Mitch went up to the front door and knocked. There was no answer. He had spoken to the guy on the phone not more than an hour ago, and he had sounded very old. Perhaps he had just hung up the phone and gone out and forgotten all about them.

“Dude, I’m telling you, it reeks. There’s something in there,” he heard Doug saying. Standing on the front porch, Mitch rolled his eyes. They were still bitching about whether or not Linda’s car smelled. Obviously the car smelled. It had nearly made Mitch gag on the ride over, but so what? Couldn’t these guys see the need to focus? He wondered how they were going to pull this robbery off if they kept getting sidetracked and bitching about trivial shit.

“Come on, you guys,” Mitch said, deciding that he had to be the leader of this crew. They hadn’t even gone over to look at the old Impala. Instead, Doug was digging around under the driver’s seat of Linda’s car and pulling out a bag.

“Ohmigod,” said Kevin. He had turned pale.

“What are you guys doing?” said Mitch, but he was alarmed enough now by Kevin’s reaction that he was no longer angry.

“God, this bag REEEKS,” said Doug, holding it at arm’s length. It was a heavy, dark green trash bag that unfurled as he held it out, and as it was upside down, the contents fell out and landed with a thud at Doug’s feet.

It was Scotch Parker.

Doug yelped and hopped away from the dead terrier’s little body. Released from the trash bag, the full odor of the rotting carcass hit all of them at the same time, and Mitch gagged and felt his eyes water. He looked over at Kevin, who had covered his face with his hands, seemingly more ashamed than disgusted.

“Dude,” Doug croaked. “Why are you driving around with, like, a dead dog under the seat?”

Kevin was strangely silent.

“Seriously, man,” Mitch said after a second. “That’s a good question.”

They all stared at the little terrier’s body, bloated and gray. Mitch took a deep breath and went in closer to get a better look. The dog’s eyes were half open, his tongue hanging out of half-open jaws, his tiny teeth exposed. For most people, the sight of a dead body of any species was a cause for emotion, so seeing a dead animal that he had never known in life was a rare opportunity to study death in a neutral context. Then he breathed and got a whiff of the decaying carcass, and he gagged again.

“Kevin, man, we gotta bury this thing,” he said.

“His name’s Scotch,” Kevin said, his voice flat.

Mitch was taken aback by Kevin’s tone and turned to Doug. “You wanna help me bury it?”

Doug nodded and walked over to the half-collapsed garage. Leaning against some rotting firewood was an old, rusted shovel.

“FUCK!” Kevin screamed.

Doug and Mitch, who were about to start digging a hole by the pile of rotting firewood, flinched.

“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!” Kevin was screaming at the top of his lungs. He walked over to the front of Linda’s car and began savagely kicking a headlight. This isn’t good, Mitch thought. The whole aim of this transaction was to keep everything cool, to pay cash for a junk car and leave, and not be remembered.

“What the hell is his problem?” Doug asked Mitch.

“I dunno,” said Mitch, looking equally mystified. He handed Doug the shovel and ran over to where Kevin was screaming. “Dude,” he said, putting his hand firmly on Kevin’s shoulder. “What are you doing? What’s the matter with you?”

Kevin seemed to run out of energy and slumped forward. “Fuck,” he mumbled.

“Is this about that dead dog?”

Kevin suddenly lurched forward, full of fury again, and kicked the bumper. “FUCK!” he screamed. Mitch tried to hold him back.

“Settle down,” said Mitch softly.

“I’ve got…” Kevin said, panting from the effort of his outburst, “a goddamned dead dog under the seat of my car.” He threw his arms up and turned around to face Mitch. “That’s like the story of my fucking life.”

“Well…” said Mitch, trying to think of something helpful to say, “I wouldn’t go that far. But as long as we’re on the subject, why is there a dead dog-”

“I’VE GOT A DEAD DOG UNDER THE SEAT OF MY CAR AND A FERRARI IN A FOREST AND A FUCKING DRUG-DEALING DOCTOR MAKING ME SELL HIS PILLS FOR HIM!” Kevin was bellowing like a wounded animal and Mitch’s only thought was that he was glad they were in a neighborhood where the houses were fairly far apart. If he’d had an outburst like this back where they lived, neighbors would have been peering out their windows and calling the cops by now.

“Dude, keep your voice down!” yelled Doug from over by the garage, where he was dutifully digging a hole.

“Goddammit! Fuck my life! Fuck my fucking life!” Kevin kicked the front of the car again, but the burst of energy was gone, though the fading rage seemed all the more heartfelt. “Fuck, dude,” he said to Mitch, as if imparting a profound piece of wisdom. “I mean, fuck.”

Mitch nodded.

“I can’t do anything right. Not one fucking thing.” Kevin sounded like he was about to start sobbing. He was wearing a frozen half-smile, though, and Mitch wasn’t sure which of his senses he should be guided by. “I mean, I leave a goddamned dead dog in the car and let my wife and my daughter drive around with it in there for a fucking week and… and… they fucking poisoned him with antifreeze, man.” “Poisoned who?” Mitch ventured, trying to piece the rant together.

“ANTIFREEZE!” Kevin screamed and Mitch flinched, realizing the tirade wasn’t nearly over. “And the cop wouldn’t do a goddamned thing about it, and he said I could investigate myself for five hundred dollars. Five hundred dollars! Do you have five hundred dollars to investigate…”

Kevin seemed to be pausing for breath so he could bellow some more incoherent syllables, but Mitch put his hand up, almost as if he were requesting a turn to speak in class.

“Dude,” he said. “It’s OK. We’re going to rob an armored car.”

Kevin considered that for a second and Mitch thought how odd it was that robbing an armored car was the only hopeful thing he could offer. Maybe things really were that bad. “I’ll probably fuck that up too,” Kevin said, but more softly, and Mitch thought the outburst really was over. Thank god the old guy wasn’t home.

“We’re not gonna fuck it up, man. We’re gonna do it right.”

Kevin stared into the grass of the old man’s yard for a moment, then looked up, suddenly cheerful. Suddenly enough for Mitch to be a little alarmed. The switch in emotion was almost psychotic.

“OK,” Kevin said, brimming with energy. “Let’s do it.”

“You wanna have a look at the Impala?” Mitch asked cautiously.

“Yeah,” said Kevin, his eyes now insanely bright. “Let’s have a look at the Impala.”

“You OK, man?” asked Doug, who had just finished burying the dog by the garage. He tamped down the last piece of earth and put the shovel back against the woodpile.

“I’m great!” said Kevin, with an enthusiasm that made Doug and Mitch glance at each other. Mitch shrugged. They opened the hood and looked at the Impala’s engine, which was in surprisingly good condition.

There was the sound of footsteps behind them and Mitch was startled to see an old man dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt standing there.

“Hey,” Mitch said, trying to hide his surprise. “I didn’t see you there. Where did you come from?”

The old man appeared annoyed. “Came out the back door. To see what all the commotion was. You fellas wanna buy this thing? It’s three hundred dollars.”

“I’m Rick,” said Mitch, extending his hand. The old man grabbed it and then let go. This grumpy old bastard was barely looking at them, so the subterfuge was, hopefully, unnecessary.

“You wanna buy this thing? It’s three hundred dollars.”

“Does it run?” asked Kevin.

“Yeah it runs. It runs OK. What do you want, a goddamned new Cadillac? It’s three hundred dollars, for chrissake. Get it outta here.”