Hounding the Pavement

by MCCOY, JUDI

  “You can say that again.”

  Marta laid on the horn and just avoided being cut off. Gunning the engine, she stuck on the bus’s tail until Ellie thought she’d pass out from the fumes. The rain now beat against the windshield in a steady slanting rhythm. The expressway, five lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic in both directions, made her dizzy. After what felt like miles, the bus finally pulled off the clogged road and headed for a more residential area.

  “He’s still on board,” the cabbie said after the first stop. Six blocks later, they hit pay dirt. “Looks like this is his neighborhood. You owe me thirty-two and change with the tolls. You don’t got it, I’ll give you a card, and you mail it to me.”

  “I have it,” said Ellie, amazed at Marta’s kindness. Most taxi drivers would never trust a fare they’d just met. “But I’d still like your contact information. You’ve been very nice.” She passed two twenties across the seat back, grabbed Marta’s card, and dropped it in her bag. Gil headed up the street, and she slipped from the cab. “Thanks.”

  “Be careful and good luck,” Marta called, speeding away.

  Ellie ducked behind a parked car, dug an umbrella from her bag, and stuck her head around the bumper. Her quarry was about a block away, power-walking to his destination.

  She glanced at the uneven smattering of overhead lights, some out completely, and read a street sign, noting they were on Thirty-ninth Avenue. “Do you think he’ll notice us?”

  “It’s not like he’s taking a stroll. This rain is coming down in buckets.”

  “It’s dark. Pick up the pace, or we’ll lose him.”

  Gil turned on a side street, and they followed. From Ellie’s perspective, every house was identical to the next, all built of brick and aligned like soldiers guarding an encampment. Some were detached, but many were connected side by side. Some had gated front yards, while others were lined in shrubbery or had enclosed porches with balconies built under bay windows. And it seemed as if every street had a row of stately trees, which, she imagined, looked nice in the day, but were forbidding in a storm.

  A minute later, Gil stopped at a gate. Tugging Rudy toward her, she dropped behind a set of garbage cans, watching as her target opened the gate and scuttled up the walk.

  “Now what?” asked Rudy when the lights inside the house flickered to life.

  Ellie bit her lower lip. “We need to get closer, and find out if he has Buddy.”

  “It’s creepy out here. I don’t like the rain.”

  Before she could answer, a gust of wind turned her umbrella inside out. She shoved the worthless mass of metal and fabric into the nearest trash can and reseated the hood on her slicker. Rudy shook himself, sending water flying in all directions. Bending to soothe him with a pat on the head, she found him shivering like Jell-O on a plate.

  “You’re freezing. And I didn’t bring your coat.”

  “N-n-never mind about m-m-me. Get m-m-moving.”

  Great. Her pal was going to contract pneumonia, just because she had a bee in her bonnet about a dog that wasn’t even hers. Now at Gil’s gate, she opened it, slipped inside, and closed the latch. Striding across the walkway, she aimed for the side of the house and what she guessed was a kitchen window. Rising up, she peered inside and saw Gil, still in his jacket and hat, go through a door and disappear down a set of stairs.

  “He’s in the basement.” She dropped to a squat and almost landed on Rudy. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t mean to—Oh my God.”

  “What? What?”

  She scooched over so he could see through a lower window. “Look, it’s Buddy. And Jimmy. That black poodle must be Gemma.”

  “I can’t make out a thing. What’s the bozo doing?”

  “He’s getting leashes, probably so the dogs can go out and do their business.” Still squatting, she said, “I’ve got to think a minute.”

  “How about we jump him when he gets to the sidewalk?”

  “I’m calling Sam first. I don’t want to get reamed for doing something stupid.”

  “Like following the guy here wasn’t stupid enough? Come on, you don’t need that detective. We can take the water boy down together.”

  She plastered herself against the side of the house when she heard the front door open and close. “Get back,” she whispered. “He’ll see us.” After watching Gil and the three dogs head across the street, she pulled the phone from her bag. Between the darkness, the driving rain, and fumbling for Sam’s number, it took three tries to make the connection.

  “Ryder here.”

  “Sam, it’s Ellie.”

  “Speak up. I can’t hear you.”

  “It’s me,” she hissed, wiping water from her mouth. “Ellie Engleman.”

  “Ellie? What’s up?”

  “I’ve found Buddy.”

  “You what?”

  “Don’t shout. I’ve found Buddy and the other missing dogs, too.”

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “I’m in Queens.”

  “Queens! Where in Queens?”

  “I’m not sure. I just passed a main street with a sign that said Thirty-ninth Avenue.”

  “Is it a house? An apartment? And who has the dogs?”

  “It’s a row house. And it’s the guy who delivers water to the professor’s building.” She heard pages rustling. “Gil somebody or other—the Liquid Ice man.”

  “Gil Mitchell. He’s new to the job. My men questioned him, but he didn’t raise any suspicion. Read like a normal guy making deliveries.” He muttered something to a voice in the background, then asked, “Can you see him? What’s he doing?”

  “He left to walk the dogs, but I’ve lost sight of him.” She peeked around a bush. “I don’t know where they are, but they’ll be back soon. What should I do?” Rudy growled, and she grabbed his muzzle. “Quiet. I have to hear Sam.”

  “Stay where you are. Do not attempt to apprehend. Once he goes in the house, you stand on the corner nearest Thirty-ninth, and I’ll find you. I’m on my way.”

  Ellie heaved a breath and snapped her phone closed, then let go of Rudy’s muzzle. “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Rudy darted around her legs, and she shrieked as she stood. A booted foot kicked out, and Rudy yelped in pain, flying through the air into the darkness. Before she could run to him, a hand clawed at her shoulder and spun her in place.

  Then icy fingers gripped her throat.

  Chapter 18

  “I knew you’d be trouble the minute I caught you sneakin’ onto the freight elevator.” Gil squeezed his hand around her neck, plucked the cell phone from her fingers with his other hand, and heaved it into the street. “Come on. We’re going inside.”

  “You hurt my dog.” Pulling back, Ellie slammed the toe of her boot into his shin and turned to run. “Rudy!”

  “Yeow! Bitch!”

  Gil grabbed at her shoulder. She jerked free, but he caught the hood of her slicker and hauled her back. The soft snick of metal sounded; then she saw the knife.

  “You’re coming with me,” he hissed.

  She slumped against him, furious but not stupid. “You kicked my dog, you creep. I have to find him.”

  “Forget the mutt.” He held the blade to her throat, wrenched her arm behind her back, and jerked her ahead of him as he walked to the rear of the house. “If I’m lucky he’ll get hit by a car, and that’ll be the end of him.”

  She stumbled along, but dug in her heels at the rear stairs. “You stole Buddy—and those other dogs.” She swiped the water from her eyes. “And you killed Professor Albright.”

  “Move,” he commanded, pushing her up the steps.

  She fell forward, and he righted her with a painful tug. “Thought you were smart, following me from the bus stop. But I saw you right away, brought the dogs out, circled around to the alley, and dropped ’em back here. Now get inside before you make me do something I don’t want to do . . . at least, not yet.”

  Stiffening in his arms, she
trudged up the porch. Damn if she’d make this easy for him. Inside, he continued shoving her toward the basement stairs. “Walk like a lady, or I’ll give you a push. Who knows? You might break your neck in the fall and save me the trouble of killing you.”

  He released her at the bottom, and she peered into the darkness. Buddy, Jimmy, and Gemma, each imprisoned in a tiny crate, were situated in a far corner of the room.

  “Ellie! Hey, Ellie!” Buddy’s eager voice cut through the anger in her brain. “I told these guys someone would save us.”

  “I see you, little guy, and don’t worry. I’ll get you out of here.”

  Gil laughed, a nasty chuckle that echoed in the dank dirt-floored cavern. “You and what army? Jeez, you are nuts.” He pointed the knife toward a wall. “Sit down over there and shut the fuck up.”

  Eyeing the low-hanging pipes, drooping electrical wires, and cobweb-covered windows, she walked to a battered vinyl chair. “Nice layout. Who decorated this place? Dr. Frankenstein?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but this is a rental.” He threw her a length of rope. “Tie your ankles to the legs of your throne.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned back, letting the rope slide to the floor. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Still waving the knife, he took a step closer. “Do it, bitch.”

  She sighed, muttering as she worked. “Don’t worry, Buddy, I’ll take care of everything. Just hang tight.”

  “I said shut up!”

  She tied the rope in loose loops, then glared at Gil. “Now what, big shot?”

  He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and skulked toward her. “Hold out your hands.”

  “Make me.”

  Stabbing the air, he lunged at her, and she lurched back. “I’m serious. It’d be a shame cuttin’ that pretty face of yours. Now do like I said.”

  Arms rigid, she obeyed. He snapped a cuff on one wrist, then jumped behind her and pulled the other arm in position, weaving the handcuffs around the chair back and locking her firmly in place. Squatting, he set down the knife and anchored her legs to the chair.

  “That oughta hold you.”

  Buddy’s fear reached out to her, his whimper echoing in her mind. The pups were terrified, especially Gemma, and she didn’t blame them one bit. And what had happened to Rudy? “What do you plan to do with me? With them?” She nodded toward the dogs. “Kill us?”

  He snapped the knife closed and stuck it in his coat pocket. “Don’t be stupid. Why would I kill them, when I went to all the trouble of stealing them?” Shuffling to the crates, he set his foot on top of the one holding Jimmy. “These dogs are gonna make me a wealthy man . . . at least wealthy enough to get out of here and start fresh.”

  “Wealthy? You’re crazy. You can’t sell those animals. Their owners have reported them missing. The authorities are watching for them.”

  “Oh, really?” He gave another chortle. “I doubt that. They’re just dumb dogs. The cops don’t care. Not like foreigners do.”

  “Foreigners? What are you talking about?”

  Gil shook his head. “The Japanese, for one. These mutts are leaving tomorrow on a flight to Osaka, with my girlfriend and me. After the buyer claims them, we’ll spend a few days celebrating. Then we’ll move on.”

  Ellie looked at Buddy, who’d stuck his nose against the cage’s metal grid. “He sold each of us. He’s getting twenty-five thousand for me, not so much for Gemma and Jimmy, ’cause they don’t have the Westminster win behind them.”

  “Have you’ve done this before?”

  He raised a brow. “I’ve hit LA, Chicago, Atlanta, and a couple of other metro areas. The Big Apple is my last haul.”

  Ellie didn’t know which part of his confession to tackle first—the idea of a female accomplice or that he’d been stealing champion canines for several years. “I don’t get it. How can you sell them? What about tracking chips? Papers? Those tattoos used to register show dogs?”

  “You’d be surprised how many people don’t bother with chips or ID numbers, but even if they did, everything can be removed.”

  “Won’t the Japanese realize they’re accepting stolen goods?”

  “Shows what you know. All you need is a decent printer and the smarts to hack into a database, and any idiot can forge AKC papers. Hell, it’s as simple as printing money . . . at least it was until the government cracked down on us. Now I use my top-of-the line system to dummy up all kinds of official stuff. Plenty of people pay big bucks for fake IDs and passports. It’s a snap, even after nine-eleven.”

  So dognapping wasn’t Gil’s only crime, but who was his girlfriend? And how many other people had they killed? “You murdered the professor.”

  “Oh, yeah. Thanks for reminding me.”

  “But why? How?”

  “You want to know how, huh?” He scratched his jaw. “Okay, since you’ll probably die down here, I’ll tell you.” He stomped to a workbench and lifted a small metal case. “See this? It’s a portable battery jumper—you know, for a car.”

  Ellie gave him a blank stare. She rarely drove, so she had no idea what it would do.

  “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Afraid not, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  He thrust out his chest, as if proud of the idea. “It works like a stun gun. I clipped the charger grips to the apartment doorknob and turn it on, then give the door a rap. When the person on the other side grabs the knob, the metal conducts enough volts to knock them on their ass.”

  “And you go in and take their dog.”

  “Bingo. Only I didn’t know the professor wore one of them pacemaker things. He was only supposed to be out for a couple minutes, then wake up and find the dog gone. How the hell did I know he was hooked to a contraption that kept his heart beating?”

  It sounded so simple, she was at a loss for words. Why hadn’t anyone figured it out? Then again, how many people jump-started automobiles for a living? And what normal person would figure a way to use the device in a robbery?

  “You’re impressed,” Gil continued when she didn’t speak. “You should be.”

  “And your girlfriend? How much did she have to do with all this? Was she there when the professor died?”

  “She’ll be here any minute. If she feels like coming down, you can ask her yourself. No more questions.” He headed for the stairs. “I got things to do.”

  “Wait. What do you plan to do with me?” And where was Rudy? She peered up at the nearest basement window, but the rain was coming down so hard she couldn’t see a thing. Thunder crashed and she jumped, while Gil laughed.

  “This storm’s gonna last all night, so no one’ll hear if you yell. We’ll leave for the airport in the morning, and you’ll stay here. The rent’s paid until the end of the month, same for the utilities. It might take you a while to get free, or you could stay shackled to that chair until you die. Either way, it’s no skin off my nose.”

  Sam drove slowly up Thirty-ninth Avenue, his heater running at full blast, but he still had to hunch over the steering wheel to get a clear view through his fogged-up windshield. Pounding rain, booming thunder, and lightning this severe always made traveling difficult. Luckily, he’d been at his mother’s, just a couple of blocks away, when Ellie called, because a trip here from Manhattan would have been a nightmare.

  So where the heck was she? He squinted past the slapping wipers, but all he saw were bits of leaves and branches mingled with the slashing rain. There’d been a huge pileup about a half mile back, fender benders at every corner, and a few of the side streets were flooded. If not for the roads blocked with traffic cones and signs warning of high water, he would have gotten here a lot sooner.

  With that in mind, he knew it might take a while for the boys from Queens to arrive, which meant he’d have to start this bust alone. He was about to park and begin a house-to-house search when a small, sopping-wet animal limped into the street and stared as if it had been waiting for him.


  Blinking, Sam slammed on the brakes and did a double take. It was a dog, and it looked just like Ellie’s little guy . . . Tooty . . . Scoobie? No, Rudy. That was it. Her dog’s name was Rudy.

  He pulled the car over as sirens sounded in the distance. They could be coming to his assistance, or heading for the accident—there was no way of telling. He dug a flashlight from under the front seat and scuttled out of the car and into the driving rain. Dropping to a squat, he held out his hand. “Hey, Rudy. Remember me? It’s Sam, your friendly neighborhood detective.”

  The dog peered through matted hair and shook itself. Instead of coming closer, it trotted crookedly toward the curb, then glanced over its shoulder, as if to say, Come on, doofus, follow me.

  Sam stood and swiped a hand over his dripping face. The animal lifted its snout and continued limping to the sidewalk. Damn, he thought, squishing in the hound’s wake. The scraggly mutt wasn’t Lassie or one of those genius TV canines. And it sure as shit wasn’t a search-and-rescue dog or a trained companion. Hell, from what he could remember, the animal wasn’t even obedient . . . just like his mistress.

  Only a fool would follow a dumb mutt, no matter how dangerous a situation they might be in.

  The dog took a few more feeble steps, and Sam caught him in the glow of his flashlight. Rudy’s eyes glimmered with awareness. After a second, he disappeared around a car bumper, and Sam shrugged. He’d come this far without seeing Ellie, and she and the terrier were inseparable. The dog had to know something.

  He followed the animal for about a block, before it stopped in front of a house and nosed the gate. Still not believing that she would have been so scatterbrained as to expect her dog to find him and lead him here, he had to ask, “Is Ellie in there waiting for me?”

  The dog nosed the gate again, then glanced back at him.

  Sam scanned the street, took note of the exact address, and hit SPEED DIAL for the local precinct. When the desk officer answered, he gave his location and asked about the status of his emergency call. Told there were accidents and roadblocks up and down the borough, he snarled out the severity of his situation and disconnected.