“A Mr. Snow for you, sir.”
“Show him in, please,” a sour sounding male requested.
I nodded thanks to the maid as she stepped aside so I could walk into a lavishly-decorated office with an expensively-scrolled carved desk and chair set that would set me back a year's pay. A paw-woven round rug covered most of the hardwood floor. To my left stood shelves upon shelves of old and new books. On my right, a mini bar stood just before four padded armchairs and a coffee table, while further right, a door to the kitchen was my best guess.
Before me and left of a large cold fireplace built out of flat stones, the fennec fox, Mr. Uchi, stood, a bit antsy, facing me with his paws behind his back. He was dressed in his tweed three-piece suit. His tweed alpine hat lay on the coffee table. Some ninety centimeters {3'} to his left and before the fireplace but behind the expensive desk, with his back turned to me, stood the red fox, Mr. Bryn Nelson.
Everything he wore dripped of money, from his paw-tailored, all black business suit, right down to his custom-made leather sandals. The sandals, I knew, were a fashion that told those around the wearer that he or she was too good to have the earth touch his or her pads. Regardless of his statement he stood with paws clasped behind his back and looked at a painting above the fireplace mantel. It was a fine portrait of himself sitting before Ms. Catharine Nelson, who stood to his left with her left paw resting on his shoulder.
Mr. Nelson lowered and turned his face slightly so a single eye could see me.
“Mr. Snow,” he huffed and then turned fully to me. His hard looks, I surmised, would be a way to deal with the situation, yet when I looked into his eyes I saw calculation without the slightest grief. This had been my final clue something was off kilter.
Mr. Nelson took two steps to my right, drawing my eyes with him, and with that I missed the movement of the fennec fox until it was too late. A tranquilizer dart dug deep into my shoulder. I winced to the sudden pain. Once I vivificated the dart by a jerk of my head and slap of my paw, my ears flatted, my teeth bared in self-preservation. Sharp claws extended as Mr. Uchi took aim yet again.
The threat of being shot twice—again—brought up imbedded instincts which I'd locked in a cage long ago. Opening that locked door, my primeval animal took over. A snarl of rage hit my lips as I launched myself at the fennec fox. Mr. Uchi took on the look only a fully enraged arctic wolf could inspire as I landed on him.
Claws tore into flesh. Jaws closed on his exposed neck and without thought, I tore out his throat. His gurgling scream barely made it into the air as hot artery blood streamed out over the area. Rent fur and flesh hung jagged from my canines. The taste was coppery and delicious.
Memories of a younger time came to light. Animalistic euphoria of the kill cascaded over my body. I turned my sight on Mr. Nelson. My intent was so clear, his gaze locked on my eyes in disbelief. I extracted my claws from the body under me. Heart pumping a fast steady volume of blood throughout my limbs gave me strength to stand. Yet this was my undoing, as the tranquilizer flew through wide open arteries, saturating muscles, nerves and brain censers. Muscles relaxed. Eyesight darkened. I gave my body a violent shake. I reached out, extending my paws, and promptly collapsed.
****
Chapter 9:
A Caged Animal Can Turn Back The Clock
I awoke groggily in darkness. Senses were slow to return. Sounds, smells and other bodily senses told my waking mind I was alive and within a room of concrete and iron.
“Mr. Snow.” My ears distinguish a female voice some short meters away. “Mr. Snow, are you awake?”
My tongue was dry as the desert and tasted like the residual remains of the tranquilizer. Tongue lolling out of my mouth, I planted a paw flat on cold steal, rolled a mite and pushed up. My head encountered bars a little over a meter {over a yard} from the floor. “Ouch!”
“Please, Mr. Snow, I'm scared.”
I rubbed my head and tried to see the bars overhead with narrowed eyes as surrounding odors declared themselves. Residual scents of old bodily secretions declared others wound up where I was. Newer scents told me some animals had more recently been or were present. One of which my foggy mind set about putting a name to.
My pads pressed against more bars while I worked my tongue in an effort to answer Ms. Pierpont. “Give me time to wake up and I might join you in that sentiment.”
“Oh, bless the maker, you're alive. Are you hurt? I saw you brought in covered in blood.”
“That will take a moment to ascertain as well.” I ran my paw over my face, muzzle, neck and felt tackiness on my fur. Yet I felt no pain. No obvious discomforts that told of abuse. I let go a sigh that those thoughts could be shelved presently while I felt out the rest of me in a semi-lying state, though my knees were centimeters {inches} from my chest. “I appear to be unhurt.” That was a shock to me.
“Then whose blood was it?”
Whose blood indeed? I rubbed my eyes. A memory of hot rage and the slight coppery tang on my tongue gave me my first clue. I dropped a paw, staring into the darkness. Am I really capable of doing that? Mr. Uchi's scent on my paws and a vivid memory said I did. Damn… The fact I wasn't in jail told me much about Mr. Nelson. Whatever he's into can't involve the police. That I'm alive has meaning too, but what?
“Mr. Snow?”
“Oh, ah, Mr. Uchi,” I answered her question. “I killed him.”
Ms. Pierpont's side of the room became quiet. I ran my tongue over my canines to clean off the last of the coppery taste in my mouth. In some ways I was in shock as well in my understanding of what I did, but I guess the residuals of the tranquilizer was deadening a full out reaction. At least I hope so, for I'd hoped I'd left that kind of lifestyle far behind me in my past. I rolled my eyes and tried to think straight. The stench of the fennec fox was heavy in my nose. I really wish I could take a shower. With difficulty I removed my vest and shirt in hopes to lessen the smell of his death.
“So, uh, Ms. Pierpont. Any clues as to where we are?”
“Look, Mr. Snow,” she stammered. “I'm sorry I sicced the police on you that day.”
I wanted to say, “You damn well should be!” but instead I said, “Yeah well, save the heartfelt pleas for another time. This cage is cramping my style, but before I make an attempt to get us out of here, I need some information, like where are we and how often are we checked on, if at all?”
“So you're not holding my actions against me?”
I detected relief in those words. “Look, we both regret that day, and I for one would like to put it behind me.” I rubbed my face. “Now can you answer my question?”
“Well, not precisely. I know we're in the warehouse district. But that's all.”
I was about to inquire of guards when she added, “It was getting late and thinning out of pedestrians. I had to duck into alleyways or pad quickly to another building to keep up with Ms. Deville.”
“Ms. Deville?” I questioned.
“Yeah, something about her didn't seem right. Her burrow looked too well furnished with new furnishings. On a hunch she may have been paid off to distract Mr. Sullivan, I followed her for a few days. That was while you were in the hospital.”
I heard her swallow, a sign she was uneasy about that misfortune having befallen me. For the present I kept the fact my hospitalization wasn't all her fault to myself. If by doing so she felt she owed me, so much the better. “I see…”
After a moment of thought she added, “Uh, this boxer comes by once a day to toss me a dead rat and fill a water container attached to the cage.”
“Dead rat, ugh.”
“Yeah, filthy thing. The boxer doesn't even wash and cook the rat,” she said with loathing.
There was no point in asking if she ate the thing, given she'd been here a few days.
“What do you think they're going to do with us?”
Though she'd asked that with curiosity, I detected fear intertwined in her question.
“Depends on the reason why we
're still alive. Anyway, what else did you learn about Ms. Deville?”
Ms. Pierpont huffed. “Ms. Deville is a very active rabbit. I counted twenty-three animals before she led me to this warehouse and was let in by that boxer. I found an open window and slipped in. I followed voices and came up under a small office. There I climbed up on some crates to get a view through a window and saw her sexing him up. As she'd keep him occupied a while I nosed around. At a double door under the office, I heard a weak call for help. Instead of leaving to get the police to investigate, I used my tool kit to open the lock. When I did, the door burst open and knocked me down. I tried to scramble back but two four-legged Dobermans came out barking viciously and made it very clear if I tried to get away, they'd kill me.” She was quiet for a few seconds. “Did you say, get us out? So you still have your tool kit?”
“Yeah, apparently no one thought to search me.”
“Do be careful. This room houses those Dobermans.”
“That's good to know.” I felt around my cage until finding the latch and padlock. “So the animal calling for help, who was it?”
“Don't know. The boxer hit me with a tranquilizer dart once he found me.”
“Damn, that's not good. Sounds as if he takes no chances.” Because of the lock's position and the narrow gap between the bars, I'd have to lie on my back to get at it. “Any guess to how long we got until he checks on us?”
“I'd say ten, maybe fifteen hours. It's hard to tell time in the dark.”
“Hopefully we'll be long gone in that amount of time.” I worked to get on my back.
“Mr. Snow…”
“Braxton, please.” I pulled my tools from the seam of my vest.
“Zoe.”
I nodded out of habit.
“If I may ask, why did you kill Mr. Uchi?”
“He hit me unawares with a dart. As I wasn't fond of him in the first place, I reacted with understandable anger. When it registered he was set to hit me with another, I lost it. I can tell you it scares me to know I can do that, but I've no guilty conscience about killing him.”
“He worked for Mr. Nelson, right?”
“Right.” I heard the faintest shift of metal then toenails on concrete. I tried to see past the bars but it was impossible. A wet nose touched my finger. Hastily I pulled my fingers back but in doing so I lost one of my picks. “Damn-it!” Hot breath snorted on my face. I heard a shift of nails outside my cage and then was subjected to ear-splitting barking.
“You okay? What is it?” Zoe yelled.
“I lost my pick,” I yelled back, “But I think I've unlocked the padlock. I need to get this stupid dog to walk away to check.”
“I'll see if I can't draw him off.” Zoe started shaking the bars of her cage. Toenails scratched on concrete to the sound of two Dobermans barking.
Light suddenly flooded in from a doorway and a flashlight was shined in on Zoe and then me. I covered my eyes against the bright light but peeked between my fingers to see a silhouette in a doorway. After the light had stabbed both our night vision to hell, the silhouette yelled.
“Zak, Jack, shut-up! I've company and you're barking annoying.”
By squinting I saw the Dobermans turn their heads to the silhouette in the doorway. One gave off a throated whine.
“I don't want to hear it, hear me!” The two lowered heads, abandoned Zoe's cage and trotted up to him, where they sat while he shook a finger at them. “Those two are safely locked in their cages and there are no intruders. If I come down here again for no reason, they'll be no breakfast for the pair of you!” The two Dobermans looked at each other. The silhouette took a hold of the door knob and slammed the door closed. Once more in total darkness, toenails approached. Noses sniffed all around my cage before the two left us alone.
It was obvious to me those two four-legged Dobermans were not simple watchdogs with toddler intelligence. The way they looked at one another after being scolded told me they were the product of special breeding. A system developed to install ten-year-old intelligence in normal four-legged animals by a mating between a four-legged female dog and a two-legged male dog of the same species. Such favorable outcomes were rare. Most were stillborn or horribly disfigured. The disfigured ones were of course mercifully put to sleep. But one in every two hundred mating might produce such an animal. This made the four-legged animals very expensive. Only corporations or the very wealthy could obtain them. Which put to reason a corporation or one of the elite owned this warehouse.
“You caught that, didn't you?” Zoe inquired, understanding most or all of what we'd said could well be understood by the two dogs.
“Yeah, and I'm not happy about it.” I lay on my back for a short time, allowing my vision to reorient with the darkness. Problem was the black Dobermans had the advantage over us, with me being an arctic wolf and Ms. Pierpont an arctic fox with white fur. This meant the slightest amount of light would make us stick out like a black wool lamb in a heard of white wool sheep. However, without light, sound and smell would be all each of us had. So now it was a test as to who had the better training.
“Zoe, could you make some noise for a short time?” In answer she rattled her cage door. Still on my back I reached fingers through the bars and pulled down on the lock. As I'd hoped, the mechanism separated. A push, a grab and I lowered the padlock to the floor. Now came the trickier part. I rotated the bar to slide it out of the way. Before I started, toe nails warned a Doberman was approaching. His nose active, he found the lock on the floor and growled loud, but held back any bark.
Ms. Pierpont stopped. “How's it going?”
“Wonderful, until Skippy here came over.”
“Oh hell…” I heard a sob in her words. “I wish you hadn't gotten my hopes up.”
I wanted to say, “Don't count me out yet.” But I didn't want the Dobermans to get a whiff of desperation in my words. So what to do? I asked myself. I could take on one Doberman, but two? I scratched my head and ran a paw over the back of my neck. For the next hour I conjured up several options and discarded them all in moments. The trouble was every plan I worked up always got torn apart by sharp white teeth. Specifically the Dobermans' on my body. Before the second hour passed, I hit on a plausible plan. It was chancy. I could be torn apart, but in the canine mind, it might work.
“Zoe, you awake?”
“Mmm, huh, now I am. Sort of.”
“You're going to hear some noises. Bad ones. But do me a favor, don't yell out or try to get my attention. My attention will be needed elsewhere.”
“Uh, okay.”
She sounded unsure. Pretty much mirroring my own thoughts. However, I felt it our best chance. I shrugged out of my shirt and pants, so no clothing could aid the Dobermans, and rolled until I was on paws and knees. I dug deep into my ancestral knowledge and childhood upbringing to let out a long wolf howl, low in volume to keep from waking the boxer, yet filled with ancient meaning. Twin growls met my call. In answer I flattened my ears, narrowed my eyes and growled right back. I worked from the depth of my soul to bring out the canine language long buried in my past. I snapped my muzzle at the two, jerking my head from one to the other by the sounds they made. Finally, the old canine ways came to me. Had the two animals been merely what they appeared, this might not have worked. But as they held intelligence for better reasoning, it might.
In a guttural sound coming up from deep in my throat, I growled, “Challenge!”
Their growls went deeper in volume. Menacing.
Again I snapped. “Challenge!”
If I had it right, these two considered themselves a clan. The clan leader was the boxer. This meant I'd fight one of them to qualify as worthy enough to take on the clan leader, or better yet be brought to their clan leader for the challenge. After a moment I tracked their placement and chanced it. I pushed my fingers through the bars and shifted aside the steel pin holding the door in place. Still warning them to stay back, I crawled out. Nervous as hell, yet doing my best not to give any
hint of it, I stood. Claws extended, teeth bared, ears flat and my tail whipping about, I waited for the attack. Instead, the sound of nails slowly gave ground in the direction of the door. Apprehensive yet left with no choice, I followed.
The two separated to either side of me. I stretched out a paw and after a step found the wall. I gave the area a long whiff and caught the boxer's scent to my left. I shifted slowly. Doorknob came to paw and I gave it a turn. Compared to the room void of any light, brilliant light spilled in around the door. To better adjust my eyes, I stayed out of the light until reasonably able to see.
A thought came to mind. Open the door quickly and I'll ruin the Dobermans' sight. The move held merits. It would give me a shot at putting one down. But the other would recover before I turned on him. Hmmm. Best stay with my current plan.
When I was able to see into the warehouse proper, crates of all descriptions and sizes met my roving eyes. Above the doorframe was the office Zoe told me about.
“Braxton!” Zoe called out. “What about me?”
I turned my head slightly. “Be still. I'll be back.”
“You swear to the maker?”
“If I'm still alive in few minutes, yes.”
The Dobermans growled louder, indicating they would bear no more words. Stiff legged, I walked out and easily found the stairs up. Quietly, I padded up the wooden stairs until my head cleared the window. A pause. I looked in to ascertain the whereabouts of the boxer. I beheld no sight of him, but I did hear movement. A whiff of a familiar scent had my ears perk up. I also caught a scent I couldn't place as yet but the two were so strong, all three had to be behind the partway open door beyond a desk I could see through the window.
Though a growing need to move built within every fiber of my sinew, I proceeded slowly up the steps to the open door in. Twin growls told me the Dobermans were on my heels. A quick move and I could pad in and shut the door on them. However, the window was well in their reach. As trained watchdogs, the two would be through the plain glass in seconds.
Braxton Snow P.I. (The Snow Adventures Book 1) Page 15