by Bobby D. Lux
“Oh yeah? You were saying that you haven’t slept yet. And why is that, Fritz?”
“It could be a lot of things. I’m still trying to relate to life here after my career was ripped from me by those dogs.”
“Okay. I’ll give you that, but you slept fine until last night. You sure it’s not something else, huh?”
Of course it was something else. I used to look down on guys who fawned over a female. Have some self-respect, am I right?
“Fine,” I said. “It’s her. It’s her, so what? I was going to only ask her about Clay because she claimed she knew something. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’s lying to me, but I don’t care. I want to get my brain screwed back on, but I can’t shake her from it. Why does that happen?”
“Couldn’t tell you, my friend.”
“Well, what do you do with Saucy?”
“Saucy? What are you talking about?”
“Isn’t she your girlfriend?”
“No. No-no-no-no-no-no-no,” Ernie said, wagging his head so fast that his whole body convulsed and the tags on his collar jangled like a car alarm. “We’re just friends. Never even thought of her that way and if I know her, she’s never thought of me that way. But don’t worry, I can help. I know my way around a thing or two.”
“Good. Believe it or not, most females I’ve ever been around are ones I’ve arrested.”
“You’ve never had a lady friend or anything?”
“I’ve always been too busy with work.”
“I’m going to take care of you,” Ernie said. “Just go along with me and don’t wake Nipper.”
Ernie stretched his legs out and turned away from me. He took some deep breaths and wiggled his jaw loose. He pranced around me, puckering his lips and winking his eye.
“Hiya boys,” Ernie said, in his highest octave. “It’s me, Scarlet, you know, the prettiest dog, I do say, in the whole widest world of ours. Mmm-Hmmm, well hello there, Fritzie, you big piece of hunk.”
“Umm, hello?”
“Is that there a question or a declarative statement?”
“The latter.”
“Ladder? Honey, you don’t have to do any climbing to see me.”
“No. Not ladder. Latter. Lat-ter. There’s a difference. One means-”
“Sounds the same to me.”
“They’re two different words.”
“You calling me stupid?”
“No, Ernie.”
“Ernie? My lordy, let’s not talk about that rascal.”
“Fine,” I said, knowing this exercise would accomplish nothing. I was never a fan of role-playing or simulations because they’re a waste of time. There’s no substitute for real life practical experience. That’s where you learned to react on your toes. But Ernie meant well.
“Now, I have it on excellent authority that there’s something you wanted to tell me? No one’s around baby cakes, let’s hear it.”
“Scarlet, I just wanted to tell you that-”
“You like the way my eyes reflect the splendor of the moonlight?”
“No. Hadn’t occurred to me.”
“The way I don’t even have one piece of fur that’s out of place?”
“I’m sorry. Most females I encounter are criminals.”
“So, I’m a criminal?”
“No. Um, unless being so pretty is a crime, okay?”
“You dogs are all alike!”
“We’re done with this, Ernie.”
“I said don’t talk about him.” Scarlet slapped me again. Harder than Ernie did before. “That’ll teach you to treat a lady with some- Oh no, I did it again. I’m so sorry, Fritz.”
“Thanks for trying, Ernie,” I said, licking the inside of my mouth, “but it looks like I’m on my own.”
“Sorry. Can I go back to bed then? I don’t want to hit you again.”
“Go back to sleep,” I said.
Ernie dropped where he was and was snoring within moments. I went over against the wall, took a seat, and tried to calculate how much self-respect I just tossed by the wayside.
“Don’t change a thing,” Nipper said. “Hey, you want help, why don’t you go find a love doc, alright?”
“What’d you say, Nipper?” I said, as my ears shot up and I suddenly felt wide awake.
“What? I’m tired. I don’t feel like arguing.”
“No. What did you just say? Please.”
“I said if you want help, why don’t you go to a love doc? You gonna make fun of my joke now. Go ahead.”
“I’m not going to make fun of you. The doc. Of course. Nipper, that’s it. You’re right. The dock. I gotta go to the dock! I don’t why I couldn’t remember. They said the dock. Nipper, can you hear me?” He turned his body away from me. “I gotta find the dock. That’s the last thing they said. That’s where I find them.”
Who cared about sleeping? I was up on my feet patrolling the yard. I looked up at those last few remaining stars. Now I was doing the taunting. I figured out their little riddle and come the following night, they were going back to what they did best: watching over me as I slept. But for the rest of that spectacular night, I didn’t close my eyes. It was glorious.
The docks sliced out from the coastline above the horizon. The dog beach was relatively new to Grand City and had arrived fast on the heels of a news report which detailed the pollution levels of the local beach water. Code Orange. The water approached a hazardous level thanks to the waste and pollution from the port.
The residents were concerned about the effects on the children (what else is new) who swam too close to the bad water. In a packed chamber, the city council voted unanimously to dedicate a half-mile buffer zone of coast between the docks and the rest of Grand City State Beach. A week later, I was at the ribbon cutting ceremony for Grand City Dog Beach.
A volunteer now charges two dollars for parking plus another fifty cents per dog to visit the beach on the weekends. During the work week, there’s no charge beyond the parking. Dogs from neighboring cities are charged seventy-five cents. Locals rule.
The docks have always been the backdrop for most of the crime in Grand City. There’s the petty stuff that happens downtown and the squabbles in the gated neighborhoods, but the big stuff, the stuff they make movies about, those crimes are the lifeblood of the docks. To have a successful local importing and exporting industry, you need a bunch of men willing to work long, tough hours in lousy conditions. You think the guys willing to take those jobs are going to listen to a suit and tie with a piece of paper from the local college that says Business Management? Not a chance. You needed even tougher guys from a different school to handle those types of workers.
The type of organizations needed to make the docks run smooth are the same types who strike deals with foreign companies to import the types of goods that don’t make it to the shelves at the mall. A lot of money came in and out of the docks. The police didn’t spend as much time out there as we should have. That’s where Clay was. That’s where I had to go. I couldn’t just make a run for it right then. Mrs. Hart would’ve seen me and after a few phone calls to Officer Hart, I’d be in custody. I needed a plan.
“Are you listening to me?” Scarlet said, as we walked together down the sand a few hours later at the beach. The other dogs chased Frisbees (led by Ernie), dug holes (Ernie again), got yelled at for eating from the trash (take a wild guess), or were stuck on a leash and on a blanket with Mrs. Hart (Missy).
“Yeah,” I lied.
“That settles it then, sugar.”
Ahead of us, Ernie and Saucy took turns trying to bite the waves as they crashed into the shore. Ernie attempted a style that saw him take a running, barking sprint from the shore as the wave approached. He leapt as his feet hit the water, and fired off a crapshoot of bites. His head smacked the top of the wave, which sent him tail over skull. Then he ran back to Saucy and Nipper to explain that he meant to do it that way.
“Would you stop staring off at those ships,” Scarlet said. “All you
need to be focused on is right here next to you.”
“I’m not staring at the ships,” I said. “I’m staring at the docks.”
“There can’t be anything worth looking at over there.”
“That’s where I’m going.”
“Well, you’ll just have to schedule that in between our dates because I’m not going to join you over there.”
“You weren’t invited.”
“Excuse me? Do you know who you’re talking to? I’m invited everywhere you go.”
“Says who?”
“Says you. You just said I’m your number one. I’m the belle of your ball. That means that when you go somewhere, I automatically have a spot next to you. Of course, I can decide what engagements I want to attend. I may change my mind and say I’m coming to the docks with you.”
“That’s not happening.”
“If I say so, it is.”
You’re not supposed to get mad at females or children. They embed that into your brain in training. If you do happen to get mad at either one, you bury it until it goes away. I was not going to stand there on that beach with the docks just a few minutes away and let her, let anyone, tell me that they’re going to stop me from giving Clay his receipt.
“Let me explain something to you,” I said. “I think you’re pretty. Under normal circumstances, I’d explore the weird feelings you gave me, but I can’t and I won’t until I right some wrongs that have been done to me. I’m not some dog from the park who you can just snap into obedience. I’m a cop. It’s who I am. It’s what I do. So, do me a favor and save the power plays and the blinking eyes for someone else. If it’s any consolation, I was close to giving up and you could’ve had me, but I wouldn’t have respected myself and neither would you.”
I turned and walked away from her. Away from the docks. She knew not to follow. What was I going to do? Change everything about me because Scarlet gave me a furtive glance? Clay hid back behind my eyes. Instead of seeing myself curled up with Scarlet, I saw Clay on my throat. I had to shake him off before I could ever think about anything else.
CHAPTER 13 - The Ballads of Chucho and Lincoln
“Ernie, you smell putrid,” Nipper said, back at the house.
“You mean it smells like I had a good time,” Ernie said.
“No, because I stink too and I had a lousy time.”
“Well, whose fault is that, Nipper? You know, it’s getting old, this pity me act you have going on.”
“Ernie, they’re still laughing at me over the whole Halloween fiasco. The last thing I wanted to do was make a fool of myself by trying to eat the waves.”
“I didn’t make a fool of myself if that’s what you’re trying to say. Me and Saucy had a great time. Besides, we were biting the waves, not eating them. That would have been dumb.”
Officer Hart came into the yard, grabbed Ernie by his collar, and dragged him to the front yard. He didn’t say anything and pulled at Ernie harder than I thought appropriate.
“She still likes you,” Nipper said. “Now she thinks you’re playing hard to get. Thanks to that move, she only likes you more. So yeah, thanks.”
The door from the garage opened and Ernie darted back in, still wet. He shook off the leftover water and scratched himself along the stucco on the side of the house.
“You’re still wet, Ernie,” Nipper said. “That was a fast bath.”
“A bath? Sheesh, I got hosed off with the high-pressure nozzle. That stings, man. He dumped a bunch of soap on me and blasted it off without even scrubbing me down. Then he yells in at her something about not taking us to the beach if she didn’t plan on cleaning us up. Then she screams something about at least him noticing that she did something while he was at work. Then he says that the neighbors were watching, which they weren’t, and to be quiet. He says, ‘sorry, Ernie, you’re done’ and then doesn’t even towel me off. That’s my favorite part of the whole thing.”
“Nipper, get over here. Let’s go,” Officer Hart said, with the door to the garage wide open. Nipper took plenty of extra steps on his way and incurred the wrath of more Officer Hart shouts and swears. Mrs. Hart yelled to not yell at us. He answered her with a holler. She responded with a bellow. He with a roar, which was answered by a screech, which culminated in a whisper, a “what,” and a “nothing.” Officer Hart seized Nipper’s collar out of the silence and yanked him into the human abyss.
“What do you think is up with them?” Ernie said.
“Who knows?” I said.
“I thought you were a detective. Do some investigating.”
“There’s nothing to investigate. There’s no crime. It’s not against the law to be upset at someone.”
“But, what’s the story, you know? Let’s get some dirt.”
“Let me tell you another story, Ernie. Before I was on the force there was a dog named Lincoln who was there for six years. He was tough, durable, a quiet dog, and was a serviceable officer. And before Lincoln there was Hammer, and Hammer is who this story is about.
“Hammer was a natural. He took to the job like no one had before, human or canine. His instincts were the sharpest anyone had ever seen; he could think half a dozen steps ahead of any criminal. You hear too many times that someone is born for something, and while most of the time it’s not true, Hammer was a born cop. Not born to be one. He came out of the womb an officer. He was respected and was poised for a long and successful career on the force.
“Then he disappeared from the kennel one morning. When his partner went to get him all he found was an empty food bowl. Hammer was a ghost. The third shift cleaning crew claimed they saw Hammer in the kennel on their rounds and that the door was closed.
“Grand City spent thousands of dollars and man hours trying to find Hammer. The search made national news. A few dozen citizens spent every weekend for six weeks combing every alley, underpass, park, and dark corner they could. They all turned up the same thing: nothing. There were rumors he was kidnapped, but there was never any ransom offered. Besides, if half the stories about Hammer were true, you’d need an elephant rifle to knock him out. The fact that his body never turned up convinced a lot of us that Hammer was still alive somewhere. He had to be; he was Hammer.
“No matter who you are, eventually life will go on with or without you. While, officially, Grand City left the Hammer file open, they just stopped trying to find him. They kept his picture up on the wall and made T-shirts for him which still saw the light of day once in awhile when I started out.
“It’s my second year on the force and we get a call on a pursuit headed towards Grand City. Officer Hart radioed that we’re nearby and we join in. We spent forty-five minutes on and off the freeway and until this guy crashed into a parked motor home. Then, the driver foot bailed and tried to huff it towards an apartment complex. That was my cue. Officer Hart let me out and I did what I do. The old sprint, leap, takedown, and bite routine until the officers with the cuffs caught up. The runner was a three-striker who didn’t want to go back for good. When the day comes that these yahoos can outrun me, they’re free to go anywhere they want.
“Within minutes there were plenty of eyes and hands on scene, but I caught the prying gaze of an onlooker more in tune with my height and build. He was on the other side of a chain link fence separating the scene from a neighboring tow yard.
“‘Good work, officer,’ he told me, as I approached the fence.
“‘Who are you?’ I said.
“‘I’m no one, pal. Just a dog on the wrong side of a fence.’
“‘You got a name?’
“‘Yeah I do. What happened to Lincoln? He retire?’
“It was him. Hammer. He’d been there a few years and didn’t miss the force since walking away. Which is exactly what he did. He jimmied the kennel door open that night and never looked back. He was years removed from the chiseled dog in the help-missing posters. His fur had faded and the skin around his mouth and neck hung in boredom. His whiskers drooped as did his ears.
“The day he left for good he’d been on a traffic stop on the side of the freeway during rush hour. Nothing special; expired tags and a speeding ticket. While he sat in the backseat of the unit waiting for his partner to clear the stop, Hammer heard an outburst of horns and saw a semi truck, clearly not paying attention, barreling straight at him. Hammer watched it first weave into the shoulder towards the squad car then jerk back into traffic moments before it would’ve plowed into the squad car.
“A breath away from death will give anyone a fresh look on life. Hammer’s new outlook was DOA. He said in that moment that he learned how powerless he was and always had been powerless. There was nothing was able to control. He took it as a warning. He was a good cop, a good partner, and a good dog. At that moment in the squad car, none of it mattered. One random occurrence and the lights could go out for good. Once that dam broke in his mind, Hammer was never going to go back to pretending that any of those things, the accolades, the good deeds, meant anything if they could all go away in the snap of the finger. He couldn’t control if he lived or died. So what was there to care about?
“He said the only peace he found was one where he removed all order from his life. He didn’t feel bad for leaving the other cops behind. He wandered up and down the coast and found his way into that lot where he slept all day and watched the place at night. They fed him. They called him Chucho. They left him alone.
“He had a life where a swerving truck could be the end, so he made sure that there would be no more swerving trucks.”
“Wow,” Ernie said. I’m not sure he got the point of the story, but he seemed impressed by it. I’m not sure I got the point of the story either. I’d been thinking a lot about Hammer. I didn’t want to be another Hammer. I was not going to be a Chucho.
The door to the yard opened and Nipper was let back in, still dripping wet. He shook himself as dry as he could. Officer Hart was more wet than before. Looked like Nipper put up a fight.
“Fritz, come here.” It was my turn for the treatment. I met Officer Hart at the door and I saw how tired he was. His face was puffy and his shoulders hung low. He looked me over and scratched my chest. I wondered how I looked to him. “You’re fine, Fritz.”