Page 19 of Race With The Devil

Wolf bowed prissily to Lytton. “Exactly. Ladies. Let me ask you a delicate question. Were you aware that Lavinia was, ah, with child? Well, she was. Four months along, as she texted to her sister Ophelia in Ganado.”

Ganado was in the Four Corners rez, part of the Navajo Nation. I’d rescued a few strays from those rezzes before. They loved dogs like the rest of us—they just didn’t have the resources to feed or care for a lot of them, so the dogs roamed around in feral packs.

Wolf said firmly, “Yeah. You see what I’m getting at. All the more reason for Tutti to not want to marry her.”

I said, “And a damned good reason for Tutti to marry her.”

Wolf shrugged. “It could go either way. But all those times Tutti reiterated how their marriage wasn’t in such a honeymoon stage? Well, I found plenty more evidence of that.”

Clicking a few more times, Wolf brought onscreen a text from Lavinia to Ophelia. The little graphic balloon said:

Tutti is such a stupid bilagaana. He treats me like a slave, so I have no time to go out. I spend all day Monday washing and ironing his asshole clothes. Tuesday is housecleaning. Wednesday is food shopping. At least then I get to see my friends. Sideshows are my only outlet. I tell Tutti I am picking up his favorite ribs and cornbread, which gives me a little extra time.

“I didn’t realize she was such a slave,” said Bellamy. “I know Tutti encouraged her to quit her kiddie daycare job, mainly because it didn’t pay squat. Guess he could use her cheaper than a maid.”

“Or a charwoman, prostitute, chef, and bookkeeper,” said Unity.

It made me think. Had I treated Joy like that? Had she gone back to Bernard, a guy who seemed completely built of flaws to hear her tell it, because he didn’t force her to wash his skivvies? Not that I did—Joy and I didn’t even live together. But would I, if we did live together? It wasn’t entirely out of the question. And sure, if she didn’t work and I was out in the field picking up, training, and delivering canines, it’d be nice to have a home-cooked meal. And someone who was dog-friendly to help with training or cleanup or general maintenance. Fact, I could sure use an assistant other than Josie and Curly, my faithful Air Force reject with Down’s Syndrome. Curly was slow but thorough, and Josie wasn’t much for women’s touches, like cooking.

Someone to wash my skivvies. Was I a sexist? I realized I was starting to sound like a Bare Boner.

Wolf flashed a text from Ophelia to Lavinia:

What about that time he tried to strangle you, Lavinia? I feel you are playing with a loaded gun here.

“That’s it?” cried Unity. “That was the whole text? How did Lavinia answer?”

Wordlessly, Wolf clicked.

I am trying to forget that time, Ophelia. Let’s just say it was a one-off. Besides, he doesn’t even know I’m pregnant yet. That’ll change him. What man could fail to fall in love with his own unborn child?

The sentiment was so outrageously ignorant that everyone in the room went silent for several seconds. Finally, Unity sighed deeply.

“It’s more like the opposite. Men find out you can’t get pregnant, they flock around you.”

“Right,” said Bellamy. “You’re a free ride.”

The women seemed to know a lot about infertility and it seemed to pain them, so I stood and said with authority, “All right. We’ve established that Tutti, as expected, is a giant peckerhead. Wolf, what were the very last texts?”

“Well, it’s telling,” said Wolf. “The last texts were Sunday. As you recall, Tutti reported she drove away with José Tuesday.”

I commanded him. “Show.”

He clicked. The text was from the random wolf himself, Tutti.

Lovey. I feel that since we wed, we have become distant from each other. I propose to take a romantic drive down the south rim of the Grand Canyon. We can watch the sun set over the flaming gorge, and hike as you love to do down to Grandview Point. What do you say, Lovey? Do you think this would revitalize our marriage?

Many lip farts were made, but it was Unity who said, “The Walter White of Flagstaff he may be. But he’s not the Ezra Pound.”

Tobiah laughed. “I was going to say the same thing! Robinson Jeffers he ain’t, with his flaming gorges.”

“Ha,” Wolf barked. “I saw that piece of shit poem you wrote Tracy on front of the fridge.” His voice took on a sappy drip, and he used the remote control as a microphone. “’Oo, Tracy! What happens in the nighttime when it’s quiet, you sit on your bed and think why?’ I’ll tell you why, nerd! Why is because your dick is too small! There’s the answer to all your cornball questions.”

“Oh, yeah?” whined Tobiah. “You’re the one who couldn’t figure out the harness pulley and left me dangling from the ceiling ‘til Tracy got out of the bathroom.”

Wolf acted as if he didn’t hear Tobiah. He kept reciting the poem. “’Oo, Tracy. The black empty hollow of your being, yearning for someone, yet afraid, wants to be filled.’ Hey, I’ll tell you where you can get your black empty hollow filled for free, bud.”

Tobiah got to his feet. His spindly legs, clad in burgundy velveteen pants, seemed hardly strong enough to hold up his beak, much less his skull. “That’s it, egghead! I know you borrowed my gladiator harness without asking and stretched it out. I thought we agreed no play time with Tracy unless all three of us are present? Yet I go to put it on, and it looked like Dolly Parton’s been wearing it!”