Unleashed_Case of the Hot Dog

by Erik Schubach

  Unleashed: Case of the Hot Dog

  By Erik Schubach

  Copyright © 2018 by Erik Schubach

  Self publishing

  P.O. Box 523

  Nine Mile Falls, WA 99026

  Cover Photo © 2018 Dean Drobot / ShutterStock license | Lifeonwhite / Depositphotos license

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, blog, or broadcast.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  FIRST EDITION

  ISBN 978-0-9993740-4-7

  Chapter 1 – Summer Days

  Damn, what a scorcher of a day! I walked slowly with my partner along Madison Avenue here in Manhattan. Even when the heat is an oppressive 104 degrees, I really love this town. I paused at a mirrored window on a building as we weaved our way through the heavy foot traffic on our way home for the day.

  My loose natural curls had lost much of their body, and I was sweating, having been walking through the city and Central Park most of the day. I straightened the red bow in my hair which matched the red sundress with little white hearts that Jane had given me for my birthday last week. I usually prefer solid colors to patterns, but... well, Jane had given it to me.

  That woman had me so flustered since the day I finally admitted to myself that I was attracted to her. But as infuriating as she can be, she stepped it up a notch when I felt I was ready to explore that part of my sexuality I had never realized I had. Because now she is the one who stepped back and is making me wait. She says she doesn't want to be an experiment, she wants me to be sure before we take the next step. Jerk cop.

  So, of course, that leaves me not knowing where we stand in our 'sort of' relationship. I mean, I have that nebulous excitement I have in a new relationship, just without any physicality, which – let me tell you – is endlessly frustrating.

  She never corrects anyone when they say we're a cute couple. I just – gah!!!

  I crouched and adjusted the little work vest and carry pouches my partner in crime wore. Sir Calvin Fluffytoes, my black and white border collie, looked as beat as me. He was now a service dog in training, which meant that technically he could go anywhere with me now, in stores and restaurants, and even the city buses. He's almost halfway done with his six month, hundred and twenty-hour distraction interaction training now.

  As I checked the footies I had him wear, so he didn't burn the pads of his feet on the scorching pavement on our walks, I pointed out, “You look like I feel, boy.”

  He gave me a wet slurp on my cheek, and I smiled at him. “Let's keep you hydrated.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a collapsible bowl and popped it into shape, then poured some water from the half gallon jug in the oversized bag.

  As he lapped up the water greedily, I took a shallow breath. I normally savored the perfume of the city but in hundred degree plus temps? All I got was the smell of exhaust, hot asphalt and any garbage baking in the dumpsters in the alleys of the surrounding area. The peak of summer is about the only time I don't savor the city, though Central Park is still a joy, no matter the temperature.

  Once Calvin was done with his water, I collapsed the bowl, ruffled his ears then we started back toward the Park to head home. I hesitated as we moved closer to the curb to avoid a group of pedestrians who weren't paying attention and taking up much of the walk with no regard for the others who were making their way about. Tourists.

  I looked into a gold sedan and saw something I wanted. I looked around at the people passing by and reached into my bag. I dug to the bottom and pulled out a little metal cylinder with a pushbutton on the top.

  I told Cal, “Just a sec boy, this is important.” I twisted the cylinder's top until it clicked then held the base against the back window of the car and pressed the button. The spring loaded, weighted, needle-sharp tip of the titanium rod struck the window and the safety glass spiderwebbed and shattered.

  Most of the people just kept walking by with their New York blinders on, they didn't want to know, and they saw nuttin'. Very few people slowed and gawked, a couple pulled out their cells and started recording me. I rolled my eyes and reached through the window and grabbed my prize.

  What? No, I'm not a thief. Let me introduce myself, the name's Finnegan Temperance May, dog walker extraordinaire, at your service. If you have a dog in need of walking in Manhattan, you can book me on my website at FinneganWalks.com.

  I cradled the long-haired dachshund, who was panting hard and barely responsive, a little white foam at the corners of his mouth. Damn it. If I hadn't seen the poor guy, he would have been dead in a few more minutes. That car was a literal oven. Why can't dog owners take responsibility and not put their animals in life-threatening situations? It isn't like it is some nebulous secret that heat plus closed cars equal death for animals and even children.

  I laid the dog on my bag on the sidewalk after pulling out the water jug, Calvin nudged his side with his nose. I started with a couple capfuls of water. The poor little guy perked up a bit and drank greedily. He had to go slow, or he'd just barf it back up.

  “Let's see who you are,” I mused as I checked for a collar, but he had neither collar nor tags under his long chestnut fur. “Ok, Oscar it is then until we find out your real name.”

  Calvin didn't look amused at my joke, I muttered to him, “What? It's funny. He's a wiener dog.” He cocked his head the other way, tongue lolling, unimpressed. Everyone's a critic.

  After the dachshund sat up a bit, more alert, I poured a little water into the collapsible bowl for him. He started lapping at it as I called the police. I almost growled at the situation. The animal cruelty statutes were pretty strict in the city. This little guy's owners were going to be in for a world of hurt. That's me, Finnegan May, angel of canine vengeance and big civil fines and penalties.

  I should put that on my business cards.

  After reporting a dog in a hot car, I waited, gradually giving the dog more and more water. Believe it or not, the NYPD responds quickly to reports of children or animals in hot vehicles, since every moment could make the difference between life and death.

  Sure enough, less than a minute later, a squad car pulled up and double parked when I waved at them. Manhattan's finest were on the job.

  I spoke to one officer while her partner checked out the car.

  I just didn't expect to be in cuffs in the back of the cruiser a couple minutes later, having my rights read to me. The injustice of it all!

  Chapter 2 – 19th Precinct

  At least they hadn't called Animal Control and allowed Calvin to ride with me since he had his service dog vest on. They placed the Doxy in the back seat after I wouldn't shut up about it needing to come with me. The female cop may or may not have said something about incessant whining and to, “Just do it to get her to shut the hell up.”

  I grinned in triumph when the man put the dog in with me. Well as triumphant as sitting in the back of a police car with your hands cuffed behind your back can be. I mean sheesh, overreact much? It was just a broken window. And technically I could do that. I grumped. Then I smiled as Cal curled around the smaller dog and laid his head down on the seat as th
e air conditioning from the front seats migrated back to us.

  It was so worth it, even if I get slapped with a misdemeanor and a fine. Oscar looked like he was going to be just fine. I'd feel better if a vet could check him out though.

  I was a little confused why five or six more patrol cars showed up and started isolating the area with police tape before we left.

  I cringed as we pulled up to the 19th Precinct. I knew it was inevitable I'd wind up here, Jane was going to have ammunition to embarrass me for weeks now.

  The female officer carried Oscar off when we parked, and the other officer pulled me out of the patrol car a little roughly. I complained as he almost dragged me through the doors, “Ow, ow, ow. Why are you being so rough?”

  Calvin, who was pacing me, peeled back his lips and growled at the man. The uniform stopped yanking me along, and I swallowed hard when he placed his hand on the butt of his weapon and said to me, “Control your dog, or I will shoot him.”

  My eyes widened. What the heck was going on here? Why was he threatening my dog? I looked down. “It's ok boy. Officer Jerky McJerk Face isn't really hurting me.”

  Calvin whined and looked up at me, his tail hesitantly wagging.

  Then the man was yanking me forward again. I thought, “ow,” rather than voicing it, so as not to excite Calvin anymore.

  It was all a whirlwind after that, and soon I found myself in a familiar room, in a familiar chair, only this time I was in cuffs that were connected to a chain to a bolt in the concrete floor. The cuffs were too tight and hurt. Calvin sat beside me whimpering as he picked up on my distress. His carry pouches had been confiscated.

  I absently wondered if Oscar belonged to someone important, and they were pressing charges or something. But they were the ones who endangered the dog!

  Ten minutes later a familiar grizzled detective, with three days worth of stubble on his craggy face, stepped into the room with a folder and a huge clear evidence bag which held my shoulder bag in it, and another with Calvin's packs.

  He hadn't even looked up at me until he read something on the paperwork and he froze as he was reaching to pull out a chair to sit in across the table from me. His eyes jerked from the paperwork to me, and they widened in recognition as he muttered, “Oh, shit.”

  Then he was cringing when I heard a woman's raised voice in the hall, “Move aside now officer, if you know what's good for you.”

  The officer at the door replied, “But I was told...”

  Then the door swung open and none other than Detective Jane McLeary, my roommate, my love interest, and possibly the most aggravating person I have ever known, stepped in. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the other detective then me.

  She said through gritted teeth to him as the uniformed officer followed her in, looking sheepish for not being able to stop her, “Dan.”

  Oh, that's right, this was Detective Sergeant Daniel Graves, the only detective higher ranking than her at the station. He looked resigned as he exhaled and replied in kind, “McLeary.”

  He didn't protest when she snatched the folder from him to start reading, her hand pointing at me as she read. “Are those really necessary?”

  The man's expression turned to that of a parent dealing with an especially unruly child. He sighed, snapped and pointed at my hands. The uniform hustled over to me and took the cuffs off, letting them fall to the floor with the chain.

  I exhaled in relief and rubbed my wrists. I could already feel the bruises starting to form under the angry red marks on my wrists. The cuffs certainly hadn't been that tight when I was picked up for releasing the lab animals from the university earlier in the year. I broke a window then too. I was a menace to all things glass.

  I started to complain to Jane, “What the ever loving fuzzy heck is going on? All I did was break a window. The Doxy would have died if I...” She held up a hand to stop me, her eyes never leaving the report she was reading with intent.

  Grr. I tried again, “I wasn't going to let the dog...”

  She paused, looked at me pointedly, and growled out, “Would you shut up. Stop speaking. Cease babbling. Desist with the word vomit. You're in deep shit here Fin. They read you your rights? Use them and exercise the right to remain silent right now until we sort this out.”

  She was starting to scare me and was being the Jerk Cop I had literally labeled her as. No seriously, I made a label for her which said that, since she was teasing my need to label everything at our apartment at the time. I may be slightly OCD. But she did keep the label, and she has it across her name tag on her desk upstairs. It makes me smile every time I see it.

  I started to explain, “It was just a window, I'll pay for...”

  She finished reading and looked up at me, shaking her head. “This isn't about a damn window or a dog, Finnegan, it's about the body the officers on the scene found in the trunk.”

  I heard myself asking from the far end of the tunnel my vision had contracted into, “The... what?” Oh no... not again.

  I felt all the blood drain from my face and I dry heaved once, slapping my hand over my mouth. She moved back so quickly it would have been humorous if I didn't taste the rising bile. I wouldn't throw up on her shoes... again. What? It was only the one time, the first time we met. Someone was dead, and I had been right there and not even known.

  She gave me a sad, understanding smile which conveyed the same sentiment about my bad luck, but at least she smiled at me. I squeaked out in a hoarse whisper, “I was only saving the doggie...”

  She sighed and stepped around the table, and I stood as she hugged me to her for a moment, held me at arm's length to look me up and down, and said in a tone of fond resignation, “I know.” Her brow creased as she examined my red and aching wrists, then she smirked as she moved away. “I can't leave you alone for one minute without you getting into trouble, can I?”

  I would have growled at her for that quip, but the fact she was still joking with me and trying to get me to smile made the knots in my guts relax a bit. It assured me she didn't think I had anything to do with a dead body... this time. Not that I did the last time either, but she didn't know that at the time.

  Were the fates looking down at us now and laughing at me? How can the same thing happen to the same girl twice?

  Her gaze moved over to the senior detective as she asked me, “I'll be right here when Dan questions you, ok?” He gave her a warning and consternated look but didn't protest with anything but his eyes. She held up her hands as if to show she wasn't going to interfere.

  She asked, “You ok?” Nice of her to finally ask. I almost smiled that she had relaxed me enough to have snarky thoughts. But she really did look like the question mattered... that I mattered to her. I just nodded. She smiled encouragement, moved to the wall, and crouched to scrub Calvin's ears when he ran up to greet her.

  Then she prompted far too innocently as Graves sat across from me, making a motion with his hand to indicate I take my seat again, “I heard that you requested your lawyer be present during the interrogation?”

  Graves turned to her as I sat, an eyebrow arched in incredulity at her.

  “I did?” Oh... I got it. I blurted, “Yes, I did.” Did I need a lawyer? All I did was break a window, they didn't really think I had anything to do with a body did they?

  Then to be helpful, she said, “I'll give him a call for you.”

  I prompted, “Her.”

  She nodded as the other Detective looked exasperated, shutting the folder in front of him as she corrected herself, “Her. I'll call her for you.”

  I offered, “She is in the legal section of my emergency contacts sheet I printed up for you on your desk.”

  She nodded and rolled her eyes as she sighed out, “And laminated.”

  I nodded with a cheesy grin and agreed. “And laminated.”

  Then she slipped out the door with Graves glaring at her and that traitor, Calvin, who followed on her heels. I blushed when I heard her grumbling as she retreated do
wn the hall, “And labeled, and...”

  Grr! There's nothing wrong with organization, and organization begins with clearly labeling everyt... hey! Stop looking at me like that. My relationship with my labeler is a thing of legends.

  The detective stood, straightening the papers hanging out of his file as he said, “Looks like we'll have to continue this later, Miss May. Get comfortable.”

  Then he paused at the door when I called out, “How's Oscar? The dachshund I saved?”

  His hand rested on the door handle as he turned back to study me for a moment, then he smiled and exhaled almost in resignation. “I hear he has the secretarial pool enamored.”

  Then I asked in a small voice that did nothing to mask my anxiety and fear, “You... you don't think I did this do you?”

  He hesitated for three heartbeats; I know, I counted; then he exhaled and deflated a bit, “No, I really don't. But I'm just doing my job. McLeary may put my balls in a vice on this one, since you're her favorite, but I have to go by the book on this. Someone died.”

  I nodded, and he started to turn back to the door and hesitated again, asking, “You need anything? Something to eat or drink until your counsel arrives?”

  I smiled and shrugged. He winked and then left me alone in the room. He wasn't a bad egg. I looked around and crossed my arms over my tummy, feeling so very small, like I was under a microscope with the red blinking lights on the cameras mounted on the ceiling mocking me.

  A uniformed officer showed up a few minutes later with a bottle of water and a deli sandwich. I smiled at the egg salad, my favorite. Jane must have told them. I perked up a minute later when the door opened again, and I heard Jane coaxing, “Shoo, get in there, Cal.”

  Then Calvin came streaming in, like liquid sunshine, the door shutting behind him. His tail was threatening to wag his little butt off as he greeted me with a wet sloppy kiss when I crouched to hug him. I giggled when his attention turned to the sandwich on the table.