L.A. Kornetsky - Gin & Tonic 03 - Doghouse

by L. A. Kornetsky

  Tonica considered the question. “Yeah. That would make sense. And… it fits the players better—there’s been a sense of casualness to all this that didn’t feel right, if we were talking about something so violent. It also explains why we got mugged by the loser twins back there, instead of getting an actual beat-down, or being shot.” He paused. “Are puppy mills even illegal?”

  Ginny had already gotten her tablet out, and was looking up the local regs on breeding facilities. “Washington has laws on the books regulating any place with more than ten dogs. How many dogs would you guess were down there?”

  “I’d have said no more than ten, assuming the cages were large enough to turn around in, and they weren’t packing in any golden retrievers. So say nine, to keep them legal… Nasty, but legal.”

  Ginny harumphed. “You can’t make a lot of money selling nine dogs at a time, not enough to justify the cost, I wouldn’t think. Not for dogs without papers. But if you had a couple of these places, maybe five?” The number of houses Deke’s landlord had on the books.

  “Or more,” Tonica said. “That’s one landlord—it could be a franchise.”

  Ginny pressed her eyelids shut against the tears. Basement after basement of puppies like Parsifal, like the dog they saw on the street…

  “How many of them do you think die, Teddy? How many of the puppies… ?”

  “I don’t know. A lot, probably. That wasn’t a sterile environment down there, and they weren’t getting the best of care.” Tonica shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, though.” His hands were resting on the steering wheel, his fingers slowly curling and uncurling as though he were regretting not hitting Goons One and Two when he had the chance. “There’s regulation, yeah, but it sounds like they’re not doing anything illegal. We can’t call the cops, because nobody was breaking any laws—they were just being scummy. And we have no proof of animal abuse to nail them on.”

  “So we’ve got nothing. Maybe… maybe it’s time to let go.”

  In the seat behind them, Georgie let out a sigh, clearly tired after all the excitement. Tonica’s sigh almost echoed hers. “Mallard.” She could hear the frustration in that one word.

  “Look,” Ginny said, “you’re the one who’s always reminding me that we’re not pros, that we’re going to get ourselves killed doing this, right? Well, Deke almost did get killed, and Shana, too—somebody I dragged into this. And we just got jumped, even if they didn’t have guns—this time. And Deke’s still going to be homeless at the end of the day. Literally, since his house isn’t habitable right now. Oh, and remember, we got fired. So why not just cut our losses and walk away, let Deke take his lumps like an adult? Like we said we would, if he was actually guilty?” She stopped more because she’d run out of breath than because she’d run out of words.

  “Because if we did that, we’d hate ourselves.” Tonica glanced sideways at her, then he started the car, and pulled away from the curb and into traffic.

  “So what, then?” she asked, frustrated, but unable to argue the point because yeah, he was right.

  “So we keep going. And I can’t believe I’m the one giving rah-rah pep talks this time.”

  That almost made Ginny laugh. True, they’d totally switched their usual positions on this.

  “We know what we know… what don’t we know yet?” he asked.

  Ginny thought.

  “We don’t know who set fire to the house, and why—or even if it was arson at all. We don’t know who the loser twins’ boss is, although I’ll lay money on it being the cold-eyed podiatrist, what’s his name.”

  “Hollins,” Tonica supplied.

  “Right. Hollins, who we know is linked to the gym, if not directly with Deke. We don’t know if the two things—dogs and fire—are connected, or if the fire was the landlord trying to clear the decks so he could upgrade.” She reached back and rubbed the side of Georgie’s head. “We don’t know a lot. I don’t know how any of it can help us, though.”

  “Start with the fire. If it was arson, if the landlord was behind it, or if we can even suggest that the landlord was behind it…”

  “If the landlord was responsible, or he knew anything about what was going on, we can use that as leverage to get Deke good references, get him housed again. Yeah. Yes. All right.” He knew her too well: the moment they had a plan, even the baby germ of a plan, her mind seized on it, focusing all the tension and stress into something she could do. “I should be pissed at how well you know how to manipulate me.”

  “It’s called partnership, not manipulation,” he said. “So, talk to me. What else do we have, what else do we need, to nail the landlord to the wall?”

  “We need eyewitnesses. Deke’s useless, and I’m pretty sure Shana told me everything she knew, but there was someone else there—the maintenance guy who called the fire department. The cops had to have talked to him already.”

  “But there’s no way he’ll talk to us, not if the cops have put the fear of being accused into him, and I’ll bet they have, even if only by implication. So we’re back to needing the accident reports, and the insurance forms. Because otherwise right now all we’ve got is a burnt-out boxer, and a burned-down house.”

  “And a tiny puppy. Pretty much, yeah,” she said. She leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. Somehow, this case seemed so much harder than their others. Maybe because they knew their client, maybe because Deke was so… hopeless, on his own. Hapless, was the word that came to her. She’d never understood what it meant before, not really.

  “Huh.”

  She opened her eyes. “What?”

  “Probably nothing.”

  “You don’t say ‘huh’ when it’s probably nothing, Tonica. What?”

  His gaze strayed to the rearview mirror, and he frowned. “I think we’re being followed.”

  “What?” She quashed the urge to turn around and look—not cool, if they were being followed—and stared out the windshield instead, as though the car in front of them might have an answer. “Why? I mean, why do you think that?”

  “I’ve seen the car behind us before. I didn’t think anything of it because hey, lots of cars in Seattle. But not so many black sedans, like a livery car.”

  “You think someone hired a livery car to follow us?”

  Tonica changed lanes, then looked in the rearview mirror again. “Yeah, no, but I’m pretty sure they’re following us. There was no reason for them to change lanes when I did, but they did and stayed a car behind. I think the guy’s a pro.”

  “How do you know how a professional follows someone, Tonica?”

  “I watch a lot of television.”

  She knew for a fact that he didn’t even own a television.

  “Seriously?”

  “There’s one way to find out.” He changed lanes again, and took the next exit before the bridge, heading for Queen Anne. It took them out of their way back to Ballard, but Ginny didn’t question him, and she didn’t turn to see if anyone—specifically a black sedan—followed them off the exit ramp.

  Tonica took them down side streets, staying just at the speed limit, driving as though he knew where he was going. For all she knew, he did. Ginny waited, her fingers pressed into her palms. Behind her, Georgie stirred restlessly, picking up on her unease.

  “Damn,” Tonica said.

  “Still with us?”

  “Yeah. No, wait.” He looked in the mirror again. “I don’t know.” They came to a corner with a red light, and paused, waiting. The tension in the car was high, both of them staring straight ahead, Tonica occasionally glancing into the rearview mirror without turning his head.

  “Is he behind us?”

  “No.”

  “Yay?” she ventured cautiously.

  “Yay, I guess,” he agreed. “I was so damned sure… .”

  A car pulled up at the oth
er corner of the intersection, and Tonica cursed. Ginny was able to see that it was a black sedan, just as the light changed and the sedan turned on yellow and cruised past them—too slowly to mistake the considering look the driver gave them, as though he were inspecting the interior of their car. The other windows were tinted, dark enough to hide anyone who might be in the backseat.

  “Teddy…” Ginny’s fingernails dug into the flesh of her palm, which was suddenly slick with sweat.

  And then the sedan and its driver were gone, speeding away.

  Ginny exhaled, unclenching her fingers slowly. “What the hell was that all about?”

  “Damned if I know,” he said. “But that wasn’t casual interest.”

  “No kidding,” she said. “And it wasn’t friendly interest, either. I’ve been checked out before and it doesn’t look like that.”

  In the back, Georgie whined, and Ginny turned around to look at her. “What’s wrong, baby? Did the weird man upset you, too?”

  “It was like he was looking for something,” Tonica said. “Something in the car. I—you had Stacy pick up Parsifal, right?” he asked, and his voice was a little too calm, a little too tight for comfort.

  Ginny just looked at him, her hazel eyes wide. “Yeah.”

  Normally Stacy preferred the endless restless chaos of a night shift, where she had to think fast and be quick on her feet to keep orders moving and the patrons happy. But she had to admit that there was something nice about a slow afternoon shift, too. Especially when she had good company.

  “Oh, puppy! A tiny puppy! Is he yours, Stace?”

  “Nah. He is a cutie, though, isn’t he?” Stacy smiled at Gwen, who was offering her hand for Parsifal to sniff, and then lick. “And I’m pretty sure that you’ve grown overnight, Parsi. Not that you’re not still a tiny thing.” The puppy looked up at her, all floppy ears and oversized eyes under a fringe of brown fur. “Better behave, or Penny will beat you up.”

  The cat was in her usual spot on top of the shelves now, looking down at the activity with the air of a mostly benevolent despot. Once she’d realized that her human wasn’t coming in any time soon, she had retreated with a sniff, but not left entirely.

  “How are they getting along?” Gwen asked. “Any chance we can keep him for the bar? Make it a cat-and-dog matched set?” Gwen was a regular, who had voted “yea” to making Penny the official bar cat several years ago—not that Stacy thought there had been any question in the matter. Once Penny decided, it had been a done deal.

  “No,” Seth said, walking past with a scowl on his face.

  Gwen laughed, harder when Stacy stuck her tongue out at the older man’s back. Seth’s dislike of animals in the bar was well-known. Even though he tolerated Penny for being a good mouser, and had learned to grumble mostly silently about Georgie’s free run of the bar, he’d still rather they were all banished to the sidewalk.

  Then again, Stacy thought sometimes he’d prefer if they were all banished to the sidewalk.

  “I doubt it,” Stacy said to Gwen, serious again. “Penny pretty much runs her own life, but a dog you have to, you know, take care of. We’d end up arguing over who took him home every night, and who had to walk him… . It’d be like being married, only without the sex. Anyway, Penny already has a dog, Ginny’s Georgie.”

  Penny’s tail flicked against the cabinet, thumping once, and she yawned, showing all her teeth and curling tongue, as though to say that there, the discussion was settled.

  “All right, fine. You still serving beer here?”

  “That I can do. Whacha want?”

  “A Bock, please.”

  Stacy pulled the beer and was making change from a twenty when the door opened again and someone came in, closing the door carefully behind them. She looked up and, when she realized he was a stranger, gave him a once-over the way Seth had been training her, trying to decide how she’d handle him if he became a problem. The guy was taller than her, broad-shouldered but not bulked up with visible muscle. A hit to the knees, then, while staying out of range if he tried to grab her, until she could grab the bat behind the bar or yell for help.

  Professional security taken care of, she offered him a smile when he sat down at the bar. “Hi there. What can I get ya?”

  “I, um, I called? About—” He spotted Parsifal sitting on the counter a few seats down, and an awkward smile crossed his face. “Is that the dog?”

  “Oh, oh! Hi, yeah. This is Parsifal. Parsi, c’mere, baby.”

  The puppy tilted his head and looked at Stacy, then took a step forward, looked at the stranger, and stopped.

  “Huh. That’s weird.” Stacy tilted her head as well, looking at the dog. “Parsi, sweetie, what’s wrong?” She went to pick up the puppy, scooping him into the crook of her arm and turning back to the man who was waiting. “He’s very young,” she said, rumpling the silky ears. “So you need to move slowly, so’s not to spook him, I guess.”

  “Hi there,” the guy said, but he didn’t reach out to pet the dog. Stacy frowned. Maybe he was observing her personal space or something, but she’d noticed that pretty much everyone reached out to pet Parsifal: he just had that kind of adorableness. Especially someone who had an interest in maybe taking him home.

  Well, maybe the guy was scared of hurting him, or putting his hand too close to her chest. That would be a nice change, if so.

  “Here you go,” she said, putting the puppy back down on the counter. “He’s really not supposed to be up here when we’re open, but he’s so little I’m afraid I’ll lose him if he’s down on the ground. I’m Stacy, by the way.”

  “Rick.”

  “Hi, Rick. So.” She paused, eyeing the man, and decided to trust her instincts. “Why don’t you see if you and Parsifal are suited? Just put your hand out and let him smell you, let him make up his own mind.”

  “Oh, um, yeah, okay. Hi, um, Parsifal, you called him?”

  “You can rename him anything you want,” she said. “It was just a name my boss stuck on him, I don’t know why. He’s not exactly the knight gallant type, is he?” She smiled, but her gaze was cold, watching as Rick lifted a hand and then shoved it toward the puppy. Parsifal didn’t exactly cringe, but he showed none of his usual enthusiasm for affection, either.

  “You’re not used to dogs, are you?”

  “What?” Rick looked at her, and then pushed his hand forward a little more, curling his fingers as he touched the top of Parsifal’s head. “No, I—” And he yelped as Parsifal twisted his head and sank tiny needle teeth into his hand. “Damn it,” he cursed, and backhanded the puppy, sending it skittering down the bar, yelping in surprise and pain.

  “Hey!” Stacy cried, instinctively reaching her left hand below the bar for the panic button, and instead closing her fingers on a familiar wooden shape. “Back the hell off!”

  After their detour, the drive back to Ballard, and Mary’s, seemed endless, thanks to the usual afternoon traffic, and construction. For the first time ever, Teddy wished he’d left the radio in the car, because the silence was making him tense up even more. Ginny had tried to start a conversation a few times, but they were both caught up in a vague but real sense of worry that didn’t lead to idle conversation, and there wasn’t anything new and relevant to talk about that didn’t just feed their worry.

  Once the traffic cleared, Teddy started driving just above the speed limit, constantly checking the speedometer to make sure he wasn’t turning into cop bait. Part of him wanted to call the bar and make sure everything was all right, but he didn’t want to panic Stacy if nothing was wrong. And if anything had happened, they’d call him first.

  He took his phone out and propped it on his leg, just in case.

  Meanwhile, Ginny had pulled out her own phone and was dialing a number, waiting for someone to pick up.

  “Hey, hey, it’s Ginny. Have you been able to get anywhere
on the thing I asked you about?”

  Teddy glanced sideways at her, and decided that the expression on her face wasn’t good news. Pity: they could have used some about now.

  “What? No, no, I understand… yeah. No, I get it. I’m sorry. Yeah.” She ended the call and shook her head.

  “Bad news?”

  “No news. Luce, my friend down at City Hall, got her hand slapped one time too many for sneaking looks at reports she wasn’t supposed to care about. Who knew the fire department’s records were so hush-hush?”

  “You never know when a fire is going to become front-page political news,” Teddy said. “So we’re going to have to rely on my contacts to find out what really happened, and that’s… going to be slow.” They were good guys, mostly, but checking out paperwork on a fire they hadn’t had anything to do with was not going to be a priority for them. He made a sound of exasperation that made Georgie lift her head with a what’s-up grunt.

  Ginny was still staring out the window. “Too slow. We’re going to have to go on gut this time.” She sounded disgusted; Ginny trusted her gut, but she hated having to rely on it. “Do you think the fire was accidental?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  And there it was, the question neither of them asked, but both were thinking: if it was deliberately set, had it been arson, a way to get rid of a now-unwanted house… or attempted murder of a potential witness?

  By the time they pulled into the lot next to Mary’s, his usual slot thankfully still open, the tension had settled into Teddy’s bones, thrumming in the back of his head like a headache about to appear.

  They went in through the back door, bypassing the storeroom and tiny kitchen. Everything seemed in order, but the usual low hum of noise he’d expect from the bar in late afternoon was missing. If Teddy hadn’t already been tense, that would have triggered it. Then there was a yell, and a crash, and he was through the connecting door that led to the front bar, wishing like hell the baseball bat they kept behind the bar was in his hands.