Tender Is the Bite

by Spencer Quinn

  “One of your nonvoters?” said Jacques.

  “Yes,” Suzie said.

  “Nonvoters?” said Bernie.

  “It’s one of the ways we’re covering the election,” Suzie said. “We’re getting a panel of nonvoters and canvassing them on a weekly basis.”

  “Suzie’s idea—and I think it’s brilliant,” said Jacques. “Any idea what percentage of citizens in this state voted in the last presidential year?”

  “Um,” said Bernie.

  “You’ll be shocked,” Jacques said. “Active voters always are, Bernie. The percentage was forty-nine point nine.”

  Bernie cleared his throat.

  Jacques gave him a long look. “Don’t tell me you qualify for Suzie’s panel?”

  Suzie laughed. “Not Bernie,” she said. “I’d bet anything he voted at least once when he was in the service—to set an example for the troops.” She turned to Bernie. “Am I right?”

  He nodded. “But they saw right through me.”

  “How do you mean?” said Jacques.

  “Politicians aren’t in high repute in the military,” Bernie said, “especially in war zones.” He picked up his beer glass, then paused with it in midair. “What kind of a guy is Wray?”

  “Griffin Wray, the senator?” said Suzie.

  “Yeah,” Bernie said. “And his wife, Caroline.”

  “You know her?” Suzie said.

  “Met her once, briefly,” Bernie said. “Him, too, on a separate occasion.”

  “In what context, if you don’t mind saying?” said Jacques.

  “By accident,” Bernie said.

  “Any special reason you’re asking about them?” Jacques said.

  “If there is, you’re not going to find out,” Suzie said. “But I’m happy to give you a quick thumbnail, Bernie. Wray is much smarter than people—especially his enemies—think. He came from not much. Dad deserted the family, Mom waitressed, sold real estate, worked retail. They never had a lot, but Wray was a good student and very popular in high school—student body president—and that continued. He was student body president at U of A and landed a good job with McGregor right out of college.”

  “McGregor?” Bernie said.

  McGregor rang a very faint bell, but I was much more interested in Suzie’s thumbnail. Not interested, really, more anxious, even scared. I love Suzie and have known her a long time, but not once had she offered to give her thumbnail to Bernie or anyone else. Who could blame her? I’d seen thumbnails torn off thumbs on two occasions, both times quite similar, now that I think of it, where a huge perp, in one case No-Neck Fleck and in the other Muscles Mulvaney, a.k.a. the Mullet, had swung from the heels at Bernie and somehow caught a thumb on boat hook—both times a boat hook! Think of that!—ripping the thumbnail right off. They’d both started bawling their heads off and surrendered at once.

  Suzie sipped her drink, then folded her hands on the table. I kept my eyes glued on those hands. Was she reconsidering the thumbnail offer? Suzie was a very sensible person, far more so that either No-Neck or the Mullet.

  “McGregor Worldwide Business Consulting,” she told Bernie.

  “Maybe a bit distant from your world, Bernie?” said Jacques.

  “My world keeps expanding.” Bernie smiled. “Whether I’m ready or not.” Suzie shot him a quick glance, kind of surprised. “I didn’t realize McGregor had any connection to the senator.”

  “A deep one,” Suzie said. “Caroline’s maiden name is McGregor. Her grandfather started the company—just a one-person PR firm in Chicago at first. It was her father who really got it going. Caroline came out here for college, which was where they met. They got married, moved to Chicago, and lived there until he—”

  “—or they,” said Jacques.

  “TBD,” Suzie said. “Until the decision was made—let’s put it that way—to come back here and get into politics. It’s possible that was on his mind from the start, but Caroline’s money made it realistic.”

  “It sounds like you’ve been doing some thinking about them,” Bernie said.

  “An election puts us on the clock,” Suzie said. “One crazy thing is that Wray and Erlanger both switched parties when they were in their twenties. The polls show them neck and neck. It’s a bit surprising—Wray’s brought piles of investment money into the state, and he’s a far better debater. Erlanger comes off as a bit of a dweeb, even an elitist. Then there’s the divorce. The whole state was glued to it.”

  “Yeah?” Bernie said.

  “But not you?” Jacques said.

  “I must have missed it,” said Bernie. “But divorce is pretty common.”

  “Not Erlanger’s,” Suzie said. “It started as a ménage à trois gone wrong and ballooned from there. Wray will have a field day with it.”

  “What’s Erlanger’s background?” Bernie said.

  “Before Congress, he was a law professor at Northern State, and before that a real estate lawyer,” said Jacques.

  “Does he have any Ukrainian connections?” Bernie said.

  Jacques turned to Suzie.

  “Not that I know of,” she said. “Why?”

  “We had a job offer from a Ukrainian,” Bernie said.

  “Go on,” said Suzie.

  Bernie shrugged. “We didn’t take it.”

  “Are you suggesting it involved Erlanger?” said Jacques.

  “Oh, I don’t—” Bernie cut himself off, thought for a few moments. “I don’t know.”

  “Wray?” said Jacques. “Does it involve him?”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “But maybe?” Jacques said.

  “Jacques?” Suzie said. “The third degree won’t work on Bernie.”

  Jacques’s eyebrows rose in a way that reminded me of what Bernie’s eyebrows could do. Did his eyebrows also have a language of their own? Not as—how to put it?—loud as Bernie’s eyebrow language? The answer was yes.

  “You call that the third degree?” Jacques said.

  Bernie laughed. Then they were all laughing. They drank more beer.

  “How about this?” Suzie said. “Since you didn’t end up taking the job, can you say what it was?”

  Bernie laughed again, shook his head, and gave Suzie a quick look that reminded me of looks he used to give her way back when. Did Jacques catch that look of Bernie’s? I thought so. His face went blank.

  “You win,” Bernie said. “Security work.”

  “For some Ukrainian magnate?” said Suzie.

  “That kind of thing,” Bernie said.

  “Let me guess,” Suzie said. “The money was good, but you couldn’t see going to Ukraine.”

  “We wouldn’t have had to,” Bernie said.

  “No?” said Suzie.

  “It was Hawaii.”

  “Oh?” said Suzie.

  “Kauai.”

  “Ah,” said Jacques.

  “Oh and ah?” Bernie said. “What’s going on?”

  “The globalization of corruption,” Jacques said.

  “Meaning what?” said Bernie.

  “Influence now gets peddled in all directions,” Jacques said. “It’s like a very complicated web, almost with a mind of its own.”

  “Tell him the rest,” Suzie said.

  “Well,” said Jacques, “that part’s a bit melodramatic, late-night musings more than anything else.”

  “I can take it,” Bernie said.

  “Okay, then,” Jacques said. “This complicated web of influence wants to get us all inside and keep us there forever.”

  “Maybe I can’t take it after all,” Bernie said.

  Everybody laughed, meaning the whole web thing was just a joke of Jacques’s, maybe a bit like a Bernie joke. Good to hear, because although Bernie’s the toughest guy you’ll meet, he hates walking through spiderwebs. He says yuck and echh and other un-Bernie-type things. But no actual web seemed to be in the picture. We were good. Another barbecue bone soon arrived. This was turning into a nice evening.

  Tw
enty-one

  The next morning, we were up early, both of us bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as humans say, although in fact, just like every morning, Bernie awoke without a tail. If that happened to me, well, I don’t want to even think of it, but Bernie wasn’t bothered at all. He sang in the shower, running through some of his favorites—“Death Don’t Have No Mercy,” “Devil in Her Heart,” “A Fool Such As I.” What a great mood he was in! And he hadn’t closed the bathroom door, not that that would have made any difference now that I could open every door in the house. Soon I was in the shower, too! Had I forgotten once again about the problem of the shower curtain and how the whole thing with all the poles and screws and rings can come crashing down? Show me the dude who can remember everything.

  Bernie made coffee and filled two mugs, which was a bit odd, since there were just the two of us and water’s my drink. Humans have so many different drinks! Would they be better off cutting back a bit, maybe all the way to water only? You tell me.

  “Let’s be unpredictable today,” Bernie said.

  Whatever that meant, I knew it was fabulous! We went outside, Bernie carrying the two mugs of coffee, and headed over to old man Heydrich’s place. Unpredictable meant paying a call on old man Heydrich? His sprinklers were on, his grass so soaked there were puddles here and there. Was the plan to dump the second mug of coffee on old man Heydrich’s head? No wonder Bernie was in such a good mood!

  He knocked on old man Heydrich’s door. It opened right away, something we see from time to time. Does it mean we’re on the right track? That’s always been my take. Was it possible we’d come to cuff old man Heydrich and drag him off to the big house? After maybe leading off with the coffee-dumping thing? That would be a first.

  “Good morning, Mr. Heydrich,” Bernie said. “Coffee?”

  Old man Heydrich’s eyes—small and shining, and also his eyelids were lashless, the whole effect on the disturbing side—went from Bernie to the coffee mug and back.

  “What’s in it?” he said.

  Bernie smiled. “Fresh black coffee. Add whatever you like.” Bernie looked past Heydrich to quite an interesting sight, a setup with a big desk, a padded chair on rollers, and a whole bunch of screens. Hey! Was that the front of our place on one of the screens? And our driveway, with the Porsche sitting there? And a view of Mesquite Road? And the houses across the street? What was going on? It couldn’t be good. The coffee, Bernie—now!

  Heydrich noticed where Bernie was looking and moved slightly to one side, maybe to block his view. I was already in the house, the first house I’d ever been in where there wasn’t the slightest smell of food.

  “That’s all right, Mr. Heydrich,” Bernie said. “I was aware of your little surveillance system. In fact, that’s why we’re here. Just waiting for the right moment, if you want the truth.”

  Heydrich’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. Had I ever seen thinner lips? Yes, and quite often, but only on snakes. “How—how did you know? Did you break in when I was out?”

  Bernie laughed. “Why would we bother when you’ve got your cameras sticking out all over the place?”

  Old man Heydrich’s face went bright red. He began to … splutter? Is that when the words get tangled up and some spit’s part of the bargain? If so, then what came next was spluttering.

  “Cameras? Sticking? How dare you even suggest—?”

  “For example,” Bernie said, “there’s that new one in your weathervane, hiding behind the W. A very nice touch. The one in the sprinkler is pretty good, too, and the one that sometimes pops up from the sewer grate is a tiny technical marvel. On public property, unfortunately. The city’ll have to send out a team. Would anyone be shocked if they wanted to inspect the whole array? You know how they are.”

  Heydrich’s mouth did some more opening and closing. Gurgling sounds came out. He shot a quick glance at a little cupboard in the corner. Bernie strolled over to it. I’d already sniffed out what was in the cupboard, of course, but had Bernie somehow sniffed it out, too? He really can be impressive, my Bernie. He opened the cupboard and took out a handgun, bright blue with a wooden grip, and strange sort of clip sticking out the top.

  “My, my,” Bernie said. “A Red 9—a real collector’s item. Favored by the Luftwaffe, if I recall?”

  “I have all the proper permitting.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” Bernie snapped out the clip, stuck it in his pocket, and put the gun back in the cupboard. “Mind closing the door, Chet?”

  Sure thing! We’d been working on this for some time. The way it went was first Bernie says, “Close the door.” Then I give it a push with my head. After that comes the Slim Jim. Our only problem was that Bernie had no Slim Jim at the moment. I closed Heydrich’s front door anyway, a fun thing to do all on its own, Slim Jim or no Slim Jim. But of course I knew a Slim Jim would be coming my way later on. I’d remind Bernie, if necessary.

  “This is outrageous!” Heydrich said. “Breaking and entering like a common criminal.”

  “Call the cops,” Bernie said.

  What a great idea! We had so many pals at Valley PD. Many, many treats were suddenly a real possibility. Heydrich just stood there, the redness slowly draining from his face. The phone, old man Heydrich, pick up the phone! But he let me down.

  “First,” Bernie said, “let’s discuss the bumper sticker you say you dropped in our car.”

  “What the hell?” said Heydrich. “This is all about politics?”

  “Not in the—” Bernie began and then cut himself off. I thought I felt something shift inside him—in his mind, if I had to guess. He has a very big mind like … like a huge house! What a thought! With many, many rooms! And I’m always in the kitchen, the kitchen of Bernie’s mind! Wow! I’d shocked myself. I sat down, a funny little freep sound coming out of my mouth. That was a bit embarrassing. I went very still, making myself pretty much unnoticeable.

  “Maybe we should discuss politics,” Bernie said.

  “My politics are my business,” said Heydrich.

  “Agreed—although you’re not shy about publicizing them.”

  “You have a problem with that?”

  “None,” Bernie said. “How well do you know Senator Wray?”

  “Personally?” said Heydrich. “I don’t know him personally at all.”

  “What about Caroline Wray?”

  “No.”

  “Or any members of her family, the McGregors?”

  “No. Why are you asking me all these questions?”

  “Because of the bumper sticker,” Bernie said. Heydrich looked about to do some more spluttering, but Bernie raised his hand. “Ever been to Ukraine?”

  “No.”

  “Got any Ukrainian buddies?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Why so emphatic?”

  “Emphatic?” said Heydrich. “Emphatic is not a word I expect from someone like—from someone in your profession.”

  Bernie smiled, not his usual warm and happy smile but a cold one you hardly ever see. “Dig deep—I know you can handle it,” Bernie said.

  Heydrich didn’t like that, not one little bit. He actually glanced over at his little gun cupboard. Had he forgotten that the gun was now unloaded? Did he really think he could get there, load up, and bring that funny-looking gun into play before I could stop him? I realized he was a perp, but not the kind I liked. He was wearing baggy cargo shorts and had those chicken-type legs you often see on older guys. I would take no pleasure in doing the necessary when the time came.

  “Ukrainians are what they are,” Heydrich said. “I prefer not to discuss it.”

  “Did a Ukrainian get you to put that bumper sticker in our car?” Bernie said.

  “Are you crazy? Why would I do anything for Ukrainians? They’re the enemy of my people.”

  “I thought you were American.”

  “Of course I am. Does that make Americans my people?”

  Bernie gave Heydrich a long, long look. “That’s the whole poi
nt,” he said.

  Heydrich frowned. His face was sort of always frowning, so maybe better to think of it as frowning a little more. Bernie stepped past him and went to the screens. I stayed where I was, on Heydrich’s other side, just basic procedure. We’re pros, me and Bernie, as old man Heydrich was finding out.

  Bernie sat at the desk, drew the keyboard closer. “Not familiar with this software,” he said, “but I’m guessing…” And he went tap, tap, tap, tap.

  “Wait one damn minute!” Heydrich moved toward Bernie, coming up behind him if you can picture what I mean. This was not an acceptable situation. “Aieeee!”

  Bernie turned slowly.

  “Aieeee! Aieeee!” Heydrich cried. “Your goddamn dog bit me!”

  “Language,” said Bernie.

  “Huh? Your dog bit me! Is that better?”

  “A little,” Bernie said. He rose and inspected the back of Heydrich’s leg. “But not entirely accurate. I’d say Chet mouthed you more than bit you.”

  Mouthed? I’d only mouthed? Oh no! How bad of me! What could I do to make up for this … this failure? That was the only way to put it.

  “Mouthed?” Heydrich screamed, his eyes sort of bugging out in a way that reminded me of a guy Bernie and I sometimes saw on the History Channel. “Then where did all this blood come from?”

  Bernie crouched down, peered more closely at Heydrich’s leg. “This?” he said, pointing. “I’m not sure we can call that blood.”

  “What is wrong with you? Wet! Red! Blood!”

  I was actually on Heydrich’s side in this argument, a strange development. And it did look and smell like blood to me, although maybe not a lot. Bernie reached over to the desk, picked up one of those little cloths for wiping computer screens, and dabbed at Heydrich’s leg.

  “All better,” he said. “No harm no foul. Tender is the bite, ha ha. Take a seat, Mr. Heydrich, and walk us through this.”

  “No harm no foul?” Heydrich repeated that a few times, but each quieter than the one before, and soon they were sitting side by side, working together like a team. The little cloth lay on the floor. I gathered it up and busied myself with it, for no particular reason.

  “Whoa!” said Bernie. “Stop right there.”

  I looked up. The front of our house was on one of the screens. What a lovely house! Not the fanciest house on Mesquite Road—not the fanciest street in the Valley, far from it—and then there’s that roof-leaking problem, but guess what? It hardly ever rains in these parts, which is how Bernie took care of it. Bernie! Always the smartest human in the room, and our house the best house. I could have looked at that picture all day, but now on the screen things started moving.