by Lee Benoit
"You get on this damn boat and do your job, son." Ernie's toothless smile is kind. He points to the last rope tethering the boat to the dock.
Ernie was my Grampy's friend, knew each other all their lives. I'm conditioned to listen to him. I cast off the line, jump aboard, and look back up at the cannery. David's in the doorway, waving.
He's holding my phone and giving me a thumbs up. I have no idea what he means, but I wave back anyway.
Chief would choose to do his job. I know he would. I watch the helicopter carrying Chief and Manton heading north toward the Canadian border and decide I'll just have to be man enough to do the same. That doesn't make it any easier to let my heart go.
Chapter 4. The King Is Dead. Long Live the Kings.
Little fishing boats like Ernie's make a lot of noise, and you have to get used to the bounce as they batter each oncoming wave and swell like clumsy knights on lame horses. But I do okay;
I'm used to this, and I manage to get a call in to the Staties about Chief and Manton. Ernie's radio is definitely older than I am, though I have to admit it works better, at least today.
After that, there's not much to do but scan the horizon through Ernie's heavy old binoculars. I'm not sure what a "research vessel" looks like, but I hope I'll know it when I see it. Ernie's bellowing into the radio, but I can't hear what he's saying. Doesn't matter. I'm on my own here.
Some hero, huh? No weapons, no special powers, and a toothless old sidekick.
I brace myself against the low rail looking for the enemy and trying not to fidget. Fidgeting reminds me that my ass is sore. My ass is sore 'cause Chief spanked it last night. Was that only last night? I rub a little and welcome a small, unbidden smile to my face. I have no idea how, but somehow I will fix this mess. I'll fix it and then I'll go about making it all up to Chief.
If I see him again. I wave my hand to banish pessimism and doom, which jostles the binoculars.
"There!" I see something that hadn't been there a second before. A long, low-slung steel ship with a steel tower at the stern and a raised platform -- a helicopter pad? -- at the bow. "Head for it, Ernie!"
The old guy spares me nary a glance. "And what, Endi? Board her, just the two of us?"
He's laughing at me, but I don't care. "Nah, Ernie, someone needs to stay aboard your boat. I'll go alone. Just get me close enough."
"You should wait for reinforcements, boy." But he adjusts course to intercept with the bigger vessel.
Hearing someone besides Chief call me "boy" reminds me of all I can lose if this goes down wrong, so I gird my loins and wish I were a mite better prepared to take on a shipload of well- provisioned and nefarious dog botherers.
There's nothing for it. Before I can let my fear (or is that my common sense?) get the better of me, we're bumping gently into the hull of the institute's ship with a muted clang of wood on steel.
Several heads peer over the side.
There's no ladder anywhere I can see. Ernie and I exchange a look and he gives me this little, grizzled nod. Moment of truth. A line drops with a loop in the end. I insert my foot and give a tug, and up I go.
It's not easy to land gracefully, but I manage well enough and find myself faced not with thugs but a group of men like David -- trim and dapper and not threatening at all.
One gives a nod and there's this sharp yipping noise. A black and white missile hits me right in the chest, flooring me and licking me with a very wet, slightly smoky tongue.
"Lomi! Oh, my girl!" I'm so insanely happy that I forget, for one glorious heartbeat or two, what terrible, terrible straits we're in.
I'm covered in tears and dog slobber, on my ass with my winged dog in my arms, when one of the men deigns to speak.
I take back what I said about non-threatening. His voice is chilling. Like Vincent Price in his evilest role.
"Endicott Thorne, I presume."
"Uh." I should have practiced a speech or something.
"You are welcome among us. We hope you will be comfortable during your stay."
Lomi breathes a little brimstone in my ear. I understand perfectly, so I let her go with a final hug and a "good girl, Lomi," and stand to face my adversaries.
My voice only shakes a little. "We won't be staying. State Police are on their way, and you'd avoid a lot of trouble if you just released all the dogs and went away."
"You have no weapon but your charm, which I daresay was oversold. Before the day is out we will be in waters where none can touch us."
I think hard and come up with the word I need. "You'll have to make landfall sometime," I argue. "Then you'll be extradited. You'll have to pay for what you did to the dogs and to my town."
All the clever looking men laugh at that, like I'm the cutest little dickens. If I were Lomi, my nostrils would be steaming.
"So you say," Vincent Price's bad twin says. "We prefer the alternative that you remain among us. Learn the true extent of your power with these creatures. Be of use."
"You want me to help you use them as weapons!" I fling back. "I would never. Now, where are the other dogs?"
The head guy waves his hand, indicating a hatch and ladder leading into darkness. "They're safe, for now. If they become too much trouble, they'll be destroyed." He comes closer to me, close enough that Lomi's hackles rise and her subvocal growl vibrates my thigh. "You don't want that to happen, do you, Boy Wonder?"
They're blackmailing me. I hate them. They know hurting the dogs is my Achilles heel, my kryptonite. Manton must have told them.
"The State Police..." I try again, lamely. I can't give up. "Can I at least see the dogs, make sure they're okay?"
Chief's voice is nagging at my inner ear, like there's something I should remember or do, but I'm all alone here, and I'm just going to have to do this my way.
Whatever that is.
The head guy tips a curt nod to his henchmen and extends his hand to Lomi and me. "By all means. This way."
I spare a thought to Ernie, down there on his little bat, and hope he had the good sense to slip away. Through the hatch and down the ladder we go with Lomi fluttering down as neatly as you please. She's no worse for her ordeal, thank all the little gods.
The passageway opens onto a broad lower deck lined with kennels. You would not believe the noise when they see me. As we pass one of two empty crates -- Lomi's and Lowbrow's, I figure -- Lomi gives it an indignant little kick. A glance at Evil Doctor Bad Guy tells me he sees and disapproves.
I hustle from crate to crate, shoving my fingers through the mesh, letting my buddies know it's me. Patch and Trouble are so happy to see me, they piddle. Some of the others are wounded like Lowbrow was, and not a few have bloody noses and bloody drool around their mouths. I wheel on my "host".
"You... you... what did you do to them?"
The monster waves his hand like he's refusing seconds at dessert. "We cauterized the flame ducts. There will be no lasting damage. Some were left untouched, as you see. They will form the heart of our new program."
This guy clearly feels no threat from me, or he wouldn't tell me that. "The others can come home?" I ask, playing along for now. I wonder again who Ernie called on the radio while I was scouting for this ship, and hope it's someone good.
"We'll see. I trust you can take care of their afternoon feeding?" He waves over at a tub of kibble resting open on what looks like an operating table. I suppress a shudder and nod. The thought of being this villain's lackey rankles, big time. Play along, I remind myself, eyeing Lomi and willing her to understand. She blinks back. She's the smartest dog in the free world, so I know she gets it.
The head villain traipses back to the ladder. "Until later then, young Mr. Thorne."
Then he's gone and I breathe a sigh of relief, only to have it catch in my throat when I hear the hatch door clang shut and lock with a heavy thunk.
Shit and corruption.
***
With a huge rumble the engines fire, and the deck tilts as we surge forward. Even if E
rnie stayed close (which I hope he did), he won't be able to keep up with this fancy new ship.
"How long before we're out of reach of the law?" I ask Lomi.
She rests her chin on her paws and rolls her eyes as if to say, 'we're on our way out to sea, boy, and you're wasting time with rhetorical questions?'
Great, now my dog is channeling my boyfriend. If he still is my boyfriend. If I don't find a way out of this, I may never see Chief again, may never get the chance to set things right between us.
Lomi commiserates with a little puff of blue smoke.
I don't know how long we're locked down there. Long enough for the dogs to eat and for me to wonder what I'm supposed to do when they need walkies, which will be any minute now.
Believe me, I look everywhere for keys to the crates, or a control panel, or something. I hate the thought of them being forced to poop in their crates and from the anal-retentive scowls on some of their faces, I'm not alone.
Lomi's standing over by her empty crate, glowering at it and sending out little spumes of flame.
I get a brilliant idea.
"That's it! Lomi, come here!" With one more pettish snort of smoke at her old prison, she complies and we race over to old Sounder's cage. He's the least likely to be scared by what I have in mind. The rangy bloodhound regards us with hopeless red eyes.
"Don't worry, boy. Back up, okay?" I keep my voice as soothing as I can and use my hands to show him what I want him to do, but Sounder and Lomi both fidget at my excitement.
"Lomi, fire, please. Here." I point to the lock panel on Sounder's crate, only pulling my hand away by the barest margin when Lomi blasts it with fire. She's so smart, my brave girl. Sounder gets the idea, and sends answering fire. The two flickering flames meet over the lock like opposing armies and within short minutes the lock is red, then white, and finally a melted blob of steel. I grab the measuring scoop from the kibble tub and use the handle to pull Sounder's door open.
Much doggy rejoicing ensues when Sounder bounds out of the crate and I'm ashamed to say it takes me, the Dragonwalker of Endicott, precious minutes to redirect Sounder and Lomi to the other crates. The firehouse mutts are mostly intact, so we start with them, and soon there are half a dozen fire breathing dogs releasing their brothers and sisters from the nasty crates.
There's a lull before we get started on the crates with the injured dogs in them; all the freed dogs fly over to the operating table and poop on it with intent. Though I know what happened to them there, I can't imagine how they must have felt while they were mutilated. I don't even mind the smell. In that quiet, I hear a new noise. Sounds like a boat horn, the loud air kind the harbormaster uses.
Then comes a muffled shout. "Prepare to be boarded."
Oh, man! It's Ernie's rescue! "They're coming for us, pups!" I holler and the dogs, the free and the still-caged, set up a jubilant howl that bounces off the bulkheads and makes my head spin.
"Come on, all you dragons! Let's be ready for them."
With each newly opened cage, now there's an injured pup who needs me, so I can't even think about getting above deck, even if I could get through the heavy, locked hatch. There are medical supplies in the operating area, and I take no little satisfaction using the instruments of torture to mend the dogs' bodies. I do my best to clean and salve the wounds, but their scorched egos will be another matter. I'll have to think on that when we get away. I don't think 'if we get away,' which makes me smile proudly.
I'm hard at work, nursing and fuming about the hurt dogs when another sound penetrates the shouts and thundering footfalls that followed the boarding call. Even through the steel deck, I recognize the sound as one I've already hear that day. It's a helicopter, and the ship tilts just slightly when it lands. It must be the copter that took Chief; whether the Staties are hot on their trail I don't know. A chant of "Chief, Chief, Chief" sets up in my head, and I hurry all the dogs to the hatch.
"Won't be long now, pups."
It isn't.
A muffled voice reaches us through the metal hatch. "Open it, asshole," followed by a grunt of pain.
The second the door opens, the dogs rush through, flying or running or limping and generally trampling the people on the other side. Kids from my outreach program right themselves immediately, laughing laughs of vengeance as they right themselves and regain their holds on the mad scientists, including Vincent Price. There are three kids for each scientist, and evidently evil dog torturers don't spend as much time at the gym as your average Endicott teenager.
Lomi sticks close to me, though I know she wants to run to the upper deck, see the sea and sunshine. I do, too, but I have a job to do. I think for a minute.
"Put them in the crates, kids."
"But Endi, the locks are all busted."
Damn. Casting about frantically for something to close the crates with, I almost ignore Lomi's head butting my thigh. I look down and see her grinning around little, controlled fireballs. Have I mentioned that Lomi is the smartest, most beautiful dog in the universe?
We jam the men into the kennel and use wire from empty cages to bind the doors shut. Lomi melts each one just enough to make it impossible to break with bare hands, which takes longer than I'd like, since that 'Chief, Chief, Chief' chant in my head hasn't let up one bit. But I can't bring myself to interrupt any of the reunions going on above deck to call any of the other dogs back to help, so we soldier on, soldering.
By the time we're finished, the ship is quieter. The kids have been baiting the scientists the whole time, taunting them about the poop smell coming from the operating table, but I haven't said a word, and neither have the caged men. I can't stop myself from pausing in front of Vincent Price's cage on my way to the hatch. "The day is ours, monster," I say, as equably as I can muster.
His mouth twists. "Manton's still out there, stupid boy."
"Not for long, dumbass." The voice from the hatch is Ernie's and he's got Manton hogtied.
Between him and two of the fishermen from town, Manton's dragged to a cage where Lomi shows Sounder how to lock him in like the others. He blinks his adoring hound eyes at Ernie, who gives a gentle nod. If I didn't know what a gruff old guy Ernie was, I'd swear I see tears in his eyes.
Then Sounder releases a thin stream of yellow flame, singeing Manton's eyebrows right off without burning his skin.
I look Manton right in the eye when I tell Sounder, "Good boy."
Is that shame I see in Manton's eyes? If it is, I can't find it in me to care. Between what he did to the dogs, and what he did to David, I have no pity.
"This will all blow up in your face, boy."
"I don't think so, Manton. David chose us over you, or did you forget you left him in the cannery when you took Chief?"
He blinks a little, looking for a minute like a really dumb dog, and I add, "And don't call me 'boy.'"
He gets in one last sneer, but I take the high road and say, "Come on, Lomi, let's go see Chief." I make for the hatch without a backward glance.
I'm starting up the ladder when Ernie's gnarled hand lands on my shoulder from behind. "Endi. Son. You should know...Chief wasn't on that copter."
Manton's laughter follows me up the ladder and into the afternoon sun.
***
The deck is a welter of controlled chaos as Ernie's fishing buddies program the ship's course away from the international waters the scientists sought and toward the national border where Coast Guard and other border patrol types would be waiting. I watch while they disable the helicopter and take the pilot below deck to get locked up with the others. I forbid anyone from Endicott to stay aboard, even though we alert international authorities on both sides of the border and the ship should be intercepted by nightfall. I'm not taking any more reckless chances. It's not like the vessel will run aground or collide with anything.
Ernie and his ragtag group of fishermen do the heavy lifting while I'm busy as I direct my outreach kids get the dogs organized, and before the sun sinks too much mor
e we get everyone squared away to return to Endicott.
I try my best not to think of Chief, but Lomi knows I'm a wreck, keeps giving me little hand licks and head butts to remind me we're together.
The waters surrounding the research vessel are no better organized than the ship's deck, bristling with old fishing trawler and lobster boats bobbing alongside Sea-Doos and summer people's pleasure boats (I know better than to ask where townies got the keys). By the time we're underway, I'm completely exhausted.
But not too exhausted to wonder what happened to Chief. No one can tell me a thing. They were too busy getting the rescue flotilla organized. We radio the harbormaster's office but there's no response.
I have a bad, bad feeling.
Little Bug sits beside me, petting one of the poor injured dogs and who am I to call him on it if he occasionally pets my hand, too? He's got more dog-sense than people-sense, I swear. It was his idea to radio People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals with the coordinates of the research vessel. Kid has the soul of a poet. He's gonna catch hell from his dad for coming with us, but I tell him he's a hero of Endicott and I'll take care of it. Bug's dad's a bully, and I know how to handle bullies.
The setting sun is bloody when Ernie docks the trawler. I drag Bug with me and put Ernie in charge of getting everyone else landed safely. Like he's not in charge of that already, his toothless smirk tells me. Lomi and Bug and I tear up the dock to the cannery where we find a mobile emergency van from the big animal hospital over in Spencer and Doc Wilson and David preparing to triage the dogs as they land. I turn Bug over to Doc to help keep all the pups calm and orderly. I fill David in on Manton, but somehow, with the looks Doc is shooting his way, I doubt David will have time to miss his old user, er, lover.
You know that feeling, when you've been holding yourself together and then someone shows you kindness, you about come apart? That's how I'm feeling when David hugs me.
So my vision's all blurry then he sets me away from him and turns me gently. What I think I see is a State Police cruiser with a uniformed man leaning against the hood. I don't need to see clearly to hear what he says, even though we're far apart and his voice is soft.