The Analyst

“I still don’t know who you are,” the man said. He was squinting up at Ricky, trying to place him. The combination of the shadows, and the change in appearance worked to Ricky’s advantage. “What’s all this about? I don’t keep any cash here, and…”

“This isn’t a robbery, unless you think of taking information as a theft, which I used to imagine was in some ways the same,” Ricky answered cryptically.

The man shook his head. “I don’t get it,” he said flatly. “What do you want?”

“A while ago, a private detective came to see you with a few questions.”

“Yeah. So what?”

“I would like the same questions answered.”

“Who are you?” the man asked again.

“I told you. But right now, all you really need to know is that I’m a man with a gun, and you’re not. And the sole means you have of defending yourself is locked behind a fence and feeling pretty damn bad about it, too, from the looks of him.”

The ke

“I want to know about the couple that died and are buried down the road there. And how you acquired this place. And especially the three kids that they adopted, that you said they didn’t. And I would like to know about the phone call that you made after my friend Lazarus came to visit you the other day. Who did you call?”

The man shook his head. “I’ll tell you this: I got paid to make that call. And it was also worth my business to try to keep that guy here, whoever the hell he was. Too bad he split. I woulda had a bonus.”

“From who?”

The man shook his head. “My business, mister tough guy. Like I said, screw you.”

Ricky leveled the pistol at the man’s face. The ke

The gun remained steady in Ricky’s hand. He sighted down to a spot between the ke

“You know,” he said slowly, “you’re one hundred percent right. I haven’t really been in this position all that much. It’s pretty clear, to you, is it, that I don’t have a great deal of experience in this area?”

“Yeah,” the man said. “It’s damn clear.” He shifted his position slightly, as if he was relaxing.

“Maybe,” Ricky said with a singularly flat voice, “I should practice some.”

“What?”

“I said I should practice. I mean, how do I really know I will be able to use this thing on you, until I give it a bit of a workout on something a little less meaningful. Maybe significantly less meaningful.”

“I still don’t follow,” the ke

“Sure you do,” Ricky answered. “You’re just not concentrating. What I’m telling you is that I’m not an animal lover.”

As he said this, he lifted the pistol slightly, and keeping all the hours on the practice range up in New Hampshire in mind, Ricky slowly took in a deep breath, calmed himself utterly, and squeezed the trigger a single time.

The gun bucked harshly in his hand. A single report scoured the air. It whined into the darkness.

Ricky guessed that the bullet struck a bit of the fencing and split apart. He could not tell if the Rottweiler was hit or not. The ke

Dog bedlam returned to the yard, a siren of combined howling, barking, racing about. Brutus, the only animal confined, understood the threat he faced, and once again threw himself savagely at the chain links barring his path.

“Musta missed,” Ricky said nonchalantly. “Damn. And to think I’m such a good shot.”

He sighted down the pistol at the frantic, furious dog.

“Jesus Christ!” the ke

Ricky smiled again. “Not here. Not now. Why, I daresay, this has nothing to do with religion. The more important issue is: Do you love your dog, there?”

“Christ! Hang on!” The ke

Ricky eyed him with the same curiosity one might have if an insect started begging for its life before being subjected to a slap from the palm of one’s hand. Interested, but insignificant.

“Just hang on for a second!” the man insisted.

“You have something to say?” Ricky asked.

“Yes, damn it! Just hang on.”

“I’m waiting.”

“That dog is worth thousands,” the ke

“Don’t see that you give me much alternative. I could shoot you, but then, I wouldn’t find out what I need to know, and if, by some immense accident of police work, the cops ever managed to find me, why, I’d be facing significant charges-although you, of course, would find little satisfaction in that, being dead. On the other hand, well, as I told you, I’m not much of an animal lover. And Brutus there, well, to you he might be a paycheck, and maybe more, he might represent hours of time, and maybe even you might have some affection for him-but to me, why he’s just an angry, slobbering mutt eager to chew my throat out, and the world will be far better off without him. So, given the choice, I’m thinking that maybe it’s time for Brutus to head to that great old ke

Ricky’s voice was filled with mocking amusement. He wanted the man to think he was as cruel as he sounded, which wasn’t hard.

“Just hold it for a second,” the ke

“You see,” Ricky replied, “now you’ve got something to think about. Is withholding information worth the dog’s life? Your call, asshole. But make your mind up right away, because I’m losing my patience. I mean, ask yourself the question: Where are my loyalties? To the dog, who has been my companion and my meal ticket for so many years… or to some strangers who pay me for silence? Make a choice.”

“I don’t know who they are…,” the man started, causing Ricky to take aim at the dog. This time he held up both hands. “Okay… I’ll tell you what I know.”

“That would be wise. And Brutus will probably repay your generosity with devotion and by siring many litters of equally dumb and wondrously savage beasts.”

“I don’t know much…,” the ke

“Bad start,” Ricky said. “Making an excuse before you’ve even said anything.”

He immediately fired a second shot in the direction of the furious beast. This shot cracked into the dog’s wooden hut in the rear of the pen. Brutus howled in insult and rage.

“Damn it! Stop! I’ll tell you.”

“Then begin, please. This session has gone on long enough.”

The man paused, considering. “It goes back a ways,” he began.

“I’m aware of that.”

“You’re right about the old couple that owned this place. I don’t know exactly how the scam was run, but they adopted those three kids on paper only. The kids were never here. I don’t know exactly who they fronted for, because I came in after the couple was killed. Both of them in a car accident. I’d tried to buy this place from them a year before they died, and after they smashed up that car, I got a call from a man who said he was the executor of their estate, asking me if I wanted the place and the business. The price, too, was unbelievable…”