Old Man in the Dump

Jarrod Mason leaned back in his leather chair behind his mahogany desk and looked up at his accomplishments. Recycler of the Year five years running. He heard there was money in garbage, but he never expected to get this far this quickly. He looked at the travel brochures next. Aruba? Panama? He took five vacations a year with the family, always somewhere they wanted. This time he was going on his own, with his buddies. It was the fishing trip of a lifetime.

He looked up in time to see the old man walking past the gate again. He knew the guy was homeless just by the look of him. He also knew the man was living somewhere in his recycling complex, but he just couldn’t prove it yet. When he did, he’d get the police out here to remove the guy and cite him for trespassing. He had a good reputation with the community and didn’t need trash like that old, dirty, smelly man with the tattered trench coat marring his good name. He stood up from his chair and made for the door. By the time he got it open, the old man was gone. It happened like that a lot. He’d see the man and, seconds later, he vanished without a trace. He wished he could find evidence that this guy got into his property when he was gone. Even the security cameras didn’t help. It was like he knew where every one of them was, and avoided them.

Jarrod did not need that old man hanging around, especially now. In two weeks he would be featured in the biggest recycling trade magazine in the country. He didn’t need any bad press right now. He wanted this homeless man gone. As he searched the street for the man, he heard a voice next to him.

“Sir, if I may?” the old man removed his floppy felt hat to reveal his dirty, thinning blonde hair. His piercing blue eyes made Jarrod uncomfortable in a way he could not describe. His eyes had met those eyes before. He couldn't place them.

“Get off of my property before I call the police, you crazy old goat!” Jarrod demanded. He heard a growl.

“Rufus,” the man muttered as a mangy dog stepped from behind him. “That man didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” The dog immediately sat and wagged his tail, tongue hanging out at Jarrod. “I’ll go if I must, but I want to warn you.”

“What that the world’s coming to an end? Get out. I won’t say it again!”

“Hear me out. You and I both know I’ve been staying here. I need to tell you about some kids that were here last night.”

“I’ve thought for months that you’ve been trespassing. I’m calling the police.”

The man grabbed the door as Jarrod stepped back inside. “They were sent here by Skinner Recycling.”

Jarrod paused, phone in hand. Skinner was his biggest competition. He put the phone down and walked back outside. “You’ve got two minutes to make this make sense.”

“They came here to vandalize the place. They know about the article…”

“Expose,” Jarrod interrupted.

“Whatever,” the old man waved his grimy hand. “I saw ‘em, but Rufus cornered ‘em. I got the story out of ‘em, though. They were sent to trash the place.”

Jarrod didn’t know what to say. He was lucky to have the information, but not comfortable with this man. He didn't have time for this. He was a busy, important man. The old man's eyes, though. How did he know those eyes?

“You don’t know,” the man continued, “how many things I’ve stopped from happening over the last three years here. I've been here since I first saw you in the papers.”

“Three years? Saw me in the papers?” Jarrod felt his blood pressure rise. “I want you and that mangy mutt out of here!”

Rufus followed, tail between his legs, as Jarrod escorted the man to the gate.

“Please, Sir, just let me stay one more week. I’ll be gone then, I promise.”

“No! You will not be here another minute, Old Man!” Jarrod’s voice rose.

Rufus took off, barking and growling. A truck backed up in the yard, with a loud beep, beep, beep. Rufus ran toward the back of the truck where a small child was playing.

“Trayden!” Jarrod shouted at the boy. He was frozen in fear as the truck backed closer to his son. The old man moved, but far too slowly, toward the boy and the truck.

The truck stopped, but neither of the men could see the boy. Rufus howled. They heard the boy scream. The driver jumped out of the truck, yelling at the dog, which had scared him into stopping.

“Holy Cow, Boss!” The driver exclaimed. “I almost killed him! I saw the dog, but I never saw him! I’m so sorry. I just stopped so I wouldn’t hit that mangy dog!”

The old man was next to Jarrod now, calming the boy and stroking Rufus’ wiry, dirty fur. “He saved his life, you know,” he said to Jarrod.

“How could that mangy piece of garbage do something like that?” Jarrod exclaimed. “He was trying to kill him. Why would you even think him intelligent enough to try to save him? Give me my son!” Jarrod pulled the child from the old man.

“He’s my dog,” the old man said slowly. “Why wouldn’t he save the life of my only grandson?”

Word Count: 914