Show and Tell

by Amy Shojai

  "September Day is your dad's girlfriend?" Nikki leaned forward, the dog bars a barrier between the two front seats. "She's nice. Knows all about animals."

  "Well, she can have that dumb old dog of ours; he's liable to get Willie hurt or even killed. And then Dad will never forgive me."

  Dogs are scary, not ordinary,

  When forced to fight, you know.

  To be the cure, save a wag or purr—

  When you tell and show.

  Melinda stared at Steven, but he focused on his tablet as he finished singing. "What is he talking about?"

  Nikki grimaced. "There's a very bad man, he's hurt a lot of kids. He hurt Steven, and hurt Steven's mom, and who knows how many other kids. Steven is autistic. That means—"

  The boy ducked his head, but kept on working on his tablet.

  "I know what autistic means." Melinda huffed. "Wait. Isn't he September's nephew? The kid she had to find last Thanksgiving during that blizzard?"

  Nikki nodded. "The bad man who got away? He's back. Now he's hurting pets, too. Stealing pets."

  "Stealing pets? Did he take our dog?" Melinda scowled. "You can't possibly know that."

  Nikki turned to Steven, but he was no help. Kid Kewl's online forum was secret, so she couldn’t explain. And as a cop's kid, Melinda might let something slip and get the forum shut down, what Kid Kewl called the hive brain where everyone pooled his or her special talents for important projects. She wasn't sure why they invited her into the group, when all the other kids knew about complicated things like math and computers and weather.

  Melinda was closer to a grownup than to the kids in the forum and grownups were funny and always suspicious. "Never mind how we know. There's a bunch of us working together to catch this bad man, get the medicine all the kids need and take back the money he stole from their parents."

  Melinda flipped her hair. "What, you're going to catch that Doctor guy when even my dad can't find him?" She sniffed. "My dad caught his mother."

  Mister Gerry, no more scary,

  Now it's your turn to go—”

  "Shut up, already." Melinda cut him off. "That's creeping me out." She turned to Nikki. "I’ve got to find my brother. You two can come or get out, but I'm not in the mood to play babysitter."

  Nikki smiled. "But you're part of the plan. That's why Kid Ke...I mean, that's why we decided to hide in September's car."

  "You two are seriously creepers. I can't go home, my Uncle Rick will have fits because I took off in September's car. Hell, she may be back already with Willie." She hesitated, clearly debating what to do.

  ...time to tell and show.

  Nikki explained. "When we left the theater, we sneaked into September's car because we knew she'd go to your house, to search for your brother. We know why Kinsler got stole. Why all the pets got took."

  "How do you know my dog's name? I never said." Melinda sneaked a peek at Steven's tablet, and he covered it with a hand. "What's going on? How do you know stuff?"

  "The dog thief works for the Doctor. We know where he took Kinsler." Nikki leaned forward, needing to convince the older girl to stay with them, to be the driver. That was key to Kid Kewl's plan. "You want to make it up to your dad? Drive us to the dog place. That's where you'll find Willie, too."

  Chapter 22

  Dime-size hail grew to nickel and then quarter size and dimpled the mud flat all around September, increasing in velocity as she stared at the hand for an endless moment. Kinsler yelped when ice pinged off his head. Startled, September ducked her head and slogged back toward solid ground. Combs's storm arrived right on schedule.

  A body. Or at least and arm and hand. Adult size. So, it's not Willie.

  "Thank you, God." She breathed out in a rush, the relief palpable, but then guilt furrowed her brow. What kind of awful person gave thanks for a stranger's death? Somebody missed him, or maybe her. She couldn't tell the gender. She wouldn't dare try to move the body. The poor soul got caught in a flash flood. She had to call Combs.

  Shadow woofed when September clambered up the embankment and set the smaller dog on the ground. The two dogs circled and jockeyed for position, each trying to sniff without being sniffed. September managed to attach each dog's collar to either end of the doubled up tracking line. That left one hand free while keeping the pair under control, or so she hoped.

  "Ouch!" Hail pummeled her back, and September searched for any sort of shelter while fumbling in her pocket for the phone. A dark wall cloud threatened, classic preamble to funnel cloud activity, so she prepared herself for ditch-diving if something swooped out of the sky.

  To the left, the dirt road led back to the highway, with no shelter in sight. September swung right. She scraped off as much muck as she could and put on her coat and boots, hating the clammy gritty sensation but needing the protection. "This way. Come on, let's go." She jollied the dogs into a trot, grateful when the size of the hail decreased but worried the lull in wind signaled worse to come. At least the drive canted downward. A low position in relation to the elevated highway should prove protective. They ran, and she fumbled for her phone to call Combs. He picked up on the first ring.

  "You find Willie? Is he all right?"

  She could hear the thunk and ping of hail from his end of the phone connection, but it had abated around her. "No. I found his dog, but not Willie. But there's a body."

  He said something, but the words garbled. "...breaking up. Say again. What about Willie?" He barked the last words.

  "Combs, I can't understand you. Have to take cover, it's bad here. Found a body but it's NOT your son."

  She disconnected and pocketed the phone. Ahead, the narrow road dipped down toward a cement barn that clung to the side of a steep embankment. Three large green dumpsters butted against the near wall, while a cleared dirt space in front of the storage building held a dozen or more rusty metal barrels turned on their side as shelters, with a dog chained next to each.

  September stopped short, recognizing the Pit Bulls and what that meant. She took half a step backwards when a couple of dogs noticed her and roused from their enforced boredom. Shadow barked, tail flagging, and pulled against the tether, eager to meet-and-greet all the potential canine friends.

  "Shadow, no. Wait." Her voice whip-cracked the command. The Pit Bulls, none in good health, leaped or in some cases staggered to their feet. She noticed young ones also dragged logging chains they could barely lift.

  She’d wager the rest of her lottery winnings they figured in the dogfight ring. Kinsler tugged at the leash, and another puzzle piece clicked into place, betting BeeBo’s rescued kitten came from here. Dog men used small pets to teach gladiator dogs to fight and kill. Or be killed.

  Bile burned her throat. Her knees gave way, and she sat down, hard, in the middle of the road, rain no longer an issue. Shadow pushed himself into her arms, licking her face, and she buried her face in his black ruff.

  September tried to call Combs again but couldn't get a signal. Sadly, animal abuse often wasn't enough to involve the police, but the attendant guns and gambling made dogfights worth their attention. Shutting down dogfights cast a wide net.

  And drugs. She reeled with sudden insight. What a brilliant, twisted notion, to distribute the Doctor’s poisonous autism “cure” under the protection from a dogfight ring.

  She pocketed the useless phone, and scrambled to her feet. Wind had died, hail had stopped, and a yellow-green sky colored the chained dogs in a hellish glow. Static crackled her hair into a Medusa’s crown, and all the dogs howled in sudden concert as if cued by a conductor’s baton.

  She couldn’t see it, but the freight train sound signified a funnel cloud. She needed shelter, had to drop below the tree and road level. Inside the cement barn offered the best shelter.

  The dogs strained against their chains, staked between her and sanctuary. Shadow and Kinsler couldn't pass without risking a bloody war they couldn't win.

  "Good-dog, Shadow, stay with me." They were dead if they
stayed on the road, if not from the twister, then from wind-tossed debris bulleted with enough strength to penetrate cement.

  The roar increased. No more time. She had to risk threading a path past the Pit Bulls. They’d all die without shelter. September ran in a fast limp, sore knee hobbling her progress. She scooped Kinsler into her arms and shortened Shadow's leash to keep him close to her side.

  A horn honked behind September. Startled, she whirled. Her own SUV hurtled down the dirt path straight toward her.

  Chapter 23

  He stared at his phone. Combs forced himself to relax before he crushed it—he wanted to throw it—and took a deep breath before hitting re-dial. He pressed the phone hard to his ear, plugging the other ear to mute the thunder and wind that shook his car.

  "What'd she say?" Gonzales flinched when simultaneous lightning strobed and thunder boomed. "Dammit, Combs, get us to cover. We're no help to your son or to September if we get blown to Oz."

  Combs shook his head. He ground his teeth to keep from cursing. Fury mounted when the connection failed. Failure all around. The connection had been bad, but he'd heard enough. He'd ask if she'd found Willie. Her answer broke his heart.

  ". . . found Willie. . . It's bad...a body..." And the phone went dead. He closed his eyes, willing her to answer, for the call to go through. Damn the storm, damn the dog, damn September, she promised to find him. Alive. ALIVE, dammit.

  Gonzales raised his eyebrows, silently asking again. Combs lowered his phone. He couldn't repeat what September had said. That would make it—NO! Not his little boy!—a reality.

  Wind pummeled the car. Tornado sirens raged, coyotes answering in an eerie chorus. They'd only traveled a mile or so out of town. Combs knew the general vicinity of September's search but the storm meant no chance in hell of finding them. He slumped against the steering wheel. Too late anyway, what does it matter. God, make this a bad dream. Let me wake up.

  "Son of a bitch." Gonzales never swore.

  Combs recoiled as if splashed with ice water by the vision out Gonzales's passenger window. Snakes of black spun earthward from the distant wall cloud, lightening etched gashes in the dark sky. Holy shit.

  "It's coming, Combs, it's coming. Get us out of here. How about, uhm, now? Now would be a good time. Vete de aqui, ve rapido, Go-go-go-go!"

  A muffled Niagara Falls roar filled his ears. A sudden adrenalin spike transformed Combs from apathy to flight. He shoved the car into gear. Tires squealed, the U-turn barely held the road, and he floored the gas. "Where?"

  "Don't care, just go, ve rapido, fast fast fast." Gonzales half turned in his seat. "Man, I need a raise." He turned back around. "First solid building we find, we get inside. Cars are deathtraps in a tornado."

  Combs knew that. "If they don't want to let us in?"

  "They will. We're the cops. People love us." Gonzales smiled.

  He ignored the lame joke. He owed it to his partner to get them to safety. But how could he care about being alive, staying safe, when his son... Willie hadn't had a chance. Don't think, just go.

  The engine screamed into town, the car rabbiting and swerving as the twister rode their bumper like a hound sniffing blood. He had to drive perpendicular to the storm path. Combs took a hard right, almost nailed a lamppost, and sped halfway up the block before he recognized a familiar business. A brick building. Glass on the front but as he recalled, the place had a storm cellar, rare in this part of the world.

  "Hold fast." He fishtailed into the parking lot. Both men vaulted out before the car engine stopped and raced to the door of Doc Eugene's veterinary clinic.

  The vacant waiting room, normally bustling this time of day, offered no shelter. Floor to ceiling windows offered a great view of the parking lot and death by glass should the storm punch through.

  "This way." Combs loped down the hallway, and dodged through the door to the first examining room, into the treatment area. "Hey Doc? Where are you?" Gonzales reflexively ducked and cursed again when something thumped the roof of the building.

  "Who's there?" Doc Eugene's muffled voice came from behind another closed door. Gonzales and Combs hurried to join him.

  "Detective Combs? Detective Gonzales, too? What're you doing here? Don't you know there's a tornado?" The small room, not much bigger than a walk-in closet, served as storage for the vet clinic's pharmacy and other supplies. Doc Eugene and a flamboyant heavy younger woman huddled on the floor beneath a shelf, in the far corner. She appeared peeved to see them.

  Combs and Gonzales pushed inside and closed the door. The overhead light flickered in concert with thunder. All four gasped when another clatter-thump buffalo stampede crossed the roof.

  "You said he had a storm shelter." His quivering mustache belied Gonzales's steady voice. The man might have been asking for a veggie wrap, extra hot sauce.

  Doc Eugene snorted, but made room for the two detectives. "A lot of good it does me. Flooded last week, and still a foot of water and God knows what else swimming around in the sludge." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "No way to get the animals in here, but we've only a few including BeeBo's kitten that September dropped off earlier. This is the next best thing to a storm cellar: an interior room with no windows. And plenty of pain meds, pet food and fluids." He laughed, and then nudged the woman beside him. "Robin, these are the detectives I told you about. They're going to find the sick bastard who killed my Pam."

  Robin ignored the detectives. She put an arm around Doc Eugene's shoulder as if to comfort him. When he shrugged it off, Robin’s nostrils flared and she stared at her hands.

  Doc Eugene’s wife, Pam, had been Shadow's breeder. She’d died during the Blizzard Murders last November, along with Combs’s mother.

  Gonzales answered the unspoken question on the veterinarian’s face. "We had to outrun the storm. The funnel hadn't touched down yet, but was snapping at our heels." He turned to Combs. "Hope we still have a car when we get out of here." He pulled out his phone. "I've got no bars."

  Combs sank to the floor, and slapped Gonzales's leg. "Get down. We'll worry about the car later." He pushed against the wall, knees bent and arms circling them. Now they'd escaped the tornado, he couldn’t stop thinking about September's call.

  Gonzales checked the shelves filled with various medications, shampoos and other pet products. He picked up one of the pet collar tracking devices. "Sell many of these? Sure saved us a ton of time, when September went missing."

  Doc Eugene took off and polished his glasses. "After all the news stories, I can barely keep the collars on the shelves. The company even gave September the technology and all upgrades for life."

  The building shook, and Gonzales braced himself. "Damn. Didn't know I'd think back on the drought with nostalgia." The lights went out. The overhead stampede became constant.

  Combs closed his eyes, and let tears run unchecked. How had Melinda let this happen? What would he tell Willie's mother? Would Cassie even understand? He was helpless, hopeless and angry, and oh, so much alone.

  Chapter 24

  Claire gasped and jumped when lightening crackled, and banged her head on the passenger side window of Sunny's big green truck. She prayed Tracy and Lenny were inside somewhere, and not out in Elaine's old rickety van. Weather alerts and warnings continually beeped and buzzed on Sunny’s phone.

  "Now what? We've been driving in circles for hours." Her initial hope after meeting the striking P.I had faded. Sunny hadn't done anything, except drive around and text.

  Sunny didn't answer. Every once in a while, she got a text that made her eyes flash with temper. As if on cue, the "ping" of her phone announced another message. "Hold the wheel." She turned her full attention to the phone.

  Claire wrinkled her pug nose, but leaned over to steer the truck while Sunny texted her reply. "What's it say? Is it about Tracy? Have they found the van?" Sunny said she’d sent the van's license to her connections, and promised quick results.

  "Not everything is about you."

  S
unny's terse reply hit below the belt. Claire's hand on the wheel jerked, and she over-corrected, nearly driving them off the road.

  "Son of a bitch. What is wrong with you?" Sunny grabbed the steering wheel, and steadied the truck. "I took on this case as a favor. Now you want to wreck my truck? That's a custom rig in the back, special made by friends in South Texas." She pulled into a mini-mart gas station, shoved the truck in park, and half turned in her seat. "Did you ever think maybe these kids don't want to be found? I ran away a dozen times, for good reasons."

  Claire sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous. What a horrible thing to say. They're children, they're scared. You said you could find them, easy-peasy you said."

  "I may have overstated. One of my guys saw a van matching the description in an area—” Her smooth brow furrowed. “No, couldn’t be your kids. Never mind."

  "Let's go!"

  "It’s a stretch. Trust me on this. Don’t want to waste time."

  "And driving around the past several hours has been so productive? Sunny, we have to do something. My little girl is out there." Thunder rattled the windows. Although the rain had abated, the threat remained. "She's out in this storm, scared, alone." Claire leaned toward the taller woman. "Do you have kids?" She had to make Sunny understand the urgency. The woman acted like Tracy and Lenny were a couple of lost pets, or something.

  Sunny shuddered. "Nope. No kids for this one."

  Probably a good thing. "That old van isn't reliable. They could be stranded somewhere. If you know where they were last seen, we should go check."

  When Sunny's phone "pinged" again, and the woman focused on the message, Claire lashed out. "If you can't or won't go after them, tell me where to go and I'll find Tracy myself."

  "I've got to make a call. It's private. Sit tight." Sunny exited the car, taking the keys with her as if she feared Claire might take off without her.

  Claire flushed. "You're being paid to help. September said she'd pay you. Tracy's only six, Lenny barely sixteen. They're children, for God's sake." She pounded a fist against the window. Sunny waved but headed into the store, phone pressed to her ear.