I go in with a baseball slide and tangle my legs around his. I push with one leg on the back of his knees while the other stays in front to make sure he can't move forward. He goes down with a hard thud and stays kneeling.
I backroll away and see Clyde grab his attacker by the shirt and lift him up with a fist wound back for a punch. I watch his face go from a vicious snarl to one of surprise as he lets go of him and puts his fist down.
"Rocky?" Clyde says as he looks the man up and down. He seems to only be a little shorter than Clyde, and Clyde is not a short guy.
Before Rocky could respond, the bartender barks at all three of us. "No no no, there will be none of that on a goddamn Tuesday! Get the hell outta here! You should know better, Rocky."
"Sorry, Claire," Rocky apologizes as he leaves first with Clyde and me following him outside the bar. I can hear the bartender mumble profanities on the way out. In the setting sun, I get a better look at Rocky. He's an Anthro Dalmatian with an athletic build. If I had to guess, he might be a laborer.
"Fuck you, Clyde, and your midget friend over there!" are his first words.
I scratch my head. "I'm shorter than average, sure, but that's not a nice word to say."
Clyde shows his teeth again ready for Round 2. "What the hell is wrong with you, coming up to me with a sucker punch? If I didn't recognize ya, I couldn't spit on your body 'cause it'd be so beneath the ground!"
Now Rocky bares his teeth. "Bury me!? All them new muscles o' yours won't change our old record. You'd still lose right here right now!"
Clyde escalates and pushes Rocky hard on his chest. "I ain't that toothpick kid you once knew! Back off, or else I'll humble you out here in the street!"
Rocky pushes him back. "Then take a swing, new-and-not-improved loser!"
Clyde does, and in a presentation of unexpected performance, it's the slowest punch I've ever seen him throw. Rocky catches his hook and wraps his arm around his torso. He throws him with a hip maneuver, and Clyde hits the dirt.
Rocky straddles his hips and Clyde covers his face with his fists. Rocky grabs his wrists and tries to pin them to the ground. Clyde struggles hard, but he somehow is losing this test of strength.
A few more seconds pass and Clyde gives up. His wrists are pinned down and he lets out a defeated sigh, and I'm suddenly overtaken with immense heat as I watch this strange man beat my partner in a wrestling match.
I stifle a yelp, or a giggle, or a moan, I'm not sure what sound I was about to make. "Guys, I hate to break up this illegal dogfighting, but I'm sure a sheriff cruiser is on its way here after that spectacle inside. We should get moving or spend the night in jail."
I get ignored, and Rocky barks into Clyde's face. "Why'd you do it, huh? Why'd you treat me and my family like shit and then leave? Where did you even go? Why didn't you tell me?"
Clyde's glare is seething, but he can't do much while pinned. "Look, I can't get arrested right now. Let me up, and we'll go for a drive. I'll give you an explanation at least."
Rocky's muzzle points up, making him look down on Clyde. He gets off of him and doesn't offer to help him up. "Go on then, you ain't getting off the hook so easily."
Clyde begins walking to his car parked on the side, but once I try to follow he points at me and then wags his finger. "No. What are you even doing here anyway? I thought you were at the motel?"
I ball my fist. "You told me to explore the town! Are you going to leave me here to get arrested?"
He has the audacity to think about it first. "Fine. Backseat. Not a word."
"Sheesh," I say. We all pile in with Rocky sitting in the front. Clyde drives off, but probably not heading anywhere specific.
Rocky glances at me for only a second before awkwardly looking away. "Where'd you move to?"
Clyde doesn't turn his head. "Connecticut."
"What city?"
Clyde stays silent.
"What city, Clyde?"
"Hartford."
"I heard you talking to Claire, and she didn't even recognize you. You were talking all... different. You got rid of your accent too?"
Clyde, again, stays silent.
"Ashamed of where you come from? Figures, since you tried to cut off anything from your old life including your best friend." Rocky's voice was stern from the beginning, but now it raises in intensity.
"Yes, I tried to cut you off. I tried to never come back to this town, but I had to."
"You had to?"
Clyde brings out the photo of the leopard again. "I came for him."
Rocky takes the picture, eyeballs it, and shrugs. "Who's he?"
Clyde smacks the steering wheel. "Dammit, Rocky, that's the last gang member involved with my dad's murder! How could you not know that!? He's been released, and he's the only one that didn't get life in prison."
Rocky rests the picture on the dashboard. "Oh, that's a big thing, isn't it?" he whispers. "Well, what are you gonna do when you find him? It ain't like you've got the power to overstep the law or something."
Clyde glances at Rocky and doesn't say a word.
Rocky shifts in his seat. "Wait, why are you trying to find him? Whatcha gonna do when you catch him? You ain't gonna kill the guy, are ya!?"
Clyde slams on the brakes making me and Rocky fly forward and bounce back into our seats. "Get out."
Rocky shakes his head making his droopy ears flop around. "What?"
"Get out now! I told you what I could, now leave."
He crosses his arms and sits up straight. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what crime you plan on committing." He puts a foot up on the dashboard and knocks the glove compartment open. The only thing in there is a handgun.
Clyde quickly reaches over and shuts it. "You didn't see nothin'!"
"Like hell, I didn't!" He pushes Clyde's hand away and opens the door again. "You've got a gun, a photo of one of your dad's killers, and witnesses watching you ask around for his location! You're gonna get the big house if you get caught!"
"Clyde," I say from the backseat, "you were planning on killing him?"
Clyde's eyes lose their fire as they dance between Rocky and me. "I--I... I wasn't entirely sure. I thought I'd know what to do once I saw him."
I have to stop myself from hitting my forehead with my palm. "Clyde, you're usually much more levelheaded than this. You dove right in without an ending, and you're not even worried about the repercussions."
Clyde goes quiet for a bit, just staring through the windshield. Then he undoes Rocky's seatbelt, opens the passenger door by leaning greatly, and shoves his former best friend out onto the dirt road. Rocky turns to yell some more, but Clyde drives off like a hellcat and leaves him coughing in the dust.
I jump to the front seat. "Hey, big guy, are you feeling okay? How'd you lose a fight to a civilian? You're Ispio trained."
I see him grip the steering wheel harder. "It was a mental thing!"
"Okay, I apologize."
His frown is intimidating. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For this."
He pushes a button on the center dashboard; his hazard lights. They blink four times before he turns them off again.
I raise an eyebrow. "Did you think that was the ejector seat button on our company car?" I ask, my arms folded across my chest.
"Okay, now I really am sorry about this whole trip down here. I didn't want you to come because I never want you to see me at my worst. I already made it out in my head that I was ready to not show mercy the same way he didn't show my dad any."
"Oh, fuzzy puppy."
"Listen, I know you're stuck here with me, but I can't leave just yet."
"I don't think this is a good idea—"
"You don't have to follow me for any of this. Just wait at the motel, kill the time with tv or something."
"You have to be out of your mind if you think I'm leaving your side after everything you've just said!"
Without me even noticing he pulls into the motel parking lot and parks by the front entrance. I was flustered at the thought of him sneakily driving us back to this crud-pile so he can kick me out again.
"What? When did you--?"
"Get out," he says again.
I shake my head, cross my arms, close my eyes, and stick my snout upwards. "No."
He drags an open palm down his face as his cheeks glow red from beneath his fur. "Troy, sweetheart, if you don't let me finish what I came here to do, I'll have to remove you from the passenger seat."
I allow one eye to gaze at him. "Why are you talking like that?"
"I'm frustrated."
"Better frustrated than castrated."
He swings his door open with so much force that I thought it was going to come off the hinges. I panic as I see him speed walking to my side of the car and instinctively lock it. The click sounds and the locks go down. He tugs at my handle but is surprised that it won't open.
There's a calm before the storm of us just staring at each other. As soon as he makes the smallest muscle flinch I fly to the driver's side and stretch for the door handle. He almost beats me to it, but I grab the door and slam it shut.
He bangs on the window but holds much of his anger back. "I wasn't expecting you to do that."
"Yeah, you don't plan ahead when you're angry," I say nearly out of breath. My adrenaline must be high, I can feel my heartbeat in my ears.
"Unlock the doors."
"You're asking me to kill myself?"
"I'm not going to kill you."
"I have an idea. How about you wait in the motel room while I discard this nasty gun and picture that you have here?"
He shakes his head so hard his cute ears begin to flop side to side. "No no no, if you do that you will make me very sad."
I almost can't believe that he'd resort to appeasing my cuddly side to get what he wants. I have to look away when he begins to give me puppy eyes and lets his bottom lip quiver. "Sorry, babe, I promise to make it up to you somehow."
He ditches the cute act and spikes back up to unbridled rage. "Get out of my car or I'll skin---!"
I turn up whatever punk rock song is playing on the radio to max volume. His voice is overpowered by the heavy instruments and wild vocals, and as he dances around the parking lot in a tantrum, it almost looks like he's moshing along.
I speed out of the lot and leave him to his anger. It tugs at my heart to see him disappear in the rearview mirror, but I know that this place isn't good for him and I need to get him home as quickly as I can.
The sun has gone down and the full moon lights my way down this empty dirt road. I decide that the undisturbed swamps are as good a place as any to take a break. I pull over and grab the gun and photo. Disassembling the gun down to its basic components, I toss each piece into different directions of the water. I burn the photo with a pocket lighter first before scattering the ashes across the lake.
Without another car in sight, I hop back in Clyde's and drive back to the motel. He's not stomping in the lot anymore, so I park in a spot and head up to the room. As I reach for the knob, I stop myself and begin to imagine the yelling and fighting that's just behind this door, but that's nothing compared to what might've been.
I swing the door open with my head down and sheepishly walk in. When I raise my eyes, Clyde's nowhere in sight.
"Clyde?" I call out.
I walk around the tiny room and quickly run out of space to check. I see that the fridge door is practically bare except for the yellow stains on the white paint job and a single sticky note resting on the freezer door.
Gone Hunting!
Love, Clyde.
I shout to the walls of my room. "He even drew a hand giving me the middle finger!"