by Bobby D. Lux
And on cue, everything stopped on a dime before we could take that second step in. One of the wolf hounds stopped mid-stroke on his pool shot, the music skipped to a halt, the mutts spat out chewed pieces of darts, and the drunks somehow found the resolve to turn their heads from their bowls to face us in unison. I half-checked to see if anyone in the paintings turned.
“Don’t move,” I told Nipper.
“Wasn’t planning to,” Nipper said, under his teeth. I absorbed the sneers and muted snarls and quickly realized that no one was going to budge from whatever activity or inactivity they were engaged in to make trouble for us. Not that they didn’t want to. Then, as quickly as everyone pointed their attention at the two of us, it went back to normal. It was as if we weren’t there again. We made our way through the dump, having to nudge our way through dogs who either saw us and didn’t care to move or were just too stupid drunk to know better. “Uh, Fritz?”
“Yeah?”
“You notice how it’s like no one wants us here?”
“Uh huh,” I said.
“Should we be concerned?”
“I wouldn’t be. Half these dogs are more worried about going back to the pound than getting revenge on me for putting them there in the first place.”
“So that means that-”
“Congratulations,” I said, stopping. “Everyone in here thinks you’re a cop. At one point or another, I’ve busted just about every creep in this place.”
“That doesn’t give me the reassurance I thought it would.”
“Follow me.”I led Nipper to the bar. The closer we got, the more the drinkers shifted away from us. Others, like the sheepdog spying on us through the fur covering his eyes, summoned the courage to keep their eyes covertly trained on us.
I pushed my face in next to a drunken Saluki at the bar. The greasiness of his fur and the odor that radiated off his skin told me this wasn’t a one off bender. The stench from whatever was in his bowl was enough to fold my teeth, but he lapped at it completely unaware of my face inches from his. The bartender, an increasingly annoyed Boxer who aimed that annoyance my way, slammed his paw down in front of the drunk to get his attention.
“What?” the drunk said. “Okay, top me off, but that’s it. I mean, maybe one more, but who’s counting?”
“Where’s Henry?” I said, as the bartender gestured towards me. The drunk turned to me like he was on a broken axle and his expression struggled to remain blank.
“I don’t… Wait, what?” the drunk said.
“I need to see Henry.”
“I’m not gonna be walking anywhere tonight. Believe me.” I grabbed him by the nape of the neck and yanked him to the ground. I was rough, but he wouldn’t remember that tomorrow anyway. I straddled him with my arms and repeated my demand. “Please tell the room to stop spinning first.”
“You leave him alone,” a female said, as she exited the restroom and hollered across the bar in our direction, before stumbling towards us. I backed off and the drunk spent precious moments trying to put his feet underneath him until he conceded defeat and gave his body to the floor. The female got in my face. Her breath left no doubts as to what she expelled moments prior. “Why don’t you two creeps get out of here? No one wants you breeds here. He didn’t do anything wrong-”
“I was just asking a question,” I said. “He was being argumentative. Not my fault he slipped.”
“Oh, don’t you think you can go and interrupt me. I’m not afraid of you or the pound. And for the record, my litter daddy would never argue with anyone.”
“That’s right, baby doll,” the drunk said. “You tell him.”
“We’re going to need a refill over here, bartender,” I said, as I leaned over and spilled the rest of the putrid contents of his bowl on the drunk. I made sure that some splashed on his litter momma. We walked away. I turned to Nipper as we surveyed. “There you go, Nipper. No one will mess with us the rest of the time we’re here. Feel better?”
“That was for me?” Nipper said.
“For the most part,” I said. It did feel good though.
“What brings you ‘ere, mate?” a low voice said, rumbling three feet away from me. The voice came from behind Knox and Gash, who were shoulder-to-shoulder directly ahead of me. Ernie was nowhere in the vicinity.
“Since when were you in the business of hiding behind goons?” I said.
“You better watch that tongue,” Gash said.
“Or what?” I said. “You saying you aren’t a goon?”
“He’s got a point,” Knox said. “I, for one, take not a small amount of pride in my goonery.”
Henry pushed his way between the two pit bulls with a face and scent reminiscent of a chewed cigar and punching bag. His jutting under bite and features would’ve been comical if not for the extensive rap sheet that those deformities were associated with. Various stints in the pound on everything from gambling charges to assaults and robberies. Like other English Bulldogs, Henry was built like a bowling ball welded onto a Buick. His right eye was permanently closed shut; the result of a rattlesnake bite according to urban myth.
“I was looking for you,” I said.
“Now why in the world would one as smart as yer’self go an’ do something like that for?” Henry said.
“I thought you could help me.”
“’elp you? Me? Me? ‘elp you there, you say? You ‘ear that gents, this bloke says… Oh, ah! ‘elp me! ‘elp me!” Henry clutched at his chest and feigned a heart attack for the amusement of the reprobates who surrounded our conversation. They yucked it up while Henry rolled his tongue from the side of his mouth and blew out to make the folds in his face flap. He continued until every last mutt had a chuckle. Henry caught his breath and looked at me, squinting his one good eye.
“You better be careful,” I said. “With your level of apparent fitness, next time will probably be for real.”
“If it is,” Henry said, “I can only hope I got me an ‘ero like you to step in and save me.”
“Nah, I’ll pass.”
“You wouldn’t save a sick dog, Fritz?”
“Depends on who has the sickness,” I said.
“Brass tacks then, copper. You commin’ after me club? Because if ya are, I ain’t going down without no fight.”
“I’m not interested in your club.”
“So, what do you want? I’m clean. Ya got no business ‘ere.”
“Are one of your ears not working too? You heard what I said, and I’m not going to repeat myself.”
“No need for personal insults,” Henry said. “Because by the way yer bouncing of your back wheel, that’s no position to talk from. You hafta understand, last time I saw you, I spent a year in th’ pound, ‘member mate?”
“Yeah. I ‘member.”
“That tone ain’t gonna be winning you no friends round ‘ere.”
“I’m not on the force anymore,” I said.
“Oooh,” Henry said, looking Nipper over. “I bet that hurts to say. ‘hooo’s this? The silent majority?”
“Well,” Nipper said, “My name is Nipper-”
“He’s my partner,” I said.
“Partner, isn’t he? You don’t say. Knox, Gash, show these bums the door, will ya?”
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Ernie, appearing through the crowd with half of a pool cue in his mouth. “What’s going on, Henry? These guys are with me.”
“Ernie,” Henry said. “You know this bloke’s a copper, ain’t ya?”
“No he’s not,” Ernie said. “I mean, he ain’t now, anyway.”
“So yer not no bobby, is you?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” I said.
“For the record,” Nipper said, “I’m not one, nor have I ever-”
“Yeah, I can see that now,” Henry said, then turning back to Ernie. “You can vouch for these two, can ya, Ern?”
“Of course, Henry,” Ernie said. “You know me. I wouldn’t bring you any problems.”
“What should we do?” Knox said. Henry was one of these beasts who rumbled a growl as he thought. Knox and Gash were two of those beasts who got nervous when someone was thinking.
“It wouldn’t be hard to tear their brains in,” Gash said.
“Whoa,” Ernie said. “Everyone needs to calm down.”
“I’m just saying,” Gash said. “Look, it’s nothing personal, guys. If that’s the direction Henry wants to take this, if he wants you out, then you’re out. If he wants you gone to where you never come back then, you know, that’s all I mean. But hey, it’s Henry’s call.”
“So?” I said.
“Fine,” Henry said.
“What does fine mean, Henry?” Knox said.
“It means you guys can go back to chasing each others’ tails,” I said.
“It’s been six months since I even thought about chasing a ta-”
“Scram, Knox,” Henry said, snorting. “You too Gash. Get out of ‘ere. Go patrol the block again.”
The two pit bulls resumed doing what they did best: they took orders from Henry. It made me wonder because those two could’ve ruined Henry without so much as a pant. They could’ve run Henry out of town, took over his club and whatever interests he may have elsewhere, but they were totally content to shut up when he spoke and acted when he directed them.
“The help these days, huh?” I said.
“Ya got somethin’ to say to me then,” Henry said. “Mister used-ta-be-a-copper?”
“You got an office around here?”
“What sorta joint you think I ‘ave? O’course I got me an office. Follow me. Just you.”
“Don’t look at me,” Ernie said. “I have a game to get back to. You want to watch, Nipper?”
“Umm, no,” Nipper said.
“Okay,” Ernie said. “Suit yourself.”
“Let’s get this over wit’,” Henry said, as he led me away off the club floor. Ernie went in the opposite direction back to his game with a waiting Weimaraner. Nipper stayed put like a lump, smack dab in the center of the club. By the time Henry squeezed his way through the rubber flap marked “Private Office” at the bottom of the back door, no one noticed Nipper standing frozen, afraid to look at anything specific except the ground. I followed Henry through that flap.
“Tight squeeze there,” I said.
“You play checkers?” Henry said.
“A blue blood like you,” I said, “I imagined you for a chess player.”
“Not a chance.” Henry’s office was a plain one with spots of character hidden throughout. An old striped couch hugged the wall nearest the door. A bookshelf across from me kept Henry’s personal stash of hooch and treats. His tastes were uniquely un-British; no Earl Grey Tea for this dog. It was all exotic mixes and liquors. A walk-in humidor was next to the bookshelf and was close to being depleted. A slow burning flame in the fireplace kept the room more comforting than I expected. “A lot of blokes’ll tell ya that chess is the game of the elite, the brains, a true sign of intelligence, but I think they is right wrong on that regard.”
“Right wrong, huh?” I said. “That accent you’re sporting cuts through my ears like a blender, a sure sign of class if ever there was one.”
“It’s supposed to be a war, this chess. That’s what they say, right? But it’s not how war is played. You do whatever it takes to win. No rules except last dog left standin’ is the winner. Too many rules in chess. You gonna tell me that that a castle piece can’t go one way even if it means that ‘is side’ll win the game? In a real game of life an’ death, that castle piece would go wherever ‘e ‘ad too if it mean ‘e was like to open ‘is eyes the next morning, you see? Now checkers, that’s the game for me and for any true dog. Any piece can win the game. There’s no such thing as a king unless you earn it. You jump over enough blokes on yer way and yer a king. That speaks to me more than saying that one piece ‘ere or there is a pawn and can’t do nothin’ about it, ‘cept be fed to a slaughter. Besides all the philosophical reasons, it’s supposed to be a game, and games are supposed to be fun, and who ever ‘eard of anyone ‘aving fun playing chess? I ain’t ever seen none. You?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“I always knew yer smart, even if you were a bobby.” Henry said. “So what’s yer business? Spill it. What do you want from me?”
“I thought we were playing checkers.”
“Okay, then. It’s yer funeral.” Henry retrieved a warped and chipped checkerboard from inside the humidor. He dropped the board in front of me and returned to the humidor for a bag of checkers. “Keeps the wood fresh.”
“Looks like it’s doing a bang up job to me,” I said.
“And I’m getting to not be fan of yer condescendin’ like tone. Smoke?”
“No thanks.”
“C’mon. One won’t kill ya.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Then yer liable to be at a severe disadvantage in the game,” Henry said. “A good smoke’ll clear yer ‘ead. Now it’s even easier for me to out play ya.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I said, as Henry poured the pieces onto the board and arranged them in front of us with the same touch humans give to their babies, cradling each piece until it fit perfectly in the center of each square. He did my side first, then his with the same precision. He stood up and waddled over to the fire. He stuck his face and his long cigar into the flame, immediately blocking the heat with the width of his frame. “I wouldn’t put my face that close to the flame just to smoke a compacted tube of dirt.”
“You see this?” Henry said, exhaling a fresh puff of smoke with a laugh. “You see this ‘ere face? You can’t hurt this thing even if ya try. Least no flame could. If ya don’t believe me, I be willing to lift up this eye patch of mine to prove me point.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said. “I have no doubt of nature not having the ability to do more damage to your face.”
“Always the mouth on you, Fritz.”
“What can I say, Henry? We have too much history for me to be anything less than honest with you. It comes from that bond created when one dog takes another dog off the streets when said dog has proven time and time again that he can’t handle the responsibilities that come with freedom.”
“You never proved nothing on me, Fritz. That’s why I’m still ‘ere.”
“Maybe. Either way, like I said, I’m not here for you. I couldn’t care less about your club or whatever racket you’re running from here.”
“That’s left to be seen,” Henry said.
“Why keep these pieces nice and clean and smooth just to subject them to this lousy board?”
“As long as yer pieces is clean and clear, you can win in any setting.”
“Sounds deep, Henry.”
“It is,” Henry said. “And just to correct ya, Fritz, my friend, your face is right up next to the flame. Yer move.”
“You know a dog named Clay?” I said, moving a corner piece out. Henry immediately responded by moving a center piece.
“Nope.”
“He’s a Rott. Big guy. Hangs around with a Jack Russell.”
“Never ‘eard of ‘im.”
“Never?”
“There an echo in ‘ere?” Henry said, having claimed most of the center of the board already.
“I thought you knew every dog that had an operation in Grand City?”
“What sorta operation you mean?”
“I don’t know yet. Something to do with the docks, but I guess you aren’t the big timer you once were. My mistake. I guess we don’t have to finish the game, do we?”
“Sit down, Fritz. Finish the game. It’s yer move. What’d you say that name was?”
“Clay. And I’m not saying it again. Either you’ve heard of him or you haven’t.” I moved my back row out, bringing the corners out first.
“Oh yeah,” Henry said, as he scored the first jump. “Sounds familiar now. I ‘aven’t met him yet. You say ‘e’s new in town?”
“I didn’t say anything other than his name, but yeah, I suspect he’s new to Grand City. If he’s been here long, he’s been off everyone’s radar.”
“What sorta of game is ‘e running out in the docks?”
“No idea,” I said, as Henry ashed his cigar. The smell quickly got old. It smelled washed, yet ill, like a nursing home; a scent not intended for those with long-term plans.
“So you ‘ave no idea what sorta get up this, you said ‘is name’s Clay, did you?” Henry said, as I took a double jump. “But you know you want to go after this bloke… Ooh, I see it now.”
“This one is personal,” I said, as Henry made a double jump on me and was a move away from getting kinged.
“I’m willing to bet that’s the reason you’re walking funny; at least funnier than the last time I saw you.”
“Something along those lines, Henry.”
“There’s no something about it. You want blood.”
“I don’t want blood. I have enough to suit me fine.”
“No you don’t. You forget that I’ve been around, maybe even longer than you ‘ave. I’ve seen enough dogs in my day who’ve buried the reasoning part of their brain out behind the shed with the ‘umans’ tools. I can tell you’ve been doing some digging, ‘aven’t you? Oh yeah. And you got that gleam in yer eye that tells me you ain’t gonna rest until you get yer revenge; and the revenge yer looking for won’t be quieted by Clay being yanked away into the back of a truck. The revenge you want, the revenge you need, can only get done by getting yer ‘ands dirty.”
“You don’t know a thing about me, Henry.”
“Yer a dog, ain’t ya? Then I know ya. Maybe you been around people so much that you think you be just like them? People can be wronged by someone or something and let it go. They can forget about it, but us, we dogs, no matter ‘ow much time you spend with people, yer still a dog. They might be talking to ya and communicating with ya, but at the end of the day, yer still taking orders from them. King me.”