The Death & Life of an American Dog (Paws & Claws Book 4)

by Ralph Vaughan

  “What do you have in mind, Levi?” Atlas asked.

  “We need to find out more; without information, we’re just barking at shadows,” Levi replied. “I think I can get close enough to them on Gunpowder Point to eavesdrop.”

  “There’s no cover on the road,” Sunny said.

  “True, but there are rocks along the southern shore, as well as some brush,” Levi said. “I may be tall because of these legs, but I am a small dog nonetheless. I can take advantage of the scant cover in ways larger dogs cannot.”

  “I don’t like it,” Atlas growled.

  “Atlas and I are going with you,” Flashman insisted. “We may not be able to scoot through small places like you, but we can lie in hiding on the other side of Bayfront, ready to jump in if you run into trouble.”

  “Two problems with that,” Levi explained. “Flashman, you’re so pale-colored a one-eyed Pug could see you during an eclipse. And, Atlas, as Yoda pointed out, it’s cold and marshy—your age and your injury are against you.”

  “Age?” Atlas bristled. “You, of all dogs, are in no position to lecture anyone about being old!”

  “Well, I know I’m going with you, Levi, no doubt about that,” Yoda asserted. “I can go anywhere you go—I may be bushy, but there’s a sleek and svelte dog under this fur.”

  “Of course there is, Yoda, but you’re needed here more than anywhere else,” Levi said with such sincerity that Yoda did not know whether he was being patronized or not, though he suspected he was. “Miss Sally may be able to work wonders with Baron, or she might not, but we already know he considers you a friend. If he is to have any chance at all of coming back into the light, he’s going to need all the friends he can get.”

  “But…”

  “Baron needs you.”

  Yoda humphed in frustration and turned away. He hated to be bested in any argument, but he hated it most of all when the other side based its arguments on irrefutable logic, and backed it with his own uncontrollable compassion.

  “But you can’t go down there alone,” Sunny protested. “What if you are found out? You did not see what they did to their own pack member.” She shuddered. “I don’t want to think about what they would do to you. I can understand you are not taking Flashman or Yoda…”

  “Hey!” the two dogs protested.

  “…but Atlas would be of help, even at his age…”

  “Hey!”

  “…or I could go with you,” she said. “I’m all golden, I know, but I could hide it somehow. As for lying in wait in that marshland, my breed was reared to get wet; I wouldn’t even feel the cold.”

  “It’s a one-dog job, at least for the moment,” Levi said.

  “Smokey could do it just as well,” Sunny said, mad at Levi for once again taking danger upon himself alone.

  “He could sneak up on the dogs, and probably do a better job of it than me,” Levi admitted. “But this is a matter for dogs, not cats. It would not be right to ask Smokey to risk his life. True, he and all the others are vital to our operations, but, as associates of the Agency, there are limits to what we can ask them to do.”

  “You have to take someone,” Yoda said. “What if they discover you are there spying on them?”

  “I’ll run, and run fast,” Levi replied with a grin. “That’s what these legs were made for. I doubt the others could keep up.”

  “Don’t discount the Afghan Hound,” Flashman said grimly. “I have seen those dogs when they course, and…well, let’s just say, in a race between me and the Afghan, I don’t think I would bet my kibble on me.”

  “Levi, if they catch you, it’s important that you not be alone,” Atlas said, and the others nodded.

  “From all that’s been said about these dogs,” Levi replied, “if I am caught, not being alone won’t save me.”

  Levi went to the front door and scratched at it. It was opened, and the security screen beyond, and Levi passed into the deep night. He bounded down the unlit steps, heard the soft click of the metal door closing, the softer sounds of the two locks sliding into place, and, finally, the almost silent whoosh of the wooden door being pushed to.

  The night was still, the houses dark, the street silent.

  Trying to sneak up on the foreign dogs when they were likely at high alert was probably not the best of plans, he reflected, as he started down the walkway. But they did need detailed information of what these dogs were up to, what their plans were. If he could find out enough, there was a chance this could be brought to an early end, that they would be spared the task of asking others to stand in harm’s way, and that Baron would not only be freed from his dreadful past, but would find a new home.

  Once he crossed Broadway and traversed the portion of F Street lined with bleak apartment houses and a dismal trailer park, he came to the trolley tracks. On the other side, a rutted and pocked road led into darkness, lined on both sides by bracken, cattails, rods of bamboo, and such brush as could withstand life in the brackish water that ebbed and flowed with the tides.

  Fortunately, the tide was out, so while the area still reeked of decay and corruption, it was not as wet as it would be at other times. Levi left the road, paralleling it. He crept silently, the wide paddle feet of his Dachshund ancestry giving him good purchase as he made his way through the muck and the mire.

  Finally, he came to where the road curved south to the marina and the commercial waterfront. The road was narrow, only two lanes, but as he darted across it seemed wide as a superhighway. He dove into cover on the other side.

  Though now blocked to traffic by a metal barrier, a small road, barely wider than a single lane, once asphalted but now pitted and cracked, split off from the main road and led out onto the point. The towers of the Shangri-La restaurant had fallen long ago, but the ruins of the chambered foundation and walls remained, rising dim amongst the brush and stunted trees that clung to the spit of land.

  Uttering silent prayers to First Dog and Anubis, Levi crept to the southern shore of the peninsula and made his way into the heart of darkness.

  Shortly after, a shadow followed.

  Chapter 9

  “Who could that be, scratching at the door?” Sunny asked.

  “Surely not Sally,” Atlas said. “It’s been less than an hour since Little Kitty contacted her.”

  The door was opened and a Collie entered.

  “Miss Sally!” Atlas exclaimed. “But how…”

  The rough-coated sable and white dog laughed. “I had help from a friend.”

  For the first time, they noticed another dog silently standing outside, pale and ghostly in the starlight. His blue eyes blazed with icy fire.

  “Gibbs!” Atlas and Flashman exclaimed.

  Yoda thrust his shaggy head between the two larger dogs.

  “Gibbs?”

  “Miss Sally had to get here quickly,” the old Husky said. “The beds of northbound pickup trucks are handy this time of night.”

  “You’re Gibbs?” Yoda asked, stepping onto the porch. “Your name is really Gibbs?”

  “Yep.”

  Yoda came off the porch and stood before the much larger dog. “That’s your name? Really truly? Gibbs?”

  Gibbs nodded.

  “Wow, it must be really an honor to be given a name like that, I mean with it being, you know, and then there’s a show that I watch all the time and it’s…”

  Gibbs smacked the back of the young Pomeranian’s head, not with any real force, but hard enough to get his attention.

  “Yeah,” Yoda said. He happily rubbed the back of his head. “You’re Gibbs all right. My name is Yoda.”

  “Hello, Yo-da,” Gibbs said, splitting the Pomeranian’s name into two distinct syllables. “What’s up?”

  “Before you all get into that, I want to take a look at Baron,” Sally said. She looked to Yoda. “You’re the one who found him, who talked him in?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Yoda said reflexively.

  “Then come with me.”

&nbs
p; “But, I…”

  “Come with me,” the Collie repeated. “Baron needs you.”

  Yoda gave some thought about disobeying the stranger, but it was a thought so fleeting it was as if it had never existed. She was not an alpha, but, still, there was some quality in her tone that made it clear to Yoda that he was going to follow her without dissent. With a deep sigh and a pained look of resignation on his face, Yoda followed her into the house. Sunny joined the three dogs out on the lawn. Little Kitty, taking advantage of the open doors, left the house and settled onto the edge of the porch.

  “Haven’t I seen you before, cat?” Gibbs said.

  “Nope,” Little Kitty replied. “I don’t get out much. They don’t let me, and I don’t think it’s fair.”

  “Thought I saw you on Fourth Avenue,” Gibbs said, “as Miss Sally and I leaped from the back of a pickup truck.”

  “Maybe you hit your head or something,” Little Kitty said. “I’ve been in all night, despite my best efforts.”

  Gibbs still stared at her.

  “The name’s Little Kitty,” she said. “Take a picture, why don’t you; it’ll last longer.”

  “Little Kitty?” Gibbs said.

  Little Kitty stood. “Want to make something of it, buddy?”

  “No, not at all,” the Siberian Husky said, suppressing a smile. “I wouldn’t think of it.”

  “I thought not,” Little Kitty replied smugly, settling down.

  “But it was a Calico,” Gibbs added.

  “Humph!” Little Kitty sniffed.

  “And my name is…” the Golden Retriever started to say.

  “Miss Sunny,” Gibbs completed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I have heard nothing but good things about the Three Dog Detective Agency.” He laughed. “Even about Yoda, but I suspect it’s best not to mention that to him?”

  “Probably not,” Sunny agreed.

  “We can certainly use your help, old friend,” Atlas said.

  “I know something about Baron and his circumstances from what Miss Sally told me,” Gibbs said. “What else is going on?”

  Quickly, and with an economy of words appreciated by the older Siberian Husky, Sunny told him everything, from Yoda’s first encounter with Baron to Levi’s solitary mission to spy on the dogs from Afghanistan and gather information about their actions and intentions. When she finished, he shook his head in disbelief.

  “I had some run-ins with the followers of the Dog at the Well,” Gibbs said, “but I never thought I’d see them here.”

  “Fortunately, it’s just a small pack, here on a specific mission,” Flashman said. “They’ll either meet their end here or go home in defeat, and that’ll be the last of them.”

  “You sure about that?” Gibbs challenged.

  “I mean,” the Greyhound added quickly. “it’s not like it’s an invasion, right?”

  “It only takes one,” Gibbs said.

  Flashman nodded grimly. “And we’ve got six.”

  “Remember,” Gibbs said. “At one time, the dogs of Asia, the Middle East and North Africa all followed the teachings of Anubis and First Dog, same as all other dogs.”

  “Or at least followed in principle, if not in name,” Atlas said.

  “And now who’s the Big Dog there?” Gibbs murmured.

  “But canine society has always prized the ability of dogs to choose for themselves,” Sunny said. “No one makes us follow the old teachings. We know the difference between right and wrong. The followers of the Dog at the Well may be misguided and cruel, but is there no room in our society for them also?”

  “Plenty of room,” Atlas said. “We set aside our primal instincts in the world of companions because we are better dogs for helping them, and we also rise above instincts to coexist peacefully. Even in the wild, dogs are rarely cruel or vicious, unless they’re truly rogues or pariahs. There’s room in society for dogs who follow First Dog or Anubis or nobody at all, nothing but a belief in a higher good than ourselves. The Akitas and Shiba-Inus follow Bushido, and I even knew a dog who followed Bast, if you can believe that. Canine society is very flexible, not because we insist all dogs follow one path or another, but because we believe in ourselves, each other and a world in which we were placed to do the most good.”

  “In short, Miss Sunny,” Flashman said, “there’s room enough and then some in our world for the followers of the Dog at the Well, as long as they behave, but no place in their world for us, at all.”

  Sunny sighed. She had always lived with the belief that there was some good in all dogs, no matter what terrible things they did, always some chance for redemption. Then she thought back to what had been done to that poor Gull Dong; no dog should ever be treated that way, no matter what, and if the others were right, his only sin had been that of failure.

  “What do we do then?” Sunny asked.

  “We need not think too hard about that, wouldn’t you say?” Atlas suggested.

  “You mean follow after Levi?” Flashman asked.

  Atlas nodded. “Too old indeed!”

  “But Levi asked us to stay here,” Sunny pointed out. “You are old, Atlas, and you can’t run anymore because of your injury, and that has to affect your fighting skills.”

  Atlas wanted to argue, but knew he could not.

  “And I’m old too,” she added. “I move a lot slower than I used to because of my hip, and I know that most Golden Retrievers who are as old as I am have been in a cedar box for a few years. And, Flashman, tell us, do you still run as fast as you used to?”

  “Well, not quite as fast, but still fast.” Flashman saw the others tilt their heads in doubt, then added: “Well, I’m certainly not slow!”

  “And you, Gibbs…”

  “No need to go into it, Miss Sunny,” Gibbs said with a wan smile. “Rule Twelve—only a fool doesn’t admit his limitations. Arthritis, and my eyesight isn’t nearly what it used to be.”

  “What, then, can we…”

  “On the other paw,” Gibbs interrupted, “there’s always Rule Fifteen—never let your limitations stop you from always doing the right thing.”

  “Do you just make these up as you go along?” Sunny snapped.

  Gibbs smiled.

  “All right then,” Flashman exclaimed. “We know what we have to do, right?”

  “I’m going,” Little Kitty interjected, standing.

  The dogs looked at the Calico as if she had grown a second head.

  “Not this time, Little Kitty,” Sunny said.

  “What can four old dogs do?”

  Sunny said: “Though much is taken, much abides; and though we are not now that strength which in old days moved heaven and earth; that which we are, we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will; to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”

  “What’s that?” Atlas asked. “A poem.”

  “Written over a century ago,” Sunny replied. “It’s something Levi tried to tell me one day when I was low, was hurting in my hips, and was thinking that perhaps it was time I put aside being a detective, and left it to someone younger. The feeling eventually passed, as they do, but I didn’t realize what Levi was trying to tell me. I think I understand now.”

  Little Kitty still stood on the porch.

  “Go on in, Little Kitty, please,” Sunny said gently but firmly. “Leave us to our work.”

  Reluctantly, the Calico started back into the house.

  “But,” Sunny added, “whatever you do, don’t tell Yoda.”

  “If I can’t go, then I’m certainly not going to tell him.”

  The security door closed, then the wooden door.

  “The cat I saw looked just like her,” Gibbs said.

  Sunny looked at Gibbs a moment, then, excusing herself, went to the driveway gate. She peered through the crack between the gates, then went next door and paced the walkway that ran the length of the chain-link fence from one end to the other. She called several times, but there was no
answer. She returned to the three military dogs, a worried look on her face.

  “What’s the matter, Miss Sunny?” Atlas asked.

  “There’s no trace of our two outdoor cats,” she explained. “I looked from one end of the driveway to the other, behind the brick planter, and between the garage and the fence. There’s no sign of either Smokey or Groucho.”

  “I wouldn’t worry, if I were you,” Flashman said. “You know how cats are…probably running fence-lines and raiding trash cans.”

  “No, they are always in the driveway at night,” Sunny insisted. “They may go out in the evening or before dawn, but not in the middle of the night, and not without telling us. They are associates of the Agency, and they know how many enemies we have, not even counting this new threat. They wouldn’t take off and leave us without security unless there was an emergency of some kind.”

  “But still…” Atlas started to say.

  “Groucho looks almost exactly like Little Kitty,” Sunny said. “Was the Calico you saw slightly thinner than Little Kitty, a bit longer in the skull?”

  “I couldn’t say for sure,” Gibbs admitted. “Eyesight. But, still, that was up on Fourth Avenue, opposite from here of the Point.”

  “Well, yes, that’s true, I guess,” Sunny admitted. “But if he is up there, then where is Smokey?”

  “From what I’ve heard of that old ship’s ratter of yours, he can take care of himself,” Gibbs said. “If even half the stories are true.”

  Sunny smiled. “A little more than half, I would say. He’s a very remarkable cat, complete with an enigmatic personality and mad fighting skills. And he’s devoted to Levi, though he would never admit it, and Levi would deny it.”

  Atlas frowned in confusion. “A cat as independent as Smokey, devoted to a dog, even one like Levi? That seems hard to believe. That they work together, even like each other, yes, but…well, that seems a bit farfetched.”

  “It’s a long story, but not one I think I should tell without leave of Smokey and Levi,” Sunny replied. “For the time being, let’s just leave it that Smokey wouldn’t be the cat he is, likely would not call Chula Vista his home, and might not even be alive today were it not for Levi’s actions.”