But it had only been a twitch of the curtain. That was all. She had seen Lady Luck for a bare, brief moment, as wonderful, puzzling, and inexplicable as a bright fairy dancing under mushrooms in the dewy light of dawn ... seen once, never again. So she felt a pang when the ticket disappeared from her view, even though it had robbed her sleep. She understood that she would buy a lottery ticket a week for the rest of her life and never win more than two dollars all at once.
Never mind. You don't count teeth in a gifthorse. Not if you were smart.
They went out to Portland Machine and she had written the check, reminding herself to stop at the bank on their way home and transfer enough money from savings to checking so that the check wouldn't bounce. She and Joe had a little over four thousand dollars in their savings account after fifteen years. just about enough to cover three quarters of ,their outstanding debts, if you excluded the mortgage on the farm. She had no right to exclude that, of course, but she always did. She could not bring herself to think about the mortgage except payment by payment. But they would dent the savings all they wanted to now, and then deposit the Lottery Commission check in that account when it came. AU they would be losing was two weeks' interest.
The man from Portland Machine, Lewis Belasco, said he would have the chainfall machine delivered that very afternoon, and he was as good as his word.
Joe Magruder and Ronnie DuBay got the chainfall on the truck's pneumatic Step-Loader, and it whooshed gently down to the dirt driveway on a sigh of air.
'Pretty big order for ole Joe Camber,' Ronnie said.
Magruder nodded. 'Put it in the barn, his wife said. That's his garage. Better get a good hold, Ronnie. This is a heavy whore.'
Joe Magruder got his hold, Ronnie got his, and, puffing and grunting, the two of them half walked it, half carried it into the barn.
'Let's set it down a minute,' Ronnie managed. 'I can't see where the hell I'm goin. Let's get used to the dark before we go ass over cowcatcher.'
They set the chainfall down with a thump. After the bright afternoon glare outside, Joe was mostly blinded. He could only make out the vague shapes of things - a car up on jacks, a workbench, a sense of beams going up to a loft.
'This thing ought -' Ronnie began, and then stopped abruptly.
Comin out of the darkness from beyond the front end of the jacked-up car was a low, guttural growling. Ronnie felt the sweat he had worked up suddenly turn clammy.
hairs on the back of his neck stirred.
'Holy crow, you hear that?' Magruder whispered. Ronnie could see Joe now. Joe's eyes were big and scared- looking.
'I hear it.'
It was a sound as low as a powerful outboard engine idling. Ronnie knew it took a big dog to make a sound like that. And when a big dog did, it more often than not meant business. He hadn't seen a BEWARE OF DOG sign when they drove up, but sometimes these bumpkins from the boonies didn't bother with one. He knew one thing. He hoped to God that the dog making that sound was chained up.
'Joe? You ever been out here before?'
'Once. It's a Saint Bernard. Big as a fucking house. He didn't do that before.' Joe gulped. Ronnie heard something in his throat click. 'Oh, God. Lookit there, Ronnie.'
Ronnie's eyes had come partway to adjusting, and his half-sight lent what he was seeing a spectral, almost supernatural cast. He knew you never showed a mean dog your fear - they could smell it coming off you - but he began to shudder helplessly anyway. He couldn't help it.
The dog was a monster. It was standing deep in the barn, beyond the jacked-up car. It was a Saint Bernard for sure; there was no mistaking the heavy coat, tawny even in the shadows, the breadth of shoulder. Its head was down. Its eyes glared at them with steady, sunken animosity.
It wasn't on a chain.
'Back up slow,' Joe said. 'Don't run, for Christ's sake.'
They began to back up, and as they did, the dog began to walk slowly forward. It was a stiff walk; not really a walk at all, Ronnie thought. It was a stalk. That dog wasn't fucking around. Its engine was running and it was ready to go. Its head remained low. That growl never changed pitch. It took a step forward for every step they took back.
For Joe Magruder the worst moment came when they backed into the bright sunlight again. It dazzled him, blinded him. He could no longer see the dog. If it came for him now
Reaching behind him, he felt the side of the truck. That was enough to break his nerve. He bolted for the cab.
On the other side, Ronnie DuBay did the same. He reached the passenger door and fumbled at the latch for an endless moment. He clawed at it. He could still hear that low growling, so much like an idling Evinrude 80 hp motor. The door wouldn't open. He waited for the dog to pull a chunk of his ass off. At last his thumb found the button, the door opened, and he scrambled into the cab, panting.
He looked in the rearview mirror bolted outside his window and saw the dog standing in the open barn door, motionless. He looked over at Joe, who was sitting behind the wheel and grinning at him sheepishly. Ronnie offered his own shaky grin in return.
'Just a dog,' Ronnie said.
'Yeah. Bark's worse'n his bite.'
'Right. Let's go back in there and screw around with that chainfall some more.'
'Fuck you,' Joe said.
'And the horse you rode in on.'
They laughed together. Ronnie passed him a smoke.
'What do you say we get going?'
'I'm your guy,' Joe said, and started the truck.
Halfway back to Portland, Ronnie said, almost to himself: 'That dog's going bad.'
Joe was driving with his elbow cocked out the window. He glanced over at Ronnie. 'I was scared, and I don't mind saying so. One of those little dogs gives me shit in a situation like that, with nobody home, I'd just as soon kick it in the balls, you know? I mean, if people don't chain up a dog that bites, they deserve what they get, you know? That thing ... did you see it? I bet that motherhumper went two hundred pounds.'
'Maybe I ought to give Joe Camber a call,' Ronnie said. 'Tell him what happened. Might save him gettin his arm chewed off. What do you think?'
'What's Joe Camber done for you lately?' Joe Magruder asked with a grin.
Ronnie nodded thoughtfully. 'He don't blow me like you do, that's true.'
'Last blowjob I had was from your wife. Wasn't half bad, either.'
'Get bent, you fairy.'
They laughed together. Nobody called Joe Camber. When they got back to Portland Machine, it was near knocking-off time. Screwing-around time. They took fifteen minutes writing the trip up. Belasco came out back and asked them if Camber had been there to take delivery. Ronnie DuBay said sure. Belasco, who was a prick of the highest order, went away. Joe Magruder told Ronnie to have a nice weekend and a happy fucking Fourth. Ronnie said he planned to get in the bag and stay that way until Sunday night. They clocked out.
Neither of them thought about Cujo again until they read about him in the paper.
Vic spent most of that afternoon before the long weekend going over the details of the trip with Roger. Roger
