and wait for control to return. He parked away from the light and just sat there, staring silently, until he was safe to drive again.

He'd killed a man tonight. Maybe two. 

Two human lives.

He'd had no choice, he told himself. It seemed like a bullshit statement, but he needed to believe that it was true. If he hadn't killed them, they would have killed him when they saw what he'd brought with him. As soon as they realized they'd been conned, it would have been over. 

And, if he hadn't shown up at all, Andro and Piero would have seen that he died a slow death for his rebellion.

He thought about Maddy. Would happen to her, now? Would she suffer, as Tony's wife had suffered? Or did an entirely different fate await her?

In a way, she'd saved his life. After reading her note, he'd felt an awesome sense of empowerment for having lost everything. Defying Andro, he'd gone out to his car and defied Andro by opening the briefcase. What he saw inside told him immediately that Andro was setting him up, trying to get him killed. Whatever the two men had expected to find, they would have been furious when they opened the case and discovered that Ron had brought them a ringer. 

And it was a ringer. But more than that, what it contained was a message to Ron. A very clear, very specific message.

He'd then torn open the envelope. It contained a bland and unadorned letter about friendship and how this "simple transaction" would "set the pattern for our future dealings." The premise was simple, and familiar to Ron: Andro had offered to sell a relatively small sample of high quality cocaine for an unusually low price as a peace offering.

But he hadn't intended for it to actually happen. 

And it wouldn't have happened, because when Ron had opened the briefcase, it had contained nothing but heavy weight blue construction paper.



Mad Dog and the Dream Ch. 03



Ron Melor wanted to scream.

He'd spent the last eight hours rolling around his lonely bed, tossing and turning in a way Maddy's presence should have made impossible. He was unable to either shut the thoughts of the last few days out of his head or to refine them to the point of isolation. Instead, a constant swirl of images and words flew around his consciousness: Maddy's face as she watched Mark hand him an envelope ostensibly containing photographs, the tired upset in her voice when they talked, the pathetically brief letter she'd left him as she'd run out. 

The first hint of smoke wafting from the office building as Andro talked. 

The sight of the briefcase, opened, full of nothing more than heavy blue paper.

Two collapsed, bleeding figures in the night, one dead and the other dying. 

The gun, warm in his hand.

Now, as the sun rose on Monday, he felt both exhausted and lost. As far as he could tell, the best case scenario was for the police to come and arrest him. Maybe, just maybe, there'd be some hope of survival in prison. Out here, there was none. Once Andro discovered how last night had turned out, he was sure to come for him. Ron had single-handedly started a war that would ruin all of the Mafioso's plans. He'd ended any hope of peaceful coexistence with La Raza, making bloody, expensive conflict a certainty. 

But maybe that was okay.

As far as Ron could tell Andro had been willing to risk that possibility in order to get him killed. He'd wanted either to finalize his hold on Maddy or to lead Ron to a poetic end in retribution for Lee's death. But Ron was alive and the war had begun. Or, it would shortly. Whatever had pulled Maddy away from him, and whatever she may now be feeling, Ron also knew that she was lost to him. The blue paper in the briefcase last night had been notice that Andro knew all about his games and was never going to be less than one step ahead of him. How he knew was impossible to guess...Andro seemed to operate with both a keen perception of people around him and a distance from humanity that allowed him to interfere with it without consequence. Still, to know the very contents of the envelope...Ron couldn't figure it out.

With a start, he put his hand to his mouth.

"No," he said to no one. "Please no."

He rushed the phone. His nerves, already burnt and blackened matches, reignited. The possibility he had just realized left his hold on the world full of smoke. It took him three tries to dial the number correctly.

A voice answered, sounding tired. But, even tired, the man was a loud talker. "Hello?" he said.

"Mark, thank god," Ron groaned. "I thought..." he suddenly realized what he was doing, what he was saying, and stopped.

"Ron?" the man sounded concerned. "What did you think?"

"I, uh, I saw a car accident last night, on the interstate. It was pretty bad. I, uh, I couldn't figure why it looked familiar. It just occurred to me that it was the same make and model as yours. I thought you were hurt."

"I'm touched, Ron. But the Ford Taurus is not exactly an uncommon sight."

"Yeah, I...look, honestly, I'm a little embarrassed now. But when I remembered your car, I had picked up and dialed before I realized what I was doing."

"Well, no worries. I love getting up at four in the morning during summer vacation."

"It's seven."

"That's what I said. Four. Oh, hey, how'd that thing with the missus turn out?"

"Hasn't yet." Ron had to fight to keep the sadness out of his voice.

"Are you gonna tell me what it was all about yet?"

"No."

"Then I'm going back to bed. And Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time you think I might be dead...wait until after lunch to confirm. Alright?"

"Yeah. Alright."

He hung up and sighed. At last, Ron had to admit that not only were Andro's methods completely unpredictable, but even his knowledge of the events around him was impossible to gauge. There was no way to understand anything about the man, no way to try and outmaneuver him.

And by admitting that, Ron knew he was admitting that he had no weapon left to fight with.

He leaned against the wall. For a brief second he considered running, grabbing what he could, and fleeing. He could go south, or maybe he could even get away with going north. 

Andro's words came back to haunt him yet again. "You get far enough north, the snow takes everything," he'd said. "You reach places that feel like eternity." Something like that. 

And then, he'd said, "No matter the conditions, something survives."

Maybe that something could be Ron Melor.

But he knew that running was a futile exercise. And, anyway, he had no stomach for it. He had run once before, and it had led to this moment. He was no longer simply a glorified gopher for drug dealing mob bosses. Now, he was a killer. He had murdered a man last night, or maybe two, all because he had run away from a problem once upon a time.

His mouth moved silently, offering unspoken hope for the life of the man he'd left wounded. The man didn't deserve for his life to be added to the cost of this great mess.

Ron wouldn't run. He had thought he might die yesterday, and he hadn't. Instead, he had been the one to do the killing. If he died today, at least now he knew he deserved it.

But he did wish he could think of something to do besides stand here waiting for it to happen. What had Andro said? "The fear of the moment is worse than the moment."

As if to grant him release, the phone rang. He stared at it. The first blast of electronic beeps went by. Then the second. He licked his lips. The third.

He answered.

"Hello?" he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

There, in the quiet, he heard a small female sob. 

"Maddy?" he asked, voice rising. "Maddy, is that you?"

"Ron." Her voice sounded tired and weak. 

"Maddy? What's wrong?" He was almost yelling now. "Maddy?!"

There was silence, aside from some heavy breathing. 

"Maddy," he tried again in a calmer voice, "please talk to me. What's wrong? What are you...where are you?"

More silence. "Ron," she whispered.

"What?"

"How could you?" 

How could he? How could he what? He fumbled for a response. 

And then, before he could find one, the connection was broken.

He stood staring at the phone, hearing the dial tone, holding his breath.

What the hell was that? What was she talking about? What did she think he'd done? Let her walk away? Not fight for her? Accuse her of betraying him?

Lie to her about his past?

Kill a man?

Before he could so much as gather his thoughts, the phone rang again. This time, he grabbed it immediately.

"Maddy?"

"Ron," Andro's voice came down the line. "My good friend Ron." From the slight distortion and the background noise, he was clearly outside and talking on his cell phone. Ron was suddenly sure that Maddy had been on a landline. There'd been almost no noise accompanying her voice, and it had been clearer. 

Andro and Maddy, wherever they were, were not together.

"Andro," he snapped. "I'm sick of this shit. You fucking set me up last night, and I know it."

A barked laugh was his response. "Yeah. I like that. Set you up. Is that how teachers say it?"

"That's how I say it," he growled. "That's how I'm saying it right fucking now."

"Sure. Sure. I can't tell you how glad I am to know that I'm done, Ron. I was getting tired of constantly setting you up all the time. It's a full time job. Every time you fall, I've gotta be there to set you back up. I'm glad you're finally starting to get back up on your own."

He fought the urge to scream, to howl down the line that he was fed up with the doublespeak and bullshit. Instead he took a deep, open-mouthed breath, feeling that cool air race across his tongue. "What happens now?" he asked.

"It's hard to read these situations. You know that. But I wouldn't ask, anyway. I mean, who wants to know how it ends before it ends? That ruins the suspense. The worst thing about asking a question like that is getting it answered, I think."

"Is there a chance the LRZ could find me here?"

"Is there a chance that a dead man will speak?"

"So no."

"I'm not as certain as you are," Andro chuckled. 

"Andro," Ron said, not even realizing what he was asking until the words had already escaped, "where is my wife?"

"To the best of my knowledge," Andro said quietly, "you don't have one. Rejoice."

"Where is she? Where is Maddy? Goddamn, it, tell me!"

A pause. "What did you dream about last night, Ron?"

"I don't remember. Hell, I'm not even sure I did dream. Now just fucking tell me where she is."

"I am. Think harder. You dreamt. I know you did. Tell me about the dream."

Ron gritted his teeth. "There was no fucking dream!"

"That's not right. You're lying. Not only am I certain that was there a dream, but I'm starting to think that maybe there still is. I'm starting to worry that you've been asleep this whole time, in fact. That's how it appears. Somewhere beyond the rest of us, on another plain, you're just breathing softly into a fat pillow, and we're all just residents of your subconscious. It means we're in danger, Ron. The whole world on the brink of death except Ronald Melor, who is fast asleep. Pity the world, my friend. We're all of us under threat that you might wake up and end us, and we're powerless to stop you. Me, Maddy, Piero...maybe even Larry. I mean, I find that really upsetting. What does happen to us if you wake up, Ron? What happens to the walking, talking remains? Do you just leave us here, to continue on without you? Are we gone forever, forgotten even by the god that gave us life? Do we come with you? These are scary ideas. I'm not sure which is more upsetting, to be honest."

Ron took another calming breath. "I didn't dream last night, and you know I'm awake right now."

"You are? You're sure? There's absolutely no doubt in your mind."

"Yes."

"Then you must be wrong."

"Stop the bullshit and tell me about Maddy. Tell me about my wife."

"I already told you, I am. But not before we talk about the dream."

Ron let out a frustrated growl. "I'm awake, Andro! Understand? I'm awake, and I'm angry."

"Maybe not awake. But you're definitely aware. That much is clear...after all, what better represents awareness than anger?"

Ron opened his mouth to respond, felt a twinge in his chest, and closed his eyes. "Hope," he said softly.

"Hope. That's funny. It's not even close." There was another pause, and Ron imagined Andro taking an amused pull from a cigarette. "I need to see you. Well, maybe 'need' is the wrong word, but 'see' isn't. For some reason, the sound of you just isn't enough." Another pause. "Get something to write with."

Ron eyed the gun, lying where he'd left it on the table, right in front of his wife's empty chair. "Sure thing," he said.

Arriving at the address Andro gave him forty minutes later, Ron pulled up to the curb and stopped. For several minutes, he stared vacantly at the lavish structure in front of him.

It was the kind of house a doctor might own, a broad dried-clay two story house made to hold a family...one that owned more things than they needed. There was a four foot marble structure, the modern domestic American equivalent of Greek art flair, housing the mailbox. Desert shrubbery, a poor excuse for foliage but perfect for decorating dry rock front yards, were spaced like landmines. Ron inspected the scope of the mini-palace. Three car garage, he guessed three bedrooms to match, two story foyer with a chandelier that could be seen through the windows.

So this, he thought, is what a dog's house really looks like.

He reached over and ran his fingers across the cold angular workings of the gun, sitting impassively on the passenger seat. 

He couldn't beat Andro. And, even now, he had to admit that he was afraid to die.

He took his hand away. In his heart, contracted and weary though it was, he still felt a thin hope that there was a way through this. He just had to stay alive, and stay aware.

"I'm not dreaming," he said to himself, and he killed the ignition. Climbing out, he locked the doors and looked at the gun through the glare of the windows reflection. 

Walking up the front path, he wondered idly just what Andro's place in the business was. Ron had never met or heard of him during his three years as a runner, but the man was clearly high up on the food chain. Not everybody was afforded franchise rights or seven hundred thousand dollar houses.

So just where had this guy come from?

Reaching the front step, Ron took a deep breath and was about to ring the bell when suddenly the door swung open. Andro smiled at him across the threshold. He wore a pair of sweatpants and some leather sandals. His shirtless physique was lean, muscled, and hairless, his skin's natural tone reading like a perfect tan. His eyes flickered over Ron for a moment, and his smile faded. 

"You didn't bring my gun," he said flatly.

"I almost did," Ron said it sharply, as a threat.

Andro shook his head. "Almost," he said. Then, he stepped aside and waved his arm, encouraging Ron to come in. "It's an entrance," he said, "I promise."

"What if I don't believe you?"

"You're hardly the best judge, Ron. You never even try." He moved back, clearing the way, and Ron stepped inside.

The entryway was as luxurious looking as the outside had been, with marbled floors and a curved staircase that led up into an unseen second level. Next to the door was a cast iron statue of a barking dog.

Ron looked at it, and grunted a laugh. "I can almost believe that you decorated this place yourself," he said.

"I can almost believe it too," Andro nodded, and looked around as if it were his first time seeing the place as well.

Ron opened his mouth to say more, but was interrupted by a familiar voice wafting down from the upstairs.

"Andro?" a woman called out, sounding equally affectionate and sad. "Did I hear the door?"

Ron felt the muscles in his face slacken, and was aware of himself staring up at the top of the steps, but he experienced it as though far away. His chest squeezed mercilessly against his heart, and that at least felt immediate and real. 

Maddy had come to the top of the stairs and looked down, freezing in horror as she saw her husband looking up at her. Her hair was wet and she appeared to be wearing nothing more than a large mens robe. Andro's robe. It had to be; it was ridiculously large on her small frame. She had tied it at the waist, but her inability to fill it out had left it loose and open near the top. When she had first come into view, turned slightly to the side from Ron's vantage point, he had been able to look up and see, through the loose gap, the inside curve of her right breast. As soon as she saw him, she pulled the robe shut and gasped. 

He had known, almost without doubt, that this was where she had run to. But the sight of her, here, was something else entirely.

"Ron!" she gasped, wide-eyed, "why are you here?" She turned to Andro, her expression becoming beseeching. "Why is he here?"

Dizzying rage struck at Ron like a blow to the temple, as she silently pleaded with Andro for support. "You bitch," he snapped up at her. "You fucking whore. Was it that easy for you? Did you even shrug your shoulders as you left? Or did you just give up and walk away?" She winced at his words, but something like anger slid across her face, too. Ron continued his attack. "Tell me the truth, Maddy: did you love me at all, or was I some kind of fucking joke to you?"

"What are you talking about, Ron?" she demanded. "Why are you attacking me like this?"

"Look at yourself!" he roared. "Do you think there's any question in my mind as to what you're doing here? Do you think I don't realize that you've been lying, and sneaking around, behind my back?" his voice cracked on the last word, and he lowered his voice. "Do you even know how much I've loved you?" he shook his head as he said it, as if to answer his own question. 

Maddy stared at him for a long moment. A flicker of sadness lit across her face, and was gone. "Then why..." her mouth hung open, and for a moment Ron thought she would finish the question, but instead she turned and ran. He heard a door somewhere up on the second level slam.

He turned to Andro, angry adrenaline driving him to attack. He moved forward. "You son of a-"

Andro was fast. Ron hadn't even realized that he was swinging at the tall man until Andro had lazily grabbed the incoming wrist and pulled, used Ron's own initiative to drive him downwards even as he brought his knee up into his sternum. He may have been made of skin and bone, but the blow felt like iron. Ron rolled around on the floor, gasping for breath. 

Andro looked down at him. "Why is it so hard?" he asked, his voice almost sympathetic. "Why does it hurt you so much?"

"Fuck you," Ron gasped.

"No," Andro said. "I don't think that's it. I don't think it's because she fucked me. It's because you trusted her. You had to...you had no choice. Love is such a dangerous thing, such a huge gamble, that you have to be prepared to trust the other person. You have to trust them with your life. I mean, that's what you're playing with, right? You have to put so much faith in them that you are incapable of doubt. You have to give them a clean shot and know that they won't take it." He offered Ron a hand, but Ron ignored it and struggled to his feet on his own. "It's not so different for us, Ron. When your business is dangerous, you have to know that the people you work with will always be there for you. You have to trust them." He leaned on the word 'trust,' and looked at Ron expectantly.

Ron glared at him, and didn't speak.

Andro sighed. "Larry trusted you, Ron. My god, he trusted you. And you looked at him there, kneeling and crying in the dirt, and you pulled the trigger."

Ron swallowed. "He trusted you, too." He put his hand to his sternum. His stomach was rolling, threatening to vacate its contents.

"No," Andro shook his head. "He never did. He was too smart for that. How do you suppose Larry felt, Ron, kneeling in the desert and hearing the click as you pulled the trigger on him? How did Lee feel, dying alone in the cold night air, knowing you abandoned him?" Andro raised his eyes sadly to the top step, where Maddy had stood. "Do you think they felt like you do, now? Or was it worse?"

Ron leaned over and threw up on the marble floor.

Andro didn't seem to notice. His gaze was still on the top step, his eyes glazed over. "And poor Maddy," he said. "She's in so much turmoil. Is that how you felt, too, Ron, when you betrayed their trust? Did you feel the way she feels now?" he turned to look at Ron, his expression still one of sympathy. "Or was it, too, worse?"

Ron was struggling for control. His eyes were watering, his stomach rolling. "I didn't have a choice."

"You felt that way, I'm sure. But you were also torn, I think, and that should have been an indication. How can you be torn unless you are aware that you're making a choice?" Andro shook his head. "You felt trapped. Sure. But you knew there was a choice to be made. I wonder, is that how Maddy feels too?" 

"She had a choice," Ron snapped. "You can't possibly expect me to believe she's being forced."

"Oh, she's not being forced," Andro admitted. "But neither were you. You both made your own beds." He looked back up the stairs. "And you're going to have to deal with her, now. You know that, don't you Ron? Something like this requires vengeance. It requires catharsis. You can't let a betrayal this thorough pass unnoticed. It's unacceptable."

Ron looked up at the tall man with a pained expression. "I love her."

Andro nodded. "That's what makes it unacceptable."

Ron's jaw clenched. "And what about you?"

A smile. "Oh, I await your judgment, my lord. But try to take one thing at a time. She was your wife, after all."




Mad Dog and the Dream Ch. 03



Ron thought about the gun, out in his car. "I don't know what to do."

"Justice never does." He ran his teeth over his gums. "But remember, it's not about fairness and it's not about prevention. It's too late for that. It's about what is deserved."

"I don't know."

"Liar. What did you deserve, Ron? When you abandoned Lee, or when you tried to save yourself by ending Larry? What did you deserve for that?"

Ron held his hands out, palm up, and looked down at them. "I can't."

"You can."

He shook his head. "No. I can't. And you've made a mistake. You've been keeping me in line by threatening my marriage, my wife, and my life. Now you've ruined two of those and made the third much less valuable to me. You can't control me anymore."

"You're not ready to die. Not by half."

"What makes you so sure?"

"You left the gun in your car," Andro didn't seem to be taking any delight in the exchange. He seemed almost like a disappointed parent who was trying to hide from their child the fact that they'd been let down. "And if you think that this has been about controlling you...if you think I have any interest in removing your ability to decide your path...then you are only moving further away from the truth."

"What is the truth, then?"

Andro's eyes went wide. "What a question," he said under his breath. He looked genuinely stunned. Then, "I honestly don't know."

Ron stared at him, cold and angry, for several seconds. "Did you tell her?" he asked. "Did you tell my wife about....who I am?"

Andro shook his head. "If you haven't told her, then she doesn't know."

Ron felt the last vestige of hope go out of him. He wasn't sure if he could forgive infidelity under any circumstances, but he had at least hoped that he could identify some simple explanation as to how Andro turned Maddy so completely. If the tall man had revealed the truth, then at least Ron could walk away with an understanding of who his wife was and why she was capable of betraying him. He didn't want to consider that it was as simple or easy for her as it appeared.

He believed Andro, though. If anything, the man always told the truth.

"But what is the truth?" he asked, not to Andro or even himself but just to say it.

Andro put a hand on his shoulder. "I honestly don't know." He let go, and sighed.

Ron shook his head. "Well, whatever it is, I'm done. You've got nothing over me now. Kill me, I guess, if you have to, but I'm walking away. I'll be away from this town by nightfall."

Andro nodded. "If that's what you feel you need to do. If you leave tonight you can be on your way to safety long before Piero realizes you're gone." He stepped aside, leaving Ron an unblocked route to the front door. "I won't go after you. And I promise to do what I can, to make Maddy's suffering brief. Piero will of course demand some amount of retribution, but I won't let the Doctor have her for more than a single day. I swear it."

Ron stared. "Why would Piero want to hurt Maddy? She's yours now."

Andro shook his head. "No. She's not."

"Don't bullshit me, Andro. We both know-"

"Absolutely nothing. And yet you keep wanting to pretend. Are you proud of how little you know? Is that what it is?" He shook his head. "Piero can not allow Ron Melor to sneak away twice. It looks bad. So, he will take what he can get."

"Then I have to get Maddy out of here."

"Even if she would listen to you, even if she believed it, she wouldn't go with you, Ron."

"Goddamn it, Andro!"

"Let her go. It really is that simple. Walk away. You've done it before."

Ron stared at the door, but didn't move. He thought of Tony's wife, mutilated and gurgling. He smelled his own vomit, there on the floor.

"If I stay?"

Andro barked a laugh. "Why would you do that? The woman betrayed you. She fucked around behind your back. Don't tell me you haven't thought of killing her yourself."

"Maybe I have. We all think about it, at some point in our lives. But the Doctor...I..." he trailed off. "My god."

Andro nodded. 

"If I stay, will she be safe?"

Andro shrugged. "Stay. Find out. You have been remarkably single-minded in your actions thus far, Ronald Melor. Stay the course, and maybe the dream will be over soon. Maybe you'll wake up."

Ron glared at him. "I thought you didn't want that. I thought you were fucking scared of it. What happens to you?"

Andro shrugged again, making his way over to the bottom of the steps. "That's what I'm hoping to find out," he admitted. "Find a hotel. Pay in cash if you can. Be back here tomorrow at noon. Piero flies in at seven, but he and I have other business that you don't need to be here for."

Ron bit his lip as Andro began making his way up the steps. Maddy was up there...

"What if I don't leave now?" he asked.

"I guess you can watch my dogs eat your vomit. I'm going to let them out, first." He winked.

He clenched his hand into a fist. "You bastard."

Andro reached the top of the stairs, and he stopped. "I'm not, actually. I knew my father." He turned back. "He was a humorless man. But then," he smiled, "my mother was a real bitch."

And then he turned and was gone. 

Ron walked over to the doorway, put his hand on the knob, and stopped. He briefly considered climbing he stairs. Then, he heard the sound of a door opening and two large dogs barking. Their paws were heavy thuds on the floor as they ran.

He turned the knob and left.

He weighed over Andro's advice as he drove, but decided he would just as soon spend the night in his own bed. Even if the empty spot next to him would be a reminder of just how much he'd lost.

He tried to put a motive, a reason of any sort, to Maddy's actions. If Andro said she didn't know the truth about his past, then Ron believed it. Andro was no liar...he loved truth with a sycophant's drive. The only lie Ron had seen him tell was when he explained how the two men knew each other...and even that was mostly a series of half-truths, or truthful statements taken out of context. But what could possibly explain her behavior now? From the very start, even before Ron had met the tall man, Maddy had been spending time with Andro and lying about it. Then, as Andro dangled death and madness before him as threats to keep him in line, he'd also managed to further Maddy's disconnect and, ultimately, to drive her away and into his own bed. 

The idea that she would lie to him, cheat and abandon him for another man, was incongruous with everything Ron thought he knew about Maddy. But the way she went about it...the indignation, the weeping phone call, the denial even as she stood in Andro's house, in Andro's robe, her hair wet from Andro's shower...it baffled him.

What could possibly explain the gaping canyon separating her words from her actions? The whole thing stunk of Andro's manipulations, yet Ron couldn't think of any explanation that would absolve Maddy. There was simply no way he could convince himself that she was guiltless. 

Of course, neither was he.

From the beginning, Andro had leashed him with an amused insistence, and Ron had suffered it in the hope of somehow waiting the storm out. In trying to play it safe, he'd aided in his own collaring. And he should have known that once that was done, it would make the both of them that much easier to bring to heel.

He shook his head. He would not blame himself. What more could have been done? Maybe he should have told her the truth from day one, but he'd spend the last few days doing everything he could to protect her. He'd been desperate. After seeing what happened to Tony...

And he'd trusted her, goddamn it. He'd trusted her! 

"How could you?" she'd asked. And then she'd hung up. 

How could he what? Try to save them both? Try to protect Maddy from the consequences of his own past mistakes? Love her?

How could he? How could HE?!

How could she?!

He wiped a tear from his eye as he rode the on-ramp onto the interstate.

Ron sat up all night, in his recliner, staring at the wall before him. There was no need to sleep. Tomorrow would be a short day.

They would all be there. Andro, Maddy, Piero. The Doctor. The ghost of Larry, and the memory of Lee. The spirits of Tony and his wife. The dim spectre of a child who had barely known this world before being sent on into the next.

And Ron, who had in his way helped to bring all of these people to their end.

He didn't move, just listened to the clock on the mantel quietly clicking away the seconds. He waited, with a patience that stretched into eternity. 

Tomorrow, he had decided, Andro was going to get his gun back.

Eventually, the dark took on a faint blue hue as the sun began tentatively accepting a new, if familiar, mission. Ron Melor watched it come, waiting until the blues had become purples, then reds, then simply light as the daylight found its happy medium. He watched the day come on, new and teary. He watched it grow into a moody, if optimistic, adolescent. He waited. Finally, it was beginning to careen towards the beginnings of a fat, lazy middle age. And then Ron went out, and had breakfast.

He took his time. He didn't simply eat his pancakes and scrambled eggs, he tasted them. He drank three cups of coffee. He paid his bill. And then he was ready to die.

It was nearly two when he arrived at Andro's, well after the time he'd been told to show up. He parked by the large marbled mailbox and tucked the pistol into his waistband. There wasn't really a plan, or an inkling of hope. There wasn't really a future to plan for. There was only the moment.

He took a deep breath, opened the door, and got out.

No sooner had he reached the front door than it swung open. Once again, Andro seemed to have predicted his arrival. He was shirtless again, with a swimming suit dripping water on the floor and a towel in his hands. 

"Ron!" he said, smiling. "I was beginning to worry that you might have skipped town. I would have been disappointed."

Ron looked at him, and didn't speak. Now was the moment; Andro was weaponless.

But before he could move, the tall man swung in and gave him a strong-gripped, water-logged, hug. He'd dropped the towel in his hands as he reached out to give Ron the warm embrace of a long-lost brother. 

It was so unexpected, so incongruous with Andro's usual behavior, that Ron froze. His muscles tense, but his joints locked. Of all the scenarios that had played out in his mind, none of them involved such intimate, personal contact with his enemy. It wasn't until Andro pulled back, and Ron was becoming aware of the dampness on his clothes, that he realized that Andro had taken the gun.

Andro looked at him, the smile still strong on his face, and he hefted it. He popped the clip out, inspected it, seemed to be evaluating the weight, and then reinserted it. "I know," he said, "and you're right." His smile faded a bit, and his eyes became caring, concerned. "But not just yet. It will be soon. I promise. It'll even be today. You just have to be patient for a little bit longer. Come on," he turned and walked back through the large open area that segued between foyer, living room, and kitchen, and to a pair of patio doors that sat opposite the front door at the back of the house. "Let us enjoy what time we have left," he called over his shoulder. "Besides, I have a present for you. One I think you'll like."

He turned and waited. Ron clenched his jaw, and reached down with one hand to feel the empty space on his waistband where the gun had pushed against his skin. Then, he followed.

Andro's back patio area was a large concrete sitting area that wrapped around a swimming pool and hot tub. Near the hot tub was an aluminum patio set that included three swivel chairs wrapped around a half-circle mini bar, and two love seats sitting opposite each other with a fire pit in the middle. Piero, his waddling fat frame clad in nothing more than a pair of wet swim trunks, reclined in one of the love seats with a drink in his hand. His feet were up on the edge of the fire pit. He eyed Ron with an amused loathing, and then turned to the short, thin figure propped up at the minibar.

In response to whatever he said, Ron saw the Doctor turn slowly in his seat to look at him. He appraised Ron in a way that reminded him of farmer evaluating cattle to be sent to butcher. He was of Korean descent...for all Ron knew, he might have been born there...but his features were wholly unique. His eyes were so small on his wrinkled face, so buried in the folds that sat above his prominent cheekbones, that it was often hard to tell which direction he was looking in. His mouth had a thin, hard quality about it, as though the world were continually disappointing him, and his wiry hair was so thin that it gave his head the appearance of being a small, fuzz-laden skull.

The Doctor turned back to Piero and said something in response. The two men shared a laugh. Andro, who had seen this transaction as well, turned sympathetic eyes on his protégé and said, "Don't worry, my friend. That's not how it ends."

Ron nodded. A noise caught his ear...the kind of soft splashing sound, matched with a pattering drip that occurs when one exits a swimming pool. He turned, and saw Maddy.

She wore a modest one piece suit, one he didn't recognize. The truth was that, in the midst of the jealousy and confusion he felt towards her at the moment, even a modest one piece swimsuit was enough to spark heat in his chest and stain his vision red. Soaked, it clung to her body and betrayed all of her curves. She may have been well-covered, this woman he had hoped to share his life with, but she was still exposed.

As she approached the two of them, Maddy was looking at him with an expression he couldn't read. Disappointment? Embarrassment? Anger? Then she turned to Andro, and it softened. It didn't quite become a smile...her eyes were too sad for that...but it was definitely something warmer.

"Hi," she said, letting her eyes dart briefly to her husband before settling them on Andro. Ron noted that she came to a stop much closer to the tall man than to himself. A pledge of allegiance.

"Hey," Andro reached out and ran his hand across the small of her back. She didn't fight it. "Are my friends boring you?"

She shrugged. "I don't think I'm in much of a partying mood," she admitted. "I think maybe I'll go lay down for awhile." Ron remained expressionless. The whole thing, the whole display, was a message for him. How she managed to avoid looking in his direction, to avoid any sign of concern or compassion, was beyond him.

Andro shook his head and pulled her closer. "Stay. Stay. It's going to get real interesting here in a second, and I would really like for you to be here to see that."

"Let her go," Ron found himself blurting out. "She should go. Really." 

Andro laughed. "Ron. Ron. I know you're frustrated, but she can't possibly leave now. What good would that do us?" He took her by the hand, and pulled her gently along as he moved over towards where Piero and the Doctor still sat. "But since you're both so nervous, the least I can do is get things moving in the right direction."

Ron followed behind, quickening his pace to catch up. "Andro-" he started, but it was too late.

"Maddy Melor," Andro said with an air of formality, "meet Piero Saietta. Piero, Maddy."

Piero made a halfway effort to stand up, tipped his drink in her direction, and then plopped back down in his seat. "Mrs. Melor," he said. "I've heard so much about you."

"I'm afraid I can't really say the same," Maddy admitted.

"Oh, it's all very interesting," Andro smiled. "Piero, I've been promising Maddy that I would tell her some stories about our Ronald, but the truth is I'm not much of a storyteller. Got any good ones?"

Piero returned Andro's grin. "As a matter of fact, I do. Mrs. Melor, has Ron ever told you that he used to work for me?"

Ron stepped forward. "Don't do this. It's not her problem."

Piero shook his head sadly. "You made it her problem, Ron. You made it everyone's problem."

"What problem?" Maddy asked nervously.

Piero turned back to her with an expression of patient wisdom. "You see, Mrs. Melor, I am what they call a criminal. My business involves any number of activities that are, to many people, unsavory. And Ron here was in my employ for some three years. He was a good man. He didn't ask questions, or struggle with his conscience. Mostly he took care of the delivery of goods."

Maddy looked anxiously around at the men. "Is this a joke?" she asked. None of them looked amused.

"Maddy-" Ron started, but Andro put a hand up and he fell silent. It was too late now, anyway.

"So one day," Piero continued, "I send him out with a couple of guys, Lee and Tony. Lee's a good guy, just like Ron. Tony's a shit. A real 'look out for number one' type." He shook his head. "It's my fault, really. Tony shoulda been dead twice over by that point, anyway. So word gets around that a third party is interested in this transaction, and now there's a little more risk to the venture. Tony starts talking to our man Ron here, telling him it's not worth it. It's too dangerous, and they should get out while they can." Piero was still putting on the airs of a patient old man, but his face was beginning to color. He stood up, setting his drink down. "Ron...I don't know, maybe it just gets to be too much for him...Ron decides to listen to him. To walk away. To just run. Lee, he's a good guy like Ron, but he's got something Ron doesn't: loyalty. He is unwilling to betray. He's a foot soldier above all else. Lee tells them he's going to stay. Now," Piero's face was blotchy red now, his countenance dark, "Ron has a choice to make at this point. Run away with Tony, knowing full well that it will leave Lee on his own and will certainly lead to his death, or stay and risk his own life in order to both do his job and to help a friend. Do you stand with the Christians against the lions, or do you watch from the Colosseum seats?" He curled his lip up in a sneer and stepped forward, causing Maddy to lean back imperceptibly from him. "Ron leaves. He fucking leaves! And Lee dies. And then, do you know what he does?" His voice began to raise in volume, until he was almost shouting, "He decides that his big mistake, his big failure, is the loss of money! Lee isn't even buried yet, and Ron has already forgotten him! Yeah, Ron tries to make it right. He starts selling off a bunch of his personal possessions to try and replace as much of the money he cost me by running away as he can. But that's what he thinks is wrong: money. As if money makes it better! As if it will erase his failure! As if Lee hadn't died for nothing!" He turned, suddenly, and punched Ron in the face. For a fat old man, there was surprising strength there. Stumbling backwards, taken completely by surprise, Ron fell onto his back and touched his fingers to his lip. "You motherfucker!" Piero howled down at him. "And now, I call on you to redeem yourself, to purify your soul! I come to you and ask you to help me expand into this area, and on your first run out you fucking shoot an unarmed messenger! You killed two men in cold blood, Ron! And for what? Did you think you were getting back at me? Did you think you were making a point? You've started a war! People will die because of you!" Spittle flew from his mouth as he shouted, and he wiped his forearm across his mouth. "Do you know what you are? Do you know what you fucking are? You're a dog, Ron. A goddamn dog! And do you know what we do with a dog that doesn't do what it's told? Do you know what we do with a mad fucking dog, Ron? Do you?!"

In an instant, the gun was in Andro's hand. Where it had come from Ron didn't know. "We promote them," the tall man said, and then he raised it up and fired two quick shots directly into Piero's face. It made surprisingly little mess. The first shot caused a small mist of blood, which spotted Maddy's face. She screamed and fell backwards, ending up on her ass the ground a few feet away from Ron before rolling into an almost fetal position. The second shot caught the mafioso in the forehead as he fell backwards, producing little more than a dark hole.




Mad Dog and the Dream Ch. 03



The Doctor gently sidestepped as the body tapped his shoulder on its way to the ground. He had barely reacted at all, although Ron could see a twinkle light up his beady eyes. Ron himself had jerked in surprise at the first shot, and had to make a conscious effort to close his mouth. He stared up at Andro.

Andro, ignoring him, glanced at Maddy, who let out one more terrified scream. He then turned to look at the Doctor, eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.

The Doctor smiled. "It's very good," he said. His Far East accent was so thick that he gave a short perfunctory pause between every word, as though each were its own sentence. "Yes. Always creative. And now you will wish for control."

Andro shook his head. "I won't. My dream isn't over, yet." He turned to Ron. "But his is, I think." He bent down, and offered the shocked man the weapon. "We are down to our last bullet, Ron. And I very much look forward to your decision." He said it calmly, gently. His eyes searched Ron's face with bald curiosity. "Even if it's me."

Ron looked at the offered gun, and then up at the tall man's calm gaze. "No," he said. "Not now."

"Oh, yes, my friend," Andro said. "It's time to wake up." He set the gun down on the ground next to Ron's hand, and stood up. "It's a long time we've been chewing on the crust of this planet. So much has been said, and so much has been done." He looked at the symbols of excess around them, the pool and the large house, and shook his head. "But what does it all mean? Can you tell me that?"

"No," Ron said lamely. But his fingers reached out and curled around the gun.

Andro returned his eyes to Ron's face, his expression becoming pleading. "What does it all mean?" He asked again, his voice so earnest that Ron knew he meant it. He genuinely hoped Ron would be able to answer his question.

He had been right about Andro: he would be left standing at the end of all things. But he had been wrong about the question the tall man would hurl up at the heavens with his last breath. And know Ron knew what that question would be.

"What does it all mean?"

"I don't know," he said. But, after a moment, he pushed himself up and climbed to his feet.

Andro's voice rose up in volume, becoming loud without yelling. "Please, Ron! I've been waiting! I've waited for so long! Tell me what it all means! I want to know!"

"It doesn't mean anything," Ron said numbly. "And it never did."

"You're wrong!" Andro barked. "It did once! It meant something! It mattered! What changed?"

Ron stared blankly at him. Then his brow twitched. He looked at Maddy. "Nothing. Nothing changed. It was always like this. This idea that you can put your faith in each other, that human emotion is mean to draw us together rather than apart...that people are basically good...it's a lie."

"It's not a lie, Ron. Think! What is it really?"

Ron swallowed hard, his gaze lingering on his sobbing wife, and turned back to look at Andro. "It's not a lie. It's a dream."

Andro nodded, his head rocking madly on its axis. "Wake up, Ron," he said.

Ron's eye twitched again. "I don't want to." 

"You need to wake up."

"No." He looked at the gun. "Maybe it is a dream. But I want it. It's a good dream. And I want to believe that I can find someone, someday, who I can put that kind of faith in again. I want someone to have that faith in me."

Andro bared his teeth. "Wake up, Ron!" His eyes were wild, now. He was breathing through his mouth.

"Why?" Ron waved his hands out wide before him. "Is it so bad? If this is the dream, then what's wrong with that? Even if it is like a drug, or a destructive habit, is the harm that great? Is it so wrong, at the end of the day, to think that love...just love...is enough?" He looked down at Piero's sprawled figure. Dark red matter, mucusy and thick, pooled around the dead man's head. "If you don't have that to believe in, what's left to have?"

"Reality! Reality is left to have, and it's better than any dream could ever be! It's better because you know that it's true." Andro held up his hands beseechingly. "Wake up! For god's sake, wake up so you can teach me what it all means!" Shouting now, Andro wiped at his wet lips. He was panting.

Ron looked at him for a long time, and then down at the gun. "What it all means?" he said quietly to himself. "Will I really know?"

"Wake up."

He turned, and looked down at Maddy.

"Ron," she said between gasping breaths. "Please..." Her eyes were wide with terror.

"There it is, Ron," Andro growled. "You took all of your faith, and you put it right there." He pointed at the terrified woman. "It has to go."

"It's not her fault," he whispered.

"Fault?" Andro howled. "Fault? You think this is about blame?! That's the dream talking! That's not you. Wake up!" He rocked on his heels, growling wordlessly.

Maddy was convulsing in horror. "Oh god, please," she said under her breath.

Ron stared passively at her, his face becoming expressionless and peaceful. "Oh god," he nodded, "please." 

Then he brought the gun up and fired.

The bullet took her near the center of her chest, and she spent some time coughing and convulsing on the ground before going still. They watched her go, each for their own reasons, none of them speaking or acknowledging the others. And when it was over and everyone calm, Andro turned to Ron. 

"They'll want me to take Piero's place," he admitted. "But I think you know I can't do that."

Ron nodded. "Still, I'll need you with me."

"You don't need anybody, now. That's the point." He let a deep breath in and out. "But I need you. You have to teach me-"

"What it all means." Ron bit his lip, and thought a moment. "How many bullets are there, really?"

"In that clip? Two more."

He nodded again. "Maybe I don't need anyone," he handed the weapon over to Andro, "but you're coming with me anyways. Both of you." He handed the gun back over to Andro, and walked out of the dream.