Punishment by Linden MacIntyre Page A

Caddy’s dog,” said Neil. He’d been standing at the back of the store, almost out of sight, elbow propped on the chip rack. “You and Caddy used to be a number years ago I think.”
    I laughed. “Christ, Neil. You keep saying that. It was another life altogether.”
    “The dog was always with little Maymie,” Lester said. The silence returned, this time heavier. Then he asked, “What do you think will happen to Strickland?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know much about the case.”
    “I’m betting he’s gonna walk,” said Neil. “Crooked lawyers will always find a way. Remember where you heard it first, guys. People like that know the system, know how to play it. You saw him in court. An ordinary person would have been shitting in his pants. But not that one. Cool as a cucumber was that son-of-a-hoor.”
    I knew I was being watched, commentary waited for. I studied the front page of the paper. Iraqi foreign minister saying something. Weapons inspections. Hans Blix skeptical. Considereddiverting the conversation to Iraq. Second thoughts. Christmas coming.
    “Caddy went away for Christmas,” I said. “I agreed to take care of the dog. He’s pretty low maintenance.”
    “I’m surprised you aren’t going away yourself,” said Neil, tension suddenly evaporated. “Must be pretty quiet over around Charlie’s. It isn’t easy being alone at Christmas.”
    I studied him, trying not to show surprise at hearing something close to empathy.
    “It’s just another day for me,” I said.
    Nods around, floor being studied. Thoughts unsaid. Always the loner, Tony was. Adopted, what would you expect. Never had any kids himself, even though he was married a dozen times, wasn’t he? Thick as thieves with Caddy years ago, until someone knocked her up. Someone not Tony. Suppressed smiles.
    Mary said: “Let me get you a little treat, Birch Bark …” The dog barked. “That’s the boy.”
    Lester squatted, scratched the dog’s head. “They were together all the time, Maymie and this here little guy.”
    “You must have got to know that Strickland pretty well,” said Neil. “Seeing him every day, in the joint.”
    “I didn’t see him every day, Neil. He was mostly in a different institution. It’s a pretty large population, as you know.”
    “Not fuckin large enough,” Neil said to laughter. I laughed too.
    “It looks like things are finally sorting themselves out in Iraq,” I said, holding up the paper. “Should take the pressure off Neil Archie and George W. to invade. Let them focus on the real enemy.” People glanced at Neil, expectantly.
    “And who might that be?” Neil asked.
    “Oh, I don’t know. Al-Qaida. Bin Laden. The people who blew up the towers.”
    “They’re all one and the same,” said Neil. “As long as that fuckin Saddam is there, it’s just a matter of time. You wait and see.”
    “What do you think, Birch?” Mary said. “I suspect your opinion is worth as much as anybody’s.”
    “Did you call him Bitch?” Neil asked, pretending innocence.
    “You’re an asshole, Neil,” Mary said. And everybody laughed in what I took to be unanimous agreement.
    It was pleasant returning to the house with someone in the car, even if that someone was a dog. I left the papers where I dropped them, on the kitchen table. Told myself: you’re wasting money, buying papers that end up mostly unread in the blue recycling sack at the end of the lane with all the cans and bottles. Buying papers was mostly a habit from Ontario—a public servant had to keep on top of things. What am I now, private servant, self-servant? The dog sat by the door and whimpered, looking at me, head atilt. Ah. Dog-servant.
    “Let’s take a hike, Birch.” He stood and smiled at me, nodding. “You’ll soon be talking back to me,” I said.
    The trail through the trees was once a railway track-bed. Birch dashed ahead of me, chasing creatures that I suspect were figments of a rich imagination, activating killing