To Fetch a Thief

by Spencer Quinn

  “I didn’t mean no harm. He asked for it, want to know the truth.”

  “How did he ask for it?”

  “His attitude, man. I mean, why’d he have to wake up in the first place?”

  “This was the night you kidnapped Peanut?”

  “Kidnapped? It’s a stupid animal.”

  The muscle that sometimes jumped in Bernie’s jaw jumped at that moment. “You think Peanut’s stupid?” he said.

  “It’s an animal.”

  “She,” said Bernie. “And you’re repeating yourself.”

  “Huh? What’s your problem? I’m just saying it’s property, like a car or something.” He shook his head. “Repo work is always full of screwups—I shoulda known.”

  “You were repoing Peanut?”

  “Not me personally. Just followin’ orders.”

  “Rosa’s orders?”

  “Yeah. Had to teach that dickhead a lesson.”

  “Colonel Drummond?”

  “Colonel, my ass.”

  “You said it,” said Bernie. “What kind of lesson?”

  “Drummond was gettin’ ideas.”

  “What kind of ideas?”

  “Wanted more of the action,” Jocko said. “What other ideas are there?”

  Bernie smiled. He has the best smile in the world; if I haven’t mentioned that already, I should have. Why he was smiling? A complete mystery.

  “And the action is smuggling exotic animals into the U.S.?” Bernie said.

  It was?

  “Yup.”

  Hey! But that was Bernie, every time—smartest human in the room.

  “Drummond’s circus provided the cover?” Bernie said.

  “For some of the trade,” Jocko said.

  “There’s more?”

  “It’s a big business, man, like in the billions,” Jocko said, sounding offended. “Second to drugs, but way safer.”

  “Not safe enough,” Bernie said.

  Jocko thought about that for a while. The light of the downtown towers appeared, shone faintly in Jocko’s eyes. “I’ll take that deal,” he said.

  “Let’s hear about the kidnapping,” Bernie said.

  “Already told you. Drummond pulled this stunt, all about this parrot from some island, the last one in the world or some shit. Tex is the wrong dude to pull stunts on. We took his meal ticket, makin’ a point.”

  “The meal ticket being Peanut?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You spiked Quigley’s JB?”

  “Nothin’ to it. Everything was goin’ smooth, we got the elephant in the trailer, and then the goddamn thing started acting up—”

  “Which was when you used the ankus?”

  “That’s how you control ’em. But it was too late. DeLeath woke up and came pokin’ his nose in, so we had to grab him, too.”

  “Who decided to kill him?”

  “He did.”

  “DeLeath committed suicide?”

  “Kinda. Like he didn’t want to write the good-bye note.”

  “So you threatened him with the puff adder?”

  “Just a show, was all. But the goddamn snake got away on us, did its own thing. One scary mother.”

  “A nice story,” Bernie said. “The fact that DeLeath did end up writing the note is the only hole I can see.”

  There was a silence. I gazed down at Jocko. The biting urge started up.

  “What do you want from me?” Jocko said. “I spilled my guts.” Uh-oh. I glanced down, saw no evidence of that. I was getting to know Jocko, one of those humans who couldn’t be trusted, not one bit.

  “DA won’t buy it,” Bernie said. “You’ll have to sweeten the pot.”

  “Like how?” said Jocko.

  “Where does Tex live?” Bernie said.

  It was still dark when we pulled up outside Tex Rosa’s place in Golden Eldorado Estates, maybe the fanciest development in the Valley, and the one Bernie hated the most. We couldn’t see the house itself on account of the high walls around it. Bernie parked in front of the gate. He took the gun from the console, opened the door, and we got out.

  “What about me?” Jocko said.

  “Stay put.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I’m cuffed to the goddamn—”

  “And not another peep,” Bernie said.

  We went up to the gate. Still nighttime, but dark-pink Valley nighttime, and the buzzer was easy to see. Bernie pressed it. Then we slipped back into the shadows. We’d done this very thing once before, couldn’t remember the details, except for Bernie forgetting to bring a gun that time, resulting in complications. I glanced over to make sure it was in his belt, caught that friendly gleam.

  We waited. Waiting’s part of the job, no problem, especially when I’m waiting with Bernie. After a while, I heard footsteps moving behind the wall. Then came some metallic sounds and the gate swung open. Tex Rosa walked out, wearing a silk robe—the smell of silk hard to miss, a big favorite of mine, which had led to some trouble in the past—and with his hair every which way.

  He saw the truck. “What the hell?” He moved toward it, his hand sliding down, maybe into a pocket, hard to tell on account of his back was to us. “Jocko? You in there?”

  From inside the cab came Jocko’s yell: “Shoot ’im, boss.”

  “Drop it,” said Bernie, stepping forward, me right beside him. At the same moment, Rosa whirled, firing straight from the pocket of his robe. PING—that ping pinged off the gate, meaning we were good. Bernie pulled the trigger. Rosa cried out and fell, holding his arm. His gun clattered on the pavement, actually hadn’t finished clattering before I was standing over it, the way we’d worked on, me and Bernie.

  Bernie came over, put his foot on Rosa’s back, nice and hard.

  “Boss?” Jocko called from the cab. “You nail him?”

  “That whole deal thing, Jocko?” Bernie called back. “It’s off the table.”

  Tex Rosa twisted his head around, groaned in pain. “Going to let me bleed to death?” he said. “That the kind of man you are?”

  Bernie gazed down at him. “Shooting from the pocket looks easy in the movies,” he said, “but it’s really not.”

  I smelled blood, but hardly any.

  Rick Torres and a bunch of Metro PD guys came and took over with the prisoners. Bernie and I got back in the cab. “Meet you at the fairgrounds,” Bernie said.

  “Nothing rash,” said Rick said.

  What did that mean? I wasn’t sure. There were rashers of bacon, of course—did Rick mean I wasn’t supposed to have any? Maybe he didn’t realize that except for that one Slim Jim I hadn’t had a morsel in I didn’t know how long.

  The sky was getting light when we drove into the fairgrounds, beautiful colors spreading all over the place. Sometimes, like after you’ve been up the whole night, for example, things are even more beautiful than ever. What a life!

  No one around. We parked in front of the big top and were just getting out of the cab when the box office door opened and Colonel Drummond came out, walking fast and stuffing papers into a briefcase.

  “Going somewhere?” said Bernie.

  Drummond’s head jerked up, mouth falling open, not a good look on him.

  “We’ve got Peanut here,” Bernie said. “Don’t you want to see her?”

  Drummond glanced at the truck. “Too late,” he said.

  “Because you’re on your way downtown?” Bernie said.

  “Downtown?”

  “To turn yourself in for smuggling exotic animals and obstruction of justice,” Bernie said. “That’s your best move right now. And getting out front on the whereabouts of that parrot couldn’t hurt.”

  Without another word, Drummond took off, papers flying all over the place, his running style strange and wobbly. Did it take more than a moment for me to chase him down and grab him by the pant leg? No. Case closed.

  Drummond lay on the ground, absolutely still; he’d figured that out right away. Bernie came over.

  “The
goddamn bird died,” Drummond said. “I had to refund every cent.”

  “Dad!” said Charlie. “You did it!” He jumped up in Bernie’s arms, gave him a big hug.

  “It was mostly Chet,” Bernie said.

  Soon Charlie was giving me a big hug, too. I gave him a big lick back.

  “I told Ms. Creelman you’d come in and tell the class all about it,” Charlie said.

  “Well, I—”

  “And you know what? She said you can stand up on the stage in the auditorium and speak to the whole school!”

  “That might not, uh, we’ll have to, um . . .”

  Suzie found out about this refuge for elephants in Tennessee and made the arrangements. We saw Peanut off at the private strip in Pottsdale, me, Bernie, Suzie, Popo. Peanut was in a cage for the trip, didn’t look happy about it. Popo tried to pat her trunk through the bars, but she was having none of it. I gave her that rumbly low bark meaning, let’s go. Our eyes met. I felt something from her, no doubt about it. They loaded her on the plane. We watched till it was out of sight. I could still hear it perfectly well, but for the rest of them the plane was gone.

  Popo turned to Bernie, his eyes damp. “I can’t thank you enough,” he said.

  “Um,” said Bernie, “not, uh, you don’t have to . . .”

  “Do you have the final accounting?”

  “We’ll send you a bill.”

  Now, Bernie. Get the money now. Did anything beat cold hard cash? Never.

  “Chet? Something the matter, boy?”

  We took Malcolm for a drink at the Dry Gulch Steak House and Saloon. One of my favorite places—great patio in back, with a nice welcome for me and my kind, and what can I say about the food?—but why Malcolm?

  “Nice of you to do this, Bernie,” Malcolm said. We were by ourselves at a corner table. “Probably good to get to know each other a bit better, what with this marriage coming up and all.”

  “Exactly,” Bernie said. “Marriage is the subject.” He fell silent.

  Malcolm pushed his coaster around for a bit. Then he said, “You had something to say about marriage?”

  “Yeah,” said Bernie. He took a deep breath. “Kind of wacky, given my record, but I’ve got some advice on marriage.”

  Malcolm sat back, no longer looking friendly, or even the fake friendly he’d actually been doing. He disliked Bernie; you didn’t need much in the nose department to sniff that out. “Oh?” he said.

  Bernie leaned forward. “Take her on a long walk. Hold her hand. Keep your mouth shut.”

  Malcolm’s eyebrows rose. “That’s it?”

  “Pretty much,” Bernie said. “Just one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Avoid desert motels.”

  Sometimes the color vanishes from the human face in no time flat. Love seeing that, and I did now.

  “Or any motels, really, unless Leda’s with you. In this business, we make a lot of contacts with motel personnel, goes without saying.” Bernie smiled, a special smile of his that’s very bright, like a shiny knife. “Happy homes make happy kids, Malcolm, and Charlie’s a happy kid. I wouldn’t want to see any change there, not even the tiniest. I’m always armed—heavily. Probably also goes without saying, but I’m saying it anyway, if you get my meaning.”

  Huh? We weren’t carrying now, never carried when we weren’t on the job.

  “You do get my meaning, Malcolm?”

  Malcolm nodded.

  Bernie picked up his glass, clinked it against Malcolm’s. “Cheers,” he said.

  We went for a long walk in the canyon, me, Bernie, Suzie. Bernie’s eye was looking better now, practically back to normal. After a while he took her hand. He kept his mouth shut.

  “You’re awfully quiet today,” Suzie said.

  Bernie’s mouth opened. “I,” he said. And then after what seemed like quite a long time: “love you.”

  Some sort of strong emotion began appearing on Suzie’s face. A breeze sprang up behind me. I looked back. My tail was wagging like crazy. I must have been happy about something.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many thanks to Lily and Josh; to David Brown; and to all the regulars at www.chetthedog.com.