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Back 3 a.m.
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  67. 3:46 a.m.

My father is sitting with his legs draped off the bed. Murdock is standing next to him. Lassie is sitting on Murdock’s back. But Lassie isn’t watching me; he is chewing on Murdock’s ear. And Murdock is chewing on Lassie’s tail.

“Guys!”

They both snap to attention.

“We only have one shot at this.”

“This is our house.” I draw on the whiteboard. “And this is the car across the street.”

Meow.

“Where are you? You are here in the house.”

Meow.

“Draw you? Fine, here.” I draw a cat face with whiskers.

Meow.

“Murdock? Gaaa. Fine.” I draw a little stick figure dog. “And here you are, dad, and this is me.”

Meow.

“Why am I so big? Because I’m in charge, you stupid cat.”

I exhale.

“Okay, once I open the garage, Lassie, you and Murdock run here.” I draw a line from the house to the car. I make two X’s. “Box them in. They won’t move if they think they’ll hit you. Can you do that? Lassie?”

Meow.

“Good. Murdock?”

Murdock lets out a huge fart.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

I draw another line. “Dad, this is you.”

“Got it.”

I look down.

3:55 a.m.

“Alright. Garage opens in two minutes.”

::::

I push the button for the garage.

When it is halfway open, Lassie and Murdock both scamper underneath. When it is fully open, Lassie is five feet behind the car and Murdock five feet in front.

I light the longest fuse on the fireworks — though I’ll be surprised if fireworks bought during the first Gulf War will still work — and close the lid on the shoebox. Then I place it on the skateboard I found in my closet and give it a roll with my foot. The skateboard glides down the driveway, into the street, and underneath the black sedan. I hit the button and the door begins to close.

There is a door on the side of the garage, and I run out and peek around the side of the house.

The windows are heavily tinted on the car and I can’t see the men’s faces. The passenger side door opens, and a man steps out. I expect him to look under the car, but it appears they were too distracted by the one-hundred-and-sixty-pound dog now sitting on their bumper.

The man approaches Murdock.

“Get off the car!”

Murdock doesn’t budge.

The man walks up to Murdock and shoves him. Murdock remains passive. Zen. He isn’t going anywhere.

A screaming echoes from beneath the car. That would be the fountain I lit. The Howler.

The man turns and drops to the ground.