by Bobby D. Lux
“No,” Officer Richards said. “But I’ve read that when you have two alphas who’ve been apart for awhile and then you bring them back together without any type of, uh, this guy called it pre-scenting, that sometimes they’ll fight.”
I don’t care what he’d heard or read; it was pretty simple: I wasn’t letting Nitro, or any dog, disrespect me. Ever again. Officer Hart and Richards made a quick farewell and took the two of us away from each other. Richards yelled after something about meeting for a beer and a bite for the next game.
“What’s wrong, Fritz?” Officer Hart said, as we went up a flight of stairs. “You know better than that, but I can’t say I blame you. I wouldn’t take that dog’s crap either.”
I’d never spent much time on the top floor of the department. It looked like any other top floor of an office building: desks, phones, vending machines, and bathrooms. Officer Hart took me inside the empty Auto Theft office where desks were scattered along the walls. Officer Hart’s was in the front corner, closest to the door, and offered the least privacy.
“I was hoping some of the guys would be here so you could say hi,” Officer Hart said, as he sat down, shuffled through some files, and took notes. He grabbed a handful of bone-shaped biscuits from an oversized coffee cup on top of his computer and dropped them down for me. They were stale, but they were the same ones Officer Hart always had in supply for me. I ate them.
15:53 Hours – Back in the Intimidator on our way home. Miles Shumer wrapped up his broadcast with a warning for all of us to stay vigilant, remain informed, and keep our families safe until we met again next time. Officer Hart graciously didn’t wait for the next host to take to the airwaves. He replaced the tinny auto square commercial with a CD. Even if it was country music, I’d take it.
I watched Officer Hart as he drove; his elbow pressed up against the side window and propping his head up. He looked over at me and maneuvered a deadpan smile with nothing behind it. Just scrunched lips and a brief nostril exhale.
“We’ll be home soon,” he said.
Don’t hurry on account of me.
Another few minutes of an increasingly bumpy ride took us to an area of Grand City that primarily comprised of run-down, post World War II apartments. We stopped on the side of the road and Officer Hart lowered his hat, put on his sunglasses, and slouched down in his seat.
16:09 Hours – We continued to sit in silence until a nondescript sedan pulled into the front driveway of the Chez Petey’s Apartments on the opposite side of the street from us. It stopped in front of a closed garage. Classic rock music came from the open windows of the sedan. Loud enough to justify a car stop. The rear window of the car was covered with decals advertising a home yoga service and an 800 number. Officer Hart set his unflinching gaze on the man who emerged from the car: Caucasian, 30s, six foot, a hundred and seventy, long hair. He wore jeans and a shirt with a design that looked like a paint can vomited all over it. Visible tattoos on his forearms.
The man popped his trunk and hooked several bags of groceries to one arm and a box of books under the other. He tried to close his trunk with both hands full but finally sat down the box of books to slam it shut after four unsuccessful tries. Moron. He scooped up the box and walked to the metal gate next to the call box a few feet away from his car. Officer Hart continued to watch this non-show.
The subject tried to fish his keys out of his pocket, but too many plastic bags hanging off his wrist prevented any success. He set the bags on the ground and got his keys. He turned back to his car, aimed the keys at the car and set the alarm. Even I know that it’s totally unnecessary to point and shoot those things; just hit the button and let the magic work.
He unlocked the gate to the complex and kept it open by sticking his hips between the end of the door and the doorjamb while he strung the grocery bags up along his wrist again. He backed into the palm tree lined courtyard of Chez Petey’s and disappeared into to the complex.
Officer Hart’s fist squeezed the steering the wheel so hard that veins came up for air up and down his arm. He reached beyond me into the glove box, grabbed a pen, and took some notes on a spiral pad. He quickly flung the pen back into the glove box and slid the notepad into his back pocket. We stayed across the street from the apartments for a few more minutes while Officer Hart slowed down his breathing. We left with him mumbling, I think to me, something about needing to see what the bastard looked like. I always hated working a surveillance.
16:43 Hours – We returned home and Officer Hart led me back into the yard.
“Were you at the park?” Nipper said.
I shook my head.
“We were afraid you took off without us,” Ernie said.
“I wouldn’t do that,” I said. “Let’s just keep up the routine so that we’re ready when the moment comes.”
“Where’d you guys go?” Ernie said. “Did he take you to the hospital? Are you okay?”
“You tell me,” I said. “What does my scent tell you?”
“Uh, well, you spent some time in the car with Officer Hart,” Ernie said.
“How do you know?”
“I can smell the front seat on you. At first I thought it was a potato chip, but no, it was too dull. I picked up on the car deodorizer too. I don’t smell medicine, so I don’t think you went to the doctor.”
“Very good,” I said.
“You cheated on the diet,” Nipper said, as he took in my scent. “With Mexican food.”
“I didn’t cheat, but good pick up on the food. Officer Hart ate some.”
“We did,” Ernie said. “I mean, we did a little.”
“I’ll admit it,” Nipper said. “We waited to eat, but not as long as you wanted.
“It’s okay,” I said.
“What did you guys do?” Ernie said.
“I’ll the skip details, but we did a whole lot nothing. We drove around the old spots we used to patrol. A big waste of time if you ask me. But at least tomorrow is new day.”
“Who’s the other dog you saw?” Nipper said.
“That’s Nitro you’re picking up. He’s the one who took my job.”
“Are we going after him too?” Ernie said. I shook my head. “Is he going to help us?”
“Not a chance,” I said.
CHAPTER 15 - Of Things Concerning Ugly Little Bugs
Plenty of time passed before we found ourselves at the dog park again. Long days that led to long nights and long nights that led to waning support for my plan. There were plenty of false alarms; the most frustrating one was when Mrs. Hart took us with her to the store to buy our specialty food. Ernie suffered an adrenaline dump in the toy aisle which only further convinced Mrs. Hart that he needed a high-protein diet. On the way back home, she unknowingly tortured us by driving by the park.
“Stop the car!” Ernie said.
“Pull over,” I said.
“Shut up,” Mrs. Hart said, yelling back at us. “We can’t go to the park without Missy.”
But we did finally return to the park. By the time we did, it was colder and there were fewer dogs out than before. Mrs. Hart led us into the park and took Missy to a nearby picnic table to join the other women who were pouring fruit juices into their champagne. Once we were in, I had to keep Ernie focused and stopped him on three separate occasions from running off to play with the other mutts. Nipper stayed a few feet behind me and kept his nose to the ground. I hoped he was where he needed to be mentally. Distractions aside, we were in the park and that meant one thing: the plan was in action.
Ernie assured me during training that he could dig a large hole and that he could dig it quickly. He couldn’t show me there in the yard because in his first week with the Harts, he dug, in his own words, a heroic hole, for no other reason beyond a case of the locked up blues. When Officer Hart came home and saw what Ernie had done to his yard, he filled the hole with water and dunked Ernie’s head in it. That was the last hole Ernie dug, in that yard or otherwise. The first stage of our plan required
a mound, which required dirt, which required a quick digger. Ernie met the charge gloriously.
“Where’d you learn to dig like that?” I said.
“Where I learned everything,” Ernie said, his arms coated in dirt, “the streets. Food doesn’t dig itself from a dumpster when you’re hungry.” Ernie licked a patch of dirt off his nose.
I helped him pack the dirt into a tight mound a foot high and just over a foot away from the rear fence. It looked like a freshly sealed volcano.
“Looks good,” I said. Ernie, waist deep into his hole, continued to create rainbow showers of dirt. “Ernie, you don’t have to dig anymore. We got it.”
“Are you sure?” he said, from the hole.
“Yep. You gotta stop. We can’t draw attention.” Ernie sighed and reemerged from the hole. “Keep your eye on the prize, Ernie. We’re almost there. Now it’s Nipper’s turn. How is he?”
“He’s nervous. How did you think he was?”
“Where is he?”
“See the dog over there going around the tree in circles, talking to himself? That’s him.”
“Can you talk to him?”
“He’s gonna do it. He has to.”
“No,” I said. “He doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to do anything. For this to work we need a distraction. If he doesn’t want to do it, we’re sunk. Give him a confidence boost, can you?”
“I’ll try. Hey, where are you going?”
“I need to do a quick foot patrol to make sure there’s nothing that’s going to get in our way. I need to check on her and make sure she’s not planning on loading us back up in the car too soon.”
I walked the perimeter of the park and everything seemed within the ordinary. No one, human nor canine, had any idea that our plan was in motion.
“Heck of some weather we’re having, don’t ya think?” a striped dog said, having joined me on my walk.
“Hadn’t noticed.”
“It’s colder than it was last week, that’s for sure.” I ignored him and kept looking for anything unusual. “Well, at least it’s Friday, right? I hear people say it all the time. Seems like something everyone agrees on.”
“Get away from me.”
Minutes later, a wiry Greyhound crept up to me in a whisper.
“Hey, what’s the haps with you?” he said.
“Who are you?”
“Shadow. You hear about the hubbub going on?”
“What do you know?”
“I was asking if you know anything. Any gossip?”
“You trying to tell me something? Because if you are and you know something, you better tell me now.”
“Huh? No, I was seeing if you knew any hot tips on who’s dating who around here, any of that stuff?”
“Get away from me.”
I’d never had time for small talk or yip yap about a dog’s personal life and wasn’t about to start caring while I made my rounds. I stopped at the front of the park by the main gate and sat with my back against the fence and my ears turned towards Mrs. Hart and her friends.
“I really like our truck,” a raspy-voiced woman said, “but have any of you driven one of those hybrids?”
“I hear they’re quiet,” a high-pitched lady said.
“Oh, well that won’t work,” Mrs. Hart said. “Any noise that distracts me from my passengers is a welcomed one.”
The rest laughed along in agreement. Even Missy, who sat on top of the table, cheered along with the ladies. They quickly cooed and shushed her.
“You can get them in SUV sizes now,” raspy said.
“Do any of you really believe in that global warming stuff?” Mrs. Hart said. Some of them did; some didn’t. They all agreed that pollution and littering was bad, but as raspy said, cigarettes stunk up your car, so it was easier to just toss them. “Well, I’m happy with the Intimidator, so I’m not really concerned about if it pollutes or not. They wouldn’t be so popular if they were that bad.”
“Are you still, you know, taking advantage of the leg room in the back?” high-pitched said.
“Very smooth, Donna,” raspy said. “Way to ease into it. Well, so are you?”
“We’re taking a break,” Mrs. Hart said. The ladies exhaled their collective disappointment. “Hey, hey, hey, don’t worry. Like I said, I’m happy with the Intimidator and have no plans to trade in its… extended fringe benefits anytime soon. Just letting things cool off.”
“You didn’t say anything about him being French,” raspy said.
“Fringe, Karla. Fringe. Two different things, honey.”
“Maybe that’s just what I wanted to hear. There’s something about that accent that gets me.”
“Sounds like someone needs a refill then. And for the record, he’s Italian.”
“Even better,” high-pitched said. “Or should I say even worse?”
A hyperactive cheer came from the table.
“I’m loving this,” Missy said, barking over the women.
“Missy,” said high-pitched. “She knocked over my mimosa.”
“Sorry. Come here, Missy,” Mrs. Hart said. Missy was removed from the table and placed underneath it. She should have been in the dog park with the rest of us to begin with instead of being sequestered under a table, locked in between crisscrossed pairs of human legs. Missy twisted herself out of Mrs. Hart’s arms and plopped to the ground. While she appeared trapped, she headed towards the one broken link in the chain of human legs. All she had to do was squeeze below that one low hanging table support…
Satisfied that I’d surveyed the entire park and that all was ready, I returned to the packed mound where Ernie was doing an awful job reassuring Nipper.
“Just pretend like you’re in a movie,” Ernie said. “I heard them say it when we were watching TV with Simon one time.”
“But they were already in a movie, Ernie. So what are you trying to get at?”
“Stop,” I said. “Both of you.”
“They’re going to laugh at me,” Nipper said.
“That’s the point, I said. “We want them focusing on you.”
“I don’t want them focusing on me.”
“Fine. I’ll do it,” Ernie said.
“You can’t.”
“Why not?” Nipper said. “If he wants to, it’s fine by me.”
“It won’t work,” I said.
“You trying to say Ernie can’t do it?” Nipper said.
“They don’t respect you, Nipper,” I said. “Okay? That’s why it has to be you. They’ll laugh at you. They’d only laugh with Ernie because they’d think he was trying to be funny. You’ll distract them. That’s what we want. It has to be you. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
“They don’t respect me?” Nipper said, looking more hurt than I had expected.
“No, that’s not true at all-”
“No, Ernie,” I said. “They don’t. Not yet, but I promise you, when you return here, they’ll be singing your praises. The sea of dogs will part when you cross.”
“You promise?”
“I do,” I said.
“Why should I trust you?” Nipper said.
“You don’t have to trust me, Nipper. Trust the plan. That’s what matters to me, getting out. Not making a fool out of you.” He started to waver; his body argued with what his brain asked of him. With each eye twitch and sharp pang in his chest, Nipper’s body crafted a formidable argument. I didn’t blame him. If the positions were reversed, I wouldn’t do it. I’d tell whoever was in charge that they, along with their half-brained operation, could shove it. “It takes a lot of guts to put yourself out there. You got my respect.”
“Let’s just get this over with then,” he said, finally.
The three of us walked in silence across the dog park in a triangle formation with me at the apex. I saw all the other dogs playing, running, and lounging. That was all their life was. All it was ever going to be. Moments of nothing. How did they manage to get up each day? As we walked to the starting
point, I knew this world of the sheltered and confined wasn’t mine. If it was my fate to end up here, it was going to be on my terms or not at all. I wasn’t ready to be sentenced to a backyard with an off chance of parole. I certainly wasn’t going to let a dog like Clay determine where I was going to spend my life. And if I’d reached a point where I couldn’t stop a dog like Clay from determining where I went, then I wasn’t coming back.
All that mattered was that I got out. If Ernie could make it out behind me, I’d take him. He looked like he knew his way around an alley or two. If things got tricky he would be a loyal back up. If Nipper was able to get out before things calmed down or before anyone noticed, I’d take him too, but I wasn’t going to wait around for him. If he didn’t come, then he didn’t come. If he did make it out, I’d probably have to lose him along the way and hope that he got home safe. I didn’t think Nipper was cut out for this. He was cut out to be another dog at the park. He was safe there.
“This is it,” I said. “Everyone know the plan?”
“Let’s do this. See you on the other side, Nipper,” Ernie said. Nipper nodded and walked to where the other dogs congregated near the water fountain. He began to ask for their attention. “Between you and me, you could’ve given him something less embarrassing to do.’
“Yes, I could have,” I said, “but we need a distraction that allows us to escape with no one noticing. He’ll be fine and he’ll end up with a boost of confidence that you and I both know he desperately needs.”
“I’m just saying-”
“I get it, Ernie. We’re going to wait for the signal, and I’m gonna go. Once I’m clear, it’s your turn, and then Nipper is going to be right behind us. They’ll be too busy laughing that no one will notice we’re all gone.”
Nipper had interjected himself into conversations, interrupted enough fetching runs, and had annoyed enough dogs to where they’d stopped and turned their attention to him. They formed a half-circle of un-amused mean mugs around him.
“Thank you all for stopping what you were doing,” Nipper said, taking in a gulp. “I’ve gathered you all because I have a special treat for you. Feel free to take a seat and get comfortable.”