Water Dogs Read Online Free PDF Page B

and Boak who had originally established the credo, actual vets—they’d been in Saudi during the Gulf War. They had a good handle on how to set the tone at the Dutchman.
    During the second hour, Littlefield ventured about twenty yards ahead—Julian and Bennie hung back in a snarl of spruce trees—but nothing came of it. As usual, the urchiners were perfectly happy just holing up, waiting for their opponents to make the wrong move. Just before the whistle blew, Bennie found LaBrecque. He was set up behind them, prone, most of his body hidden by a plywood bunker, but Bennie had a clear bead on his head. Because it was so late in the match, a hit would seal the win. Bennie locked him in. He had him fully FedExed (Julian’s term), but just before Bennie squeezed his trigger, LaBrecque must have felt his gaze. His head popped down, out of view. Gendron Knight blew his whistle.
    Ultimately, an uneventful match.
    When the whistle blew, Bennie’s fingers were stiff in his gloves, his back ached from crouching, and all he’d been thinking about (before he’d had the chance to aim his gun at LaBrecque’s head) was heating up some beef stew, filling the fireplace with wood, and sitting on the old purple couch with Helen.
    They all knew the Dutchman closed at two-thirty in the wintertime and that Gendron got crabby when he had to shut down late, so when the whistle blew everyone came out from the trees. Bennie was relieved, ready to end the game despite the tie score, but the urchiners were clearly annoyed. They all gathered by the frozen duck pond near the north fence, masks still on, as Boak and Shaw approached.
    Boak was their captain. It wasn’t until all six men had gathered in a tight circle that he pulled off his hat and mask. His hairline was just a few inches above his eyebrows and his cheeks were badly scarred from acne and other aggressions. There weren’t many guys in town that just by standing in front of you made you consider exactly how to defend yourself. Boak looked capable of considerable bare-handed violence. The same was true of Shaw. The game was over and no one on his team had been hit, but still Boak looked like someone had kidnapped his sister. He was flushed and ugly. Shaw and LaBrecque removed their hats and masks, too. Bennie hadn’t seen LaBrecque before today—he was six or seven inches taller than Boak and Shaw, had wide shoulders, whiskers on his sturdy chin, and gray eyes. He was probably younger than he looked. He gazed out and nodded to Bennie, to Julian, and then to Littlefield.
    Boak said it was a cracker way to end the battle. Littlefield said he couldn’t agree more. Tying was not part of the paintballer’s credo. But when Gendron Knight came out on his snowmobile to reiterate the time issue, there was no room for discussion. That’s when the snow began to fly; the storm was starting, little light pellets landing on Bennie’s eyelashes. They all put their hats and masks back on and trudged to Gendron’s shack to return the guns.

    Within the hour, Bennie and Littlefield and Julian were bullshitting at Julian’s. Through the window near the end of the bar, they could see the snow falling—now a heavy sugar snow churning in the gusts of wind. The sun hadn’t gone down yet, though the light outside was dark blue.
    Julian was officially off duty, but he was keeping an eye on things and helping collect empty glasses for the bartender. Helen was finishing her lunch shift in the kitchen—they stopped serving at three, but Bennie knew she had to Saran-wrap food containers, wipe down the stove and counters, and prep for the dinner shift before leaving, when she would drive back to his place, where he’d heat up the beef stew.
    The beer made Bennie feel warmer, but his fingers were still numb. They’d just ordered their second round when Boak and Shaw and LaBrecque entered the bar. They’d taken off their white snowsuits. Each had a thin layer of snow on his head.
    “Good battle