Laying Down the Paw

by Diane Kelly

  Of course there was always the possibility that today’s call had been purposely ended, such as in cases of domestic violence where the perpetrator might wrestle a phone from his victim’s hands.

  At any rate, any time someone called 9-1-1 and hung up, the operator attempted to contact the caller. In this case, when the operator returned the call, there was no answer.

  I pulled my cruiser to a stop in front of the house and took a look. The house was a single-story white brick model with cheery, bright red shutters and a wooden rocking chair on the porch. A line of red-berried holly bushes flanked the front of the house. A large oak tree sat in the front yard, its gnarled roots reaching out from its base for a few feet before disappearing into the earth.

  Nothing immediately looked amiss. Though the front curtains were all pulled closed, that wasn’t necessarily unusual, especially given the frigid temperatures of last night. Why leave the windows uncovered and let all that cold in?

  My eyes made a quick survey of the surrounding area. There wasn’t much to see. Nobody was out and about at this time of day in winter. They were either at work or huddled inside watching soap operas. A sand-colored Suburban sat across the street a few houses down. On this side of the street, the only vehicle in sight was a blue Subaru Impreza parked near the corner.

  I climbed out of the patrol car and let Brigit out of her enclosure in the back, wrapping her leash several times around my hand to keep her close. The two of us walked up the winding brick pathway to the door. Brigit had her head raised, her nose twitching as it scented the air. Whatever she smelled excited her to no end. She launched into a prancing dance, her front legs coming off the ground like a saloon girl performing, her tail wagging so hard it whipped against the back of my legs.

  Something had my partner agitated. But what?

  Gasp! My heart ping-ponged in my chest when a squirrel darted out from the bushes a few feet away. He ran up the oak tree and squatted on a branch, swishing his bushy tail in indignation as he chastised me and my partner with a call of chik-chik-chik-chik-chik! Heck, I was tempted to chik-chik-chik him right back. The damn rodent had scared the snot out of me.

  As Brigit and I drew closer to the front door, my eyes spotted a small, hand-lettered sign in the front window that spelled out MEEMAW’S DAY CARE in primary colors.

  Kids. Hmm.

  Maybe one of them had been playing with the telephone and accidentally called 9-1-1. Or maybe one of the kids had gotten his tongue stuck to a frozen barbecue grill in the backyard. Or maybe Meemaw had suffered a coronary. Or maybe I should stop speculating and go to the front door and find out, huh?

  Determined to do just that, I took a few steps forward before being yanked to a stop by my partner. Brigit had stopped in her tracks, her ears pricked. Her head made jerky movements to the left and right as she processed whatever auditory data I, as a mere Homo sapiens, could not detect. The only thing my ears detected was the drip-drip-drip of the icicles melting at the edge of the roof.

  Brigit set off to the left, leaning with the effort, pulling hard on the leash. Okay, I knew I was supposed to be the pack leader and take charge, but the truth of the matter was that my gut had begun to churn with a very bad feeling. I’d also learned to trust my partner’s instincts, as different as they might be from mine.

  Brigit led me around the side of the house. Melting icicles dripped onto my face, head, and shoulders as we sneaked around. Brigit stopped walking and rose to stand on her hind legs at a window.

  Wait. I could hear something now. Was it a child crying?

  I stepped closer to take a look. Through a small gap in the curtains, I saw three young children huddled in the center of a bed. All of them appeared terribly frightened, one sucking his thumb with tears rolling down his face, the other two bawling outright. The door to the bedroom was closed.

  I supposed it was possible that these three children were in time-out, having done some minor act of mischief that had gotten on Meemaw’s last nerve. But something didn’t feel right about this.

  Brigit dropped down from the window and yanked me once again, pulling me along the side of the house to the back. We circled around and she led me to a back door with a square window in the upper half. The curtains on this window were lace, giving me a mottled view into the house.

  Holy shit.

  Was I seeing double?

  FIFTY-NINE

  A BAD SMELL

  Brigit

  Brigit didn’t like the scents her nose picked up at this house. The place reeked of human fear pheromones, an olfactory cacophony of them coming from the crying children, an older woman, and the boy who’d fed her the beef jerky.

  Her nose detected the presence of another man, too. She recognized his odor. She’d picked it up at the apartment Megan and Detective Luz had taken her to the other day, the one where the lady lived, the one that the beef jerky boy had once lived in, too.

  This man smelled of sweat and booze and meth. The meth smell was especially strong. In fact, he probably had some on him right now. She sniffed again at the door. Yep, definitely meth.

  She plunked her hindquarters down on the back patio and issued her passive alert.

  SIXTY

  ARM WRESTLE

  Dub

  His left eye throbbed. It was swollen almost shut. He couldn’t see much out of it, and what he could see was blurry. With that solid hit Andro had delivered with his brass knuckles, Dub wondered if he’d ever see straight again. But no sense thinking too much about it. Dub had a feeling he wasn’t going to be alive much longer anyway. He’d seen Andro on violent highs before, but today Andro had reached a new level.

  Before Andro had dragged him along on this home invasion, he’d slammed Dub’s head so hard against the wall in the apartment it had left a hole in the Sheetrock. Dub’s mom had begged Andro to stop, but that only made Andro madder. He’d backhanded her across the face and she’d fallen, hitting hit her head on the breakfast bar with a sickening crack. Her lifeless body was the last thing Dub saw before his father dragged him from the apartment and out to his car.

  Andro had held a gun on him the entire way here. Dub had considered jumping from the moving car, but his father had told him he’d shoot him if he tried to get away. Dub didn’t doubt it. Knowing Andro, he’d not only shoot Dub but run his body over with the car, too.

  Dub also stayed with Andro because he feared what Andro was going to do. He knew his father had shot that couple in their home. He was afraid his father was going to hurt someone else now. Dub had to do whatever he could to prevent that from happening.

  That’s how he’d ended up here, in this woman’s home, with Andro.

  Andro had dragged Dub up to the house and waved a hand at a sign in the front window. MEEMAW’S DAY CARE. “See that? These old bitches always got lots of nice stuff.”

  Andro had been wrong. This woman didn’t have much at all. Her furniture was old and her clothes looked like the kind you’d buy at a discount store. And if she was rich she wouldn’t be babysitting children at her house for money. Andro was a dumbass.

  The children had been terrified when Andro, posing as a utility worker, had forced his way into the house. At least Dub had been able to convince Andro to let him put the kids in a bedroom where they’d be safer and wouldn’t witness whatever brutality Andro planned for the old lady. Of course Andro didn’t give a shit about the kids’ safety, but Dub had convinced him they’d get in the way.

  Dub had grabbed a phone in the bedroom and dialed 9-1-1, but had to drop the receiver back in place when Andro stepped to the door and told him to hurry his ass up.

  Dub hated this feeling of helplessness, of not knowing what to do. If he fought his father, Andro would shoot him and Dub wouldn’t be able to protect anyone. But if he didn’t fight his father, what might Andro do? It was so much—too much—to deal with.

  Andro stepped in front of the woman, who had pulled herself back in the corner of her couch as if trying to disappear into it. “
Where’s your silver?”

  On the television to their left, the noon news was on, that bimbo reporter with the big boobs looking out at them from the screen, talking about last night’s ice storm. Dressed in a pink winter coat with fluffy pink trim, she stood next to a snowwoman built to look like her, with two double-D-sized snowballs on its chest. Like the reporter, the snowwoman wore a pink knit cap and a pink scarf.

  Out here in the real world, Meemaw looked up at Andro, her eyes blinking fast like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “I don’t have any silver!” she cried. “We’ve never had any!”

  “You’re lying to me!” Andro raised his right hand, which held the gun. “I know it. Now tell me where your silver is or I’ll put a bullet in your head and find it myself!”

  Dub couldn’t take this anymore. He’d probably die here today, bleed out on this woman’s rug, but he couldn’t just stand here and do nothing. He’d seen Andro beat his mother too many times. Even if it meant losing his own life, he wasn’t about to watch Andro beat this innocent woman.

  “No!” Dub rushed Andro from the side, grabbed his father’s arm with both hands, and forced it upward.

  Bang! The gun fired a hole in the ceiling. White dust and drywall dropped to the rug.

  The woman shrieked as Dub and his father fell to the floor, fighting for the gun. Andro gave Dub an elbow to the jaw, the hit so hard he’d probably never eat solid foods again.

  The woman stood frozen by her couch, her hands over her face like she was trying to catch the scream coming out of her mouth.

  “Go!” Dub yelled at her. “Get help!”

  She ran out of the room.

  Andro and Dub rolled across the floor. Dub gained an advantage when he slammed Andro up against the entertainment center. Bam! DVDs fell from the shelves. The Wiggles. Shrek. How to Train Your Dragon. Dub had liked that one.

  Andro grabbed Dub by the shoulders and rolled him over onto his back. He swung his knee into Dub’s gut so hard it knocked the wind out of him and made him retch. Before Dub could recover, Andro raised the gun over his head and brought it down on Dub’s temple. Dub’s head exploded in pain. His brain wobbled inside his head. Shit! The vision through his right eye was blurry now, too. How could he fight a man he could barely see?

  When his eye cleared, he saw Andro standing over him. Andro smiled a sick, evil smile and aimed his gun at Dub’s face. Dub turned his head toward the frozen snow boobs on the television. If he were going to die, he would not give his father the satisfaction of seeing the fear on his face.

  Jingle-jingle.

  Dub saw a flash of black and tan in his peripheral vision.

  Bang!

  Arf!

  A woman’s voice cried, “No!”

  Holy shit! Had Andro just shot a dog?

  SIXTY-ONE

  GO, DOG! GO!

  Megan

  The bang reverberated through the house as I rushed forward. The man had fired the gun again.

  My mind whirled in panic.

  Was Brigit hit?

  PLEASE, GOD, NO!

  The dog had been faster than me, of course. The instant I’d kicked in the back door she’d been off and running, rushing past the old woman who was heading toward us. By the time I’d made it through the kitchen and into the living room, Brigit had tackled the man I presumed to be Andro to the floor. There was no blood on her fur. Thank God!

  The man wriggled and writhed under her, his gun still clutched in his hand.

  Not for long.

  I whipped my baton from my belt and flicked my wrist to extend it. Snap! With an air-splitting swish, I brought the baton down on the man’s forearm. Whap!

  “Drop the gun!” I yelled.

  He didn’t drop it.

  Whap! Whap!

  I felt the man’s arm fracture under my stick, but still he didn’t let go. People on drugs seemed almost immune to pain. This guy had likely premedicated with crystal meth.

  I supposed I could have shot the guy now and been totally justified. But I’d seen him terrorize the woman on the couch, seen the boy I now knew as Wade Mayhew try to stop him. A quick and easy death would be too good for this asshole.

  I stomped and kicked at his hand now, my steel-toed loafers effectively prying his fingers from the gun. When the gun was free, I kicked the gun itself, sending it sailing across the wood floor out of his reach.

  Other than a bullet, the only way to disable someone like him was with pepper spray. I yanked the canister from my belt, ordered Brigit off the man, and hollered, “Everyone back!”

  The woman, who’d been watching from the doorway, scrambled back into the kitchen. Dub could only manage to get to his hands and knees. He crawled toward the kitchen, too. “Here, doggie!” he called to Brigit, his voice weak and raspy. “Here, doggie!”

  She looked up at me for direction. I motioned for her to go with him.

  Averting my face, I held my breath, closed my eyes tight, and pushed the button.

  Pshhhhh.

  The cries that came from the man at my feet gave me no small amount of pleasure. Why not give him a double dose?

  Pshhhhh.

  “Aaaaaaaah!” he wailed, the knocking sounds telling me he was writhing blindly on the floor.

  As my coup de grâce, I treated him to a final spray in the tune of shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits. Pshhh psh-psh psh-pshhh, pshhh pshhh.

  With my eyes still closed, I yanked my handcuffs from my belt, waved a hand in front of my face to clear the air, and opened my eyes. Enough of the spray lingered in the air to burn my eyes, but I continued to hold my breath and was at least able to get the guy’s hands cuffed before backing away, gasping for air. He continued to squirm and roll back and forth on the ground. When he did, his wallet slid out of his back pocket, two inches of broken rolo chain dangling from it.

  Aha! Samuelson murder case. Exhibit A.

  Eyes watering, I stepped to the kitchen doorway, pulled my gun from my belt now, and kept it aimed at Andro. It was doubtful he could cause any more trouble now that he’d been cuffed and sprayed, but better safe than sorry.

  Terrified wails came from the bedroom down the hall. Poor kids. They had no idea what was going on out here. That was probably a good thing, though.

  “Can I go check on the children?” asked the woman, whom I knew only as Meemaw.

  “Sure.” After the woman left, I glanced down at Dub, who lay curled up on his side on the linoleum, hugging himself as if he knew nobody else would and crying silently as he stared off into space.

  I knelt down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder, unsure what to say. Fortunately, Brigit knew exactly what to say to the boy, and she spoke with her tongue.

  SIXTY-TWO

  HIGH-SODIUM DIET

  Brigit

  Slup-slup-slup-slup.

  Brigit did her best to lick away all of the boy’s salty tears, but they seemed to keep coming and coming and coming, as if he’d saved up a lifetime’s worth of them.

  Slup-slup-slup-slup.

  The boy reached up and wrapped his arms around her neck. No sense making it hard on the kid. She flopped down next to him and continued her ministrations. Slup-slup-slup. Too bad tears didn’t come in multiple flavors, like chicken and turkey and beef. Slup-slup.

  Megan reached out to the boy, putting a hand on his hair and smoothing the cowlick Brigit had premoistened with her saliva. For some reason, the gesture made the boy cry even harder.

  Brigit continued to tend to the boy until paramedics arrived and loaded him onto a stretcher. Once the ambulance had taken the boy away, Megan escorted her back to the cruiser and offered her an entire package of liver treats. Brigit wouldn’t have believed it before, but maybe you could get too much of a good thing. Rather than risk horking the treats back up in the car, she stopped herself at a dozen.

  “Good girl!” Megan gave Brigit a kiss on the snout and ruffled her ears before leaning down to whisper in her ear. “You’re the best partner ever!”

>   SIXTY-THREE

  YOU CAN GO HOME AGAIN

  Dub

  Two days later, Dub sat in his bed in the hospital. The doctors had put a cold pack on his black eye and stitched up the cuts on his face and head. They said his organs hadn’t been permanently damaged, but his abdomen still felt bruised from the kick Andro had delivered a few nights ago. He’d suffered a concussion, too, and they’d monitored him for signs of a brain bleed. Luckily, there’d been none.

  You’re not as tough as you thought, Andro.

  So many people had been in and out of his hospital room in the last twenty-four hours it was crazy. A bunch of nurses and doctors. A detective Officer Luz had been working with on the burglary cases. A social worker. An attorney who worked juvenile cases.

  The bimbo reporter with the big boobs had come to the hospital to interview him, but the doctors had turned her away. She made a report from the parking lot anyway. Dub saw it on the six o’clock news. She called him a hero.

  He didn’t feel like a hero, though.

  He just felt like someone who wanted the world to suck less.

  He had no idea where he’d be going when he was let out of the hospital, and nobody seemed to be able to tell him for sure. The social worker and attorney told him things were still being worked out and not to worry.

  How could he not worry? This was his life. He felt like a stray dog in a pound, stuck in a cage, waiting to see whether someone would come along and adopt him or whether he’d be stuck there forever.

  Officer Luz spoke with his teachers and the administrators at Paschal High. It wasn’t clear yet if he’d go back to the school, or that he’d get full credit for his courses since he’d missed so many classes, but she’d rounded up the homework he’d missed and brought it to him at the hospital. She’d plunked his laptop computer down on the bedside table, along with the backpack and history book she’d found in his mother’s apartment when she’d gone there with the crime scene team to look for evidence against Leandro Silva.