Colonel Bob came down to St. Lucia and flew us back home. Have I mentioned Colonel Bob? He might
be in Thereby Hangs A Tail. He and Bernie go way back. They talked a lot, something about Colonel
Bob’s son. There’s some problem, but don’t ask me what.
Bernie read for a while on the plane. He’s got this new book, Pops, all about Louis Armstrong. He says
it’s a real good book, but kind of sad. That gave me the idea of maybe giving it a little chew, but I never
got the chance.
St. Lucia was great but it’s great to be home, too. Right now I have to go sniff around the whole property.
Colonel Bob and Bernie had a long talk, something about Colonel Bob’s son, Ray. Is Ray in trouble? Are
we on a case?
Right now Bernie’s still sleeping. Sometimes he moans a bit. Eventually he’ll get up, swallow some
aspirin, down some coffee and start to feel better. Colonel Bob called and the answering machine took it.
I’m getting restless.
Son?” said Bernie. “I thought you had twin daughters.”
“I do,” said Colonel Bob. We were in the bar at the Dry Gulch Saloon and Steak House, the patio part,
one of my favorite places. We’re partners in the Little Detective Agency, me and Bernie, maybe
something I should mention from time to time, and this is a time, so how about now? Colonel Bob is an
old pal of Bernie’s from the war, but I only got to know him later – that’s all in Thereby Hangs A Tail.
Before Thereby Hangs A Tail was Dog On It. After Thereby Hangs A Tail comes To Fetch A Thief.
There’s also the other guy. Some talk went on that he started a new book yesterday, a new kids series.
About what? Not sure. I just know the first sentence, because Spence and Admin were batting it around
yesterday. Not really batting like baseball, although there is a bat in To Fetch A Thief. Bernie’s hoping to
get it after the trials because it’s a Willie McCovey model. Not sure who Willie McCovey is. A perp?
Possibly. There’s Willie Mungrew, for example, now at Northern State Correctional, but also Willie McTell,
who we listen to sometimes in the Porsche. Have I mentioned the Porsche recently? Maybe tomorrow.
Ever make a mistake that came back to bite you?” Colonel Bob said.
We were in the patio bar at the Dry Gulch Saloon and Steak House, one of our favorite spots. They have
a waitress named Deena who knows about my thing for steak tips. She likes Bernie a lot – that’s the kind
of thing I can just sniff out – but I don’t think he knows. And that would be way too complicated! There’s
Suzie, right? And the whole new Leda situation – is that in To Fetch A Thief?
“Next question,” said Bernie.
Meaning what? The answer had to be no. Bernie had never been bitten, not that I could remember.
We’ve had some close calls, of course. I thought right away of that night near the huge saguaro on the
border. That’s in To Fetch A Thief, for sure.
Meanwhile Colonel Bob was laughing. “What is it about guys like us?” he said.
Bernie sipped his bourbon. “Born too late,” he said.
Colonel Bob stopped laughing.
After Bernie said that thing about being born too late, there was a long silence, like maybe thoughts were
going on. If so, not by me. Deena had arrived with the steak tips – this was at the Dry Gulch Saloon and
Steak House, where there’s a patio bar, all golden light now with the sun going down – and I was too
busy for thinking. Does that ever happen to you?
Colonel Bob sipped his drink; he was a bourbon guy too, like Bernie. “Your folks have lived out here for a
long time, right?”
“On my dad’s side,” Bernie said. “We had a ranch.”
“Where?”
“Right where we live now,” Bernie said.
“On Mesquite Road?”
“Yeah,” Bernie said. “Four square miles at one time. Where our next-door neighbor is now was the main
gate.”
“The neighbor with that funny little dog?” said Colonel Bob.
“Iggy. Yeah.”
“I had a dog a lot like Iggy once,” Colonel Bob said.
“So when was this?” Colonel Bob said. “When your ancestors came out here?”
We were at the Dry Gulch, me, Bernie, Colonel Bob. Steak tips polished off, I was lying at the edge of the
patio bar in the last rays of the sun.
“Right after the Civil War,” Bernie said. “My great great and maybe another great or two grandfather
fought for the South. He was in the Shenandoah Valley with Jubal Early late in the war when Sheridan
rolled them up. After that – from this diary he left behind – it’s kind of clear that he more or less deserted
and made his way out here.”
“He left a diary?” said Colonel Bob.
“That’s how I know I’ve got some Indian blood in my veins.”
“Yeah?”
“Navajo, to be exact.”
“Tell me about it,” said Colonel Bob.
Deena, behind the bar, poured more bourbon. My eyes closed.
“C’mon, big guy.”
I opened my eyes. Still at the Dry Gulch, but nighttime now, and Colonel Bob was gone.
“That sure was interesting,” Bernie said as we drove home, me riding shotgun, my favorite spot, the night
air rushing by.
No question about it: the Dry Gulch was always interesting. Max’s Memphis Ribs is another restaurant I
like. The owners’s this great guy, Cleon Maxwell.
What else? Am I leaving anything out? Missing something? Not that I can think of.
Funny thing – the whole Colonel Bob case, Ray Jason, Astrid Jason, all that, is suddenly clear in my
mind. I was going to post about that today, get everything straight, but Bernie says there’s too much
digital wackiness going on, and if Bernie says so, then that’s that. Anyway, we’re headed for Vegas, on a
hunch, Bernie says. That’s a little worrisome – last time we went to Vegas on a hunch, well, never mind.
“I’m from Tennessee originally,” Colonel Bob said.
“I knew that,” said Bernie.
“My great great whatever he was grandfather fought for the south, like yours,” Colonel Bob said. “Rode
with Nathan Bedford Forrest, in fact.”
“Not at Fort Pillow, I hope?” Bernie said.
“Fraid so.”
Bernie shook his head. Colonel Bob shook his head, too. I just lay there in our kitchen. It was real early in
the morning and I wasn’t quite awake, a nice, heavy kind of feeling.
“I dropped out of high school and enlisted,” Colonel Bob said.
“I knew that, too,” said Bernie.
“But the night before I shipped out, I happened to meet this girl.”
“Yeah?”
“Her name was Astrid Jason,” said Colonel Bob. “She was old for her age and I was young for mine. That
maturity gap sound familiar?”
Bernie laughed. Love human laughter – have I mentioned that already? – and Bernie’s is the best. “Suzie
says that if men lived to a hundred and fifty or so they still might not catch up.”
Colonel Bob laughed, too. What was funny? Don’t ask me. “Astrid came from some pretty rough people,
the white-lightning type. Her uncle was a buddy of Junior Johnson back in the day. But that’s not the
point. The point is she wanted to see me in my brand-new uniform. And then she wanted to see me out of
it.”
“A one night stand,” said Colonel Bob. “But memorable – and not just because I shipped out the next
day.”
“Did you see her when you got leave?” Bernie said.
Colonel Bob shook his head. “I never went back home – there wasn’t anything left there for me.”
Not going back home? I didn’t get that at all. I love home! Our place is on Mesquite Road and backs right
onto the canyon. The fun we have out there, me and Bernie! I thought about canyon fun for a while and
when the while was over Bernie and Colonel Bob were talking about DNA. DNA comes up in our work
from time to time – we’re partners in the Little Detective Agency, me and Bernie – but what it is exactly I’ll
leave to you.
“A few months ago,” Colonel Bob said, “I started getting the feeling I was being followed. You ever get
that feeling?”
“A few times,” Bernie said. That kind of surprised me. We were the ones who do the following, me and
Bernie. We’re partners in the Little Detective Agency. We’d cleared so many cases I didn’t even want to
think about it, so I didn’t. Instead I sniffed around under the desk, found a tiny scrap of burned toast;
sometimes Bernie had a snack while he worked. Crunch crunch and it was gone.
Late that night when Bernie and Colonel Bob were talking and drinking a glass or two – or maybe more,
but two is my limit for numbers – of bourbon, Bernie mentioned his dad. That never happens! But I was so
sleepy. Something about how his dad went off to Bakersfield in the early days, played rhythm guitar in a
band at the Blackboard with Bill Woods on piano and Buck Owens on lead. Then it all went bad. Was it
because of … ? Nope. Can’t quite remember, although it’s very close, feels like it’s just around the corner.
Does that ever happen to you?
“He started spending more and more time up in Bakersfield,” Bernie said. Who was he talking about,
again?
“Playing gigs?” said Colonel Bob.
“Yeah,” Bernie said. “He was pretty good. Afterwards my mother threw away all his stuff, but I found a
tape of him just fooling around on an acoustic guitar, even singing a bit.”
“Afterwards meaning … ?” said Colonel Bob.
Hey! Was that Iggy at his window? Sure was! Hadn’t seen Iggy in ages. Iggy’s my buddy, although he
never seems to come out any more. And he had something in his mouth. I went right up to our window for
a better view. Was it a bedroom slipper? Looked like one. Iggy gave it a little shake. Yes, a bedroom
slipper for sure. I wanted it real bad.
“Chet! Knock it off.”
I dialed down to this low rumble I have.
“So one day – this was in Bakersfield,” said Colonel Bob, “I pulled over and let the traffic pass. Third car
went by, just an ordinary econobox, driver looking straight ahead. But the sight of him gave me a shock,
no other word for it.”
“Because?”
“He looked just like me, Bernie,” said Colonel Bob. “Me at twenty-five.”
“And then?” Bernie said.
“He pulled over and parked a few spaces ahead. There was no one in between. He just sat there,
watching me in the rearview mirror. Finally I got out of the car, walked up, tapped on his window.
‘Something on your mind?’ I said. He turned to me. See this tooth with the little chip missing?”
Colonel Bob pulled up his lip, showing his front teeth. The most interesting thing that had happened all
day! Human teeth! What a huge subject. No time to go into it now, but bottom line you’ve got to feel a little
sorry for them.
“He had exactly the same thing, Bernie. Little chip, right here. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I got something on my
mind – hate for you.’”
“Can we go back to that chipped tooth for a second?” Bernie said.
Teeth, again? All of a sudden, for no reason at all, I felt like gnawing on one of the desk legs.
“Uncanny,” Colonel Bob said.
“Because there’s no way it’s genetic?”
“Exactly,” said Colonel Bob. “So I told him ‘hate’ was a pretty strong word, especially to throw at a
stranger, but my heart was kind of sinking at the same time. And he said, ‘Look at me,’ which I did, and
then he said, ‘Remember Astrid Jason?’ And it was all clear.”
“Wonder how many of us have time bombs like that,” Bernie said, “waiting to go off?”
Uh-oh. Bombs. I stopped gnawing on the desk leg. I’d done some bomb sniffing work, learned all about it
in K-9 school. I’d been the best leaper, don’t know if that’s come up yet. And then – that last day!
I had a dream. We were down in Mexico, me and Bernie. This was on the Peanut case, but the dream
was all about Lola – those strange little watchful eyes of hers! – and this time nothing got thrown at me,
and no one yelled, “Perro malo!” Whatever that happened to mean. It was great to be south of the border
down Mexico way, even if it was just a dream.
I opened my eyes. Bernie was saying, “And then?”
Colonel Bob shrugged. The human shrug is interesting – I always watch for it. “I went to an ATM and
withdrew my max – three hundred bucks – and gave it to him.”
“And that was the last time you saw Ray?”
“Yup.”
Hey! Was this about Ray Jason, Bakersfield, all that? Had I missed something? I went over to Bernie. He
scratched between my ears. That felt great. I didn’t have a worry in the world.
“Changed your mind?” Albie Rose said. He was this old guy with hard eyes I didn’t like at all. Last time
he’d been wearing a tiny bathing suit. Now he was dressed in a track suit, although he didn’t look like
much of a runner to me. The fastest human I ever met was this NFL dude we did a job for once, all about
some missing trophy, and that led to complications I can’t remember exactly, but bling was involved. The
NFL dude was fast and he knew it. What he didn’t know but found out the day he and I had a little race,
was that he was fast for a human. I ran circles around him, real tight ones. We had fun! Or maybe it was
just me: he looked kind of sour at the end. That human sour look? Not my favorite.
But back to Albie Rose. We were in Vegas.
“Changed my mind about what?” Bernie said.
“Working for me,” said Albie Rose. “I could use someone like you.”
“That’s the problem,” Bernie said. “We don’t like being used, Chet and I.”
I growled, not sure why.
“We’re looking for a showgirl who came out here twenty years ago or so,” Bernie said.
“Showgirl being a … ” said Albie Rose.
“Euphemism?” said Foster. Foster was Albie Rose’s bodyguard, not the kind of dude you wanted to mess
with, except that me and Bernie always wanted to mess with dudes like that. We had this thing in us, me
and Bernie, hard to describe.
Albie Rose turned to Foster. “When I need your help I’ll ask for it.”
“Sorry,” said Foster.
“Move my umbrella a little.”
Foster moved Albie Rose’s umbrella.
Albie Rose turned to Bernie. “Showgirl being a euphemism for hooker?” he said.
“Not at first,” said Bernie. “But maybe in the end.”
Albie Rose nodded. “That’s the way it happens,” he said. “You’re a smart guy. How much do you clear on
an annual basis?”
“Enough to keep us happy,” Bernie said.
Yes! We were happy! No doubt about it. I was so happy realizing we were happy that I got this sudden
urge to give Albie Rose and Foster each a quick little bite.
“What makes you think I’d know anything about showgirls?” said Albie Rose. “I’m a financier.”
Bernie laughed. Was that the kind of laugh they call laughing some dude in the face? I thought so. Loved
when Bernie did that, wished he’d do it more often.
“No one talks to me like that,” said Albie Rose. “Foster? Help my private eye friend here frame an
apology.”
“Like write it down and hang it on the wall?” said Foster.
Bernie laughed again. He was in a real good mood. So was I until Foster pulled a gun out of his pocket.
The next thing I knew I was in Albie Rose’s swimming pool. And so was Foster! He was really thrashing
around, the way some humans do in the water. Personally I love the water. I swam around a bit, watched
Foster’s gun sink slowly to the bottom. I could dive down to the bottom and get it, no problem – or not. I
swam over to the side of the pool near Bernie to see if he had anything to say about that.
He was standing beside Albie Rose. The umbrella was lying upside down for some reason. “See,” Bernie
said, “despite you being a financier – admirable profession, of course – the reason I thought you’d know
something about showgirls is that you’ve been married to eight of them. Three named Tiffany, if I
remember.”
Foster came sputtering to the surface. “Not the third one,” he said. “Her name was really Ethel. But you
kept calling her Tiffany so much she finally changed it legally.”
Albie Rose turned to Foster, eyes narrowing. “How do you know so much about her?”
What was I going on? I wasn’t sure, just knew this was an interview of some kind, and Bernie was a great
interviewer. We’d cleared a lot of cases, me and Bernie, but my favorites always included a swim or two.
“Answer my question,” said Albie Rose, turning red – not a pretty sight, and he hadn’t been a pretty sight
at his normal color, not in that tiny bathing suit. In my opinion, clothes are a very good invention, when it
comes to humans. “How come you know so much about Tiffany three?” he asked Foster.
Foster and I climbed out of the pool. “Knowing her real name was Ethel?” said Foster. “It wasn’t a secret.”
I went closer to Albie Rose – he smelled like cheese that had been left in the sun – and shook myself off.
Water sprayed all over the place, glinting in the sun. There was a lot of beauty in life and it could pop up
at any moment.
“Damn dog!” Albie Rose yelled, and raised his hand, like he was going to … hit me? The next thing I
knew, before I could even growl, Bernie had grabbed his wrist. “Ow,” cried Albie. Bernie could move real
fast when he wanted; also he could squeeze real hard, like now. There were a few more “ows.” Bernie
didn’t let go until the look on Albie’s face said he knew what was what. We were partners, me and Bernie.
“Astrid Jason was her given name,” Bernie said. “But I’m having a – let’s call it a hunch – that she
changed it to Ethel somewhere along the way.”
“Why would anyone do that?” said Albie Rose. By that time we had Albie and Foster sitting side by side
on the pool deck, me and Bernie standing over them. “Ethel, for God’s sake.”
“No accounting for taste,” said Bernie. I mulled that over, came pretty close to getting it. “Or Ethel might
have been the name on some fake ID she picked up in a hurry. But that’s not the point. Let’s start with
one sure fact – Astrid Jason came from Tennessee.”
Foster gave Albie a quick glance. I was always on the lookout for that. We were starting to roll – I could
feel it. Was this a great job or what?
Dressed all in black? That was Foster, Albie Rose’s bodyguard, tough guy, muscle dude. He walked up to
our door, passing out of where I could see from the window. I barked. That got Iggy going next door. Yipyip-yip. Iggy was my pal, but I didn’t have time for him at the moment. I barked louder. So did Iggy.
Meanwhile Foster knocked on the door, but it was hard to hear on account of all the barking going on. I
barked louder still, trying to get Iggy to knock it off. Iggy barked louder still, too, that high-pitched yip-yipyip hitting new heights. Did Foster knock again? I wasn’t sure. Iggy! Knock it off! But he wouldn’t. Old man
Heydrich, our neighbor on the other side, started yelling. He was no favorite of mine so I gave him a quick
series of angry barks to let him know. Iggy picked up on that, too. And so did other members of the nation
within the nation, some nearby, some farther away.
“Chet!” Bernie called from the kitchen. “What the hell is going on?”
Foster sat down in the kitchen.
“Whatever you’ve got, let’s have it,” Bernie said.
“First thing,” Foster said, “I’m not here.”
“Got it,” Bernie said.
He did? I didn’t get that at all. Foster was here, all right. I could see him – and smell him, too, of course.
He smelled nervous, also gave off waves of the same after-shave that Crock Mullican used to wear, and
maybe still does if after-shave is allowed at Central State. We’ve still got Crock’s AR-15, locked in the
safe with the other guns. The safe’s in the office, behind the picture of Niagara Falls, but that’s between
me and Bernie. We’ve got lot of waterfall pictures, on account of … I don’t know, we just do.
Where was I?
“So,” said Bernie, “to what do we owe the pleasure of this non-visit?” We’re partners, me and Bernie, but
sometimes he loses me completely. But Foster didn’t look lost at all.
“You’re a funny guy,” he said. “Any money in this job of yours?”
“We get by,” Bernie said. Meaning what, exactly? Our finances were a mess! That earthquake that turned
out to be in the wrong place, Hawaiian pants – anyone out there want to buy a pair, by the way? – and
other slip-ups I couldn’t remember at the moment meant our cash flow was bad. Cash flow! Just once I’d
like to see that, like a green river. Where was that green river of flowing cash? Why weren’t we out there
searching for it 24/7, whatever that happened to mean? Numbers: a very big subject, maybe for another
time, but why isn’t two enough?
” … the point being,” Foster was saying, “that at the time I thought her name really was Ethel.”
Bernie gave Foster a long look. I wondered what was going on.
“She was dancing in a show at the Silver Dollar,” Foster was saying. “Under the name of Ethel – didn’t
want to use her real name, which was Astrid Jason – but I didn’t know that at the time.”
“Ethel seems like a strange choice for a chorus girl,” Bernie said.
Chorus girls? My ears pricked up. They don’t match, by the way, something I found out not too long ago.
Is it a problem? Not for me. But back to chorus girls – were they at all like Autumn and Tulip, those nice
young ladies who worked for Livia Moon at her Friendly Coffee And More place in Pottsdale, which is one
of the nicest parts of the whole Valley? The And More part was behind a door at the back, and what went
on there I’m not too sure about. All I know is that Autumn and Tulip are excellent patters. Is that in To
Fetch A Thief or somewhere else?
“Strange how?” said Foster.
“Ethel?” said Bernie. “Kind of old-fashioned. Not sexy.”
“The surname she used was Ready,” Foster said. “Ethel Ready.”
“Oh,” said Bernie.
“You’ve heard of Ethelred the Unready?” Foster said.
“Anglo-Saxon king?” Bernie said. “Got drubbed by the Danes?”
The Danes? Muley and Hoss? I remembered them well, perps with a dusty ranch halfway to nowhere, as
Bernie said, who had a nice little truck hijacking business on the side. Muley turned out to be a pretty
good shot, which gave us some trouble for a while. Gunfire, ranch, desert: Bernie was in a real good
mood after that, said it reminded him of the old west, but that didn’t seem to cheer up Muley and Hoss,
tied up and bleeding a bit.
“Yeah,” said Foster, “that’s the guy. I didn’t know about him till Astrid explained. So it’s kind of a … what’s
the word?”
“Pun?” said Bernie.
“Yeah, pun. Ethel Ready.”
“Sounds like she picked up an education along the way,” Bernie said.
“Not so much in school, I don’t think,” said Foster. “But she was a great reader. That really bugged Albie.”
“Couldn’t help but notice,” Bernie said, “that you talked about Astrid being a reader in the past tense.”
“Did I?” said Foster.
Bernie gave him a look.
“Didn’t mean anything by it,” Foster said. “She still is, far as I know.”
“I’d like to confirm that,” Bernie said. “Any idea where I can find her?”
“Not off the top of my head,” Foster said. “What’s your interest in her, don’t mind my asking?”
“I’m working for a client.”
“And who would that be?”
“I’d love to tell you, Foster. But it would make me an idiot.”
Bernie an idiot? No way. He was always the smartest human in the room.
“Okay,” said Foster, “then tell me this: any way this client of yours would be willing to pay for
information??”
“Information about what?”
“I think you know,” Foster said.
Did Bernie know? I sure didn’t. How were we doing on the case? Not sure about that either. I tried to
remember who was paying. Our finances were a mess, in case I haven’t mentioned that. The Hawaiian
pants! And then the tin futures! What were tin futures again? Bolivia? Something had gone wrong, but
what? An earthquake? Or some farmer had made a big discovery. Is that in To Fetch A Thief? I opened
my mouth very wide, just about my widest. That did the trick.
Colonel Bob gave me a pat. He wasn’t a real great patter – like Autumn or Tulip, for example, who
worked in the More part of Livia Moon’s place in Pottsdale, Livia’s Friendly Coffee and More – that’s all in
To Fetch A Thief, or was it the Chatterley Case? – but even if he wasn’t the best patter I really liked
Colonel Bob, a big guy with a big red face and short gray hair cut flat on top. He was wearing cammies
and desert boots, and I could smell desert smells on those boots, but not our desert, which was strange
and very interesting to me. Bernie and Colonel Bob were talking, about what I wasn’t sure.
“What kind of information?” Colonel Bob was saying.
“Astrid’s whereabouts,” said Bernie. “It’s not spelled out, but I won’t make a deal for anything else.”
“How much money?” said Colonel Bob.
“Five grand, but I’ll try to talk him down,” Bernie said. “I hate paying for information.”
“Just do it,” Colonel Bob said.
I sniffed his boots.
We met Foster on a weed-covered street in one of those empty housing developments. We’ve got lots of
them in the Valley now, not sure why. We parked beside Foster’s Hummer and hopped out. Bernie was
no fan of Hummers, so the look that came over his face didn’t surprise me.
“Hey,” said Foster, “some problem?”
“What makes you say that?” said Bernie.
“You look pissed off,” Foster said.
“You don’t see it?” Bernie said. “The direct connection?”
“Huh?”
Bernie glanced around. “Between this place, your ride, blowout preventers that don’t prevent.”
“Not following you,” Foster said.
Neither was I, but I didn’t like the way Foster said it. Hey! Was Foster a perp? I inched a little closer to
him.
“Doesn’t matter,” Bernie said. “How come you picked this place?”
Foster shrugged. The human shrug: have we gone into that already? A big subject, no time right now,
and maybe it’s in To Fetch A Thief. “I just knew there’d be nobody around. Wouldn’t be good if Albie knew
we were talking.”
Bernie glanced around again. Some of the houses were all finished, some not. No signs of life, no trees,
no grass, no plants, and lots of scraps blowing in the wind. “Does he own this development?”
“You’re a good guesser,” Foster said.
“Albie actually picked this development up after it went under,” Foster said. “For a song, of course.”
Hey! Albie Rose was a singer? I’d never have guessed that. Lately Bernie and I have been listening a lot
to Buddy and Julie Miller, especially What You Gonna Do Leroy. We knew a Leroy – Leroy LaRue, a real
sharp-dressing perp, now wearing an orange jumpsuit. Plus there’s a lot of Hawkshaw Hawkins recently –
Lonesome 77203. We’ve had other periods of lots of Hawkshaw Hawkins – they come and go.
“Like to take a little tour of the place?” Foster said.
“What for?” said Bernie.
“I thought you were interested in what was happening to the Valley,” Foster said. “That’s the word on you,
anyway.”
“Yeah?” said Bernie. “What else have you heard?”
“What else do I know about you?” Foster said. “You turned down a job offer from Albie, for one thing. I
thought that was pretty cool.”
Why? Who would want to work for Albie Rose? He wore a tiny bathing suit and smelled like old cheese.
We work for ourselves, me and Bernie, and what could be better than that? In case there are any
newcomers out there, we’re partners in the Little Detective Agency, me and Bernie. Missing persons are
our specialty, and that was what we were doing now, looking for Astrid Jason, and maybe Ray Jason, too,
who was Colonel Bob’s son, and Colonel Bob is one of our favorites when it comes to humans. When it
comes to the nation within the nation, as Bernie calls it, I guess you’d have to put Iggy first. Iggy’s a funny
little dude. Once, in the old days, when Iggy still got out, we were just about to catch this lizard when a
huge bird swooped down and snatched it up. Wow! The fun we used to have. I miss playing with Iggy.
“And what did Albie think of it?” Bernie said. Or something like that. Maybe I hadn’t been listening, but
that was partly because I’d just picked up a scent, very faint, but one of those scents that was real
important in my job.
“Of you turning him down?” Foster said. “He was pissed, actually. It was a first, and Albie doesn’t like
firsts. But enough chit-chat. Did you bring the money?”
“Yeah,” said Bernie, “I brought money.”
Foster stuck out his hand. “Let’s have it.”
Bernie shook his head. “My client is willing to pay $1000 for Astrid’s whereabouts.”
“Forget it.”
“And another $1000 for the whereabouts of Ray Jason.”
Foster gave Bernie a long stare. Long stares bother me. I was thinking of doing something about it when I
caught another faint whiff of that smell I knew was so important in our line of work. Then a breeze sprang
up behind me and took the scent away. I took a few steps in the direction it had gone, and then Bernie
said, “Chet?” I paused, one front paw raised in the air.
“Ray Jason?” Foster said. “That’s a new one on me.”
“Swear on that?” Bernie said. “Cross your heart and hope to die?”
Foster’s mouth fell open.
“Just a little humor,” Bernie said.
Foster didn’t look amused. “You’re a funny guy. Albie says he likes funny guys, but take it from me – he
really doesn’t.”
“Hope you know what you’re doing,” Bernie said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Foster.
Bernie reached into his pocket.
Bernie took out some money. It had recently passed through the hands of a woman – I smelled perfume
on the bills. Actually the same kind of perfume that Tulip wears. Tulip works for Livia Moon in the back
part of her coffee place in Pottsdale. Livia Moon gave Bernie a real big kiss the last time we were there. It
all goes back a long time to when Bernie was at Fort Hood, wherever that may be, and Livia was running
a little nearby operation “to cheer up the boys,” she said. Is all that in To Fetch A Thief? Some? Any?
Meanwhile the perfume scent was overpowering that other scent, very faint anyway, but important in this
line of work. For any newcomers out there maybe this is the time to mention that we’re partners, me and
Bernie, in the Little Detective Agency. Got any missing people in your life? That’s our specialty. Get in
touch. We could use the money, on account of the way our finances are a mess. First came Hawaiian
pants. Then tin futures. Tin futures turned out to be kind of complicated. Something happened in Bolivia,
or maybe not Bolivia. Name some other place like that.
Meanwhile, Bernie and Foster were talking. The sound was kind of pleasant. Of course I always like
hearing Bernie talk: he has a beautiful voice.
“Here’s a grand,” Bernie said, handing Foster some money.
“Thanks,” said Foster, tucking it away.
“Aren’t you going to count it?” Bernie said.
“I trust you,” Foster said.
“Yeah?” said Bernie.
Foster nodded. “And you can trust me, too. I’m outta here – headed for L.A. right after we’re done. Got a
new gig.”
“What kind of new gig?”
“Like what I do now,” Foster said, “only working for someone saner than Albie. If he was saner he’d still
be with Astrid.”
“But – ?” said Bernie.
“But he got it into his head that she was interested in some other dude and that led to the divorce. It was
completely false, of course. Astrid actually liked Albie a little bit, unlike all the other wives.”
“Who was this other dude?” Bernie said.
“That doesn’t matter,” said Foster.
“You, by any chance?” Bernie said.
Foster laughed. What was funny? Before I could figure that out, I got distracted by that faint scent again,
carried on a little breeze that blew some scraps across the dirt yard of a windowless house that stood
alone at a dead-end circle.
Me, Bernie and Foster, still in this abandoned housing development with the strange windowless house at
the end of the dead end. There’s another word for dead-end but it won’t come to me at the moment. Does
that ever happen to you? And maybe there are windows, but they’re all boarded up. The breeze has
shifted around the way breezes do – breezes, a real big subject for another time – and I’m not picking up
that scent any more, and in fact I’m starting to forget about the whole thing.
“Who’s this new employer of yours?” Bernie said.
“Name wouldn’t mean anything to you,” said Foster.
“Try me.”
Foster shook his head.
“What if we wanted to look you up some day?” Bernie said.
“Why would you want to do that?” Foster said.
“Good question,” Bernie said.
Foster blinked. Always a sign that the interview was going well. And that was good – I was starting to feel
a little hungry. “You want the information or not?” Foster said, sounding kind of annoyed.
“Let’s have it,” Bernie said.
“You know Pine City?”
“Where the casino’s opening up?”
“Yeah,” said Foster. “Astrid’s dancing at a place called Club Utopia.”
Foster got into his car. We got into ours. Then we just sat there. “Is he waiting for us to leave first?” Bernie
said. I had no idea. “If he is, why should we cooperate?” Bernie started fishing around in the glove box
and under his seat, finally coming up with a bent cigarette. Poor Bernie. He never bought cigarettes
anymore, was trying so hard to quit. Bernie didn’t glance at Foster, but I watched him. He was watching
us. Bernie took his time lighting up, took a deep drag, blew the smoke out slow. Foster’s lips moved; I
couldn’t hear him, but was pretty sure he’d spoken some short, angry word. He drove off.
Bernie smiled. “You know what’s interesting, Chet?” Of course I did. It’s a long long list, starting with
treats of various kinds, such as bacon bits and milk bones – and don’t forget ribs, especially from Max’s
Memphis Ribs – and what about balls? Baseballs, tennis balls, golf balls, lacrosse balls – what’s more
interesting than a lacrosse ball, especially the way it -
“What’s interesting is that he left four grand on the table, didn’t make the slightest attempt to negotiate.
What are we going to do about that?”
“A guy like Foster doesn’t leave money on the table,” Bernie said. We were sitting in the car at the empty
housing development; a big scrap of pink insulation blew by. I didn’t like the smell of insulation, not one
bit. And the wind was also carrying this other scent, very faint, but “I mean, money’s his raison d’etre, right?” Bernie said. Raisins? Were raisins coming out? Not my
favorite, but I was pretty hungry at the moment, would settle for just about anything. But Bernie didn’t
reach into his pocket, or the glove box, or anywhere else raisins might be. Also, did I smell raisins? No.
“On the other hand,” said Bernie, “there are probably underlying psychological motives with the Fosters of
the world. And certainly with the Albies. Although maybe not the Nuggets Bolliterris.” Hey! I remembered
Nuggets. Did he actually eat that light bulb? Hope he was doing okay now in his orange jumpsuit.
“Sure would be interesting to know whether Foster’s really headed for L.A.,” Bernie said. Would it? Didn’t
seem interesting to me, but if Bernie said it was then that was that. “But the only way to approach that
problem is to check the one place he definitely won’t be if his story is straight up.” Bernie sighed. “I just
hate going there, that’s all.”
I waited to find out where, or to find out what he was talking about in general, or for a snack of just about
any kind. There’s a lot of waiting in this business.
As we pulled out of the abandoned housing development I picked up that scent again and started barking.
“Yeah, I know,” Bernie said. “I don’t want to go to Vegas either.”
We were going to Vegas? Was that why I was barking? No. It was the scent. I barked some more.
“Easy, boy,” said Bernie. He glanced over at me. “Hungry, by any chance?”
Actually, I was. I stopped barking, began thinking of different kinds of food. What a world, just chock full of
different kinds of food, although chalk itself turned out not to be food, as I’d discovered once, and then
again, and maybe a few more times.
Soon we parked at a convenience store. Bernie went in and got milk bones for me and a roast beef
sandwich for him. And part of it for me, when it ended up he couldn’t finish, or something liked that. “I see
the look in your eye,” Bernie said. Roast beef: what can I say?
We drove to Vegas. Bernie was very quiet and a bit sad. That doesn’t happen often. I squeezed a little
closer to him. He gave me a pat. “Memorial Day, Chet,” he said.
On the way to Vegas we didn’t listen to music the way we’d usually do – lately lots of Lucinda Williams,
plus some of our favorites like Elmore James and Billie Holliday, and there was always Hawkshaw
Hawkins with Lonesome 77203, and don’t leave out Django Reinhardt – but forget all that, because all we
listened to was news about the oil spill. Bernie got in a real bad mood – that hardly ever happens – and
he kept saying “No proven backup plan? They’re allowed to drill way down deep like that with no proven
backup plan? It’s amateur night.”
Amateur night? I remembered an amateur night at the Dry Gulch Steak House and Saloon, when Bernie
brought out his ukulele and maybe he’d had a few drinks, but I still thought he did a great job on An
Empty Bottle, A Broken Heart, and You’re Still on My Mind, although most of the crowd seemed to be in
the mood for something else. But did we even have the ukulele with us now? I didn’t think so.
We drove into Vegas. Albie Rose lived in the biggest house I’d ever seen, more like a palace, surrounded
by high walls. We’d been here before, on the Madison Chambliss case. That turned out all right – is it in
Dog On It? We walked to the gate. Bernie pressed the buzzer. “Even money the next voice we hear is
Foster’s,” he said.
Please, Bernie, no gambling. Our finances couldn’t take it.
No one answered. Bernie pressed the buzzer again. We were at the gate of Albie Rose’s place in Vegas,
me and Bernie. We’re partners in the Little Detective Agency, in case that’s not clear by now. Missing
persons is our specialty, and we had one in this case, namely Astrid Jason. In fact, maybe two, if you
include Ray Jason, whose father was our buddy Colonel Bob, also the the client, meaning we were
getting paid, which put me in a very good mood every time I thought about it. Is this a good time to get
into the state of our finances? Maybe not.
Still no answer. Bernie turned to me. “I’ve been thinking about this Joran van der Sloot thing,” he said. “Of
course, we don’t have the facts, but let’s just say it is what it looks like.” He’d lost me completely. “People
make mistakes – heartbreaking ones, like that ump who blew the perfect game call last night, and
infuriatingly careless ones, like the oil spill – but then there’s something way further down the scale, and
that’s the evil in some people.” Yup, I’d seen that. “And – kind of like an oil spill that causes itself – it can’t
be contained, bubbles up again and again. Hope they lock him up this time.”
Bernie pressed the buzzer one more time. Still no answer. Bernie glanced up at the gate. “Climbing time,”
he said. Fine with me.
Albie Rose’s gate looked pretty high, but I’m a good leaper – and I love leaping over things like gates!
What a feeling! Bernie put one foot on the lowest crosspiece bar. “How we’re doing this,” he said, “is I’ll
climb over and then let you in from the other side.”
Sometimes I don’t understand a word Bernie’s saying.
He paused. “Don’t let me forget about Music For Dogs. Laurie Anderson and Lou Reed – who are they,
again? – are putting on this concert in Australia, twenty minutes of high-frequency sounds audible only to
the nation within the nation. What I want to find out is if they plan to release it on CD, or if that’s even
possible.”
What was he talking about? Your guess is as good as mine. I was just waiting till he turned his back so I
could leap over the damn gate.
“Maybe if I grab this rail like so,” Bernie said, “and put my other hand …” We were in Vegas, working on a
missing persons case, which is our specialty at the Little Detective Agency. Bernie’s Bernie Little. I’m
Chet, pure and simple. Once someone asked if Chet was a nickname for Chester. What was up with
that? But the point is we were working on a missing persons case and the missing person was Astrid
Jason. Also maybe her son Ray. We were outside the gate of Albie Rose’s mansion, no one answering
the buzzer. Why we were here was something about Foster. If Foster was here, too, it meant he wasn’t in
L.A. Because this was Vegas, right? And if he wasn’t in L.A., that meant … something important. Bernie’d
been talking about that in the car on the drive. Now we had to get inside Albie’s gate. What had Bernie
said? He was going to climb the gate, then open it up for me from the inside?
“Maybe it will be better if …” Bernie said. And he put his hand somewhere else, and reached as high as
he could with one foot. I watched that for a while and then all of a sudden – does this ever happen to
you? – I was charging around in a quick tight circle – my windup, Bernie calls it – and then racing straight
at the gate, top speed. Leaping’s one of my very best things – I was the top leaper in K-9 school, although
things hadn’t ended well, but no time for that now.
I leaped.
Zoom! Up and over! There’s really nothing like a good high leap to make you feel tip-top. I landed lightly
on the other side of Albie Rose’s gate, and what did I find right away? A tennis ball. I was just snapping it
up when I heard a loud thump. I looked around and there was Bernie, also on this side of the gate, but
lying on the ground, a big rip in his pants and kind of groaning. I dropped the tennis ball right away, went
over and licked his face.
“Must have slightly misjudged something or other,” he said, and popped right up. And if not popping right
up he at least got to his feet, leaning on me a bit. We’re a good team, me and Bernie. We turned and
headed up toward Albie Rose’s house. No one around, but the front door was open.
“Nice and friendly, Albie leaving his door open like this,” Bernie said as we entered the house, a cool
breeze of air-conditioning flowing in our faces. I’m not a big fan of air-conditioning. It makes me sneezy
sometimes. But not now. Now I was more interested in this huge, quiet house of Albie’s. And was he
really nice and friendly? Not that I remembered. Plus he smelled of old cheese, a smell I wasn’t picking
up at the moment. So Albie wasn’t home. In fact, no one seemed to be home. Houses feel different when
they’re empty, hard to explain why. So I won’t even try.
After a while we were in the kitchen. It kind of reminded me of the kitchen at Max’s Memphis Ribs – one
of my very favorite places – except it was way bigger. I sniffed around for scraps, found none. That hardly
ever happened in kitchens. Meanwhile Bernie was gazing at the table. There was nothing on it but a wine
glass, lying on its side. Bernie took out the .38 Special. Always glad to see the .38 Special, of course, but
why now? For a moment I thought Bernie was going to blow that wine glass to smithereens. Did that
make sense? Kind of, at least to me.
“Sometimes,” Bernie said, lowering his voice, “you just get a feeling.” He was so right! In fact, I get
feelings all the time! We understand each other so well, me and Bernie. For example, right now I had a
feeling that maybe there was a little scrap of something or other under the enormous gleaming cooking
range in Albie Rose’s kitchen. I went over there and started pawing. And almost right away felt
something. A little more pawing, and out it skittered. But not an old Dorrito, or strip of bacon, or filet
mignon – filet mignon! a treat I’ve only encountered once, and we can’t go back there again – or any of
the other possibilities on my mind. What rolled out from under Albie’s range wasn’t even food.
But I knew what it was, on account of being a pro at my job. You see shell cartridges from time to time in
this business.
“What you got there, big guy?” Bernie said. He came over, picked up the cartridge, gave it a look.
“Twenty-two long,” he said. “Good work, Chet.”
A breeze started up behind me. That would be my tail.
Bernie stuck the shell casing in his pocket. “Twenty-two long,” he said, “but that doesn’t rule out a
handgun, Chet.” No problem. If Bernie said so then that was that. He glanced around. “Everything’s so
clean and tidy. Smell anything, big guy?”
Did I smell anything? Was that the question? Where to start? First, I smelled me, of course: old leather,
salt and pepper, mink coats, and just a soupçon of tomato; and to be honest, a healthy dash of something
male and funky. And then Bernie, the best-smelling human male I’d ever smelled: apples, bourbon, and
also salt and pepper. There were similarities in our smells, just another great thing about Bernie. The
best-smelling human female was Suzie. Hey! I hadn’t seen her in ages. I kind of missed her. What was up
with Bernie and Suzie? And that whole new Leda thing! Is that in To Fetch A Thief? And then there were
lots of chemical smells coming from the walls, and cleaning fluid smells, and wax smells, and flower
smells, and air-conditioning smells, and copper smells, and -
“Nothing?” said Bernie. “Then we’d better just start searching the place, top to bottom.”
Fine with me. Searching was a big part of the job at the Little Detective Agency. Once we found a whole
bag of gold coins. How come we couldn’t keep them? I was never clear on that.
Search Albie’s house from top to bottom: that was what Bernie said, but for some reason we went the
other way, starting in the basement. I’d never been in any basement at all like Albie’s: it was more like the
floor of a casino, with slot machines, roulette wheels – on my last trip to a casino, this was on the Nuggets
Bolliterri case, I hadn’t known there were rules about not putting your front paws on the roulette wheel
while it was spinning, so if I ever get to go to a casino again, I guarantee that won’t happen, if guarantee
means being pretty sure – card tables, dice, plus a long bar. We went behind the bar, through a door and
into a kitchen. Bernie started opening things – cupboards, fridges, drawers.
“Smell anything, big guy?”
Sure I did! Lots of cooking had gone on here, plus there was a mouse on the loose.
Bernie approached a freezer. We used to have one on Mesquite Road, but Leda took it when she left.
“I’m getting a funny intuition,” Bernie said. Uh-oh. I wasn’t sure what an intuition was, but when Bernie got
them bad things sometimes happened after, such as Hawaiian pants, and – hey! – tin futures! I almost
forgot about tin futures! They’d come very close to leaving my mind forever. Whew! That was a close call.
Bernie stepped forward and raised the top of the freezer.
“Uh-oh,” said Bernie, gazing down into the freezer. “I wasn’t expecting this. Truth is, I was kind of
expecting Ray.”
I rose up, got my paws on the edge of the freezer, looked in. The smell was getting out now, so I knew
what was in there, just not who. All it took was one glance: Albie Rose, in his little bathing suit; and also
with a hole in his forehead, not very big.
Cold air was coming out of the freezer, felt good on my face, but Albie’s smell? Not good. Bernie put his
hand on Albie’s neck. Bernie has beautiful hands – I must have mentioned that before, but it’s worth
mentioning again. Suzie also has beautiful hands. Cedric Booker, the Valley DA has the biggest hands
I’ve ever seen, and he’s a pretty good patter, although not in the class of Tulip or Autumn, these very nice
young ladies who work for Livia Moon in her house of ill-repute, whatever that was. Cedric starred in
basketball for Valley College, could have gone pro, Bernie says, except he couldn’t play with his back to
the basket. But there are two baskets, right? So your back is always to one of them. But probably not
worth thinking about, especially now, in front of Albie’s freezer, and with Albie in it.
“Don’t think he’s quite frozen,” Bernie said, “but we’ll need the M.E. to tell. Before I call him, though, I’d
like to – “
He went silent. I’d heard it, too, of course, but Bernie? That was a surprise. It was a moan, a human
moan, faint and distant.
Bernie closed the freezer door, a good thing because I didn’t want to look at Albie lying in that cold empty
box anymore. We heard the distant moan again, and followed the sound. It led us out a door and into the
enormous back yard. The close-clipped grass felt springy under my paws, like a putting green. I like
putting greens a lot, but this wasn’t the time for anything like that, because of this guy sitting on the deck
by Albie’s pool. There were a few booze bottles lying near him; he was rubbing his head with one hand;
and the other hand held a gun.
Hey! For a moment, I almost recognized this dude; in fact, thought he was Colonel Bob. But he was way
too young to be Colonel Bob.
Bernie took out the .38 Special. “Drop it, Ray,” he said.
Ray looked up. When humans are confused they get this expression on their faces, and Ray had it now.
Here in the nation within the nation, as Bernie calls it, we’re not quite so easy to read when it comes to
confusion. Only my opinion. But our faces, yours and mine, are different. You’ve noticed that, right?
Noticing is important in our work – we’re partners in the Little Detective Agency, me and Bernie. Bernie
says you can look us up in certain books. Their pictures are down below.
But forget all that. Right now we were on the job – a paying job, and the client was Colonel Bob, father of
Ray, the young guy sitting so confused by the pool. What were those things around him? Red-splotched
towels? A reddish color, I was pretty sure, although I can’t be trusted when it comes to colors, Bernie
says. But the smell: he trusts me on that. And the smell of blood: well, that’s an easy one.
“Ray?” Bernie said. “You’re not dropping the gun.”
Ray glanced down at the gun in his hand, like he was surprised to see it there.
“Ray?” said Bernie. “Let’s not let this get any worse.”
Ray was still gazing at the gun in his hand like it was surprising him in some way. He looked at Bernie,
then at me, and tossed the gun aside. It clattered on the tiles by Albie Rose’s pool. We went over. Bernie
picked it up. He spun the barrel, ejected a round.
“Twenty-two long, Ray,” he said. His gaze went to the empty bottles of booze, the bloody towels. “What
went on here?” he said.
Ray put his head in his hands. That’s something humans do from time to time. It means they’re not
feeling tip-top. I myself was feeling tip-top at the moment. We were working on a case, getting paid, and
all the guns in sight were in our possession.
“I don’t know,” Ray said. Perps said that kind of thing all the time. Take Smiley Frelish, for example, who’d
said, “What money?” when we burst into his crib and found him counting big stacks of it, money that
would have solved all our financial problems, but Bernie gave it back to the bank anyway. But forget all
that. The point is that for some reason I was starting to like Ray.
“Did it happen out here, Ray?” Bernie said. “Or in the house?”
Ray rubbed his face again. “Did what happen?”
“And you were too drunk to finish cleaning up?”
Ray gazed at the bloody towels. “I’m not drunk.”
“You stink of booze,” Bernie said. Good for Bernie, picking that up. Bernie’s nose wasn’t small for a
human nose, but still. I love how he sometimes sniffs the air and says, “Smell anything, Chet?” Once it
was a whole forest on fire!
“I haven’t been drinking,” Ray said.
Bernie walked off the pool deck, checked the lawn. It was a real nice lawn, kind of like a putting green.
I’ve had lots of fun on putting greens, but more on that later. “Did you carry him all the way?” Bernie said.
“What are you talking about?” Ray said.
“The freezer,” said Bernie.
“Freezer?” said Ray. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ray – I’m trying to help you.”
Ray shook his head, then winced, as though in pain. “Who are you, anyway?”
“My name’s – ” Bernie began, and then a siren sounded, not far away. Bernie went still. I went still, too,
because he did.
“Ray?” said Bernie. “You’re running out of time.”
The sirens got louder. We stood near Ray, me and Bernie, beside Albie Rose’s pool. I like pools – the
one at the Ritz in Pottsdale! Wow! But I don’t think we can go back there – and was considering a swim,
but something about those bloody towels stopped me, hard to explain why.
Ray looked around, confused.
“What did you do to Albie?” Bernie said.
Ray shook his head. “I wasn’t going to do anything to him. I just wanted him to answer some questions.”
“But?” Bernie said.
“But I couldn’t find him. That guy who works for him – “
“Foster?”
“Yeah. Foster called and said Albie had information for me. But when I got here no one was around. The
house was open. I went in and looked around, and then … I’m not sure what happened then.” He rubbed
his head again. “I was out here and you showed up. Who are you, or did you already say?”
Bernie gave him a long look. The sirens got louder.
Sirens.
“Those are the cops,” Bernie said. “Any reason we shouldn’t just leave you here, let them do what they’re
going to do?”
Ray rubbed his head. He looked confused. That’s a human look I always watch for. “Maybe they’ve got
some information,” he said.
“Information?” said Bernie.
“Yeah,” said Ray. “About where to find my mother.”
“You’re talking about Astrid?”
Ray’s face got hostile, also a look I watch for. I sidled over a little closer to him. Dudes with hostile faces
sometimes did crazy things. “How come you know so much? Have you done something to her?”
Bernie nodded, but not a nod that means yes. He has a lot of nods. This one is a nod that’s kind of to
himself. “On your feet, Ray,” he said.
“Why?”
“We’re out of here.”
“But what if the cops have some information?”
“They won’t,” Bernie said.
The sirens got louder.
We walked away from the pool, me first, Ray in the middle, and then Bernie. That was a good way of
doing things, especially with perps. Was Ray a perp? I didn’t know, but I was ready for anything.
Meanwhile those sirens were louder.
“Where’s your car?” Bernie said.
“Don’t have one,” Ray said.
“Yeah, you do,” Bernie said. “Your father – “
Ray’s voice rose. “I don’t have a damn father.”
Bernie paused. “Bob said he saw you driving an econobox in Bakersfield.”
“It broke down when I got to Vegas,” Ray said. “I took a taxi here.”
“You haven’t done a very good job of covering your tracks,” Bernie said.
“Why should I?”
“That’s the operative question right now.”
“What does that mean?”
Bernie didn’t answer. We hurried through Albie’s house, out the gate and onto the road.
“Hop in,” Bernie said. “Uh, Chet? You’ll have to get in the back.”
The back? It was just a shelf. I hated being in the back. Did that mean Ray was getting the shotgun seat?
“Chet? We’re running out of time, big guy.”
The thing with Bernie: he always asks me so nicely. I saw flashing blue lights through the trees on the
next block.
Where were we with the case? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that we were zooming out of Vegas in the
Porsche. There are some fancy Porsches out there, but ours isn’t one of them. Ours is old, brown with
yellow doors, also has a bullet hole in the license plate – that was a day I’ll never forget! Although now
that I mention it … And there’s a Max’s Memphis Ribs bumper sticker, which I know on account of their
great logo: a pig sitting at a table, wearing a bib and holding a knife and fork. Kind of weird, because I’ve
run into a pig or two in my time and they’re not like that at all. In fact, when it comes to pigs – watch out!
Anyway, all that about the Porsche is for any newcomers who might be here. The point is we were
zooming out of Vegas, Ray Jason in the shotgun seat – my seat – and me on the little shelf in back. I was
being real good about it, except for the tiniest bit of gnawing at the leather headrest, close to Ray’s ear.
“Where are we going?” Ray said.
“Take a guess,” said Bernie.
My guess was Max’s Memphis Ribs.
It was getting dark by the time we pulled into Pine City, the desert sky all purple and orange, but don’t
trust me when it comes to colors – that’s what Bernie says.
“Pine City, Ray,” Bernie said. “Ever been here?”
“No,” said Ray. “It looks like a dump.”
“Yeah,” said Bernie. “But a dump with a casino in its future. That’ll make it a special kind of dump.”
“Why are we here?” Ray said.
“Because we’re the hopeful type,” Bernie said. He parked the Porsche in front of a low building with a big
neon sign in front, a sign in the shape of a dancing woman, maybe not wearing much in the way of
clothes. Clothes are a great invention for humans, no offense.
We hopped out of the car, me actually hopping, the others not.
“Club Utopia,” Bernie said.
Bernie opened the door of Club Utopia and we went in. Hey! A strip club. I’d been in strip clubs before –
just part of the job. Take the Nuggets Bolliterri case for example. Nuggets practically lived in strip clubs.
Nuggets and I had one thing in common, and that was a love of Slim Jims. In the end, he wasn’t as good
about sharing as I would have liked, which led to a bit of conflict.
Back to Club Utopia. There was a dancer on the stage. Boredom is pretty easy to read on the human face
– it gets kind of slack and the eyes lose their shine – and it was all over hers. A few guys sat in the
audience. They looked bored, too. The dancer did some dancing around a pole. All of a sudden for no
reason, I found myself thinking of Lola, down in Mexico. Is that in To Fetch A Thief?
A bouncer came over – we’ve had some fun with bouncers, me and Bernie – and said, “No dogs
allowed.”
“No problem,” Bernie said. “We don’t actually want to come in. Just looking for some information.”
The bouncer blinked. A huge muscled-up guy with tiny blinking eyes is something I’ve seen before, one of
the nice things about this business. We’re partners in the Little Detective Agency, me and Bernie. Missing
persons is our specialty and right now Astrid Jason was missing. Hey! I got it, understood the whole
enchilada. Enchiladas are a Mexican thing, and I’d learned much more about them on our trip south of the
border. It’s all in To Fetch A Thief, but the main thing is I’d had both good and not so good experiences
with them. You have to be careful with food down Mexico way – that’s what everyone says – but I’m not
sure how to do that.
Back to the blinking bouncer. “But you are inside, pinhead. And I said no dogs.”
Pinhead? That was new. I knew pins – stay away from them, that was the main thing – and I knew heads,
but pinhead made no sense to me. Did it sound friendly? No. I got the ideas this bouncer was not going to
be our friend.
“It’s about a dancer who used to work here,” Bernie said, “and maybe still does. In fact, I hope she does.”
The bouncer gazed down at Bernie. “Don’t hear so good, do you, bud?”
“That’s such a tough-guy cliche, that don’t-hear-so-good-thing,” Bernie said. “You need new material.”
The bouncer’s face – this was at Club Utopia, by the way, and we were hunting for Astrid Jason, whose
son Ray was waiting in the car, on account of that was what Bernie told him to do – swelled up and got
red. Always interesting when that happens, so I was ready when the bouncer put his huge hands on
Bernie’s chest and gave him a push.
“Chet!” Bernie said, staggering back a bit but not falling. “Stay!”
Stay? I know stay, of course, pretty basic, but was this a good moment for staying?
“I’m not afraid of no damn dogs,” the bouncer said.
“Smart,” said Bernie.
“And I’m not afraid of a loser like you, neither,” the bouncer said.
Loser? Bernie? That made no sense to me. I was sitting – just inside the doorway to Club Utopia –
because Bernie had said sit. There’s a way of sitting where you’re actually moving a bit at the same time.
That was the kind of sitting I was doing at the moment, closing in on that bouncer. But before I could
actually get started on whatever I would have gotten started on, the bouncer grabbed Bernie by the collar,
banged open the door with his shoulder and hustled Bernie outside. And Bernie didn’t do a thing about it!
I raced outside just before the door swung shut behind me, and what was this? The bouncer was lying in
the parking lot, sort of moaning and writhing, and Bernie was standing over him, checking the top button
on his shirt, which had come unfastened. This was one of Bernie’s nicest Hawaiian shirts, the one with
the trumpets. Have I ever mentioned the Hawaiian pants? Maybe I’ll get into that tomorrow.
“I’m hurt,” the bouncer said, still squirming around on the pavement outside Club Utopia.
“It didn’t have to be this way,” Bernie said. “If you’d just answered a few simple questions, we’d have
been out of here, no harm done.”
“What kind of questions?”
“About Astrid Jason.”
“Astrid don’t even work here no more,” the bouncer said.
“How come?” said Bernie.
The bouncer shrugged. Then he winced and said, “Ow.” Some humans handle pain better than others.
The bouncer was one of the others. “Strippers,” he said. “They come and go.”
Bernie nodded. “And where did Astrid go?” he said.
“No clue,” said the bouncer. “Just didn’t show up the other day. Didn’t even bother cleaning out her
locker.”
“She left things here?”
“Costumes, stuff like that.”
“They’re still inside?” Bernie said.
“Maybe,” said the bouncer. “Up in the dressing room.”
“How about we go take a little look-see?” Bernie said.
The bouncer gazed at Bernie. He seemed to be taking a long time to answer. I moved closer to him, got
very close, now that I think about it. Were my teeth showing? Possibly.
“Okay,” the bouncer said, his eyes on me.
Bernie helped him up, even brushed him off a bit. “That’s the spirit,” he said.
We went into the dressing room at Club Utopia, me, Bernie and the bouncer, who limped a bit on the
stairs, but Bernie took his arm and gave him a little boost. I needed no boosting myself, never do, really –
hey! was I more of a booster? That was an interesting thought. I turned it over in my mind a few times
and then away it went.
The dressing room was small, with a counter along one side, mirrors above it, surrounded by little light
bulbs. A young woman wearing not much sat before one of the mirrors, putting on makeup. Makeup is an
interesting subject – worn mostly, but not always! by women which reminds me of a bar called No-No’s,
where … but perhaps a story for another time.
The young woman saw us and turned. “Bernie?” she said. “Chet?”
“Tulip?” said Bernie. His gaze kind of left her face, wandered down. He forced it back up, big struggle.
Poor Bernie.
But the point was this was Tulip. She was a pal. We knew her from Livia Moon’s place in Pottsdale Livia’s Friendly Coffee and More. Tulip worked in the More part, at the back. That’s all in To Fetch A
Thief. I went right over to her.
“How’s my big beautiful guy?” she said, and gave me a pat. Tulip was an excellent patter. So were all the
young women who worked for Livia Moon, no idea why.
What are you doing here, Tulip?” Bernie said.
“Stripping, basically,” she said, still patting me. She was an expert! We were in the dressing room at Club
Utopia, which I should probably remind everybody about.
“Um,” said Bernie, “uh. I meant are you still with Livia, or … “
“Oh, yes! I’m learning so much from her. This is just something extra, sort of a busman’s holiday, Livia
says.” Maybe I should also remind everybody that Livia Moon runs a place in Pottsdale called Livia’s
Friendly Coffee and More. Tulip works in the more part. “But can I ask you the same thing?” Tulip said.
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for Astrid Jason,” Bernie said. “Do you know her?”
Tulip nodded. “I hope she comes back soon. Not that I mind storing her stuff. But it’s a big responsibility.”
“You’re storing her stuff?”
“Just a couple suitcases,” Tulip said.
“Can we see them?” Bernie said.
“Well, I don’t know,” Tulip said. “I promised I’d take good care of them.”
“Then we’re on the same side,” Bernie said.
Tulip was staying at a dusty little motel that reminded me of the place where we first came across Marvin
Winkleman’s wife. And the guy she was meeting out there, which turned out to be a big surprise. That’s in
To Fetch A Thief, so forget it for now. The point is Bernie and I drove in the Porsche and Tulip drove Ray
in her car.
“Wow,” Tulip said, when we were all together outside her door. “Astrid doesn’t look nearly old enough to
have a full-grown kid like Ray. Full-grown man, I should say.”
Sometimes when humans get uncomfortable they shift from foot to foot, men more than women and
young men like Ray the most. Ray was doing it now. “She was pretty young when she had me,” he said.
“And she’s such a good dancer, too,” said Tulip. She unlocked the door and we went inside. “Hey,” she
said. “That’s funny.”
Was Tulip’s motel one of those no-tell motels? I didn’t know, wasn’t sure what it even meant, exactly, but
no-tell motels come up from time to time, especially when we’re doing divorce work. We hate divorce
work at the Little Detective Agency. What we like are missing persons cases, which we had now, on
account of Astrid Jason was missing. Also, Albie Rose was in a freezer, so maybe it was more than a
missing persons case.
But right now, Tulip was saying, “I had Astrid’s two suitcases right there, at the end of the bed.” We
searched the little room. No suitcases.
Lots of women wear perfume. Not sure why. Is it meant to go side by side with their normal smell?
Because that’s what it does, at least to me. Some men these days – certainly not Bernie, who has the
best human smell there is – are wearing cologne. Cologne’s kind of like perfume but you don’t get this
male deer – yes, I’ve had an encounter or two, a story for another time – musky thing in perfume. What I
was smelling now was cologne, then, a musky kind, but mixed with mint. I know mint from the mint juleps
that Otis DeWayne, our weapons guy, makes from time to time. Do humans really like that musk and mint
mixture? But I guess that wasn’t the point.
“Chet? What’s that barking about?”
I recognized the cologne; in fact, had smelled it kind of recently. Who had been wearing it? Oh, yeah:
Foster.
“Chet?”
Tulip raised her tiny nose to the air, sniffed once or twice. A tiny, turned-up nose, no way it could be
capable of anything, right? But then came a big surprise.
“Do you smell anything?” she said.
Bernie had a much bigger nose, although I’d known for a long time it was pretty much useless. He too
sniffed the air. This was getting interesting.
“Um,” Bernie said. “Maybe floor wax?”
Floor wax? Tulip’s motel room was carpeted wall to wall. But you had to love Bernie, always the smartest
human in the world.
Tulip shook her head. “I smell Sagebrush,” she said.
Impossible to miss sagebrush, of course, one of the strongest smells out there. Absolutely no trace of it in
Tulip’s room, trust me.
Bernie sniffed again. “Well, maybe a tiny bit,” he said.
“I’m not talking about the plant,” Tulip said. “I’m talking about the cologne.”
“Cologne?” said Bernie.
“Sagebrush Cologne,” said Tulip. “For men. Ratko practically soaks himself in it.”
“Ratko?” Bernie said.
“Ratko Savic,” said Tulip.
We knew Ratko, me and Bernie; Ratko with his long drippy nose and fondness for knife play. Where had
we found out he’d made parole? Oh, yeah. In a bar not far from the fairgrounds – won’t name the owner,
right now, but I think it’s in To Fetch A Thief.
“Oh, no,” Tulip said. “My car won’t start and I have to get back to work.” She sat behind the wheel of a
little car in the motel parking lot. The car made whirr-whirr noises. I knew those noises from adventures in
the Porsche. Bernie got a look in his eye. I got the idea he was thinking of taking out the tools, a move I’d
seen many times, never successful.
But Ray beat him to it. “Let me have a look,” he said. He popped the hood of Tulip’s car, huddled over the
engine, and after what seemed like a very short time, said, “Try it again.”
Tulip tried it again. Hey! It started right up. Ray closed the hood.
“Thanks, Ray,” Tulip said. She gave him a sort of look, hard to describe. “But what if I break down on the
way?”
“That won’t happen,” Ray said.
“But what if it does?”
“Uh,” Ray said, “I could go with you.”
“Would you really?” said Tulip. “That’s so nice.”
Ray turned to Bernie. “I’ll call you later,” Bernie said.
Ray got in the car with Tulip. They drove off. Bernie gave me a quick pat. “Life is full of surprises, Chet.”
And that was just one of the great things about it!
“Okay for Chet to have a little snack?” said Uncle Rio. We were back in the Valley, inside Uncle Rio’s
bar. Okay for me to have a little snack? There was only one answer to that.
“Well,” Bernie said, “he just had a chew strip and – Chet! Paws off the bar!”
Oops.
Uncle Rio laughed. “I think he’s hungry. Happen to have half a steak sandwich I can’t finish.”
“Why not?”
“Cholesterol,” Uncle Rio said. “The doc’s giving me a hard time.”
Cholesterol? A new one on me. It zipped through my mind and disappeared. The truth was there was
really only one thing on my mind at the moment.
“All right,” Bernie said.
Uncle Rio reached behind the bar, tossed me half a steak sandwich. I caught it – not the first steak
sandwich I’d snagged, amigo – and took it under the nearest table. Sometimes it’s nice to snack with a
roof over your head.
“Ratko Savic been around?” Bernie said.
“Not lately,” said Uncle Rio. “He got himself a job.”
“What kind of job?”
“Caretaker at Cactus Heights.”
“What’s that?”
“One of those abandoned housing developments,” Uncle Rio said.
“Chet?” said Bernie. “Let’s go, big guy.”
I scarfed up the last morsels and was on my feet, set to go.
I’ve got a few questions for Ratko Savic,” Bernie said. We were back in that abandoned housing
development, Cactus Heights. Bernie went over the questions, kind of hard to follow, something about
Astrid knowing Ratko, maybe, or possibly Foster knowing Ratko. And did Albie come up? Tulip? No
sense worrying about all that.
Bernie glanced around. “There are so many of these godforsaken places these days. How’s the economy
ever going to turn around with all this emptiness?” The economy – was that like our finances? They were
a mess. If I haven’t mentioned the Hawaiian pants episode, I’ll do it now. And who could forget the tin
futures?
We got out of the car, started walking from house to house. Lots of scraps blew around and weeds grew
through the cracked pavements of the driveways. “Ratko’s not doing much of a job when it comes to
caretaking,” Bernie said. Then he added something else. I missed whatever it was, on account of a smell
I picked up, coming from the next house. Hadn’t I smelled this before, in pretty much this same spot?
“Chet? Where’re you going, big guy?”
We walked around the house, me and Bernie. He had the .38 Special tucked in his belt. Bernie’s a crack
shot, if I haven’t mentioned that already. Once we went into the desert and he tossed nickels in the air
and then shot them to bits. Was that fun or what? And we needed some fun, because that was the day
Leda left. That meant Charlie left, too. Charlie’s Bernie’s kid, and we don’t see him enough. A great kid,
and really smart. What doesn’t he know about elephants, for example? Which turned out to be important
in To Fetch A Thief.
“Nothing’s exactly open,” Bernie said, “so what we’re doing is over the line, no doubt about it.” Line? What
was he talking about? Bernie kicked in the back door. Smash! I love that sound. I looked inside the
abandoned house, still didn’t see any line.
We moved through the abandoned house in Cactus Heights, side by side, which is how Bernie and I do
these things even though deep down I prefer to be first. There was nothing inside except bare walls and
bare floors with big holes here and there. “That’s where thieves took the wiring and the copper pipes,”
Bernie said. “Like we’re living in some third world … ” His voice trailed off. Were we looking for wiring and
copper thieves? We’d had a copper case once before, involving a mine and some gunplay, the rest of it
pretty dim in my mind.
But meanwhile I was just following the smell. It led through a big room, down a hall, into a small room and
to a closet. Bernie sniffed the air. I love when he does that! “You smell anything, Chet?” That Bernie! Who
wouldn’t love him? I stood by the closet door. Open it up, Bernie, let’s get started.
“I don’t like this,” Bernie said. “Not one bit.” He opened the closet door.
It was a deep closet, with space for this long bubble-wrapped package lying on the floor. Once I walked
across some bubble wrap and pop-pop-popping sounds happened. I don’t like bubble wrap. Inside this
particular bubble wrap there was a human body, not alive – the smell proved that. The face was all
pressed out of shape by the bubble wrap.
“Damn it,” Bernie said. “It’s Astrid for sure.”
He bent down, started unwrapping around the face part. I’d never seen Astrid, but this wasn’t her,
because it wasn’t even a woman. It was a pointy-nosed man I’d seen before. My memory of perps’ faces,
especially the faces of perps who’d tried a little knife play on us, was pretty good.
“Ratko,” Bernie said.
Some humans don’t have happy faces. Lt. Stine was one of them. Others do have happy faces. Take
Bernie, for example, most of the time. Or at least some of the time. Charlie has a real happy face. So
does Suzie. If humans had tails, hers would be … But forget all that. What was happening now, inside the
stripped-down house in Cactus Heights, was Lt. Stine turning his unhappy face on Bernie and saying, “I
hate when this happens.”
“Murder?” said Bernie.
“Not so much that. What I hate is being kept in the dark.”
“I hate that, too,” Bernie said.
“The difference,” said Lt. Stine, “is that I’m the law and you aren’t.”
That was the only difference between Bernie and Lt. Stine, whatever it was they were talking about?
Whoa! There were big differences between them, starting with their smells, Bernie’s being the best
human smell ever, and Lt. Stine’s being just so-so, a little too much like potatoes, if you want my opinion.
And then there was the happy face thing, and how about their voices? The next thing I knew I’d sidled
over to Lt. Stine and was giving his leg a kind of nudge.
“Chet?” Bernie said.
“It’s all right,” said Lt. Stine, giving me a pat. “I’ve got no issue with Chet.”
My tail started wagging. Had to like Lt. Stine, unhappy face, potato smell and all.
“Who’s your client?” said Lt. Stine. He was in a bad mood.
“You know I can’t tell you that,” Bernie said. He was in a bad mood, too.
But not me. I was in a great mood, pretty close to tip-top. A big fat sun was shining down from a blue sky,
but it wasn’t as hot as it had been and I got the feeling the real hot heat was over for another year. That
made me hungry for some reason. No food in sight, but I was happy to wait. And if not happy, at least
willing. For a while. Not a long one.
“We got a dead body here, and another one up in Vegas,” Lt. Stine said. “Did you report that one or did it
somehow slip through the cracks?”
“I called it in,” Bernie said. “There was no time to stick around.”
Lt. Stine gave him a long look. “This is a two way street.”
I glanced at the street. No traffic at all. This was Cactus Heights, abandoned. My mood changed on me,
dropping down from almost tip-top. I wanted to be somewhere else.
Lt. Stine got off the phone. “That was Vegas PD,” he said to Bernie. “They confirm you reported the Albie
Rose homicide.”
Bernie nodded. He’s a great nodder, had all sorts of nods. This one meant … not sure what, but he
wasn’t happy.
“But over the phone and kind of lacking in detail,” said Lt. Stine. “They want to talk to you.”
“Happy to talk to them,” Bernie said.
“Like now,” said Lt. Stine. “They suggested I detain you.”
Detain? Didn’t know that one, but for some reason I started thinking about this cage down in Mexico – is
that in To Fetch A Thief? The next thing I knew I was pretty close to Lt. Stine.
“Hey!” he said. “Is Chet growling at me? What the hell? I thought we were friends, big guy.”
Me, too.
We drove away from Cactus Heights, Lt. Stine, ambulance, crime scene tape, all that.
“The hard part is going to be keeping Ray out of this,” Bernie said.
And if he said it, I believed it, a good thing, because I’d been thinking that the hard part for me was trying
to remember what was going on with the case, and now I didn’t have to worry about that.
Bernie sighed. “Guess it’s time for us to head for L.A.,” he said. “Not my favorite place, and it’s going to
raise Bob’s bill, but what choice do we have?”
I didn’t know. Soon we were on a freeway, driving toward the sun, which was sinking in the sky and
getting bigger and redder as it did. Loved seeing that! Bernie switched on the music. Billie Holiday and If
You Were Mine, Roy Eldridge on trumpet. That trumpet did things to me, hard to describe. This was the
life.
Colonel Bob’s on speaker. Hey! That reminds me of something. Not just all the fun we had – those pilots
sure know how to have fun: is that in Thereby Hangs A Tail? But something else, something about …
“Just wondering how we’re doing, Bernie?” he says.
Bernie rubs his chin. He hasn’t shaved in a day or two, so his hand makes a rasping sound. I like that
sound but prefer when Bernie shaves. Never liked beards, and besides we have to look professional in
this business. We’re partners in the Little Detective Agency, me and Bernie. I do my best to look
professional. Janie’s my groomer, the best groomer in the whole Valley. She has a great business with a
great business plan: Janie’s Pet Grooming Service – We Pick Up and Deliver.
“I’m talking about Astrid,” Colonel Bob says.
“Yeah,” says Bernie. “Maybe we should meet.”
“Dry Gulch?” says Colonel Bob. “In an hour?”
“Okay.” Bernie hangs up and turns to me. “Where’s that damn flow chart?”
Flow chart? A faint memory rises in my mind, kind of like that fish I once saw in the canal. We have a
canal here in the Valley – have I mentioned that already? And then, just like that fish, the faint memory
sinks back down, out of sight. I don’t let it bother me.
Haven’t been to the Dry Gulch Steak House and Saloon in way too long. They’ve got a giant wooden
cowboy out front – very tempting to lift your leg against him, but I’ve never given into that temptation,
except maybe once, which might be in To Fetch A Thief – and a cool patio out back, where the nation
within the nation is very welcome. Right now, for example, the bartender is saying, “Customer just sent
back a plate of steak tips – medium, and he asked for medium rare. Think Chet would be interested?”
“Nah,” says Bernie.
And then there’s lots of laughing, not sure why.
“Love when he does that,” says the bartender.
Does what? Standing up on my back legs, maybe, front paws on the bar? Oops.
Soon after that I’m at the edge of the patio with a nice plate of steak tips. Medium? Medium rare? I like
them both, also rare and well done. And raw, come to think of it. Bernie says I’m not a fussy eater. I
glance over at him between bites. He’s checking his watch.
“Wonder what’s keeping Colonel Bob?” he says.
I was just finishing the steak tips – best I’d ever had, at least since the last time – when Bernie glanced
over at the archway that led from the main part of the restaurant to the patio. Humans get this look of
surprise sometimes, their eyebrows going up and all of a sudden looking younger than they are, and
Bernie had that look now. A guy was coming toward us, but not Colonel Bob, who was the guy we were
expecting, unless I’d gotten it wrong. And that can happen. Take in that warehouse down in Mexico, when
I’d expected Peanut to pull up in front of that metal roll-up door and come to a stop. Was I wrong about
that or what? That’s in To Fetch A Thief unless I’m wrong about that, too.
But forget all that. The point is the guy coming toward us was not Colonel Bob, although he looked kind of
like a younger version. Hey! It was Ray.
Ray came over to where we were sitting. Human fear has a smell and I was smelling it big time.
“What are you doing here, Ray?” Bernie said.
“My … dad sent me.”
“Colonel Bob?”
Ray nodded.
“I thought you weren’t on speaking terms,” Bernie said.
Ray shrugged. That’s a human thing I always watch for. It can mean a few things, usually not good.
“When’s he coming here?” Bernie said.
“That’s the thing – he got … tied up temporarily. He’d like it if you came to him.”
Bernie gave Ray a long look. “Where’s that?” he said.
“I can show you.”
Bernie nodded. Then he did something surprising: He reached out and unbuttoned the top buttons of
Ray’s shirt. I’d seen wires before: that’s basic in this business. Ray was wearing one.
Ray was wearing a wire? I’d seen wires before in this job. Bernie had even worn one himself on a real
dangerous case we once worked involving a cult. No idea what a cult is, exactly, but they had this college
kid and the parents wanted her back. A wire is for recording conversations with no one else knowing.
Bernie gave Ray a real hard look. At the same time, he buttoned up Ray’s shirt so the wire no longer
showed and said, “What’s up, Ray?”
Ray licked his lips, the way humans do when they’re nervous. I opened up my mouth real wide, not sure
why.
“Something to drink?” the bartender said.
So there we were at the Dry Gulch, me, Bernie and Ray. Colonel Bob was supposed to meet us but
where was he? Also Ray was wearing a wire. How come? Those were two problems. There were
probably more but I don’t go past two. Once we were at a party down at the college – love college kids!
the fun they have! who wouldn’t want to go to college and stay forever? – and this math professor had too
much to drink. All of a sudden he started crying. “What if nothing important is quantifiable?” he said.
Bernie patted him on the back and called a cab.
But right now he was putting his finger across his lips, human sign language for zip it. Then he reached
for a cocktail napkin,wrote something on it and held it so Ray could see. Ray nodded, a little nod. He was
real scared. I could smell it. I could also smell steak tips just about done in the kitchen, but this probably
wasn’t the time.
Ray read what Bernie had written on the cocktail napkin. Then, kind of mumbly, he said, “I want you to
come with me.”
Bernie glanced at Ray’s chest where the wire was concealed behind his shirt. “Didn’t quite hear you,” he
said. “Can you speak up a bit?” Bernie had a look on his face like he was having fun. Was this a time for
that? Not that I’m against fun. I’m for it, big-time. Once we had an election for mayor of the Valley, and a
dude we knew ran on the Fun Party ticket. He got Bernie’s vote, and maybe one or two more.
Ray spoke louder. “I want you to come with me.”
“Yeah?” said Bernie. “Where?”
“My dad wants to see you.”
“I figured that,” said Bernie. “But where?”
Ray glanced around the bar. We were at Dry Gulch, in case I forgot to point that out. He looked scared.
“Maybe better if I just guide you to the place.”
“Better for who?” said Bernie.
“So where are we headed?” Bernie said. We were in Ray’s car, Ray driving, Bernie beside him, me in
back.
Ray glanced at the note Bernie had written on the cocktail napkin. He licked his lips. “How about if that’s a
surprise?”
Bernie smiled a little smile. But I didn’t get the surprise part because just before we made any move, like
getting off the freeway or turning onto a street, Bernie pointed out the direction. So Bernie was in control,
right? Well, why not? When Bernie was in control everything worked out. This urge I was having to kind of
sink my teeth into the back of Ray’s neck gradually subsided.
And soon, guess what? We turned onto our own street, Mesquite Road. We were going home? Home is
the hunter, Bernie says. Don’t know why that popped into my mind. The mind: a subject for another time.
We entered our place at Mesquite Road, me, Bernie, and Ray.
“Looks like there’s no one here,” Bernie said, sounding surprised.
I was surprised that he was surprised, on account of fresh human scent being all over the place. Actually
not human scent, but the scent some humans – men in this case – spray on themselves in order to … I’m
not sure what. But forget all that, or at least some of it. The point was I’d smelled that spray-on scent on
two men, meaning one or both of them were here. The two men were Ratko and Foster. But wasn’t Ratko
out of the parade? So that meant …
Ratko was out of the parade. My memory was clear on that. Strange how the memory works. Just the
other day I all of a sudden had a memory going way back to my puppyhood – at that crack house in
South Pedroia. It’s actually not a very pleasant memory – my first pleasant memories come from the time
in K-9 school, even the last day, because that last day, not perfect, was how come Bernie and I got
together – so maybe I’ll go back to forgetting it soon.
But the point was: no possibility of Ratko, there in our house on Mesquite Road. So it wasn’t a surprise to
me when Foster, dressed all in black, stepped out of the office. Our office, which was kind of annoying.
“You look surprised to see me,” Foster said.
Did Bernie look surprised? Yeah, he kind of did, and that was a surprise. This surprise no surprise thing
was getting confusing.
“I’m surprised to see anyone in our house without an invitation,” Bernie said.
Foster smiled. “Got something even better than an invitation,” he said, taking some paper from the inside
pocket of his jacket. “Here’s a warrant, duly signed by a judge, almost totally sober at the time.”
“FBI?” Bernie said.
Foster nodded.
FBI? I remembered an FBI dude named Ernest who Bernie called Deadly Ernest. What a case that was!
Although actually the details are vague, except for when we found ourselves chasing a perp through the
kitchen of a famous steakhouse. Bernie said they’ve reopened now, but it’s not likely we’re going back.
“You’re asking me to believe you spent years working undercover for Albie Rose?”
FBI does some wacky things, but not that wacky.”
Bernie said. “The
“Aw, come on, Bernie,” Foster said. “You’re a smart guy. You must have figured out that Albie said
whatever I told him to say.”
What that was all about I leave to you. But I didn’t like the tone of Foster’s voice. We’re very sensitive to
that in the nation within the nation. I got this sudden urge to bite. Hard to explain: it’s like this force I feel in
my jaw muscles, a powerful force and hard to deny.
What I wanted to do, and pretty badly, was grab Foster by the pant leg. It was pretty clear to me by now
that he had to be a perp, but if he was an FBI dude, then how was that possible? One idea was to just
grab him by the pant leg anyway and let things get sorted out later. I couldn’t think of another idea. But
sometimes all it takes is one idea, or not even. This is all happening at our place on Mesquite Road, in
case anybody needs reminding. I know I would.
“You’re saying all that about you having worked for Albie for years was just a lot of blowing smoke?”
Bernie said.
“Albie was a hooked fish,” Foster said. “He said what he was told to say.”
“And what did you hook him for?” Bernie said.
“That’s a long story,” Foster said. He turned to Ray. “Which maybe the kid shouldn’t hear. Not unless I
take him in, and this may not be the time.
Ray started backing toward the door.