Havoc is a short story by Jack Rusher, published here Sunday, August 15, 2004. It is part of Stories.
When boy meets dog.
Havoc was a bad dog, the kind of dog who chases what runs and bites what he catches. Eddie had been on the wrong end of those teeth more than once, running hard, panting for breath, wishing he hadn’t pissed himself, feeling shame turn his fear into hate. Bruno, Eddie’s father, wasn’t afraid of Havoc or, so far as Eddie could tell, anything else; he expected his son, the heir apparent to an empire of junk yards, garbage burning plants, concrete trucks, and other waste-body disposal facilities, to share his fearlessness in spite of Eddie’s age, which was ten.
One afternoon Bruno called Eddie to the car and said, “We’re going out to the old lot under the BQE.”
“Okay, pop.”
“I am going to do you a favor today.”
“Thanks, pop.” Eddie knew better than to ask for details; curiosity was not a welcome trait in the household.
They rode quietly over bridges, past shopping centers and pizza shops, and finally to the blighted, post-apocalyptic landscape of the outermost part of the outer boroughs — to the end of Eddie’s world. They arrived at the lot, parked the car and walked to the office trailer. Havoc was chained to the trailer, next to the old guard who lived in the trailer, Willie.
Willie waved to Eddie and Bruno and walked over to meet them.
“Here you go, boy.” He handed Eddie a pistol. The gun was smaller and heavier than Eddie would have expected.
Eddie looked down at the gun in his hand and asked, “What am I supposed to do?”
“Shoot the dog.”
“But, pop—”
His father didn’t give him time to finish his protest, cutting him off but speaking in the same low, conciliatory tone he used when teaching him to throw a baseball.
“Hey, I know you’re scared. I get scared sometimes, too. The important thing is that we’re stronger than our fear. The best thing to do, if something really scares you — if it’s really a threat — is to kill it right away, before something bad happens.”
Eddie started to cry and his father lost patience with him.
“Shoot the fucking dog.”
Tears running down his face, his hands shaking, Eddie pointed the pistol at Havoc and looked away.
“No. Look at him. You need to look where you’re shooting.”
Eddie looked at Havoc and, for the first time, saw him as a simple animal, one possessing instinct rather than malice. In that moment, Eddie realized that he would rather shoot the father he loved than the dog he hated.
“It’s okay, son, just aim between the eyes and pull the trigger.”
Eddie held his breath, turned to his father, and did as he was told.