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Show Night Keys/7 he stopped. Listened to the clicking again. Turned. On the lane behind him three dogs stood watching him. All three the same mottled gray, like German Shepherds. He kept still. So did the dogs. There was a bark, but far off, somewhere in the interior of the plant. The three did not respond, although one of the dogs dipped his head, slightly, before returning to the same posture as the others. Then in a single motion all three dogs veered out of the lane and gin*ded into the shadows, towards assembly. He waited a full minute. Then he walked rapidly with the Detex strap jerking at his neck, not through the wood shop but directly for the outside door. Outside the air was only slightly cooler. High overhead the silvery whirl and dart of the bugs in the floodlight. He blotted the sweat on his face. Dear Genie. This job is not working out like I expected. I know you have heard that before. I will stick this one out as long as it takes. Only I feel like raw hamburger walking around out here. The light was on in the guardhouse window. In a corner of the window, a cowboy hat. He started down. Cold air carried the stale sweet odor of garbage and whiskey and damp concrete out into the heat when Harris opened the door to the guardhouse. Inside, paper cups and hamburger wrappers were strewn under the coat rack and fire alarm toggles. Dollar had pulled the chemical barrel around to rest a boot on. Earlier Harris meant to empty the barrel, which the men on first and second shifts tossed the remains of their lunches into, chicken bones and milk cartons and half-eaten hamburgers, but the dumpster was all the way around in the office lot. Dollar's |