Stubborn Dogs - End Game

I did. I really said that to him. Right as they were taking him away, I looked him dead in the eyes and told him 'My name is not Willy.'

I know, right?

I never liked being called that.

Course, what happens? I get into a line of work where everyone got to call me that. Nothing I could do. Had to just suck it up. Take it.

The one good thing that came with the sheetcake, a chance to put all of that in the rear view.

And it was like that for years: just me and the dog and a kind of certainty about what was mine and what belonged to the world.

No clocks, no schedules, no timetables and conditional clauses: we got up with the sun and did what we wanted, so long as it didn't cost anything. We ate when we were hungry and went to bed when it got dark.

It was simple and easy to follow: no second guessing, no myths, no legends....

And then Barney showed up.

Out of nowhere, he showed up—a walk-on—to call a play.

Should have told him to fuck off then and there, but he made a good case and I couldn't argue with the chance he was offering.

It's still good, right? I mean, I did everything I was supposed to do. You're going to do your part..., right?

I remember, as a kid, coming home crying after someone or other of my classmates had beaten me up, or embarrassed me, or both. My mom was always there to wipe away my tears and reassure me that the bullies would get theirs sooner or later. All I needed was patience and all debts would be paid.

How do you call bullshit on your mom?

I never had much patience and, as far as I knew, those guys were never held accountable for anything. Holding people to account was what brought me into the IMF back in the day. We were supposed to be the sharp end of the stick.

And it did kind of start out that way. We went up against bad people doing bad things to people or nations we cared about, There was cause and there was effect: we were the effect.

But then, the reasons became less and less clear. We'd be asked to play a mark and never know why and what threat they might represent. I swear, sometimes we played guys just because of what they might do.

What...?

I'm coming to that....

When he came to me, he really was sick: no question. He had the look, the same one I remember seeing in my first dog. He was not even four and was living with all kinds of health problems. He could hardly walk anymore with bad hips and a bum ticker.

At the end, I was sleeping on the couch so I would be sure to hear him whenever he stirred and needed to go outside.

He couldn't stand up anymore, not without help.

We had a special towel we would use to slip under his belly and pull him to his feet. It also helped to steady him he lurched forward, one paw at a time. Out the door and down the steps we would look for a spot that smelled right to him and he would stop. At that point, I would drop the towel and step in behind him. The vet had showed me how, using my hands, I could gently squeeze his kidneys to help him pee.

It was heartbreaking to watch this once-proud animal be reduced to needing this kind of help.

After he was done, he would try to crouch down so he could move his bowels and you could see it put a lot of strain on him.

One night, I remember standing outside with him. It was raining and he was straining and straining. I went back up to the porch to get out of the rain and wait until he was done.

We locked eyes and he had that look. I just knew that however much he wanted to come with me, we had reached a fork in the road and were destined for separate paths.

When Barney looked at me that same way, I knew what it meant and I knew I would do whatever he asked.

We really did talk about his kids and the past and the future, but we also talked about an idea he had that some of his work was ending up in the hands of the competition.

He didn't know who and he didn't know how, but he was pretty certain that it was happening and had been for quite some time.

That's when he told me.

He really did want me to have a piece of the company—he wanted to be clear about that, but it also occurred to him that, sooner or later, whoever was giving away trade secrets would come looking for a way to bring a little daylight to their efforts, a little legitimacy.

When they mothballed the IMF and got rid of me, he figured that the time was coming soon. His illness would only embolden whoever was behind the leak.

“Don't push. Don't pull,” he said. “They will come to you, whoever they are.”

“What happens then, when they do show?”

“Let them talk. They'll want to talk and tell you all about how clever they are.”

“And then what happens?” I said.

“You let them talk.”

“That's it?” I said.

“That's it.”

“What happens if things get serious?” All this talk was making me nervous.

“What do you mean, 'what happens'? You haven't lost your edge, have you?”

Only Barney could get away with talking to me like that.

“I still know how to write me own name.”

“You'll be fine,” he said.

“So, you want me to turn him in, whoever they are? Testify?”

He strained something trying to laugh.

“Nothing like that,” he said wincing. “Just let them talk and don't worry, the right people will be listening.”

To be honest, until you showed up, the whole thing was really kind of hard to believe.