Eric Luthi

Bruno

 

 

I knew this house.  It was old and needed repair.  The roof was missing a few shingles.  I had driven past it twice tonight already.  Any more passes and the neighbors might get suspicious.  My car didn’t belong in this neighborhood.   I parked at the end of the block and waited.

 

“She lives alone,” Carl said.

 

“And?”

 

“She’s old.”

 

“And?”

 

“She has money.  My friend’s cousin works at the bank where she banks.”

 

“So she has money in the bank.”

 

“It’s not all in the bank.”

 

“Why don’t you do it?”

 

“I’m on parole.  If I get caught….”

 

“So don’t get caught.”

 

In the end, I was the one waiting outside the old lady’s house.  It seemed a good bet.  Even if there were no cash in the house, it was an easy target, old lady living alone.  There should be lots of saleable goods.  

 

At nine o’clock the blue television light went off.  I saw a light go on in the back of the house, a bedroom.  It was on for only a few minutes before it also went off.  The porch light was on but used a forty-watt bulb.  The far end of the house, away from the side where I thought the old lady’s bedroom was, lay in darkness both inside and out.  It would be my point of entry.  I waited another thirty minutes before I moved.

           

The window made a sound as the screws holding the latch hook lifted out of the rotten wood.  It was not loud but it was loud enough to investigate.  The window went up and two hands rested on the sill.  A man’s head wearing a hat pulled down low over the ears poked in through the window.  The man jumped up and pushed against the window sill and leaned in. The man fell forward but stopped as hands hit the floor.  The man rolled forward.  Feet came in last and floated over the head as the man rolled and stood.

 

The house was quiet.  The window made little noise.  I waited for a moment to be sure.   My throat was irritated and then my eyes itched.  A grey tabby cat moved from one dark corner of the room to another.  Cats.  I hate cats.  Carl said nothing about cats.

 

Shit.

           

The man moved across the room.  In the main room, the one with the books, the man opened cabinet doors and drawers and pawed through the contents.  Once or twice, the man took something and put it into a pocket.  Another sound, the sound of Mom, and then Mom was there in the hallway in the long sleeping dress with the toy in her hand.

 

“Who’s there? What do you want?”

 

The old lady stood in the hallway in the darkness.  She had something in her hand.  The cat moved past me and jumped to the top of one those cat towers, the ones covered with carpet.  It perched on top and looked at me.  It was a big cat.  One of those specially bred for size.   Or it was part wild.  I couldn’t tell.  It arched its back and pulled against the carpet that lined the tower.  The carpet made a tearing sound as the cat’s claws ripped it.

 

The light from the porch that made it inside the room reflected on the cat’s eyes: amber.  It stared at me and stopped pulling on the carpet.

 

“Lady, I think I’m in the wrong house.”

 

“You sure are.”  

 

She moved a step forward and now I saw the gun in her hand.  A snub-nosed revolver with a good sized bore.  

 

“Don’t shoot.”

 

“Don’t move.”

 

Next to the cat tower was a hall table with a telephone.  She reached down to pick up the phone and dialed.  Rotary phones are harder to use.  While she looked down, I swung at her.  I got her in the side of the head.

 

“Bruno,” she said as she fell to the floor.

           

Mom fell back and the toy roared and breathed fire. The man hurt Mom.  Bruno flew toward the man’s head   Save Mom.  Kill the man.  

 

Claws out, arms spread, Bruno hit the man hard and, as the man flinched, Bruno raked claws across the scalp while hind legs raked the neck.  Blood spattered and flowed down the man’s face and pieces of flesh hit the wall. Bruno was off again and back into a spot under the chair.

           

I yelled as the cat tore my beanie off.  Something hung from my head.  I reached up and realized a strip of skin had come off my head with hair still attached.  My hand was wet with blood.  The bullet missed me but the cat made up for it.

 

“Nine, one, one, what’s your emergency?” said a voice from the telephone.

 

The cat screamed.  It sounded high-pitched like a girl but dropped in tone and volume until it ended in a snarl.

 

“Shit.”

 

The man moved toward Mom.  Mom lay on the floor.  Bruno ran toward the man from behind and jumped.  Claws sank paw deep into the back part of the man’s thigh, the meaty part where there was a good perch.  Bruno bit down hard.  Hind legs raked again and the pants were in shreds.  Again, blood flowed.  The man kicked out but missed Bruno.  The floor was slick with blood and the kick made the man lose balance and fall next to Mom.   

 

I lay on the floor, my leg useless.  The cat got me deep.  The gun.  I can use the gun.  Stupid cat.  I hate cats.  The lady’s gun lay a few feet away on the other side of her body.  I crawled toward it.

           

The man reached over Mom for the toy that breathed fire.

 

Feet came galloping across the wooden floor.  The cat made a third pass and landed on my hand as I reached for the gun.  It bit deep into my wrist and its hind legs kicked over and over, ripping the skin off the back of my hand.  I tried to fling it off, but the cat held tight, its claws deep.

 

There was so much blood.  

 

The cat let go of my hand and moved next to the old lady between her and the gun.  It turned and looked at me while it wiggled its haunches, readying for another leap.  Its eyes were huge and yellow with enormous black pupils.

 

And then it growled.  

 

The sound was deeper than I expected.  More like a bobcat or even a small lion.

  

And it was not afraid of me at all.

 

The man crawled backward away from Mom.  Bruno would let the man crawl away but, if the man moved forward, the man would die.

 

I held my good hand up in front of my face and crawled backwards toward the window.  The cat growled again but did not leave the woman’s side.

 

The man crawled across the room.  Back toward the window where the man first came into the house.  The man left blood behind on the ground where the man crawled.  The man would be easy to find and kill.  The man moaned and stood up on one leg next to the still open window.  Then, the man fell out.  Red and blue lights flickered and the men outside shouted.

 

The lady reached forward and scratched the big cat behind his ear.  The cat rubbed against her hand.

 

“Bruno,” she said. “Don’t kill him.”

 

Mom.  Always the tender hearted.

 

 

 

Eric Luthi is the principal of an alternative high school by day. At night, he writes and teaches at a community college. He is the father of four and husband of one.