The Beast

   The bell on the door jingled and Bonnie looked up to see a stranger enter. She called out, "Grab a menu and sit anywhere you like. I'll get your order in a minute."
   He had jet-black hair, except for a streak of white that started at the top of his left ear and went down the back. He smiled, took a menu, and sat in the first booth facing her direction. He was trim and had broad shoulders.
   The stranger said, "Take your time. I'm in no hurry."
   Something in his smile and voice cheered her. He was no more than thirty, and rather handsome. Why would anyone come here but for the mine?
   "What can I get for you this evening?" the waitress asked and noticed that one of his eyes was green and the other blue.
   "What do you recommend?" he replied.
   In all the years she had worked at the tavern, no one had ever asked her this question. They either knew what they wanted or weren't interested in her opinion. This was different and it felt good as she suggested, "I recommend the corned beef and cabbage. It comes with a baked potato."
   "That sounds wonderful," he said—like he really meant it—then added, "Could I get a beer to go with that."
   "I'll put your order in at the kitchen and be back with the beer."
   When she returned with the beer she asked, "What brings you to town?"
   "I was hoping to get a job at the mine."
   "They're always hiring. So many people have moved away that there are more jobs than people willing to work all day in a hole."
   "I don't mind. I'm half gopher," he said and they both laughed.
   When she returned with his food he said, "By the way, my name is Dean."
   Each time she came back to check, he remarked that the food was delicious. The third time Bonnie said, "Come on now. It's not that good."
   "Compared to what I've been eating for the past six months it is."
   This made her wonder if he had been in jail, for where else could the food be that bad?
   He came to the tavern again the next evening and sat in the same booth. When Bonnie came to take his order she asked, "Did you get a job at the mine?"
   "I did," he replied, "I have two more days of safety training and then I start digging."
   "Go, go gopher!"
   He made a face and pretended to dig with his hands. They both laughed and he asked, "What's the special tonight?"
   "Spaghetti and meatballs. It's pretty good and it comes with a side salad."
   "That sounds perfect."
   "Can I bring you another beer this evening?"
   "Yes, please, but just one."
   This went on for an entire week before he sheepishly asked, "I noticed that you aren't wearing a ring. Does that mean you're not attached?"
   "That depends on who's asking," Bonnie replied.
   "I was wondering if you knew of anything to do around here besides work and eat," he explained, "and perhaps show me around."
   "I might," she said, "Besides the fights, the only thing to do around here is fish."
   "I try to avoid fights, but fishing sounds good."
   "I try to avoid the fights too."
   "I don't enjoy watching men beat each other's brains out."
   "It's not that kind of fights, but it degenerates to that often enough," she explained. "It's dog fights."
   "Oh," he said with disgust.
   "Not only is it disturbing to think of the animals ripping each other apart, my father is a compulsive gambler and has lost everything on the fights," she said and neither of them spoke for almost a minute.
   "I'm always ready to go fishing, but I don't have any tackle."
   "I have enough for two."
   "Would you show me where the big ones are biting this Saturday?"
   "I don't know if I can let you in on that secret just yet, but I'll show you a good spot on the river."
   "That's good enough for me. Since you're supplying the tackle and bait, let me supply the food."
   "That'll work for me."
   "Where shall I meet you?"
   "How about here at ten?"
   "Perfect," he said and they both sighed as they cleared the first hurdle in their relationship.
   They only caught one fish on Saturday, but they did a lot of talking and discovered that they had some things in common, including a mother who had passed away and a father who drank too much.
   Bonnie was insecure and more than a little self-conscious about her imperfections: the asymmetry of her nose and hair that refused to be parted the same way twice. Dean wasn't perfect either, with his white streak and mismatching eyes. His imperfections made her feel more comfortable with him than she had ever been with any guy before.
   He was kind too. She had yet to hear him say a bad word about anyone, including the unreasonable manager at the mine that everyone else who worked there couldn't stop fussing about. She was accustomed to hearing people complain and the absence of it was refreshing.
   Dean ate dinner at the tavern every night and they spent Saturdays together. They fished along the river, walked through the woods, and even borrowed a canoe and paddled down to the dam. They enjoyed each other's company, but never took the relationship any farther than that. They were both cautious.
   Dean didn't come to the tavern for three evenings in a row. When he did return, he acted like nothing had happened. Bonnie wanted to ask, but was hesitant to pry. Their relationship wasn't that serious and it wasn't her business, but curiosity is hard to suppress. At last she asked, "Where have you been lately?"
   He looked around and then said in a whisper, "The once-a-month thing always ruins relationships."
   "That's not fair!" she protested loud enough for the other patrons to hear. "We're not having sex and I'm not grouchy."
   He motioned with his hands for silence and said, "Keep your voice down. It's not you. It's me." He ordered his dinner and they never discussed it again.

* * *

   Several weeks passed and three strangers showed up. They arrived separately, but Bonnie suspected there was more to their arrival than coincidence. She noticed them subtly acknowledging each other and exchanging furtive signals. She mentioned this to Dean and he agreed.
   She tried to engage each one of them in conversation, but they were reticent. She couldn't pry so much as a name out of them and this reinforced her suspicions. Bonnie and Dean referred to the strangers as the fat one, the tall one, and the short one.
   There was only one subject they seemed to be interested in: gambling. They must have thought her obtuse, for all three asked the same rehearsed questions: "What do real men do around here for sport?" and "Where can a man like me see a good fight?"
   The three talked of money wearing a hole in their pockets and just itching to get out. They talked a little too loud, as if they were making announcements, rather than conversation. They also seemed to be a little too drunk for the amount of alcohol they consumed, which was always limited.
   Eventually the subject of dog fighting came up and the three strangers shifted gears. Of course, they had been to real fights, not this small town stuff. As the men of the town became more insistent that they too had real fights and fierce contenders, the strangers became more dismissive. Bonnie noticed that they were also careful never to use the word "dog".
   As the locals became more assertive, the strangers appeared to be less interested. Before long, the locals were practically begging them to participate in the fights. That's when the strangers began to reveal that they had an entry, but only brought it out when there was serious competition. At this time they also dropped any pretense of not knowing each other. From that point on, they were only seen together.
   The locals were caught up in the excitement of gambling and didn't find the behavior of the three strangers at all suspicious. Bonnie found it alarming. To make matters worse, her father had taken an interest and was trying to raise cash for the event. It was happening again. Her father was entering another downward spiral, beginning with gambling, drinking, and morbid depression.
   As they sat on the bank of the river Bonnie began, "I'm so frustrated. I can't bear to see these guys fleece the entire town and take my father down again with them. No one will listen to me. The Sheriff is convinced he's going to win big and retire."
   Dean replied, "These guys have done this before. They know what they're doing. It's going to be brutal—and not just for the animals."
   "We must find a way to stop them," she said.
   "There is another option," Dean said tentatively, "but you'd have to trust me."
   "I trust you," Bonnie said.
   "I mean really trust me, as in risk everything," he said.
   She was silent and so he added, "And you hardly know me. It's a lot to ask."
   "I'm the one asking."
   "There's a lot about me you don't know. I could be working with them and just setting you up."
   "I don't believe that. I'm not that bad a judge of character."
   "We can at least discuss it."
   "Agreed," she replied. "What's your plan?"
   "Beat them at their own game. First, insult them. If they're mad enough, they'll give you odds: two-to-one, maybe more. Are you with me so far?"
   "I like how this sounds. Keep going."
   "Sufficiently offend them and they'll bet everything they have. Hold out until the last elimination. After they've beaten everyone else, bring out the Beast and take them down once and for all."
   "I like it. I'll get my father's money back and teach them a lesson they won't forget. All we need is the Beast. Where are we going to get it?"
   "That's where the trust comes in. You have to trust that I will deliver the Beast."
   "Where do you keep it? Can we go see it now?"
   "That's the hard part. I can't let you see it until the fight."
   "I don't understand. You must keep it locked up somewhere."
   "Oh, it's locked up alright, but I can't let you see it yet."
   "That's ridiculous. What kind of beast is it?"
   "It's complicated."
   "What if they have a grisly or even a tiger?"
   "Trust me. It won't be a problem."
   "How can you be sure?"
   "I'm quite sure."
   "But how can I be sure?"
   "You have my word."
   "I need some time to think about it."
   "Take all the time you want, but it has to be this Sunday night."
   The next evening when he came in for dinner she whispered, "I'm in. Let's do this thing."
   "Good, I hope you can whistle," he said. She nodded and he added, "Let the insults begin."
   Not five minutes later an opportunity presented itself, as the fat one suggested, "I'll bet the gals in this town like a good fight. How about you?"
   "Sometimes I let the Beast have a little fun with the others, but mostly we hunt bear."
   This clearly got the three's attention, as the short one said, "Girl, this isn't for fun."
   "Oh, it's fun for the Beast," she said as nonchalantly as possible, ignoring the way he said, "girl."
   They tried to draw her into further conversation, but she evaded them thinking it wiser to say too little than too much. The next evening, after the fat one laughed at the claim of a 160-pound rottweiler, Bonnie asked, "Who wants to watch some blubber ball that can hardly climb up on the porch?"
   The effect of this remark on the three men was everything she could have hoped for. They salivated with the prospect of their winnings. Their efforts to engage her escalated, but she dismissed them.
   The tall one asked, "Does the Beast sleep on your porch?"
   "He sleeps wherever he wants," she replied and so the banter continued for the rest of the week.

* * *

   The fight started Sunday afternoon at three. The first matches were mostly between bulldogs and shepherds. A little money changed hands and Bonnie tried to look bored. She even threw out a few insults, including, "What's with the puppies? I thought this was going to be a dog fight."
   A large black Labrador prevailed against the leading bulldog, which was quite unexpected, so that more money changed hands. A Wolfhound nearly killed the Labrador and even more money changed hands. The three strangers bet poorly and lost every time. A Doberman fell to the Wolfhound and then a Bullmastiff eliminated the Wolfhound.
   By this time the gamblers were in a frenzy. More money changed hands and more alcohol was consumed. Night had fallen and a full moon was rising. Bonnie was running out of insults and becoming more worried by the minute. It was all she could do to keep her father from betting before the final round.
   The Sheriff went all in on the next event. When his bet had been matched, he motioned for his son to back up the truck. They lashed the crate to the door of the steel pen and slowly opened the gate separating the animals. The pen was designed to contain a bull, but it shook with the fury of the animal in the crate.
   As soon as the gate was open wide enough, a streak of gray shot out. The Timber wolf struck the Bullmastiff, sending them both tumbling in the dirt. They tore into each other with such fury that blood spattered the spectators. The wolf finally tore the Bullmastiff's throat and quickly prevailed. The wolf was panting, but soon recovered. The Sheriff collected his winnings and so did the others who had bet on the wolf.
   The moment finally arrived for which the strangers had so carefully planned. The locals were now convinced that nothing could possibly beat the wolf. The bets were high and foolish. In spite of their losses, the strangers had more than enough money to match them all. When the bets had been made, the Sheriff's son closed the gate and pulled the truck out of the way.
   One of the strangers—the short one—backed up another truck with a smaller crate than the one that had contained the wolf. Two of them lashed it to the pen and opened the gate, but nothing came out. The ones who had bet on the wolf began to cheer, but their celebration was premature. The fat man stuck a cattle prod through the slats of the crate, which produced a noise that shook even the wolf.
   The wolf was familiar with the sound and began backing away from it. The foolish gamblers could feel the money leaving their pockets. Another application of the cattle prod and large bear lumbered out of the crate. It was so heavy that the truck rose noticeably, as the springs unloaded.
   The bear moved in on the wolf, but the wolf retreated. The gamblers began to boo and hiss, calling out, "It's not fair! That's not a dog!" but the strangers shouted back, "Neither is your wolf; besides, we never said it was and you never asked."
   The bear became more aggressive and finally raised up to block the wolf's retreat. The wolf lunged at the bear, but the bear batted it away, leaving three deep gashes in its side. Twice more the wolf lunged and twice more the bear sent it to the dirt. The blood was flowing from the wolf in a dozen places and the outcome was certain.
   The Sheriff called to end it and let the wolf live, but there was no way to separate them now. Two minutes later the wolf was limp and the bear delivered a final blow that spilled the wolf's entrails. The mood quickly turned from somber to anger, as the losers objected to the bear. The arguing escalated until the Sheriff fired into the air.
   As soon as the noise abated, Bonnie shouted, "Is this teddy bear the killer you've been bragging about?"
   The strangers bristled at the insult and the fat one said, "I think it's time to put your money where your mouth is."
   "If you're so confident in Winnie the Pooh, I should get odds," Bonnie said, hoping her voice wouldn't betray her doubt.
   Her father was standing beside her and whispered, "You better be right about this or we're ruined."
   "We can make it two-to-one if you like," the tall one offered. "What have you got to wager?"
   "I brought the deed our farm. It's three hundred acres with a tobacco allotment," she said.
   "We can cover it," the fat one said with a sneer.
   "I'm not looking for charity," Bonnie shot back. "If you're worried we can just go home."
   The short one practically spat the words at her, "Let's make it four-to-one. I'd like to see this Beast."
   "We'll cover all bets," the thin one said.
   "At four-to-one?" the Sheriff asked to be sure.
   "At four-to-one," the thin one replied.
   The Sheriff turned and said, "Son, get the pink slip out of the glove box in the truck."
   A few others placed bets against the bear, but not many. When Bonnie could stall them no longer, she put her fingers to her mouth and produced a long whistle. Seconds passed, but nothing happened, and so she whistled again. A low growl reverberated in the distance. Seconds more passed and a much closer growl was heard. A third growl unsettled even the bear.
   The Beast padded silently out of the darkness and into the barn. It was jet black, except for a small white streak down the left side. It looked like a panther, but twice the size. It had rippling muscles and deep shoulder blades that rocked back and forth as it walked. Bonnie fought hard to conceal her surprise.
   The Beast rubbed against her like a house cat and sat by her side. It's back came up to her waist and seated, its head was almost level with her shoulder. Their eyes met and she noticed that one was green and the other blue. Her fear became a smile as she said, "There you are, Beast. I wondered when you'd get here."
   She motioned toward the bear with her chin. The Beast approached the pen and sprang into the air, landing on the rim. It walked along the edge like a cat on a fence, examining the bear but not making a sound. The bear roared and lunged at the sides of the pen, but the Beast appeared unconcerned and kept circling the rim.
   The Beast leapt from the rim, over the bear, and landed on the dirt behind it. The bear turned and charged, but the Beast remained motionless until the bear was almost upon it. At the last instant, the Beast jumped to the side, and slashed the bear's throat. The bear twisted around to attack, but the Beast easily avoided it. Blood was pumping out of the bear's jugular and its windpipe was severed and gurgling.
   The bear tried again to attack, but staggered and crumpled to the ground, convulsing and clawing at the dirt. The fight—if it could be called that—lasted only seconds. Through it all, the spectators had barely drawn a breath. The Beast cleared the pen in a single bound, returned to Bonnie, rubbed against her again, and sat by her side.
   She stroked the massive black head, making sure to scratch behind its left ear where the white streak began, saying, "Good boy," and then to the strangers, "I'll be collecting my money now."
   The tricksters had been tricked, but there was nothing they could do about it. As they begrudgingly counted out the cash, Bonnie said, "If I ever catch you doing this again, you'll be catnip."

* * *

   Weeks passed, but Dean never returned to the tavern. Bonnie asked everyone—including the payroll clerk at the mine—but no one had seen him. She went out to the river each week and sat in the spot where they used to come. One day she found him there fishing. She stood quietly watching him for several minutes, then moved closer and snapped a twig.
   He glanced around and said, "Hey, girl, how are you spending your winnings?"
   "I'm not. There's nothing to do around here, remember?" she replied.
   "Except fishing," he said.
   "I see you got your own pole," she said and sat down beside him.
   "The fish aren't biting. I think they miss you."
   "Do they now?"
   "I miss you too."
   "Then why haven't you been to the tavern?"
   "The once-a-month thing always ruins relationships."
   "It doesn't have to," she said and just then there was a little tug on the line.
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