JULIENNE
                                                    IDAHO
                                                    

Olivia Jones glanced at the kitchen clock. It showed five-thirty. Ethan should be on his way home. She was anxious: hot days did not agree with her husband. A glass of beer was ready for him in the fridge and alongside it, on a plate wrapped in cling film, was his favourite meal: chicken and ham salad.

     The Jones' home, sited with three other dwellings, stood proud, built of pine, one hundred yards north of the Sheriff's Office. Today was hot, and, as usual on sultry days, Ethan had stayed at his office instead of coming home for lunch.

     She went through their routine - Deputy Camano would buy sandwiches and  drinks from Duffy's Cafe opposite the sheriff's headquarters, thus triggering the Sheriff's Office Law Number One During Hot Weather: boots up on the veranda rail, backsides on chairs in the shade, and cool drinks and sandwiches for lunch.

     If the Julienne fraternity required assistance during a Sheriff's Office Lunch Break then that was tough luck, because a law officer's lunch came first.

     Using a blender to create a pineapple and peach drink, she glanced out the kitchen window and saw Ethan approaching the gate. Her eyes opened wide, she gave a squeal of annoyance and hurried to the kitchen door and opened it.

     What was Ethan doing? Had the sun driven him mad?

     Jones wore his fake injured expression. What did Olivia mean, what was her beloved hubby doing? Jones whipped off his Stetson and smiled affably, hoping to show innocence - and failed.

     Olivia wound up the largest breath she could muster, and said, "You have a dog
with you, Ethan."

     Jones looked at the mound of white hair on four legs, then back to his wife.

     "You are right, Olivia. This is a dog. How do you think he looks with my Stetson on his head, huh? Just take one look at him, will you? I defy you to say that he does not look cute."
     "Why have you brought him here?"

     "He has no home."
 

     "Whose dog is he?"
 

     "He is ours, my dear."
 

     Olivia almost choked. "He most definitely is not! You will take that dog back to wherever he came from."
 

     "If I do that, he will start barking again."
 

     "This is Tristan's dog?"
 

     "Correction - he was Tristan's dowg." Jones tried pushing past her.

     Olivia blocked him. "Don't come in here. Take him away. Just look at the size of him! I am serious, Ethan, I will not have a dog in this house."
     Jones put on his well-practised, conciliatory, wheedling smile. "Oh, come on now - take a good look at him. Does he not take you back thirty years to when you and I first met?"

     "He does not."

     "Well he should do. Surely, you remember that lovely autumn morning in the park when we first met. You were walking your dog, Rex, and I recall thinking there is a pretty woman walking a very lucky dog. I raised my hat to you and I said good morning. You went deep red and I said your features made a lovely morning look even more beautiful."

     "I did not blush."

     "Oh yes, you did."

     "I did not."

     "I remember your face turning beet color."

     "It did not."

     I asked to escort you home, and you said yes. We walked among the falling autumn leaves and stopped outside your home on Halstead Avenue. Rex took a liking to me. I remember ruffling his ears and I said I wished I had Rex for my dog. You said I could see him again provided I saw you also. I remember you blushing again. My, you looked plumb beautiful."

     "I did not blush." Olivia sniffed. This had gone far enough. "I don't care what happened thirty years ago, Ethan - but whatever is on your cunning mind - that dog is not coming into my house."

     Jones readjusted the Stetson on the dog's head. "He reminds me of Rex, Olivia. Maybe he is twice the size of Rex and he is white whereas Rex was brown, but he sure reminds me of him."

     Olivia reached out, took the Stetson from the dog's head and stroked its ears. "You are right, Ethan. He does rather look like Rex."

     "He sure does." Jones grinned: the bases were loaded and he had just hit a home run. "Maybe you could let him into your kitchen, Olivia, if only to give him a saucer of water? I'm sure he would appreciate that, with the weather being as damned hot as it is."

     Olivia gave back Jones the Stetson. "Water I can give him, but we have no dog food."

     Jones eased into the kitchen. "Cut him chicken. We have one in the fridge."

     Olivia ran water into a saucer and put it on the floor. The dog lapped it up in three jowl-flapping gulps. She held out a hand to Jones. "Give me some money, please."

     Jones scowled. "Why do you need money?"

     Olivia grasped the dog's lead. "I need some for dog food. Marriott's store will be open until six. I may also buy a rubber ball for him to chew on. Come on, give me twenty bucks."

     Jones pursed a thick under lip. "This dog has done enough chewing today: he ate Tristan's shed door!" Jones brought out a ten-dollar bill from his wallet. "Dog biscuits I can afford, but to hell with buying a rubber ball."

     Olivia stood her full height of five feet and one inch. "Twenty bucks says I allow this dog to stay here - and ten bucks says you take him back to Tristan."

     The dog whined. Jones hitched his gun belt. Olivia was becoming mean in her fifties. "Okay, twenty dollars it is, but be careful now, he's a big dog, could run away from you, maybe even drag you down the street."

     Olivia took another ten-dollar bill from her husband, and stroked the dog's head. "He will not run away, Ethan, because he knows that I love him."

     The dog wagged its tail and licked Olivia's hand.

     Jones knew there was no answer to that, but could not resist a poison dart comment. "Love is one big load of baloney. I reckon you will parade this dog past Mrs Asquith's home because she owns a mouse-sized pooch that you do not like."

     Olivia bridled, double chins wobbling. "Sandra's dog is a King Charles spaniel! She won the top prize with him two years running at our annual dog show."

     "Dog show," growled Jones, edging toward the fridge. "That show is planned for next month, as I recall, but what the hell for? Including this dog there are only six hounds in town, so don't tell me that Sandra's pooch is a prize-winning dog. He is a glorified mouse, that's what he is. Anyway, how can you enter this dog in a dog show when he don't have a name to be entered with?"

     Olivia sniffed. "Okay, let's name him."

     "Right. How about Pooch?"

     "Don't be ridiculous."

     "Okay, so how about Dog, Hound, Canine or Mongrel?"

     "Preposterous, I say we name him Bertram, in honour of my late father."

     Jones' mouth dropped open. "Bertram - see here, I respect your father's name, Olivia, but I say we call our dog Rex, in memory of your dog. I am sure your pappy would have agreed with that."

     Olivia smiled, sniffed, and stroked the dog's head. "That is an excellent suggestion, Ethan." She smiled at the animal. "Come on, Rex, we have some buying to do." She smirked at Jones, lead out the dog, and slammed the door.

     Jones picked up the pineapple and peach drink, opened the fridge, grabbed a tin of beer and opened it. Somehow, it slipped from his grasp and spilled onto his trousers together with half the fruit drink.
     He glared at the soaked floor tiles, at the beer seeping toward the wall, at the broken glass, at the fruit juice - and at his marinating trousers.
     "Okay, sheriff," he growled. "Just who is living a god dam dog's life now?"


                                              
                                               ALLENBY
                                                 IDAHO

The day was sure a hot one and Allenby deputy sheriff Joe Gabriel was working a late shift - with a parched throat. He wished it were time to go home then he could languish under a cold shower. He smiled faintly, dreaming of chilled water running through his hair and down his back, setting off goose pimples along his spine. His wife, Eileen would prepare him a long drink of iced orange, with a dash of Jim Beam whiskey.

     The afternoon dragged. His wristwatch showed twenty minutes before six o'clock. He glanced along the sidewalk. Deputy Raynes was on a circular tour of the town, for Sheriff Webster had decided Raynes should merge his duties with Gabriel to learn the ropes, and sure enough, Gabriel spotted Raynes strolling along the crowded sidewalk toward him.

     Gabriel perspired in the heat. It was so hot that his shirt was clinging to his back. A man should not have patrol duties when the temperature was nearing one hundred degrees.

     He mulled over what he had learned of Raynes. The negro was a native of Walton, Alabama. His father was a judge. The Raynes family had sent Ganford to college and he had majored at Law. Gabriel shook his head. Why would a man with such qualifications and family connections decide to patrol the hot streets of an Idaho town? Surely, the financial remunerations of a law graduate far outweighed the prospects of a deputy sheriff. Gabriel moved aside to allow two elderly women to pass him by. He raised his Stetson to them and then used it to fan his face.
     Raynes was approaching, looking, as usual, cool and untroubled.
     "How do you do it, Ganford?" Gabriel asked as Raynes joined him.

     "How do I do what?"

     "How can you look so cool in this damned heat?"

     Raynes' handsome face slid into a pleasant smile. "I think cool, Mister Gabriel."

     "You think cool? What do you mean by that?"

     "I think cool, therefore I am cool. It is a matter of belief, Mister Gabriel."

     Gabriel grinned. "I'm not Mister Gabriel, Ganford. I'm Joe Gabriel. Call me Joe."

     Raynes nodded. "Okay, Joe, but Sheriff Webster says I shall learn much from you. When I meet a man who I shall learn from, I call him Mister, but," Raynes held up a hand, "but at your request I shall call you Joe, although I shall be thinking of you as Mister."
     Gabriel, about to reply, stopped smiling; having noted a dirt-streaked silver car pull up outside Morgan's Parlor. His curiosity rose when a large man climbed from the car. Gabriel used a handkerchief to wipe his face. He hitched his gun belt. Electricity coursed through his body. An important arrest was imminent. He glanced at Raynes, and said, "you are about to learn something right now, Ganford. See that big guy across the street who's left the car outside the beer parlor?"

     "I see him."

     "He's on our wanted list. He will be one awkward son of a bitch. Let's go see him - and leave the talking to me."

For a reason Lennox could not figure, Allenby's crowded High Street seemed at stand-off. He pulled off his Stetson to wipe the inner brim. Strong beer scents came from a bar close by. Pins and needles started running up and down his back. He glanced along the street: experience telling him he was under surveillance, then picked out two uniformed police officers standing in shade across the street.
      A bus chugged by, stirring dust. He slipped into the bar. A bartender asked what he would have and Lennox ordered beer. He looked at the large mirror behind the counter, expecting the officers would come in. They did, and without hesitation ranged either side of him.

     "Couldn't stay away, huh?" said Gabriel.

     Lennox turned to him. "What did you say?"

     This was how Gabriel wanted it: somebody resisting arrest. Years of doing not much in Allenby was coming to an exciting head. He said, "Cuff him, Ganford."

     "Cuff me for what? Whoever you're looking for, I'm not your man."

     The barman arrived with Lennox's beer. Lennox took the beer from him.

     "Put it down," said Gabriel, hand now resting on his revolver.

     Lennox noted that Gabriel was uptight, mouth trembling. "If you look in my shirt pocket you will find my..."

     "To hell with your pocket," snarled Gabriel. He drew the revolver. "Nail him, Ganford."

     "I'm a New York cop," said Lennox. "Check my badge. I'm Jim Lennox of the NYPD."

     Gabriel said, "Put your badge on the bar."

     Lennox did so. Gabriel checked it and handed it back to Lennox. "Guess I owe you an apology."

     "It's not necessary, but who had you figured me to be?"

     Gabriel tried taking it further. "Sheriff Webster would be interested to meet you. What say you come along?"

     Lennox nodded. "Sure, when I've finished my beer."