The Last of the Dogteam

  The Last Of Dogteam

  By William W. Johnstone

  BOOK ONE

  ONE

  Terrance Samuel Kovak stalked the rabbit with all the patience of a born hunter—which he was. The boy imagined he was in Korea, stalking a North Korean soldier through the heavy snow. He held an M-l in his hands instead of the seven shot, clip-fed .22 caliber rifle. The North Korean soldier (the rabbit) jumped out of the snow a few yards in front of Terry and the boy let him run for a few seconds, following him through the fixed iron sights. He took up slack on the trigger, let the rabbit run for a few more yards, then shot it, sending the animal tumbling and somer-. saulting, jerking out its life, staining the snow.

  "Gotcha!" Terry whispered to the cold Georgia wind. The wind ruffled his blond hair and colored his Slavic features, tinting his cheeks a pale red. He picked up the rabbit, checked to make certain the animal was dead,

  then placed the rabbit in his homemade game bag. Five rabbits—enough. He would clean them when he got home and his mother would fry them up for supper, or maybe make a stew. If she fried them there would be biscuits and gravy and fried potatoes, too. Terry's stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

  He looked up at the weak sun, trying valiantly but unsuccessfully to shove its rays through the clouds. He guessed the time at two-thirty. Best be heading home. It was a good five miles back to the house on the outskirts of Bishop, where his Daddy worked at the mill during the summer, spring, and early 1 fall. Nobody hauled much timber during the winter—not in this part of Georgia—so Mr. Kovak took whatever jobs he could find during the slack time, with all the kids pitching in to help out in whatever way they could. Terry worked at many odd jobs, and hunted for food after school and on the weekends. During the winter months the Kovaks ate a lot of rabbit, squirrel, and sometimes venison. His Momma canned during the summer, out of their large garden, and they had a potato bin, so no one ever went hungry, but the menu didn't vatfy

  that much.

  Terry's older brothers, Robert and Danny,' were both in the service, in Korea. Robert was a retread, called back into the Marine Corps, and Danny was in the Army; both sent money home whenever they could. It wasn't much,

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  but it helped. Their wives, Mavis and Vera, lived in the Kovak home, along with their two babies. It was a houseful, but it was, for the most part, a happy house, full of love and laughter and joking.

  When one is poor, there are two choices: give up, or cope.

  Mavis and Vera both worked as waitresses downtown, and they brought home (Vera did) packages of sugar and salt and things like that. Mother Kovak did fuss about it, saying it was sort of like stealing, but she never told Vera to quit it. Everything was put to some use around the Kovak home.

  As Terry trudged along through the snow, conscious of the rifle slung over his shoulder and the game bag hanging by his side, bumping his hip with every step, he was suddenly saddened. The war in Korea was over, and he would never get there in time to shoot any Cooks, to fight with his brothers. But there

  •would be another war, in another country—there always was—and Terry would join the Army and fight in that war.

  Terry wanted to be a soldier. He imagined combat to be glamorous, adventurous; killing and dying to be clean and brave. The serving pt one's country something to be proud of;

  •omething the public would be only too glad to honor and never forget. : He'd been reading a lot lately—not school books, for he hated school—but adventure books, books about Soldiers of Fortune.

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  Mercenaries. Men who fought for pay. To the boy, they sounded exciting. Maybe someday he'd do that. His mood lifted.

  It was Saturday, and soon it would be Saturday night, and there would be Clarissa with the long brown hair and dark serious eyes and big boobs. He would take Clarissa to the movies and they would sit in the balcony. Thinking of Clarissa made him walk a little bit faster in the snow and he stumbled when he hit a slick spot coming to the gravel road that * would take him to town. Terry flailed his .. arms, caught his balance, and looked around to see if anyone had seen him. He felt foolish.

  Clarissa! She had allowed him to feel her . breasts last Saturday night and it had almost . driven him crazy, the way she kissed him and moaned and wiggled. He must have French-kissed her for an hour, fondling her breasts through her blouse, slip, and bra. He wanted to put his hand up her skirt, but just thinking about that scared him so badly he trembled. What was he supposed to do when he got his hand Up There? He couldn't screw her in tiae balcony of the Bishop Theater, although he was certain no one else would notice, there was so much moaning and groaning and panting and sighing among the other teenagers. Usually one or two guys would start bitching about the stone-aches, and having to go Outside to pick up the back end of a '40 Ford for relief. Terry had experienced the stone-aches, but damned if he'd ever pick up the back end

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  of a car for relief. <

  But tonight, now, this was going to be something special. Vera had promised him he could use her car, a jazzy-looking '46 Ford. And Vera—who was only twenty herself—had winked at him and said to be careful in the back seat, don't get it all messy. Thinking of Vera made Terry feel a little messy—and guilty. Thinking of Vera made him feel all gooey inside. Thinking of his brother's wife got him a hard-on, too.

  He knew Vera was stepping out on his brother, Danny, every now and then. Not regularly, just every now and then. But, he supposed Danny was getting some Korean pussy, too, so that pretty well evened things up.

  But not Robert's wife, Mavis. She was some kind of religious nut. She prayed all the time and wore clothes that were out of fashion and too big for her and took ice cold baths two and three times a day. Mavis was weird!

  But Vera, she knew what he was thinking when he looked at her. She had such a terrific body and such great-looking tits. Sometimes she got him to zip up her dress when she was going out and she would tell him off-color Jokes and run her smooth, cool hand on his leg. Stuff like that got Terry so excited he felt he would blow up. Once, when everybody was asleep in the house, Vera had climbed the stairs to his room and stood in the doorway with liie light behind her. She stood for a long

  13

  time looking at him in his bed, the light pushing through her thin gown, showing him . everything she had. He could even see the outline of her Thing. Terry had pretended he was asleep, watching her through slitted eyes, but his heart was pounding so furiously he was certain she could hear it hammering. Finally, Vera had closed the door, leaving the boy with his palpitations, dry mouth, and rock-hard erection. But Terry knew what it was she wanted. He knew it was going to happen pretty soon, too—if Danny didn't come home. Part of Terry wanted to see his brother; the other part wanted to see more of Vera.

  Problem was, Terry had never been witty a woman, sexually. He had seen pictures of men and women . . . doing it. There was a gas station across from the high school that sold dirty books and pictures from under the counter, but he had never done or seen or felt the real thing. But, maybe tonight . . .?

  Snowing again when he reached the huge old Kovak house. Two and a half stories of run-down frame house, full of adults and kids and dreams and almost-but-not-quite poverty during the hard winter months. Terry cleaned and thoroughly bled the rabbits in the shed out back. He removed his boots on the porch of the house before entering the kitchen. He stored his rifle in the small room off the kitchen, carefully checking the weapon and removing the cartridges, putting them in a tin can.

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  "Mamma," he said kissing his mother on the cheek, all the while savoring the smells of home-baked bread. Saturday, Mother Kovak always baked bread t
o last the week. He put the cleaned rabbits in a dish.

  "Fat rabbits, Terry," his mother smiled at him. "They'll cook good in a stew. Well have them tomorrow for supper, maybe."

  She covered the rabbits and put them in the ancient refrigerator.

  Terry peeked into the living room and was surprised when he did not see his father listening to the huge old console radio. "Where's Papa?"

  "Working," she answered proudly. "Old Mr. Service down at the power plant twisted his ankle and your Papa is taking his place for a week—started this morning. Forty-five dollars -a week and I can tell you the money will come in handily."

  Terry laughed at her accent and speech. "Come in handy, Momma. That's the way to

  . Hie old clock in the hall chimed its message. Terry poured a cup of coffee from the ever-present pot on the stove, sugared and creamed it, tjien sat down at the table, his back to the wall, warm and secure and comfortable in the kitchen, his Momma's favorite place in the house. He had walked fifteen or twenty miles this day, but he was young, and was not tired. "Something special for supper, Momma?" "A roast," she smiled, proud she was going

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  to please her son and family. "With carrots and potatoes and onions and gravy." "And biscuits, too, Momma?" She left the sink to pat her son's cheek. "And biscuits, Terry. When you marry, Terry, be sure to marry a girl who can bake you biscuits." She clucked her tongue. "So many girls nowadays don't know from nothing about cooking. Popping open cans and stuff. It's not healthy."

  Terry sat in silence, listening to his mother talk of this and that, busy all the while, pe«4-v ing potatoes and scraping carrots. He sippfd his coffee, thinking how much he loved his family—although Terry could never bring himself to say the words. He was not an emo- '*• tional young man. He watched his mother fumble in the back of the pantry and bring out an old jar. She counted out a dollar and a half in dimes and nickels and put the change in front of her son.

  "I know you got a little money, Terry, but it's Saturday and you got a date with Clarissa and your Poppa's working at the plant and he don't ever need to know I give you any money." She pushed the money toward him. "Take it, and have a good time at the movies." It made Terry feel a little bit guilty, because he was thinking of Clarissa's boobs and body at just that moment. He pushed thoughts of her from him and smiled at his mother. "Thank you, Mamma. Well have a good time,

  The front door slammed and the mood was broken. Terry was relieved it was. Clarissa slid smiling and wiggling back into his thoughts.

  "It's me, Mother Kovak," Vera called from the stairs. "Let me change this stupid uniform and 111 be down to help you. I smell like fried potatoes and stale coffee." She was gone up the stairs in a run.

  Clarissa slid out of Terry's thought and Vera slipped in. He thought of her changing clothes and hoped his sudden flush was not evident. Had he stood up at that moment, something else would have been most evident.

  "A woman could smell worse," Mother I Kovak muttered, not really unkindly. She -*-new her daughter-in-law was restless, getting lore so as the months rolled by and Danny 'stayed away. "A man needs a woman -and a needs a man," she mumbled under her

  I'm sure.

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  What's that, Mamma?"

  flashed her son a broad smile. "Nothing, boy. I'm getting old, is all. Talking to . Pretty soon 111 be answering myself; you got to worry." ;flT6u're not getting old, Mamma," Terry ^ed his coffee cup and got up from the s.. "You're the youngest one in this house." :TShe laughed, blushing at the unexpected ^^^^^pliinent. "Get yourself out of here and out y way. Get cleaned up. Save your sweet : for your giggling girlfriend." But she was wed. Terry could be so charming when he Itedtobe.

  17

  But—she watched him leave the kitchen—there is a mean streak in him. He can be cruel when he wants to be. Poppa had said : it the other night, lying in bed.

  "The boy worries me, Momma. He's growing up too quick/

  'Like you, Karl. Huh?* 'Not just like me. No. But some, yes.' That don't make no sense, Karl/ 'It does to me.'

  He had rolled over and gone to sleep. But he had tossed all night, Terry on his mind.

  In the kitchen, Mother Kovak got down the flour, preparing to make her son biscuits. He does have mean eyes, she thought, rolling up

  her sleeves.

  Terry got clean underwear from his room and took his shower in the basement of the old house. A lukewarm shower because the water heater was, as Poppa Kovak put it, "on the

  blink."

  Terry shivered under the spray and thought: On the blink, hell, it's just old. Like the house:

  old.

  Terry shaved, proud of his whiskers. Most young men his age had only peach fuzz. Terry's beard was stiff and heavy and blond.

  He dressed in clean, peg-legged pants -and a . dark button-down-at-the-collar shirt, shoving his feet into polished Wellington boots that could use a half-soling. He combed his very blond hair. Not really handsome—his features were too Slavic—but he was a very nice look-

  18

  ing young man, just under six feet, with broad ,, shoulders and heavily muscled arms. His mouth, when he frowned, turned into a cruel slit; and then transformed pleasantly when he smiled. Terry could be quite charming when he so desired.

  But it was his eyes that both held attention and repelled. A cold, pale, almost icy blue. 5, Even in the middle of his fifteenth year, his jyes could be warm and friendly, or menacingly dangerous. Slightly slanted, they were 'his most alarming feature.

  < Among his friends—and they were few—he Jwas known to be very quick with his fists. "While Terry did not seek out fights, he had inever been known to back away from one. . An intelligent young man, always scoring high on IQ and aptitude tests, his grades at school were just slightly above average. School id not interest him. War interested him; guns terested him. Sports did not interest him, so did not play sports. Because of his refusal to out* for sports, he was not well-liked by lany of his peer group. By the boys. The girls, rever—many of them—found Kovak to . . . interesting. Odd, but interesting. Robert and Danny had done well in high >1, graduating with some honors. They played football and basketball. His older r, Virginia, had been an outstanding stu-t, and was now in college, studying to be a :. His younger sister, Shirley, was also :. At this point in her life, she wanted to a doctor.

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  The Kovak family.

  Upstairs, in the second level of the home. Terry knocked on Vera's door, waiting until she called out for him to come in. She sat at her dresser in a robe. Terry could see, all too plainly, she wore nothing under it. His blood quickened, running hot.

  She's your brother's wife, he cautioned. And you're just a kid. So what do you know about

  anything?

  "Still gonna let me use the car, Vera?" "I promised, didn't I?" she smiled at him. "Sure, you can use it. Just be careful, huh? It's not paid for.** She reached for her purse, digging in the bag, crossing her legs as she did so. The robe parted at mid-thigh, displaying a lovely view of skin. Terry almost groaned. Vera handed him the keys with a wink. "I also put in five gallons of gas for you. Have fun,

  Terry."

  He knew he. should leave; get out, but something in him told him: stay. He met her level gaze. "What are you gonna do this evening?"

  "Stay home and behave myself." Her eyes never left his.

  He took the keys from her hand. For just a moment, her fingertips touched the back of his hand, lingering there two seconds longer than necessary. He looked around the room. They were alone. The baby, Daniel, was with bis cousin, Edith, in the playroom Poppa Kovak had built downstairs, converting the old

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  storage room. Shirley was looking after the kids, and she would never leave them alone. Not for a minute.

  "What do you mean, you're going to behave yourself?" Terry asked,' speaking around the sudden lump in his throat, very much aware of a thickening in his groin, the racing of his blood, and the pounding of his heart.


  She winked at him again, soft brown hair

  framing her face. "Stay home, Terry-boy.

  ; Talk to Momma and Poppa Kovak." Her green

  eyes seemed larger than real. "Are you going

  to behave yourself?"

  "I ... hope not, Vera."

  She smiled. "Got anything special planned?" Her eyes seemed to mock him. -

  "Well, you know," he shrugged, embarrassed.

  She reached into her purse and removed a

  small square box. She looked at the box for a

  lew seconds, then abruptly handed it to Terry.

  j^These are prophylactics, Terry. Use them. I

  <
  - Terry's face reddened and he was suddenly

  'Very flustered, the box of rubbers strangely

  alien in his palm. He didn't know what to say.

  "You know how to use them, don't you?"

  Terry nodded his head, afraid to speak, lehow, he knew the moment he'd been

  iging for was here, but he didn't know how

  handle it, what to do. He stood like a blond ip of stone, looking down at the box in his id.

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  Downstairs, the front door banged and Vera stood up, walking to the window, ever so slightly parting the curtains. Mother Kovak was talking with the next door neighbor.

  "Out of baking powder," she said.

  The two of them, shopping bags swinging, trudged down the street toward the small family-owned grocery store. The women would shop and gossip for at least a half an hour. When Vera turned to Terry, her eyes were hot.

  "You're Danny's wife," Terry managed to say, his words coming thick and strange on his tongue. And with absolutely no conviction. Vera moved on him, Terry's arms circling the softness of her.

  "Big deal," she spoke against his mouth, her hands busy against his groin. "I know he's get-tin' some somewhere, so why not you and me?"

  "We-don't have time," Terry protested, suddenly afraid. Not physical fear, but fear he would be inadequate, disappointing to the woman.

  "We have the time," Vera said. "It's you* first time—I know that, so it won't take long."