Before & Beyond

by Patrick Welch

  “Nothing special,” Jaymie said. “Pass the potatoes to your father,” she told Brad. Then she looked at Billy. “Unless you have something to say, Billy.”

  Now? At the dinner table? Billy looked down at his plate and shook his head.

  His father smiled at him. “Come now, son, it can’t be that bad. You can tell us. What happened today?”

  “He found out I could talk.” With that Bingo jumped onto the empty chair, then atop the table. “Bit of a surprise, isn’t it?” He sat and looked at each of the family members in turn.

  Ray was the first to recover. “Brad, is that you? Have you been practicing ventriloquism or something?”

  Brad shook his head, his fork still halfway to his mouth.

  “This is impossible,” Jaymie whispered.

  “I told you Bingo could talk!” Billy said and glared at his mother.

  “You can really talk?” Ray asked Bingo.

  “Isn’t it obvious by now?”

  “For all these years?”

  “Since I was a pup.”

  “Why didn’t you talk before? Why are you talking now?” Jaymie asked.

  Bingo stretched out on the table, something he normally only did when the family wasn’t home. “It was time. I’m getting older. My eyesight and sense of smell are fading. I can’t catch the Blaketon’s cat anymore. I figure I’ve got only a few years left. There’s just no reason not to anymore.”

  Ray pushed his chair slowly away from the table. Then the stunned look on his face slowly transformed into a huge smile. “My god, do you realize what this means?” He looked at Jaymie. “Honey, we’re rich!” He began counting on his fingers. “Television talk shows, commercials.”

  Brad broke in. “Music videos!”

  Bingo stood and shook himself, then looked at Ray. “If you hadn’t been so politically correct when I was younger, I could also do doggie porn. But none of that matters because none if it is going to happen.”

  Ray’s smile froze. “Just one second. You’re our dog. You do as we say. If I say you’re going on Letterman, you’re going on Letterman.”

  “Try it and I’ll just stand there and hump his leg. I’ve been a parasite all my life. I see no reason to change now.”

  Ray’s eyes clouded over in anger. “You listen up. All these years we’ve fed you, given you a home, taken you to the vet, the whole nine years. It’s time you repaid us. And get off the table!”

  “That’s right,” Bingo said. “All those years. In all those years I’ve learned everything about each of you.” He looked at Brad. “What do you think, Brad? Should I tell your parents about that shoe box you have hidden in your bedroom?” He wagged his tail as Brad paled. Then he turned to Ray. “Go ahead. Put me on the Tonight Show. I’ll be happy to talk. The IRS might find what I have to say very interesting. If not them, your neighbors will.” He walked to the end of the table and jumped to the vacant chair. Then he turned. “Oh, and from now on I eat what you eat. That dog food you buy sucks.” With that he jumped to the floor and walked out of the room.

  The Porters sat at the table, their uneaten dinner growing colder by the minute. Finally Jaymie broke the silence. “Honey, what are we going to do?”

  “I guess,” he said, wiping his forehead, “we start feeding him the leftovers.”

  *****

  “This has to stop.”

  Ray grunted, then rolled over. Jaymie’s comments didn’t wake him up; sleep was impossible thanks to the blare of the television coming from the living room. Bingo claimed he was nocturnal and insisted the set be left on so he could entertain himself. “I know. But what do we do?”

  “Did you hear what he said about my meatloaf tonight? The gall of that... dog.”

  Ray didn’t want to go there since he hadn’t liked it either. “We should just take him to the vet’s, put him to sleep or something.”

  She gasped. “We can’t do that! Billy loves Bingo! He would never forgive us.”

  “I know,” and he sighed. “I love him, too. But he’s become unbearable!”

  Bingo’s commandeering of the television was just the latest in his ever-growing list of demands. They had fenced in the entire yard, including the front, so he wouldn’t be constrained by a lease any longer. Bingo had told Brad not to have his friends over anymore because they played their music too loud. He insisted he go with them on every trip, severely curtailing visits with their friends. Every protest, every argument had been ignored.

  Jaymie nestled against him. “I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this. I’m heading for a nervous breakdown, I know it.”

  Ray put his arm around his wife and pressed her against his shoulder while, below, the television continued its seemingly endless supply of infomercials. Held hostage by the family dog, ridiculous, he thought. Yet that was exactly what had happened. And there was no one they could talk to, no one to turn to for suggestions since no one would believe them. He looked at his sleepy wife and wondered: what does Bingo have on you? They had found Brad’s shoe box with the small baggie of marijuana. Ray knew what discretion Bingo could reveal about him, an oh-so-brief dalliance with a neighbor three years ago. Should he tell his wife, admit to it? But then he would expect her to tell him her secret, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. And he wasn’t sure it would matter in any event.

  Ray sighed. He could understand – even appreciate -- Bingo’s demands not to let anyone else know of his abilities. The dog would be poked, prodded and dissected by scientists and the government. Ray smiled at the possibility of the government using talking dogs as spies, then forced the thought aside. He had to come up with a solution, and soon. It was during a spiel for another exercise machine when the idea hit him. “Honey,” he said, nudging her gently. “Wake up.”

  She groaned. “What is it? What time is it?”

  “Can you get the dog collar off him?”

  She opened her eyes reluctantly. “I suppose. Why?”

  “I have an idea that just might work. Make sure you have the collar with his license off him when I get home.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell me why?”

  “Let’s just say I want it to be a surprise.”

  *****

  Jaymie yawned as she looked at the clock. It was almost four, which meant her husband would be home in another hour. She would have to start supper, but she had to do one thing first. “Bingo, Bingo,” she called out and clapped her hands. “Come here, boy.”

  There was a grunt, then the scratching of claws on linoleum. “What do you want?” he asked as he came into the kitchen. “I’m missing Oprah.”

  “Just to check something, dear.” She bent down and ran her hands along his collar. “This is getting quite raggedy isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know why I have to wear one in the first place,” he said. “It’s humiliating.”

  “I think it’s about time you got a new one. Hold still so I can get it off.”

  “What’s that I smell? Are we having fish?”

  “Why, yes.” She stepped back, the collar now in her hand. “There we go. We’ll pick you out a nice new one tomorrow.”

  “Don’t hurry on my account. Are we done now?”

  “Yes, you can go back to your show.”

  “Good.” He stopped at the kitchen door. “I don’t like fish. Give me a hot dog or something.”

  She shivered in anger but kept her smile. “Of course. Microwave okay, or raw?”

  “Raw is fine. I wouldn’t want you to go to any extra effort on my account. Fish.” He snorted and left the room.

  Jaymie set the collar near the sink. Her mission was accomplished. Now she just wanted to know why.

  ****

  “Where’s dad?” Brad grumbled. “I’m getting hungry.”

  “I don’t know, dear.” Jaymie looked up at the clock. It was nearly six and supper had been ready for almost an hour. “Maybe he got hung up in traffic. Eat a slice of bread.”

  “I’m hungry, too,” Billy c
himed in.

  “I’m sure he’ll be here soon. Just be patient.”

  “But Bingo’s eating,” Billy said.

  She looked at the dog happily chewing on a wiener. “We have better manners than he does. We can wait a bit. The food is in the oven so it’s still warm.”

  More complaints were stilled when they heard a car pull up into the driveway, then the slamming of a car door. “’Bout time,” Brad said.

  Jaymie smiled. “There, you see. Just need a little patience is all. I’ll get our suppers.”

  They heard the front door open, then Ray call out from the living room. “Bingo, come here a minute. I have a little present for you.”

  Bingo looked up from his bowl. “Now what do you want?” He started for the living room, the rest of the Porters right behind him. “What is... what is that doing here?”

  Standing next to Ray was a full-grown rottweiler. “This is Prince,” Ray pointed at it. “This is your new playmate.”

  “What kind of game are you playing anyway, Ray? Get that fleabag out of here.” Prince let out a loud bark, then began straining at the leash. “I’m warning you, Ray, get rid of that animal.”

  Ray only smiled. “I just thought you needed a companion, Bingo. Someone to protect you. After all, it is a dog-eat-dog world.” With that he dropped the leash. Seconds later Prince was after Bingo.

  Bingo howled as he raced out the front door, the rottweiler close behind. The two dogs ran out the open gate and down the driveway, then out into the street. The Porters stood in the doorway and watched until the two animals were out of sight. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing Bingo anymore,” Ray said.

  Billy was in tears. “Dad, what have you done? That dog ate Bingo!”

  Ray hugged him. “I’m sorry, son, but it was something we had to do. Bingo just can’t live with us anymore. But I’m sure he’ll find someone else to take care of him. And now you have a new dog to play with.”

  Within a few minutes Prince returned. It walked into the yard, past the Porters and straight into the living room, where it sat on the couch. The family followed it inside. “Family, this is Prince, our new dog,” Ray said.

  The rottweiler looked at them for a few moments. “First thing, we have to establish some ground rules,” it said.

  GHOSTS OF DAWN

  Why is it that just when you think things are returning to normal, someone throws a spanner in the works? Haig had finally returned from his vacation in the American colonies and once again taken up residence in our store and apartment. His clansman had returned to Ireland, as relieved at his leaving as I was. Doakes and Haig Recipe Sweetener was selling briskly and we had settled back in our comfortable routine. Then, as inevitable as the tide, someone had to roil the waters.

  It started with a simple letter, a request for the services of Doakes and Haig, Criminal Consultants. It arrived by post one Tuesday afternoon and with the pile of flyers and bills and such, I never noticed it or read it until that evening when we were finished with our supper. “What have we here?” I said as I was leafing through the mail.

  Haig looked up from the paper he was walking on. Being a leprechaun and only a hand high, it was the easiest way for him to read it unless he was sitting on my shoulder. “What do you have, Sean?”

  “A letter addressed to Doakes and Haig, Criminal Consultants.” I held it up.

  Haig failed to stop from smiling. We had not had a case since his return. “It isn’t from Inspector Amberbee is it?”

  “Doubt it,” I said as I opened the missive. “He just shows up at our doorstep when he wants something.” I removed the letter, read it quickly, then set it on the table so Haig could as well. “What do you think?”

  Haig walked across it several times, then returned to his thimble and sat. "Rather curious," Haig offered. "You would think a thief would steal everything at once, not just a few items at a time. I can see why Mr. Grammet and the police are puzzled."

  Mr. Leslie Grammet was the originator of the correspondence beseeching our assistance. "Indeed, unless the person happens to be in his employ and wishes to avoid suspicion. But what is most curious is his claim that the items have all been locked in his safe." I gazed at Haig. "Who do we know who can break into a safe at any time?"

  Haig didn't hesitate. "A leprechaun, of course. Although why one of my people would want to continually harass Mr. Grammet is beyond me. Even if it were a matter of simple revenge, that is not our way."

  I had immediately thought of leprechauns as well, especially since I have first-hand knowledge of Haig's unnatural way with locks. "Do you wish to assist me? Since one of your people may be involved?"

  Haig grinned. "As you told me once, Sean, our card reads 'Doakes and Haig.' Besides, I could use a bit of a break from the kitchen."

  I could appreciate that. Unfortunately, only Haig could prepare our sole product. Without the assistance of one of his clan, our business would have been forced to close during Haig's six month stay in the Colonies. "Then I shall inform Mr. Grammet that we will do what we can to help him."

  So several days, cables and contract negotiations later we were on a train taking us to Brackfield, a village outside Liverpool. Haig was in human guise now, no reason for him not to be, and I noticed with varying degrees of relief and disappointment that he was taking our train journey with unusually good tolerance. He has always hated trains--all machines actually--and typically complained loudly over every railed mile.

  When I commented on it he merely smiled. “There is something to be said for progress, Sean.”

  “Agreed. But from you it was always a curse.”

  “Well, it has its uses. To be honest, after traveling by horse and wagon, it is relaxing to be borne by something that requires no effort from me.”

  Haig had never discussed his stay with Mordecai Harmes and his family in any detail since his return and I hoped our time together would encourage him to. But when I inquired he abruptly changed the subject. “You don’t suppose they might have some good barley whiskey on this train, do you? I could do with a jot just about now.”

  Another change rendered by his American adventure. Before, Haig had always preferred stout or good old Irish whiskey. Now he occasionally pined for a taste of Charitable Harmes’ homemade moonshine. “I suspect not. But we won’t be far from Liverpool. Perhaps there.”

  Haig grunted and folded his arms.

  “So do you think we should meet with Mr. Grammet together or should I pretend you’re not here?” Frequently during our initial client contacts, I had appeared to be alone, with Haig in his real size tucked securely in one of my jacket pockets.

  “I see no good reason not to go together. We can always find an excuse later if I have to investigate... as me." There was no sense trying to plan any further since we knew so little, so we relaxed and enjoyed the scenery the remainder of our journey. I was certain a few surprises awaited us.

  The first came when we arrived in Liverpool. There was a man waiting at the station carrying a sign “Doakes or Haig.” Good, I thought, our employer has arranged for transportation. “I’m Sean Doakes,” I greeted him. “Are you Mr. Grammet?”

  His response startled me. He laughed heartily before shaking my hand. “No, but I am here to take you to Brackfield.”

  “Excellent. Then Mr. Grammet will meet us there.”

  That laugh again. “Yes. Let us get your luggage and we’ll be on our way.”

  “What do you think that’s all about?” Haig asked me as we followed him to our waiting hansom.

  “I have no idea. We’ll find out soon enough.”

  A leisurely hour or so later our hansom pulled in front of a modest home on the outskirts of Brackfield. “Follow me,” our driver said as he took our bags. “Mr. Grammet is waiting for you inside.”

  Now I knew. So I was prepared when we were led inside and introduced to Leslie Grammet. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Grammet,” I greeted her promptly. “Or is it ‘Miss?’”

  �
�Miss,” she said with a smile. “You are Mr. Doakes I assume. And you,” she turned, “must be Mr. Haig.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” Haig said and bowed as he took her hand.

  “Thank you for coming. Please, come this way for a spot of tea. I’m sure you must be tired from your trip.” She led us to her library in the back of the house, where we found a tea service and finger sandwiches waiting. “I didn’t know exactly when you’d arrive; I hope these will do.”

  “They will do fine,” Haig assured her.

  We each sat and noshed lightly while studying each other. I guessed Miss Grammet to be in her mid-40’s, thin, attractive but not overly so. Casually dressed and not one, apparently, concerned with making an extra effort to impress anyone. In some ways she reminded me of the Harmes women, straight-forward and honest. “You say you’ve had items stolen,” I began after a suitable interval.

  “Indeed. Most puzzling. A few at a time over an extended period. Small jewels, rings, a few coins. As I said in our correspondence.”

  “All these items were in your safe?”

  “Most. Or in locked boxes.” She forced a smile. “Maybe what they say about this house is true, that it is haunted.”

  “Haunted?” Unwelcome memories from our stay in the Colonies crawled to the surface. “You hear unexplained noises? See apparitions?”

  “Sounds yes. Like someone far away talking in a soft voice. Only at night, and rarely at that. Nothing more.”

  I glanced at Haig. He had admitted during our American adventure that occasionally leprechauns would “haunt” a house, chiefly as a lark. “I don’t suppose you noticed a connection between the times these voices were heard and items came up missing?”

  She frowned and appeared to be concentrating. “Not that I recall.”

  “What about your employees?” Haig asked. “Could any of them be the thief?”

  “I only have one. Chester, who brought you here. I am not a rich woman by any means. My parents gave me and each of my sisters an annuity before they died. I have enough to live rather comfortably but not extravagantly. And I certainly cannot afford to continue to have my valuables stolen.”