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."