Payroll by William James Johnson Chapter 8

Before heading home, Sandy wandered around Garry most of the day looking for Silky. Unable to find him in town, he made his way back to the abandoned service station, where there was only the chard remains of the grey van. In the field nearby was the mound of earth he had dug that morning. It had been a very anxious time for the confused animal. He had covered miles in his search for his master.
By late afternoon, frustrated and tired, he came back to the farm. His coat was shining with perspiration as he turned into the laneway and ran to his water bowl. Finishing it, he looked around for more. Remembering there was always a drop or two at the old pump in the front yard, he hurried to it and eagerly licked the moisture from the dark metal spout. It had been a long romp for a dog with a gimpy leg, and he was parched.
The adrenalin still flowing, he bounded onto the side porch, and pushed against the screen door, barking several times. Pacing up and down, he waited patiently. No one came out. For a few minutes, he sat quietly studying the laneway, expecting to see the red sports' car hustling into the yard. Standing up, he banged on the side door again. Still nothing. Tired of waiting, he leapt into the roadway and sniffed at the shovel Silky had used to prepare the hiding place for the loot. His ears moved quickly as he looked up the dirt road that led to the bush where Silk had buried the payroll. Hoping he might find him there, the weary animal jogged slowly up the dusty trail, stopping occasionally to sniff the ground and do a little digging.
As the afternoon faded into early evening, the heavy clouds scudding across the mauve prairie sky threatened a sudden summer storm. His master had not come home. Silk was busy back at CFB Riel arranging for his promotion party that night, to impress Sayer and Perkins.
The overcast sky added to the natural darkness of the dense bush. Sandy's keen sense of smell brought him to the fresh ground cover, and his front legs wasted no time moving it from the buried pouch to a mound he was building behind him. He tore at the black plastic which covered the bag. His sparkling teeth seized the canvas, and he tugged at it furiously, falling backwards as it came loose from its hiding place.
Releasing it, Sandy paused for a few minutes, studying the mess he had made in front of him. He sensed how much Silky hated his digging, particularly in the yard behind the house which now had dozens of mounds. Pulling the pouch away from the hole, he turned around and began thrusting the new mound back into the hole he had just dug.
Exhausted, he sat on his haunches beside the money, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, his powerful chest heaving in and out with his deep breathing. Suddenly there was a brilliant streak of lightning, followed by a tremendous crash of thunder. Sandy looked up, and felt the first drops of water which found their way through the dense trees.
Deciding to leave his excavation as it was, the dog grabbed the pouch firmly in his mouth and began to head back to the small farmhouse. The rain was coming down in buckets, and his short coat glistened in the jagged shards of lightning. He stopped several times to rest, putting the bag on the ground under him, taking the full force of the rain and wind pelting his lean body. Summer storms on the prairies show no mercy.
When he got to the farmhouse, he pulled the pouch up the side steps, and hit against the door, expecting Silky to come out and praise him for his efforts. The house was in darkness. He dropped the money bag, and standing on his hind legs, looked into the side window and barked several times.
Grabbing the pouch in his teeth again, he ran down the side steps with it, to his house in the back yard. Leaving the money bag on the ground, he went inside and began to dig into the earth floor, kicking the dirt into a sizable mound outside his door.
Coming out into the gentle rain which followed the end of the storm, he grabbed the canvas pouch again and dragged it into the hole he had just completed. His hind legs facing the doorway, Sandy began scooping the mound into the doghouse to cover the bag of money. He stopped several times, sticking his head into the small house to see how the work was going. After several minutes, he quit throwing dirt into his house, and began spreading the rest on the ground outside.
This finished, he went back into his house and sprawled on top of the buried treasure, his weary face resting on his folded front legs. His marvellous head shone in the moonlight seeping through the waning storm. He went to sleep, a pleasant sleep of the fulfilled, another job well done.
At the Corporal's Club, everyone was having a great time at Silky's expense. Hank Flushing, the club manager, had a lot of experience running parties for the junior NCO's. A retired Warrant Officer himself, he claimed he couldn't remember what it was like to be a civilian, and when he was given the chance to stay on at Riel to manage the club, he and his wife Erna were delighted. She did much of the catering out of her own kitchen.
"Bang up party Silky", said Tilly.
"I just told Hank to make this the best party ever, and send me the bill."
"Try those pickled eggs and salami. There'll be enough natural gas around here to-morrow to launch a rocket."
"Never realized there were so many guys in this club."
"Don't forget about the summer types. Its do's like this that keeps a lot of those militia guys comin' back. They love these free parties. This one's gonna cost you a mint."
"So what. I just look at it as an investment in my future."
"How do you mean?"
"Sayer and Perkins gotta give me a good recommendation on my promotion report when they see I went all out."
"You'd be surprised how much truth there is in that. I'd like to know how many of the guys sporting Sergeant stripes, got 'em just that way."
Silky sneaked a look at his watch. It was almost eleven.
"Hey! Don't tell me you're thinkin' of cuttin' outa here?" asked Tilly.
"Gettin' late. And besides tomorrow's a working day."
` "Tomorrow's Friday for Chrissake. Nobody works on Friday...and besides, you said yourself, you did this to make a good impression on our bosses. They haven't even arrived yet."
"Maybe they're not coming...with the storm and all."
"Probably still working with those two Mounties. Knowing how much Sayer likes his booze, I bet he's probably telling them right now they oughta pack it in and come on over here for a few brews. What the hell... you're the one who's payin'. No skin off his ass."
Silky had avoided talking about the robbery, but gradually decided that if he were the only one saying nothing about it, people might get suspicious.
"It's that robbery. They're so involved with the investigation, they probably won't come to my party, and I've spent all this money for nothing. Everyone's talking about it."
"Forget the stupid robbery and let me buy you a drink."
"No...no Wayne. This is my party. The drinks are on me."
"Then don't just stand there...get me somethin'. What the hell let's do like the man says. Let's have a party."
As Silk was walking to the bar, the front door opened and in came Perkins and Watts with Sayer and the two Mounties.
"Well it looks like our boy finally got the message," said Sayer.
"He's really a good kid," added Perkins. "He's going to go a long way, mark my words."
The Commanding Officer walked over to Silky who had not seen them enter.
"Well Corporal Zylkowski, I hear you were shocked by the good news today."
"Oh good evening Colonel. Thank you for coming...I wasn't exactly shocked sir...more surprised I'd say. Pleasantly surprised."
"Well you know how Major Perkins likes to stretch things a little."
"I guess I expected to have to wait much longer...maybe until I finished my university courses, before I'd get the recommendation. It was really great news sir...Can I get you a drink?"
"Sure can my boy...this Club carry Crown Royal?"
"Crown Royal it is sir."
As Silky turned to the bar steward, there was another crash of summer thunder, followed by a heavy downpour.
"Looks like we might as well stay and make a party out of it...No sense going out in that stuff," said the Colonel.
Silky returned with the CO's drink.
"Silky, I'd like you to meet our visitors," said Major Perkins. "Sergeant Broom, and Sergeant Henry...Dick and Charlie from the Special Investigation Branch of the RCMP."
"Sergeants. Welcome aboard. Get yourselves a drink on me, and help yourselves. There's plenty of food over there."
"Congratulations Corporal. Did the Major call you Silky?" asked Sergeant Broom.
"It's really Zylkowski...but you know what Army guys are like."
"Did I hear you say you're working on university courses?" asked Sergeant Henry.
"He's not only working on these courses, but he's living off the base so that he can spend more time on them," said the CO, proud of the initiative being shown by this young soldier.
"What University are you working with?" asked Broom.
"Ah...Winnipeg, the University in Winnipeg," replied Silky, feeling the blood rushing to his temples. He had been drinking a little and was afraid if they kept questioning him, he might get himself into deeper trouble with lies.
"You mean the University of Manitoba," corrected Sergeant Henry.
"Yes...that's right. U of M. It's in Winnipeg. That's what I meant."
"And you live off the base?" asked Broom.
"That's right. I was lucky enough to get an old farmhouse for practically nothing," replied Silky, his palms beginning to sweat.
"You wouldn't happen to have a dog?"
"A dog...did you say a dog?"
"Yes. A brown and black Doberman, answers to the name of Sandy."
It was as if the Mountie had hauled off and hit him a solid punch in the gut. The blood began to drain from his face, and he could feel his lower jaw begin to twitch.
"No...no. I don't have a dog. I got enough problems looking after myself...Why would you think I'd have a dog?"
"Someone used a dog in the robbery today and apparently it didn't go like he planned."
"I don't understand. What do you mean?"
"The dog got away. It's just a matter of time. We'll find the dog, and when we do, I think we'll have our robber."
Colonel Watts came to the rescue.
"Come on fellows. Ease off. This is a time for celebrating. Get yourselves a drink and some grub. With the sound of that rain, we're going to be here for a while."
"For awhile", stretched into four hours. By that time, the guest of honour was completely out of it. Silky was feeling no pain when Sayer and Tilly put him to bed in the barracks.
"Jeesuz...for a guy whose never had a drink, old Silky sure took on a snoot full," said Tilly.
"It's my fault too I guess. I shouldn't have pushed the little bastard so much."
"Well it was the Colonel who challenged him to drink chug-a-lug."
"That was stupid of the boss. Lucky the kid didn't have a heart attack after that one."
"Look how peaceful he is...in the arms of the gods."
"Well it's a cinch he's not gonna be much good to us tomorrow."
"Tomorrow is Friday..." looking at his watch. "I mean it's Friday already. Not much happens on Friday."
"Got to get back to the boss. If and when Silky surfaces, I'll see if he can manage...if not, what the hell, I'll give him the day off. It's the least I can do after that party."
"What a helluva party."
"You can say that again. I couldn't believe it when the boss agreed to play tank with you guys."
"Those two teams charging at each other with chesterfields smashing head on is quite a spectacle. It's gonna cost a few bucks for each of us. The furniture has to be replaced, and they sure ripped a lot tiles off the ceiling when the tanks swung upwards during the attack." said Tilly.
"But Jeezus when that Mountie folded and the chesterfield came down on top of him...Gawd that was funny. Silky almost shit when he got squashed between those two big bastards."
"The guy wanted to throw a party everyone would remember."
"He came through...that's for sure. Gotta be one of the best parties I've ever seen in that club. Get some sleep Wayne. See you in the morning."
"Thanks for giving me a hand with Silky Captain."
"No sweat...after all he is one of my boys."
The next morning Silky awoke, the inside of his head pounding like a trip hammer, his stomach burning, confused about where he had spent the night. He had barfed on his pillow and the sourness filled the small room. Even after taking a shower, he still looked like a cheap embalming job.
He managed to get into his office passing several of his cronies who congratulated him on his stellar performance the previous night. Once settled behind his desk, he put his head on his arms and drifted quickly into a deep sleep. Corporal Tilly's cheery greeting shocked him back into consciousness.
"Is that the witty, life of the party, swinging corporal, everybody loves?"
"Knock it off Wayne...as of now, the rumour of my recent death is gaining credibility."
"Still able to turn a slick phrase...how about your gut?...is it still doing tricks?"
"This your idea of a joke...I'm really sick man."
"What you need is a drop of the hair of the dog that bit you."
"I don't even know what that means."
"A bloody Mary...beer and tomato juice. All us old pros know what to do to level off the morning after the night before."
"You're not doing me a favour with this kinda talk."
"Then at least go to the can, and call for Ralph."
"You talking in code again?"
"Ralph...Ralph. You know...Err...olff, and let it all come out. The sooner you get rid of it, the sooner you'll feel better. Believe me. The old finger down the throat always works."
"I've Ralphed twice already, and it didn't work...By the way, how'd I get to bed last night?"
"Can't remember eh? Geez you had one helluva night. Memory loss is a bad sign old buddy. You better take it easy on the booze...Me and the Captain tucked you in."
Captain Sayer entered Silky's office, anxious to see how his man had survived the ordeal.
"My gawd look at that face. How come I wasn't invited to the funeral?"
Silky tried to stand, and give a half hearted salute, but fell back into his chair.
"Sit down before you fall down for gawd's sake."
"Sorry Captain...must have a touch of the flu or something."
"We're sure not gonna get much work outa you today. It's Friday...Go on home and get a good rest. Sleep it off."
This time Silky managed getting to his feet.
"Never understand how the hell you guys do it."
"It's an acquired taste Silky...Takes years," said Tilly.
"I should live so long."
"Before you go kid, congratulations. That was one helluva party," said Sayer.
"You better believe it," said Silky, and they all roared at his use of one of the Captain's favourite phrases.

view original art by William James Johnson at www.noozoon.com