Pedro had not noticed the small box attached to the telephone pole until last Saturday. He was walking Pilot, the pit bull, and as the dog relieved himself at the bottom of this particular pole on Laster Street, Pedro noticed the box. It was the size of a shoebox, but flatter, made of dark red enameled metal. It could have been just a solid piece; there were no visible lines on it, but a wire the size of a phone charger cord emerged from the top and went up the pole. Pedro touched the box tentatively. It was warm. Pilot pulled on the leash, wanting to continue the walk.
Pedro forgot about the box for a few days, because it was his sister Angela’s turn to walk the dog the first three days of the week. That was when Pedro had to be at his second job from 4 pm to midnight at the parking garage, and had no time to see to Pilot’s needs.
On Wednesday, Pedro remembered to ask Angela if she’d seen a red box on the phone pole at Laster and Pluma Verde, but she hadn’t noticed it. She did, however, share a rumor that was going around: the police were testing some new technology by surveilling the mostly-Hispanic neighborhood more extensively than ever before.
“Why? Nothing’s ever happening here!” Pedro was skeptical.
Angela gave him a quizzical look. “Don’t you remember the drug bust last month at the smoke shop?”
“That stuff turned out to be legal!” Pedro was an occasional customer at that shop, which sold CBD and THC products, so he felt protective, and he thought the whole thing had blown over.
“They want to get somebody for something, I’m pretty sure,” Angela said, then reminded him it was his turn to walk Pilot. Pilot had been a “gift” from their Uncle Alvaro, who’d had to leave town for a while. The six-month-old dog had been dropped off at their little house almost a year ago, and Pedro and Angela had been delighted--at first. Now the handsome gray-and-white critter was a chore--with an expensive appetite. Still, if a person wanted sloppy affection, Pilot was always ready. And he did keep a watch on the premises.
Turning onto Laster Street, Pedro kept his eyes up. He and the dog were nearing the red box. Suddenly Pilot growled, barked, and stopped moving. There were little flames and smoke coming from the small red box. The phone pole wasn’t on fire itself, it was just the host for this modest conflagration. Pedro remembered reading about e-batteries exploding. That must be what this was, and the box must have supplied power to a camera up there. Was this the spontaneous combustion of the police department’s new technology? Or had someone sabotaged it? Either way, Pedro was pleased, and wanted to examine this phenomenon more closely.
But Pilot did not want to move toward the smoke, so Pedro finally led him across the street and away from the burning box. Angela might be pleased, too, when he told her what he’d seen. But, as she had said, “They want to get somebody for something.” This was certainly something. Pedro and Pilot were on the next block though, on the other side of the street, when a siren sounded briefly from Laster and Pluma Verde, and then what must have been a second cop car drove slowly by them, but didn't stop. “Thanks, doggo,” Pedro said.
— Macoff
Pedro forgot about the box for a few days, because it was his sister Angela’s turn to walk the dog the first three days of the week. That was when Pedro had to be at his second job from 4 pm to midnight at the parking garage, and had no time to see to Pilot’s needs.
On Wednesday, Pedro remembered to ask Angela if she’d seen a red box on the phone pole at Laster and Pluma Verde, but she hadn’t noticed it. She did, however, share a rumor that was going around: the police were testing some new technology by surveilling the mostly-Hispanic neighborhood more extensively than ever before.
“Why? Nothing’s ever happening here!” Pedro was skeptical.
Angela gave him a quizzical look. “Don’t you remember the drug bust last month at the smoke shop?”
“That stuff turned out to be legal!” Pedro was an occasional customer at that shop, which sold CBD and THC products, so he felt protective, and he thought the whole thing had blown over.
“They want to get somebody for something, I’m pretty sure,” Angela said, then reminded him it was his turn to walk Pilot. Pilot had been a “gift” from their Uncle Alvaro, who’d had to leave town for a while. The six-month-old dog had been dropped off at their little house almost a year ago, and Pedro and Angela had been delighted--at first. Now the handsome gray-and-white critter was a chore--with an expensive appetite. Still, if a person wanted sloppy affection, Pilot was always ready. And he did keep a watch on the premises.
Turning onto Laster Street, Pedro kept his eyes up. He and the dog were nearing the red box. Suddenly Pilot growled, barked, and stopped moving. There were little flames and smoke coming from the small red box. The phone pole wasn’t on fire itself, it was just the host for this modest conflagration. Pedro remembered reading about e-batteries exploding. That must be what this was, and the box must have supplied power to a camera up there. Was this the spontaneous combustion of the police department’s new technology? Or had someone sabotaged it? Either way, Pedro was pleased, and wanted to examine this phenomenon more closely.
But Pilot did not want to move toward the smoke, so Pedro finally led him across the street and away from the burning box. Angela might be pleased, too, when he told her what he’d seen. But, as she had said, “They want to get somebody for something.” This was certainly something. Pedro and Pilot were on the next block though, on the other side of the street, when a siren sounded briefly from Laster and Pluma Verde, and then what must have been a second cop car drove slowly by them, but didn't stop. “Thanks, doggo,” Pedro said.
— Macoff
Too many cameras.....everywhere. You can't even scratch yourself in private anymore. opelikakat
ReplyDeleteVery good dog! Often they have the better instincts. Well written.
ReplyDeleteThe dog earned his keep for sure. Great story!
ReplyDelete