K-9 Blues

by Ralph Vaughan

  By the time Boris neared the fence, several minutes after Sunny and Yoda had vanished, Antony and Arnold were almost on his tail, but the Russian dog was still ignorant of their presence, so concentrated was he on his own pursuit. As he approached the hole he slowed, and his pursuers missed nabbing him before he passed through by the reach of a paw. Once on the other side, Boris paused, looking about, and that was when he heard a sound behind him.

  Antony and Arnold, not slacking their speed, passed through the opening like arrows. They stumbled when they hit ground on the other side, but their momentum kept them tumbling forward. They slammed into Boris just as he started to turn. The three heavy dogs crashed into a dry stand of brush, sending up a racket.

  “What are you…” Boris tried to speak but Antony’s heavy paw on his chest whooshed all the air from his lungs, leaving him as speechless as he was breathless.

  “If Sunny and Yoda are here, Levi can’t be far off,” Antony said. “Arnold, take a look, make sure we didn’t attract any attention from them. We don’t need any interference from those three.”

  The Belgian Shepherd popped his head up cautiously and took a good look around. There was an abandoned warehouse nearby, but no sign of the operatives of the Three Dog Detective Agency.

  He returned to find Boris still under paw, trembling as Antony craned his neck down and glared directly into his eyes.

  “No sign of them,” Arnold reported. “They must be in that warehouse over there.”

  “Fine, we’ll just keep our pal here company till they go away,” Antony said, pressing his other paw into Boris’ chest and settling into the Sphinx Position, all the while keeping his eyes locked on Boris. “Like I said, we don’t want any interference.”

  “I wonder what they are doing in there?” Arnold said, keeping watch on the old structure.

  “I don’t care,” Antony replied. “As long as they stay out of our business.”

  “You boys can’t…”

  Antony silently lunged and fastened his teeth to Boris’ throat, not drawing blood, sinking them in only deep enough to make Boris whimper. Except Boris was too frightened to whimper. He was almost too frightened to breathe, much less speak.

  “You do not want to annoy Antony, Boris,” Arnold advised. “He has had a heck of a morning and is feeling a bit out of sorts.”

  Boris made one last attempt to break free, but immediately stopped when Antony sank his teeth in even deeper. Pain flared in his eyes, but he fell silent and still.

  “Tried to warn you,” Arnold said, grinning. He attempted to tell himself it was wrong to derive any satisfaction from another dog’s pain or discomfiture, even Boris’, but fell short of his high-minded goal. “You stay still till we can talk. By the way, I think you know the questions we’re going to ask, so start thinking of answers.”

  Antony made unintelligible sounds around Boris’ throat.

  Boris cast a worried glance at Arnold.

  “I don’t know,” Arnold admitted. “But I’m pretty sure Antony said it had better be the truth. Like I said, he’s in a very bad mood today…and I am not feeling very charitable myself.”

  The minutes passed slowly, during which the only sounds were the pants of the three dogs and an occasional clatter of wood from within the warehouse. Eventually Arnold saw movement at the old building, watched a few moments, then returned to Antony.

  “The three of them are out of the warehouse and heading off.”

  Antony’s eyes asked a question since his mouth was full.

  “Toward the apartments on F Street,” Arnold answered. “They have with them a Mastiff and a little cat.”

  Antony furrowed his brow.

  “I have no idea who the Mastiff is,” Arnold said. “And it’s a little cat, not Little Kitty. They probably live in the apartments.” He chanced a glance again. “They’re gone. I have no idea what any of them were doing in the warehouse.”

  “It can’t have anything to do with our problems,” Antony said, releasing Boris’ throat but keeping him pinned with his paws, “so I don’t care.” He turned his attention to Boris. “We’re all alone now, no one to interrupt our conversation.”

  “Look, I know you boys are upset about what the Unit did to you, but there’s no reason to…”

  Arnold nipped at Boris’ pointed ear, drawing blood and a small yelp of pain.

  “You only think we’re upset,” Antony said as Boris settled into a sullen silence. “Give us the runaround rather than the truth and you will see just how upset we can get.”

  “Of course I will tell you the truth,” Boris assured them. “It is in our nature to tell the truth, is it not?”

  “Our nature?” Arnold asked.

  “Dogs,” Boris answered. “It is our nature to speak truthfully.”

  “Good dogs don’t lie,” Arnold said.

  “Somehow I don’t think good applies to you anymore than does dog,” Antony sneered.

  “I knew others hated me for my ancestry, no matter how much I proved myself through my work,” Boris said. “But I hoped the two of you were above such pettiness. You were civil to me when others were not. I admire and respect the two of you, both as officers and dogs. I thought we were friends.”

  “Don’t make me go for the other ear,” Arnold warned.

  “The prejudices of American dogs,” Boris moaned. “I am not a pure-breed like you, so I am not to be trusted, am hated. It makes me so sad.”

  On a rational level, Arnold realized Boris was manipulating them, or trying to, but his words touched him on a primal emotional level. He had always considered himself a fair-minded dog with a keen sense of responsibility, able to stand back from any situation and make decisions based on logic and the law, tempered by compassion.

  “May I get up?” Boris asked. “Being in Submission is most humiliating. I promise not to run.”

  Antony let the Sulimov up. “You won’t run because you know both of us are faster than you.”

  Boris stood and shook off the dust and leaves. Then he sat and waited for the questions to begin.

  “Why did you sic us on Slim Shady?” Antony asked.

  “Was it just us you were after,” Arnold interjected, “or did you have something against Slim Shady as well?”

  “I was just relaying information,” Boris answered. “As it turned out, it was incorrect information, but I did not know it at the time. And that is what I told Captain Reese when I returned and found out what happened.”

  Antony snorted. “Who told you?”

  “It was mentioned in passing, I don’t know which dog it was,” Boris replied. “As it turned out he was talking about some other dog so it was my bad to think it was Slim Shady. It sounded like a good nab and an easy escort to the Shelter. I wanted to do it myself, to make myself look good, but I knew I was being sent to the dock area, so I thought to help you.”

  Arnold rolled his eyes. “Antony do you believe a word of what he is saying?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good, I thought it was just me.”

  “Look, I tried to help you but it backfired horribly,” Boris said. “I am sorry. I explained my error to the Captain, an error for which I was disciplined with a week’s suspension and half-rations. But that does not change what was found in your kennels.” He shook his head. “That was very bad, but as the Captain explained to me, that is why you are expelled from the Unit, not for compounding my error about Slim Shady.”

  “You planted that evidence,” Antony accused. “You made sure we were out on a snipe hunt…”

  “Snipe hunt?” Boris interrupted.

  “…then planted everything found in our kennels,” Antony continued. “We are innocent.”

  “I want to believe you, my friends.”

  “We are not your friends!” Antony exclaimed.

  “You lied, said we were linked to it,” Arnold pointed out.

  “I must follow my nose,” Boris replied. “It is what I do. I would be the first to admit I do nor po
ssess your fine investigative skills, but in the matter of sniffing out…”

  “Knock it off, Boris!” Antony snapped.

  The Sulimov looked as if he had been kicked in the ribs.

  “I have always tried to give you the benefit of a doubt, tried to give you a fair shake,” Antony said. “Both of us have. We know what others say, the pranks played on you, but we never took part in any of that. You are not responsible for your breeding, none of us are, but none of us are slaves to it, not unless we choose to be.”

  “I admit I distrusted the Jackal half of you,” Arnold added. “But you’re part dog as well, a child of Anubis, a descendent of First Dog.”

  “Of course I am dog, as we are all…”

  “Stop it, Boris, you’re lying again,” Antony snapped as he charged the Russian dog.

  Boris reacted instinctively, submitting and cowering, trembling and whimpering. When he realized he was not going to be attacked he again sat up.

  “Your answers are not truthful,” Antony said. “I can see that clearly now. You are sly and full of guile, and an answer from you is like a complex dance. Truths are simple, not complex.”

  “And we’re gong to get the simple truth from you before we leave here,” Arnold said. “No matter how long that takes.”

  “No matter what we have to do,” Antony added.

  For the first time in his life, Boris had the frightened look of a trapped animal. He was finally in a situation he could not talk his way out of, could not portray himself as the victim of circumstances beyond his control. Before, he had always been able to play dogs against each other, to take advantage of the fact that others actually wanted to believe him. Dogs were such fools in their endless and eternal optimism, both in companions and in each other, and Boris was ever ready to take advantage of that foolishness.

  That life, he saw now, was past.

  And yet he did not dare tell the truth, for whatever these two police dogs might do to him, it was nothing compared to all the terrible punishments meted out by the Master’s paws, punishments so fearful that even death would seem a kindness.

  “Why did you lie about Slim Shady?” Arnold demanded.

  “I did not…”

  “Was it just to get us out of the kennels?” Antony snapped.

  “How did you know where Slim Shady was?”

  “That’s pretty accurate, for a mistake, isn’t it?”

  “Why did you want Slim Shady in the Shelter?”

  “Don’t look at him, look at me!”

  “Don’t think about you answer!”

  “Answer my question!”

  “Now!”

  “Now!”

  Over years of working together, Antony and Arnold had honed their interrogation skills to a keen edge. Long ago they learned it was neither pain nor the threat of pain that elicited the truth from a suspect or a reluctant witness. The secret lay in a combination of intimidation, confrontation and speed, all of which were the enemies of liars. When they demanded answers, it was almost as if they shared a single intelligence, one which an ordinary animal could not resist.

  They peppered Boris with questions until the Sulimov felt as if his head were spinning. Lying was a serious business, and while he had become an expert in prevarication, he was still subject to an old maxim that was as true now as it was back when the dogs of ancient Greece first uttered it while resting on the porch of the Academy in Athens – liars must have good memories.

  Antony and Arnold were not providing Boris with the time needed to formulate cohesive and coherent lies. They came at him with question after question, befuddling his mind until he started to contradict his own well-crafted lies.

  He noted with alarm the change in their expressions.

  And then he realized he had been caught in a web of his own crafting, ensnared in the inconsistencies of his own lies. Defeated and exhausted, he fell to the ground.

  “I can’t tell you the truth,” Boris gasped. “I dare not.”

  “You’re finished, Boris,” Antony said. “Your only hope is the truth. You cannot continue to live your lies.”

  “If I tell you the truth, I will not continue to live at all,” Boris murmured. “That is the price of failure.”

  “Who are you so afraid of?” Arnold asked.

  “I cannot say,” Boris breathed. “He does not tolerate betrayal.”

  “Who are you talking about?” Arnold persisted.

  Boris remained silent.

  “We will protect you,” Antony promised.

  “No one can protect me from…” Boris paused. “No one can defy the Master.”

  Antony and Arnold looked at each other.

  “I do you no favor telling you from whom your destruction will come,” Boris explained. “It does not matter that I tell you, for my life is already forfeit. The Master does not tolerate betrayal, but neither does he tolerate failure, and your presence here is proof of my failure.” Boris shook his head forlornly. “It was my last chance, the task of removing you from the Master’s business, and I have not done too well at that – already many of the Unit do not believe the evidence against you; they listened to Sergeant Rex before he left.”

  “Where is Sergeant Rex?” Arnold asked.

  Boris shrugged. “He believed in you.”

  Antony nodded. He and Sergeant Rex had bumped heads more than a few times, especially when Antony was a rookie, but he had always felt great admiration and respect toward the veteran officer.

  “You planted the evidence?” Arnold asked.

  “No, I did not,” Boris answered. “I suggested the plan, but I am not a killer. I have not the will. My role was to get you away from the kennels – that was why I sent you after Slim Shady – and to accuse you by saying I detected your scent. The other dogs may not trust me, but they trust my sense of smell.” He smiled. “So strong is the canine reverence for scent, I needed only make the claim, and they all deluded themselves – no one even checked.”

  “Who planted the evidence then?” Antony asked. “The meat and…and the other?”

  “I do not know,” Boris admitted. “Someone else in the Unit.”

  “Why pick on Slim Shady?” Arnold asked. “There were lots of other snipe hunts you could have set us on without arousing any suspicion, tasks that would have made more sense.”

  “It was a mistake, but it was not mine,” Boris replied. “I was told to use Slim Shady as a decoy. The goal was to get him in the Shelter or permanently out of the way.”

  “Why?” Arnold asked. “What has Slim Shady ever done?”

  “An unlucky dog doomed by his stars,” Boris murmured with the fatalism of the true Russian. “Wrong place at the wrong time; he saw what he should not have seen. I admit, it was a poor choice, him, but it was not my choice to make. It is one of the reasons why the case against you is starting to crumble. Not my fault, but that does not matter. Perhaps it never did.”

  “You have to go back to the Unit with us,” Antony said. “You have to tell the Captain the truth.”

  Boris shook his head. “I would not live that long. There are enemies in the shadows, and the shadows are very long.”

  “We can protect you,” Arnold said.

  Boris shook his head. “You cannot protect yourselves.”

  “Boris, who is the Master?” Antony asked.

  “Is he the leader of a gang?” Arnold suggested.

  “A gang?” Boris looked thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, you might say that, but it is more than a gang. It is an organization, a pack to which I thought I belonged. It is a power structure that will one day control the lives of every dog and cat in Chula Vista, perhaps the whole South Bay. Power is the Master’s goal.”

  “But who is the Master?” Antony repeated. “What kind of dog is he?”

  Boris uttered a low and dismal laugh. “No one knows. He is a dog like no other. No one even knows his breed, under the mask.”

  Suddenly a howl arose, starting low and gradually keening higher. It s
eemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. Antony and Arnold, who were trained to recognize the territorial and distress howls of every canine breed, were baffled, for it was like no baying they had ever heard.

  “He knows!” Boris’ voice was hoarse and laced with terror. “He knows I have failed and that I have betrayed him!”

  “We’ll protect you, Boris,” Arnold said.

  “We won’t let anyone hurt you,” Antony echoed.

  “Come with us, Boris.” Arnold paused. “It’s not too late to put this right, to find your way back to the light.”

  Again the weird unearthly sound rose and fell.

  “No!” Boris screamed.

  Antony and Arnold moved forward to take Boris into custody, but the lithe gray and white Sulimov rushed at them, knocking them aside. Though the Cane Corso and the Belgian Shepherd were the heavier dogs, their mass could not contain a strength powered by terror and panic.

  Almost immediately they were back on their paws and in pursuit, but it was no use. The demons chasing Boris were faster than any earthly dog and they urged him to even greater speeds. It was quickly apparent to Arnold and Antony there was no hope of catching the frantic Sulimov.

  “I did not think anyone less than a Greyhound could outpace us,” Arnold remarked, panting hard.

  Antony shook his head. “I’ve never seen a dog more frightened than Boris.”

  “He’ll run till his heart bursts,” Arnold remarked.

  “There goes our hope for getting back in the Unit,” Antony sighed. “His confession could have straightened everything out with the Captain.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Antony frowned. “I thought we decided the Captain could not be the motivating force behind Boris.”

  “We now know the guiding force is the dog Boris calls the Master,” Arnold explained. “However, he’s not the one who planted the evidence, or who killed that cat.”

  “If we can believe Boris.”

  “He’s a sly and conniving cur, that’s pretty plain, but I believed him when he claimed not to have the will of a killer,” Arnold said. “Someone else provided and planted the evidence. There is another traitor in the Unit.”