Carousel Court by Joe McGinniss

from the joint, he sends a text to Arik: I think he likes you ;)
    â€œWalk up the driveway and breathe in,” Nick tells the group, exhaling.
    Sean goes first.
    Arik’s response to Nick’s message is immediate: No shit. He keeps asking me to go camping.
    Nick doesn’t respond.
    Arik tries again: So are you in? It’s a sweet gig. I need you on this bro!
    I’m sure
    Some dude owes Boss. So we’re going to go pick it up.
    Good luck with that.
    All you do is drive and help us over the wall.
    Have fun camping ;) Keep your tent zipped.
    â€¢ •
    Nick sends a message to Phoebe:
    I’m being recruited.
    For what?
    A job.
    And? Tell me.
    Couple guys need me to help collect some debt. Good times.
    There’s a long pause. Phoebe finally responds: When is the last time you even bothered to check Monster.com?
    Sweet dreams
    â€¢ •
    Boss approaches, his pink polo shirt pulled up over his nose. He’s heavy, sunburned, and bald. Now he looks pale, hacks up something, and spits. No one asks. They just wait. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s wiping spit from his nose and chin. “Something’s dead in there,” he says. “Find it.” Another helicopter passes, and the eucalyptus and wilting palms are shaking from the wind drowning out the steady hum from the generator. In the darkness, no one moves. Sean eyes Nick and then Arik and then Nick again.
    â€œFifty to whoever finds it. Cincuenta dólares .”
    Inside, Nick kicks a couple of dead rats, avoids what seems to be human feces in the same room, with white walls covered in graffiti tags. He could direct guys like Boss does, dividing up the labor, sending pairs of men to certain parts of the house. But they don’t need to be told. So Nick just starts working. He drags three mattresses to the driveway, scoops up children’s underwear and stuffed animals and mayonnaise jars and vacuum cleaners, two hard drives and three cardboard boxes filled with old cell phones. In a bedroom he finds soccer and T-ball trophies. A child’s journal filled with stick-figure drawings and shaky writing lies on the floor. Inside an open closet,wrapped in a soiled sheet, Nick finds the source of the stench. Holding his breath, he picks it up, unravels it, and what tumbles out lands hard on the floor. It’s a dog. The carcass has no eyes and very little fur, and the bones are visible or push through the skin. No collar or tags. Nick’s face crumples from the stench. He texts Arik, eyes watery, squinting: Guess I get the 50
    The men, filthy and sweating, gather in the bedroom around the dog. Sean pokes at it with the end of a pool cue. Some little girl’s pet. The same little girl whose Dora the Explorer diary Nick found in the lavender bedroom with lavender curtains. No one moves. Arik stuffs money in Nick’s back pocket. Sean sees this and punches Arik in the ass and calls him a twink. There’s some laughter and the room clears. It’s Nick and the rotting dog. He’s talking to himself. “How many Emerson College media production majors does it take to remove a rotting dog from a bedroom closet?” He squats and reaches for a corner of the stained sheet and drapes it across the carcass. He does this with each corner until he’s got the animal completely wrapped. When he drives his hands under the body, he does so with too much force, wanting to get it over with, and his fingers slip through a seam or tear in the fabric and the matted fur gives way, probably because the maggots and blow flies have worked through the flesh, and Nick recoils and wipes his hands spastically along the hard carpet.
    The animal’s front leg has slipped loose. And Nick is holding it.
    â€¢ •
    Another transformer pops. Orange sparks shower the street. The wind carries a hint of smoke. Nick leans against his Forester, queasy. The Dumpster is half-full; the dog’s remains lie wrapped