Dog Justice
Page 6
matches a sample from Thomas’ carpet.” Kelly waited for a second. “Besides, we’ve got an eye witness.”
Kelly waited for all this to sink in, but Viper’s colorless eyes were like blank mirrors. Viper didn’t seem to comprehend a word he’d said. Boy, this moron has no brain cells left after all the drugs he’s done, Kelly thought. Pleased with the way things were going, he placed his toothpick back in his pocket for more chewing later.
Now Kelly played his most important card. “I see you’re not wearing your gang jacket—the black leather one with purple letters you wore the night you killed Thomas. We have an eyewitness, Viper. The victim’s girlfriend was in the bathroom. She saw the whole thing.” Kelly congratulated himself on his inventiveness. Of course, there really was no girlfriend.
Viper shot into the air like he was on fire. A red flame burned in the very center of those vacant, pale eyes. The crazy man charged at Kelly like a bull gone berserk, but Kelly acted quickly. With the grace of a matador, he neatly stepped aside.
All two hundred and twenty pounds of Viper’s potato-chips-and-beer belly thudded into the brick wall. The impact shook every window in the room. Kelly managed a little bow to the cheers of his imaginary audience.
Dropping the game, Kelly addressed the accused. “We have the electronics and TV that you stole from Thomas, Viper, plus all the other stuff you two stashed in the garage.”
Detective Kelly took a few steps closer. “But I’ll make you a deal that could save your life.”
Kelly expected some sort of reaction, but the slack-jawed figure before him cowered against the wall, a mere shadow.
“Confess and you may get off with 20 or 30 years. You might even see freedom again. Play dumb and I guarantee you’ll go down with Weed. Is that what you want? Sleep on it.” Kelly quietly closed the door behind him.
Weed received exactly the same treatment. Kelly chuckled to himself, rubbing his hands with glee. “I won’t have to do a thing. These two losers will incriminate themselves.”
Kelly arranged for Viper and Weed to exchange information in the interrogation room for a few minutes. Placing the two together was contrary to normal police procedure but a crucial part of Kelly’s plan.
Sure enough. The minute Weed heard the door click shut, his bony hands wrapped around Viper’s throat. “You dumb jerk! Why didn’t you check out the bathroom?”
“How was I supposed to know there was someone in the bathroom?" moaned Viper. "Besides, who’d think that goofball, Thomas, had a girlfriend?”
Detective Kelly hummed an off-key rendition of “Jailhouse Rock.” He twirled a new toothpick around in his mouth, reading the confessions signed by Weed and Viper for the umpteenth time. Satisfied, he reviewed the footage he shot on the hidden video camera with its powerful audio. He stopped the action where Weed and Viper accused each other and played it back. The dialogue came through crisp and clear. Detective Kelly didn’t need to use the footage. The pair had confessed without it.
“Ahhh. So much for a sensational court battle.” Kelly pushed the stop button on the camera. He plucked the toothpick from between his teeth, studied it carefully then tossed it over his shoulder, realizing he no longer had a taste for toothpicks.
Back in his office, Kelly answered the annoying ring of his I- phone.
15
The World Listens
The Victory’s lounge felt strangely quiet without the lively Bijou. “It’s not good, Herman,” said Kelly. “We don’t have a fix on the speedboat. Do you have any idea who might have done this?”
Herman searched for a connection, any connection. “I’m as lost as you are,” he sighed miserably. “If it was me they dognapped, I’d understand. But Bijou?”
“Here’s a wild guess,” Kelly said, raising a few tufts of thinning hair with his fingers. “You’re heavily guarded, but Bijou wasn’t. Do you think it’s possible someone is trying to get to you through Bijou?
Herman’s thoughts were in a jumble. His wispy brows drooped lower than usual. “I don’t have the slightest idea,” he whispered, bowing his head in frustration.
A mere week passed by before word leaked out to the news media. Variations on a single theme flashed across headlines around the globe: “DOG TALKS… THE WHOLE WORLD LISTENS!!!”
The inhabitants of planet Earth behaved as expected when the truth was known: They went crazy. Who could blame them? There was positive proof that a dog could actually speak human! If aliens from outer space were spotted eating pizza with Taylor Swift, no one would be more surprised. Hilarious! Unthinkable! Someone’s idea of a bad joke?
Weed and Viper became popular in jail. The other inmates taunted the famous duo with an arf arf, or a bow-wow. It got so nerve-wracking, the two gang members begged a transfer—to a place where no one had heard of “Herman, The Talking Dog.” That, of course, was impossible. Even the Tibetan monks sought guidance from the “Sage Dog Who Talks.”
Herman was unfazed by his new stardom. Only one subject interested him. There had been no word of Bijou. With less than a week to prepare for his international TV debut on the Victoria Vickers Show, Herman plodded along writing his simple speech aboard the Victory. But his heart wasn’t in it.
16
Treachery
“How many times do I have to tell you? Not yet!” Millions of parents chided millions of school children home for the special occasion. Restless children counted the days, hours and minutes until the history-making event, "The Incredible Talking Dog," was to appear on live TV. During the final countdown, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, people who didn’t even know one another, competed for the best view.
The evening of the telecast, Herman waited nervously in the “eye” of the storm, Victoria’s dressing room. A whirlwind of broadcast activity revolved around him. Then he was alone.
“If only Bijou were here, I wouldn’t feel so lonely and afraid,” Herman confided to his likeness in the dressing room mirror. “I never realized how much she means to me. And now she’s gone.”
Gee, he thought glumly. I’m beginning to sound like Thomas. I can’t seem to shake the feeling that something terrible is going to happen tonight. Herman had reason to worry. A shadow darted among the gloomy passages of the studio’s basement intent on reaching a destination.
Several months ago, a clever man applied for a temporary position as one of Victoria Vickers’ bodyguards on board the Victory. He created fake documents that gave him a spotless false identity. “Twenty years as a police officer, commended for bravery…” the imaginary police captain wrote.
The crafty man gained access to key areas on board the Victory. Everything went smoothly and according to plan. Nabbing the poodle was a piece of cake.
And now a sinister grin crossed the man’s face. He listened carefully outside the door, his intended destination.
“Let’s see if the talking dog wants this silly white thing.” He laughed quietly into the terror-stricken face of the muzzled poodle clutched in his arms. “I bet we can do a neat little exchange. Then we can take up where we left off.”
Herman looked up, startled by the sharp knock on Victoria’s dressing room door. “Mr. Herman. I’m here to escort you to the set.”
So soon? They told me I still had twenty minutes a little while ago. That voice… where have I heard that voice?
Curious, Herman answered, "Come in."
Whistling a little tune, a guard in a crisp uniform entered and closed the door behind him. He carried a sack with something struggling to get out. Whatever was inside the sack was making a muffled gurgling noise.
The instant Herman’s inquiring gaze met the hate-filled eyes, he knew for certain who they belonged to. The dark hair was short and neatly combed, but those eyes and the voice were unmistakable. Herman winced from the memory, the choke chain once again chafing his raw neck. His first impulse was to hide under Victoria’s daybed. But the muffled cries and violent movement in the sack changed his mind. This time Herman resolved to stick it out.
“OK, Alex. You want me? You can have me. But the poodle stays.” Herman thrust out his chin in defiance.
“I knew you’d be smart about this. I always thought you were a smart doggie. I have big plans for my talking doggie. Sam’s gone, but I won’t lose another dog, no siree.”
Alex jerked Bijou from the coarse sack, offering her trembling body to Herman like a carrot dangling in front of a horse. Her delicate snout was taped shut with silver duct tape, but nothing could hide the pleading look in the soft brown eyes.
“Release her and I swear I’ll go with you peacefully,” Herman said. All the while, his gaze never left the quivering poodle. It must be time for the real guard to escort me to the set, Herman reasoned trying to remain calm. If I can just stall Alex a little longer.
Alex backed against the far wall. Many of Victoria’s prized awards decorated an upper shelf spanning the entire length of the wall. A knock on the door distracted Alex, which set off a chain reaction. He up-ended the shelf and its heavy contents crashed down on the startled man.
Temporarily stunned, he lost his grip on Bijou. Seeing her chance, she dashed behind Herman. But the worst was yet to come. The dogs braced themselves for the soccer-sized brass globe, dislodged from its pedestal, hurtling straight toward them. Herman shielded Bijou with his body. The ball thudded heavily, its thirty pounds denting the