Case of the Poodle Doodle

by Erik Schubach

  He rolled his eyes, “One.” I started that way, then the smart ass corrected himself. “I mean two.”

  I almost tripped myself on my own feet as I changed directions, flipping the chuckling man off. It took a minute as I had to greet the pups vying for my attention.

  I reached out and opened the door to the isolation room that was made up to look like an average dog-friendly living room. A super fuzzy head popped up from the couch, and he looked at me with a goofy, expectant look. He was such a good boy, not rushing the door.

  I smiled at him and nudged my head toward the general population... I mean pupulation room as a couple dogs ran in to look at the big fluffy guy on the couch, “Come on, Floof, I'm springing you.”

  Poodles are among the smartest breeds, almost as smart as Border Collies, and he wasn't stupid... he knew when someone offered him freedom. He clumsily got off the couch, took a second to sniff the newcomers, then loped over to me, with his tail swishing and tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

  Dear lord was he still in that awkward and goofy puppy stage. The other goofy dog I knew, Tinkerbell, a Great Dane, would love him.

  I leaned down, scrubbed his ears, and he gave me a wet doggy kiss as I told him, “Go play with the others.” He looked up and spotted Calvin leading some other dogs around. I saw recognition in his eyes, and I swear he smiled as he awkwardly padded after my boy to reintroduce himself.

  I took a moment to catch up with Ralph, Doc when she resurfaced, and the volunteers coming in and out to walk the various residents of the rescue. Then when I laid down in the middle of the floor to make a snow angel as all the pups swarmed me, my cell buzzed again.

  My giggles silenced instantly as I sat up and swallowed as I stared at the phone. Ok, you can do this Fin. It was a direct call from the orphanage. I thought Miss Smythe was going to conference in again, but apparently, something changed.

  I wasn't prepared for them... it was four minutes early. I stood, cradling the phone staring at it as I ran to a couch and sat, dogs trying to pile onto my lap.

  Ralph asked from the front desk, his brow knitted in worry, “Aren't you going to get that, boss?”

  I stared at the incoming FaceTime request as I nodded first at it then him. I took a deep breath as Calvin put his head in my lap and whined once. He always knew when I needed him. I pasted a smile on my face and hit accept.

  I blinked when I saw Luce instead of Mrs. Doyle and saw her room that we hear she shared with five other girls behind her. Her head was turned away from me as she was blurting out, “Of course I'm doing it right. I know how to work this better than you, you Luddite. I'm the young one here, you're like a jillion years old.”

  I heard the counselor chastising, “Luce O'Conner, I'm not that old, and you should be on your best behavior, the McLeary-Mays are darling people.”

  The girl took in a deep breath like she was going to go off on another tirade when I asked, “Luce?”

  She spun to the computer, blinking in shock as she spit out in surprise, “Feck!” Her eyes wide and her fingers touching her cheek subconsciously.

  In unison, Mrs. Doyle and I snapped, “Language!”

  She blushed, and she looked back, then at me, and she leaned in closer, looking mortified as she whispered to me, “Sorry. The adults here have a problem with technology.” She raised her voice as she just kept touching her cheek with her fingers then the back of her hand as she called out over her shoulder, “They're more at home with stone wheels and smoke signals.”

  She smiled to herself when another adult female voice called out, “Mind your tongue little miss, lest we take away your reading privileges for the week.”

  She blanched and started touching her cheek faster with her fingers. I contemplated the movement a moment as part of me found it sort of funny that her punishment for being so flippant would be to lose her reading privileges. Most children her age only saw the inside of a book if it were forced upon them. She whispered to me so they couldn't hear. “Sorry.”

  I had noted that she had a nervous habit of smoothing down her shirt and occasionally would touch her cheek. But in this heightened emotional state, she was doing the touch more frequently. I tried to put her at ease. “I understand. Jane still takes notes at crime scenes on a pad and paper.” I didn't mention the reason, which was a really good reason once I heard it, nor that she transfers her notes to her computer or pad almost immediately.

  When Jane first explained it, it was because... Luce nodded, saying, “It would be a good tool for anyone in an investigative field. The act of manually writing facts down is more likely to reinforce memory than typing would. There are studies by the Klein Institute about memory retention techniques employed by law enforcement and...”

  I blinked and stopped her. “That's exactly right. How do you know so much about police investigation techniques?”

  She crowded the camera and said under her breath, “I was surprised to hear from Mrs. Doyle that you and Jane wished to speak with me again. That's... never happened before. So I thought it prudent to take the day between classes to research police investigative techniques employed in the States so that I might converse with her. So she would like me.”

  I saw a lot of me in her, but she seemed to take things such as research to an extreme. I didn't know if I should feel happy she wished to engage Jane in conversation or feel sad that she is desperate enough to go through the effort just on the off chance she could connect.

  I was about to reassure her that we both wanted to speak with her again when Calvin jumped onto the couch and nosed the cell, hearing Luce's voice. She again lost the formal and rigid demeanor and transformed as she smiled and giggled like a girl her age. “Hello, Sir Calvin. Your day is going well, I can only hope?”

  Cal cocked his head, and she turned back toward the door to say, “See how intelligent he is? He recognizes his name when spoken.”

  I heard patient adults somewhere out of the room. “Yes, Miss O'Conner, so you've mentioned a few times.”

  That brought up a question. “Out of curiosity, why isn't this a conference call again, and why is the counselor outside of the room?”

  She narrowed an eye toward the door when Mrs. Doyle called out, “Luce insisted on having some privacy when speaking with you this time. But we can hear everything.”

  The girl turned around and blurted toward the door in an exaggerated, raised tone, “Which precludes the intimation of privacy, now, doesn't it, you langer?”

  I didn't know what a langer was, but I could hazard a guess because of the context, as I blurted, “Luce!” As someone on her end chastised, “Be civil, Miss O'Conner!”

  Again she crowded the camera and whispered, “Sorry,” as she shot a look over her shoulder. She looked so full of mischief at that moment that I couldn't be cross over her rude outbursts. But I was seeing them as just part of the whole that made up this interestingly faceted girl.

  Then she pulled back and looked around the screen like she could see past the edges. “Is Jane there?”

  I shook my head. “Unfortunately she is at the precinct working on some cases. Though she'd very much like to chat with you again.”

  She looked skeptical and sort of slumped a little. I quickly assured her. “It's true, it is still midday here, we are both working. She's working her cases, and I just finished walking my clients in Central Park.”

  She told me, “Jane is a police detective. She brings bad people to justice.”

  I nodded and said sadly, “And gives a voice to those who no longer can.”

  She looked a little smug as she informed me, “She's like a superhero, like Black Widow in the Avengers movies.”

  That description was pretty apt. And though she initially was skeptical and disappointed, she now looked almost wistful. Then my eyes widened when she asked, “You are in a different room. Is that the family room? There were stairs before. I could only see seven of the steps, but assuming a standa
rd floor height for older buildings in Manhattan, I can extrapolate fifteen steps creating a full circle. Your use of imperial units instead of metric is problematic, how can you properly calculate?”

  I nodded and shared, “Metric is much more elegant. But yes, fifteen steps.” Then it was all I could do to stop my smile from becoming one giant smirk when I said, “Actually, I have a surprise for you. This isn't the apartment. Here, let me get the front camera added in here...” I slid my own face to the top corner of the screen and activated the front camera to pan around all the dogs milling about my feet, wondering what new game we were playing. “This is the dog rescue that Calvin and I own.”

  She looked about ready to either have a nervous breakdown or burst into an explosion of glitter and rainbows as she ground the back of her hand on her chin, raising her elbow high. My anxiety peaked until she dropped her hand, and she whispered in wonder as her smile slowly took over her face, “Canis lupus familiaris... there are so many.”

  I was beaming as I said, “Many breeds and some mutts. We find them their forever homes, it is what we do.” I panned around so she could take in the whole rescue. Ralph waved rapidly like a fool as the camera swept past him.

  I snorted and covered my mouth when she whispered, “Is he an eejit?”

  He blinked in feigned hurt when I assured her, “Pretty much. But he does have a couple redeeming qualities.”

  “Hey!”

  “Own it, Ralph.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Don't call me boss.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  Then I squeaked in laughter when she nodded and offered, “Ah, he really is an eejit.” I could have done a victory lap around his desk just then as he blew some bangs out of his eyes in indignation. I winked at him, and he grinned back.

  I told her, “You really should be a bit more tactful.”

  She nodded and said, “The women here say I can come across as abrasive.” She stepped back and motioned at the jumper and denim skirt she wore, “But I'm dressed appropriately this time. I was informed my chubbies weren't appropriate for a meet and greet. It's been my experience that they all ended the same whether I wore a dress or a burlap sack.” Chubbies? Is that what the Irish call coveralls?

  My heart went out at the profound resigned disappointment in her tone. But at the same time, she was making an effort for us in this case. I found it interesting, her logic of equating being a little rude with what she is wearing.

  I told her, “I myself am quite partial to sundresses.” I held the cell at arm's length so she could see what I was wearing. “I was in jeans and a tee before because I was painting, and the girls didn't let me change out of them after.”

  She nodded sagely.

  Then her eyes darted around the screen, her smile blooming again as she said, “Standard Poodle. The breed is derived from a German water dog.”

  I looked down to see the copper-colored fussy man looking up at me and smiled, “Luce, this is Floof. We are taking care of him while his owner recovers from something in the hospital.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Floof.”

  She nodded and looked as if she were trying to assemble a puzzle in her mind before nodding once again. “So you take in those who need care, and find others families of their own.”

  I nodded. “That's exactly what Central Park Tails is for.”

  She stated without emotion, “So you are a superhero too. Is that why you and Jane married? Because you are the same?”

  The same? We weren't the same... were we? I offered with a chuckle, “Jane and I are nothing like each other, polar opposites if you will. But I admire her for what she does when she isn't being aggravating.”

  I looked at the time on the cell as we spoke and said, “Do you mind going on a little walk with Calvin and me? I've got to get to the hospital three blocks away to visit Floof's dad before visiting hours are over.”

  She looked at me like she was trying to figure out if I was trying to get off the call with her, even though I felt like I could speak with the young girl for hours without tiring of it. “Only if you keep the front camera on. I've never been outside Belfast, and foreign lands fascinate me.”

  I nodded with a smile. “Done, and done.”

  She smiled back. I think that was the first smile she had just for me, instead of reacting to something I or someone else said. Calvin and the dogs got smiles from her, but I held onto this one because it was something we shared for the first time together.

  I saluted to Ralph and called out to him, “Remember not to look up during a rainstorm, I'd hate for you to drown.”

  He parried, “Try not to be crushed under a pile of labels, we'd have to train a whole new boss.”

  After we left the building, Luce asked with a furrowed brow, “How could a pile of labels crush someone? The man makes no sense.”

  I shared a conspiratorial grin. “He's just teasing me for labeling things so that people know where things belong.”

  She looked truly confused now. “But that just makes good sense.”

  “I know, right?”

  She smiled again. I was getting the hang of this as I learned her idiosyncrasies. I swung the camera up. “The corner window there is my mother's. She writes articles about people over fifty doing incredible things.”

  Her eyes widened. “She lives above the dog rescue?”

  I beamed and nodded. “Yup.”

  “That's brilliant.”

  I thought so too.

  I sneezed, dropping Calvin's leash to wipe my nose on my sleeve. She blurted out in distress, “You dropped Sir Calvin's leash!”

  What? Oh... I calmed her as I swung the camera down to show Calvin sitting patiently at my feet. “Cal is very well trained. He's the smartest dog I've ever known. He knows over forty commands and is trained to be an emotional support dog. He can go off leash at any time, but because there are some overbearing Animal Control officers around the park, I keep him on leash most of the time to prevent arguments as to what constitutes control.”

  The distress was out of her tone, replaced by something akin to pride as she said, “Good boy, Sir Calvin.”

  I whispered behind my hand like my fluffy boy couldn't hear me, “Don't give him a big head now.” She nodded sagely again. This girl, I liked a lot. I tried not to roll my eyes when I saw Mrs. Doyle peek in the door behind her for a moment before moving back. They had to be standing just on either side of the door as we spoke.

  I hesitated as we passed an alley, a block from the hospital when something caught my eye in my peripheral vision. I backed up and looked down the alley to see a grizzled looking man with a silver beard and silver buzzcut in a ratty old set of fatigues as he was spray painting a brick wall.

  He wasn't painting just anything, it was a mural just like the one I saw the prior day near Beckett's studio loft. I said, “Luce, I'm going to have to let you go. But I'll call again, I promise. I just saw someone I have to talk to. Have Mrs. Doyle contact me so we can set up a time where Jane can join us. I know she is dying to speak to you.”

  She looked skeptical but asked, “Do you promise?”

  I held up a hand and said, “By my honor as a New York City dog walker.”

  This seemed to satisfy her, and she nodded and said, “I'll hold you to that. Goodbye, Finnegan.”

  I winked at her. “Goodbye, Luce. Have a wonderful night.”

  I hung up and strode down the alley with Calvin, and I called out, “Hello? Sir? Can I ask you a question?”

  He looked up at me, then behind him toward the other end of the alley then dropped his spray can and ran down the alley and disappeared around the corner. I hesitated in indecision. Should I follow him?

  I stopped at the painting. It was the same as the others, and it evoked emotions again, this time anger, with the predominant reds and sharper shapes in it. But if this man painted this... wasn't this Beckett's style?

  I looked at a me
ssage he had painted at the base of the still wet mural, then noticed a duffel bag that had all colors of spray paint cans in it. I looked back up to read the message, “You cant steal my pain” With an unfinished exclamation point. Steal his pain?

  My eyes kept going from the message to the can on the ground. It was driving me crazy, so I grabbed the can and added the apostrophe in “can't” and the dot for the exclamation point. Then I was squeaking in distress and dropping the can when someone behind me started yelling, “NYPD, drop the spray paint and turn around slowly, keep your hands where I can see them.”

  I turned and looked between the fresh-faced police officer and the wall. Pointing with a finger. “I... I didn't do this. The man who did ran off, I just fixed his punctuation.”

  He sighed and explained as Calvin just cocked his head in interest, “Tagging is illegal miss. I'm going to have to take you into the station.” He took his cuffs off his belt, and I almost whined, “Handcuffs? Are they necessary? I didn't do anything wrong.”

  He looked between his cuffs, me, and then Cal and sighed as he clipped them back on his belt. “I saw you painting the wall, miss.” He made an ushering motion.

  I tried to defend, “I was just fixing his atrocious punctuation...” I trailed off. It was true, he did catch me painting on the wall. By the seven canine lords of Nebula B, Jane was going to have a blast with this.

  I muttered, “Aww, man.” When I realized he wasn't familiar, so he wasn't from the 19th precinct. This was not going to end well.

  I asked from the back seat he had placed me in as the cruiser crawled through rush hour traffic. “I don't suppose it would make any difference if I told you I was married to a police detective?”

  I saw him cock an eyebrow as I was flooded with guilt for even asking. “Which one?”

  “Detective Jane McLeary-May from the 19th?”

  He hesitated then chuckled and asked, “Ballbuster McLeary? Really?” Ballbuster McLeary? Her reputation proceeded her.

  Chuckling he got on the radio with dispatch and requested a private channel with Jane. I was trying to get small enough to hide behind an amused looking Calvin as I heard her voice on the radio a minute later as we were pulling into a basement parking garage full of cruisers and unmarked police vehicles, “McLeary-May?”