Killer, an almost full-grown French terrier male with a smashed face reminiscent of a pug, had been whimpering for the last few miles of the trip. Sandy had handed Tracy a water-bottle, “here try this,” she said.
But Killer was not one to pee in the bottle, no matter how many times his mistress and her friend tried to show him how to do it so it was time to stop and relieve the poor dog. It was starting to get dark so Sandy pulled over when she saw a small gas station in an equally small town with a store attached.
Tracy took Killer out for a pee and Sandy filled up the car. “I’ll get some sodas and candy,” Sandy remarked as Killer pulled Tracy to a small wooded area near the back of the store. He snuffled against the ground until he reached the dumpster filled to overflowing with garbage bags all around.
Suddenly Killer let out a low moan and pulled Tracy to one of the bags. He pawed the bag until a foot with a shoe popped out. Another low moan and Killer rolled on the bag. Tracy was still trying to process that there was a real foot attached to a real shoe.
With shaky hands, Tracy called Sandy on her IPhone. “We got a problem.” Before she could explain, Sandy shouted back, “Help. I’m being attacked by a one-armed meth addict.”
It took only ten minutes later after Tracy’s frantic 9-1-1 call that the Sheriff arrived.
He looked at the two women covered in dirt and leaves. Down at their feet was an unconscious one-armed man.
“Where’s the dead body?” he asked. Both of the women pointed to the moaning dog on the garbage bag.
“Tourists,” he muttered.
Published in I’m a Flasher in 2011.