“That would be your problem,” he said, “Believe me, she'll thrash your house. Still a puppy.” He patted her head and ran his hand around her jowls. “Aren't you?” With his attention back on me, he said, “So how ‘bout it?”

The guy seemed to really need a favor. If he hadn't been facing the sunset, maybe I wouldn't have seen the need. “All right, let me see her. Her, right?”

“Yeah, she's a girl.”

Kneeling down, her tail whipped back and forth after she sniffed me. I took the leash and wrapped my hand in it the way he had it.

“Thanks a lot, mister. This is a huge help,” he said. He patted the dog on its head and petted the length of her body a couple times. “You be good,” he said.

“Sure,” I said. Looking down at the panting dog, I wondered how she would behave once the master was out of sight. “Not too long, right?” I called after him.

He turned and shook his head. By the lamppost, he paused. Traffic careened by a foot from where he stood on the sidewalk. He rubbed an eye with his fingertips and stepped to the edge of the curb, reminding me of an Olympic diver on the platform. “Hey,” I called to him, wondering what lunatic had just handed me a dog. “Hey!”

In a lucid motion too real for reality, he stepped in front of a pair of rushing headlights and popped through the air after a thunk like a melon against bricks. He landed near his dog and me. Knocked right out one of his shoes, he lay in a position no one could sleep in, his neck cocked too far back for breath. I looked away as the blood spread black like a rotten egg yolk across the asphalt in the dusk. Did that happen?

I had no idea how much was in my stomach, but I painted a good section of the sidewalk with whatever my guts produced. His dog pulled the leash and lapped at my mess.

I walked away from it. Tears blurred my vision, and my empty stomach pumped itself a couple more times with no reward. My arm jolted to the right, knocking me off balance, and then I remembered the dog and the leash wrapped around my hand.

Cars screeched behind me, where I knew he was laying. I shouldn't wander. I found a spot on the grass in front of the Big O Tires and sat.

Dusk gave way to dark, and the streetlights blinked on. Traffic crawled past him. Police lay down pink flares. Paramedics pantomimed the search for the life they knew was gone. His dog stopped pulling and rested near me on the grass. The police asked me questions.

No I didn't know him.    

Yes this was his dog.

He asked me to hold the leash for a second then he jumped into traffic.

Said he had to take a leak.

Never said his name, no.

I…I have no idea, no.

No, I didn't know him…

With care, they set him on the gurney and lifted him into the back of an ambulance. The rescue vehicle's lights painted the scene like a rave party. All the passing cars wanted a look at the dead guy. Officers waved the cars along. A paramedic climbed in back of the ambulance with him—just a courtesy they provide.

The ambulance wheeled away. The police took pictures and marked spots with small numbered pop tents like they'd give you for the edge of your table in a lunch café until your order came.

A new officer came to me.

No, I didn't know him.

No I can get home on my own.

Yeah, I'm sure. Thanks.

When they left, only that dog proved it ever happened.

I sat for a while, and then started the long walk home in the certain dark. “What will I do with you?” I said to the dog. I saw earlier that there was an address on a tag on her collar, and I assumed that that was the right address. But what the hell would I say? “Yeah, I uh…held your dog while the guy you lived with here and probably loved jumped to his death. But you know…Here's your dog and all.”

We continued walking. The trees and houses of my own neighborhood were strangers. If I took the dog home, and brought it back in the morning, they definitely would know by then, and that's an awkward breakfast to interrupt. What if they thought I was somehow involved, desperate to believe that he wouldn't have done this to himself and to them?

The dark stopped time. I knew was that it was late. If I could find the address tonight, I could slip the dog into the backyard and it would be over.

The address stuck in my memory complete with the bronze of the dog's tag and the yellowed street light glow that made me manipulate the tag for the best viewing. I thought the street was a block or two up about three blocks ago, but I kept heading the same direction, stopping only so the dog could pee.

The house was dark. The dog pulled toward it even before I confirmed that the numbers were right, and the whimpering and snuffling were loud. “Shhhh,” I said, believing the dog can hear the desperate urgency in a voice and that it would care.

Sure that they must have heard and turned on a light by now, I was shocked to see the house still dark. The back gate was at the top, right-hand side of the driveway. Easy as anything.

A metal lever stuck out at the top left of the gate and I worked it. Metal hit against metal, and the gate stayed shut. I looked down at the dog and weighed the option of tossing her over the fence. I wished whatever his name was had preferred those hamster-dogs that you see with people like Paris Hilton.

We made our away across the front of the garage to the small porch. A newspaper lay askew in front of the door. I knocked softly, got my nerve up and rang the bell. It chimed inside like a grandfather clock. The dog sniffed around the rim of the door, but no footsteps or light came. I rapped on the door harder and thought of Poe's raven.

Still nothing. I worked my lower lip against my teeth. The dog whined and scraped at the door. With a sigh, I tried the knob and it turned.

“Hello?” I gathered courage and pushed the door in farther. “Hello?” The door opened onto a sitting room. A couch facing the front window had jackets tossed on it. A black satchel leaned against the wall by the stairs. “Hello? I have your dog.”

The quiet of the house swallowed the sound of my voice. Boldness increased, and I stepped into the kitchen, hoping that these people were not the NRA type. I flipped on the light. A few dishes littered the sink and counter. A bowl of fruit sat on the corner of a piece of lined paper. The dog's crate sat against one wall of the kitchen, and she pulled for it. I let her in, took off the leash, and closed her in. She lapped water with fury.

That's when I should have left, but when I saw that the lined paper had writing on it, I had to look.

Call 911. Do not look for me. I am in the house, but I don't want you to see me like this. This will be better. You can have the life insurance and start over. Sorry…I just have to.

Linda

With pair of rubber gloves that draped over the sink's faucet, I grabbed the nearby portable phone and dialed 911. I listened to the tinny voice say, “911, what is your emergency?” and set the phone on Linda's note. They probably were already on their way here, assuming the man had an ID on him, but the note said call.

With a kitchen towel, I wiped at the doorknob at the front of the house and the lever at the gate for good measure. I was already too involved. The image of the man meeting the speeding car flashed in my head. I never guessed there be no one left to tell. I wondered if they had the greatest marriage or the worst.