“Maybe he just wants attention,” I guessed. “Either way, I plan on asking him personally.”
Back on solid ground, Vance and I placed the dogs on the ground and then the two of us hurried off, with Sherlock and Watson leading the way. The problem was, and I’ve experienced this before, when the corgis are in pursuit of someone, they obviously don’t stop to consider whether or not the hapless human holding the other end of the leash would be able to squeeze through the same openings they could. What did that mean for me?
“Pardon me. Oh, I’m so sorry. Look out, coming through! I’m terribly sorry, ma’am. It’s not me, I swear. It’s them. Oh, man. How in the world did you get their leashes wrapped around your …? Never mind. I’ll fix it. Sherlock? Watson? Slow the ever lovin’ eff down, will you?”
I was ignored. Both corgis had reverted to their alter-egos, which were a pair of Clydesdales, and were forcefully yanking me along at almost a run. A quick check behind me verified that the rest of my group were keeping up, at a leisurely pace I might add. How? Well, that’s easy. The dogs were pulling a rather large, dim-witted human along, and they were doing a very effective job of clearing a path. So, while I was dragged along, with as much finesse as an iron plow hitched to a team of oxen, my friends were able to navigate through the crowd of people with minimal trouble.
“That looked like fun,” Vance told me, when we finally came to a stop fifteen minutes later. “How’s your arm, pal?”
I switched leashes to my other hand and flexed my left arm. “Oh, I’ll be feeling that tomorrow. Where are we? Does anyone know?”
“We’re on Royal Street,” Jillian reported. “St. Peter is just up there. If we go right, then we’d find Reverend Zombie’s House of Voodoo. If we go left, then we’ll find that coffee shop we found before.”
“I vote coffee shop,” Tori announced. “I could go for something to drink.” She nudged her husband. “These pursuits are fun! You make them sound so dangerous all the time.”
“That’s because it usually is,” Vance returned. “I don’t see him anywhere. Zack, are you sure we’re still following him?”
“Tell that to my team of horses,” I remarked, pointing at the corgis. “They’re still chomping at the bit, if you’ll pardon the pun, to keep going. I can only assume our guy is up there, somewhere.”
“There he is!” Jillian suddenly exclaimed. Glancing over, I could see her standing to the side, next to the art studio we were currently passing. “He’s about forty feet ahead of us!”
Vance nodded and pulled out his cell. “Detective Martins? This is Vance Samuelson. Yeah, long time no chat. Listen, that idiot appeared again, almost immediately after we finished lunch at the hot dog place. He knows he’s been seen, so he took off. Yes, we’re sure it’s him. He’s wearing the exact same outfit from before. What’s that? Yes, he’s wearing another mask, and it looks like it’s the same one from before, so he should be easy to spot. I don’t know, he had a spare? What? Our location? Westbound, on Royal Street. Closest cross street would be St. Peter. Yes, I’ve personally seen our guy. It’s the same guy from the security footage. I’d hurry, if I were you. Somehow, this little punk keeps managing to slip away. I’d rather not let him this time around. You, too? Glad to hear it.”
“Well?” Tori prompted, as we approached St. Peter Street. “How soon before they get here?”
“Their station is close,” Vance said. He held up a hand, signaling everyone to wait. “Okay, he’s heading left. C’mon, let’s go. Oh, will you look at that? I think he noticed we were following. He just ducked into that gift shop. Not this time, pal.”
Vance hurried into the store, intent on following our suspect at all costs. However, there was a steady stream of tourists both coming and going. Vance was going to be hard-pressed to follow anyone in that place.
A few minutes later, we heard the first siren in the distance. Nodding, I could only hope that the guy was still in the store. Before I could ask if anyone could see Vance, Sherlock and Watson suddenly perked up and started barking.
“Knock it off, you two. We’re here because of you. Vance is checking out that store because of you. What more can we do?”
Jillian tapped my shoulder. “Umm, Zachary? The dogs are no longer looking at the store. They want to keep heading down St. Peter.”
Confused, I checked the street to see if our guy was there. He wasn’t. There were, however, plenty of people still milling about. Some were headed south, and others north. The corgis, though, wanted to veer south, and they wanted to go badly. Then, it dawned on me what happened. Our suspect had to have ditched his mask again! That little twerp must’ve waltzed right by with none of us the wiser.
“We need to get Vance’s attention, and we need to do it now!” I said, growing anxious.
“What is …” Jillian started to ask.
I pointed at the direction the dogs wanted to go. “Our guy? He took off his mask. Yes, it’ll fool us, but not the dogs. Sherlock and Watson must have picked up his scent. If we don’t get going and do so, like, right now, then we’re gonna lose him!”
Jillian pointed at the dogs. “Get them to bark, Zachary. That’ll get Vance’s attention.”
I looked at the dogs. Was there something I could do to incite some frenzied barking? Most dog owners will back me up when I say that practically all dogs have some type of trigger they’ll respond to. Granted, it’s usually different for each dog. In my case, both of my corgis have always had a keen sense of protectiveness over me. All I had to do was appear threatened.
A big guy, with arms full of tattoos, wearing a gray tank top and black shorts, wandered by with what I’m figuring was his girlfriend. I stepped directly in his way and held up my hands.
“Hey, I’m terribly sorry to bother you. I need your help. This may sound weird, but I need you to rush at me, as though you were going to pound me into pulp. Will you do that?”
The guy stared at me with a blank expression on his face. “Huh? You want me to pound you into pulp?”
I pointed at the dogs and then at the nearby store. “My friend is in there, but there’s too many damn people in there to successfully get his attention. I need to draw him out. Down there are my two dogs, and they’re very protective over me. If it looks like I’m being attacked, then they’ll bark like crazy.”
“Ah. Well, I’ve been asked to do crazier things than this.”
The big guy lunged forward, his hands outstretched, as though he was going to throttle me. Sherlock chose that time to look back at me, no doubt wondering why we weren’t following our suspect. A split second later, Sherlock threw himself directly in front of me and was throwing deep, guttural barks at the guy. Moments later, Watson joined in.
“Thanks, pal. Sherlock? Watson? It’s okay. We just needed you to bark.”
“What’s going on?” Vance asked, appearing by my side.
I pointed southwest. “I think our guy is now maskless. Sherlock and Watson started woofing out here, and then both wanted to resume our pursuit.”
“That cocky bastard is trying to ditch us again,” Vance breathed. “Come on, Zack! What are you waiting for? We need to catch him!”
“We were waiting on you,” I grumbled, under my breath. I gave the dogs some slack. “Let’s go, guys! Find him!”
And we were off, like a shot. The rest of my companions fell into step behind me and within moments, were practically sprinting down the sidewalk. I heard the approach of several sirens, but I honestly couldn’t risk a glance to check where they were. It’d be my luck that we’d run by a light pole or something, and one corgi would go left, while the other went right, and before I could react accordingly, there’d be a Zachary-shaped profile hammered into the metal bar.
Thankfully, the corgis behaved themselves and remembered there was a large, ungainly biped sounding like he was having an asthma attack attached to the other end of the leash. People hastily ducked out of the way, but that was mainly because both Sherlock and Watson were
barking their fool heads off. Corgis may be small, and are arguably the most adorable of the herding dogs, but if you get them riled up, then they sound like they’re ready to tear you limb from limb.
“Samuelson!” I heard a voice call out.
“I’m here, Detective Martins!”
“Tell me you’re in pursuit of our suspect!”
“We are, only …”
“Only what?” I heard the detective ask, after Vance had trailed off.
“Only we don’t know what he looks like. We know he’s not currently wearing the mask, so what he looks like now is anyone’s guess.”
“How far ahead is he?” a second voice asked. I turned to see who it was, only it was a police officer I hadn’t met before. “Any idea where he’s going?”
“I don’t know,” Vance admitted. “Zack? Can you tell?”
I was about to tell him I hadn’t a clue, but up ahead, sudden movement caught my attention. A small figure, wearing a light gray hoodie and black shorts, suddenly turned around, let out an exasperated cry, and then bolted. The dogs were, as expected, going crazy. They wanted to pursue!
“Vance! Did you see that? I saw him! I think he’s young. He’s wearing a gray sweatshirt, with the hood up, and black shorts. He just took off!”
“Are you sure?” Vance asked. “He wasn’t wearing that before. Did he just so happen to have a change of clothes with him?”
I pointed at the dogs. “Tell you what, when you catch him, then you can ask him, all right?”
Vance shrugged. “Whatever. I trust your dogs. Martins? Did you catch that?”
“We saw him,” Detective Martins confirmed. He and about four other officers hurried off. “We’ll take it from here.”
The New Orleans detective ran for the closest squad car, which conveniently enough, was pacing us on the street. The siren blared to life and the three police cars sped off.
“Think they’ll catch him?” Tori asked.
“I sure hope so,” I said, giving a heavy sigh. I looked down at the dogs and had to laugh. Sherlock and Watson were looking at me with such a disdainful expression on their face that it made me smile. “Look at those two. They must think the worst of me, since we’re not pursuing our suspect. Sherlock? Watson? Someone else is going to do all the hard work, for a change.”
Sherlock let out an exasperated huff and plopped his rear down.
“That confirms he was our guy,” Vance said, as he squatted next to the dogs to give them a biscuit. “They’re not trying to get us to run anymore. What can you remember about him, Zack? What’d he look like?”
I shrugged helplessly. “He had his hood up, so I couldn’t get a good look at his face. But, I can tell you that I think he’s young, probably nothing more than a teenager. He was short and lean.”
Vance motioned for us to step out of the line of traffic. Not finding room enough for our small group, he pointed across the street.
“Let’s go over there. I see an empty table.”
“What restaurant is that?” Tori asked.
I gently inhaled and shook my head. “I don’t care. Whatever it is, it smells good.”
“How are you still hungry?” Jillian asked. “We just had lunch less than an hour ago!”
“Hot dogs don’t count,” I chuckled. “And besides, calories don’t count on vacation. What are you worried about? We’ve been doing nothing but walking everywhere for the past couple of days.”
“I’m with him,” Vance declared. “It smells fantastic.”
We sat down at the table and pulled several menus from the holder built into the napkin dispenser.
“Gumbo Stop,” I read from the menu. “I hear about gumbo all the time, especially here, in New Orleans. Jillian? Do you know what’s in it?”
“Do you want me to answer that, or would you, perhaps, like to just try a bowl?”
“Would I like it?” I cautiously asked.
Jillian shrugged. “I’m not sure, Zachary. I personally don’t think there’s anything spicy or offensive in there. Then again, I’m pretty sure you haven’t had some of these ingredients before.”
“Hit me with your best,” I challenged. “Name one.”
“Andouille sausage.”
My confident smile rapidly changed to a look of uncertainty. Every instinct I have at my disposal was screaming at me to not take a chance and to, instead, choose something more generic. However, here we were, in New Orleans, and sitting in the company of close friends. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?
“Is it imported from Ireland?”
Jillian laughed. “No.”
“Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll give it a try.”
Jillian’s eyes widened with surprise. “I’m impressed. Vance? Tori? Would you like to try some gumbo from Gumbo Stop?”
Our waiter appeared and looked expectantly at us. He was tall, thin, and young. Then again, I suppose everyone younger than me was going to be young. Let’s just say if I could easily be the kid’s father, then the kid was young.
“Four bowls of gumbo,” Vance told the teenager.
“Which kind?” the waiter asked.
Kind? I grabbed the menu and looked. Ah, there it was. Essentially, you had your choice of meat.
“Sausage for me,” I told the kid. I pointed at the menu and slid it over to Vance and Tori. “Pick your protein.”
Vance nodded. “I’ll try the chicken.”
“Shrimp for me,” Tori decided.
Jillian nodded and pointed at Tori. “I’ll have the shrimp, too. Thanks.”
“Anything to drink?” the waiter politely inquired.
Vance eyed me and gave me a smile. “Let’s see if I can do this. Three iced teas and one large diet soda.”
“Three teas and one soda,” the waiter repeated, as he scribbled the order down on his pad.
“Three teas and one diet soda,” Vance corrected. “You know what? If you’ve got a bucket, just fill it up and give him a straw. He’ll be happy and you won’t be running back and forth, filling up his glass every five minutes.”
The waiter looked over at me and waited to see if I was going to contradict what Vance said.
“I’d say he’s full of it,” I began, “but everyone at this table knows that’d be a lie. So, guilty as charged.”
“I can’t serve you soda in a bucket,” the waiter said, using a nervous tone.
“That was a joke,” I assured the kid. “Just a regular soda, thank you.”
“Diet soda,” Jillian corrected, with a smile.
A basket of bread was placed on our table, and surprisingly, a bowl of water for the dogs. I smiled my thanks at our waiter, but when he turned to leave, I suddenly looked at Jillian. A girl had placed the bread on our table.
“Wasn’t she a he earlier?”
“Different kids oftentimes have different responsibilities in restaurants,” Jillian explained. “Her job is probably to make certain everyone who sits down here has a fresh bowl of bread in front of them.”
Our gumbo arrived and I automatically leaned forward to see if I could determine what the base ingredients for this dish were. However, what I could see were various colors of different sized chunks. What those chunks were, I could only guess. Eyeing my soda, and then giving Jillian a grin, I took my first bite, er, spoonful, of gumbo.
From the way everyone was staring at me, dogs included, it was clear I don’t try enough new things in my life. I could tell from Vance’s hopeful expression that he wanted me to hate it, or make a scene. Tori and Jillian, thankfully, just had curious looks on their faces. Did I like it?
Yes, I did.
It’s hard to describe which particular ingredient stood out the most. I saw large chunks of meat, so I can assume that was the Andouille sausage Jillian mentioned. I could tell there were bell peppers floating in my bowl, and based on the color, I’d say red and green. Not originally a fan of peppers, these tasted just like everything else. Plus, I could tell that there were various other vegetab
les present, ranging from celery to onions, but again, everything tasted the same. With that being said, I just couldn’t determine what that taste was.
Something large and green floated to the surface. Green pepper, it was not.
Now, let me pause here and say that, since becoming an adult, there are a few things that I absolutely refuse to eat. Yes, Jillian would probably have a few things to add, but in the top three would be green beans. I could never stomach them as a kid.
The thing floating in my bowl looked just like a green bean. Now, I’m sitting with my fiancée, and across the table from us were our good friends. The last thing I wanted to do was create a scene, especially when that was exactly what Vance was hoping I’d do. But, the sight of a green bean—childish, I know—was enough to bring me to an immediate stop.
Knowing full well how much I loathed the aforementioned veggie, Jillian saw me hesitate as I stared at my bowl. She leaned over my shoulder to see for herself what I was looking at.
“Okra,” Jillian whispered in my ear. “It’s not a green bean, nor is it a relative of one. Trust me, you’re fine.”
Steeling myself, I spooned it up and, with my hand casually holding onto my glass of soda, I gave it a try. As I mentioned with the other various bits and pieces in the gumbo, it all tasted the same. Relaxing somewhat, I finished my lunch. Or dinner. Hmm, I honestly didn’t know what time it was.
“Do you like it?” Jillian asked.
I nodded. “It surprises me to say this, but yeah, I do.”
I heard a soft snort from the ground. Looking down at the dogs, I could see Sherlock looking at me, but he had a look of derision on his face. You wouldn’t think a dog could pull that off, but this corgi certainly could. I looked back at my bowl, then back at the dogs. I flashed back to all the restaurants we’d passed, and those businesses that had pulled the dogs to a stop. A notion occurred. Could I, just this once, have managed to fire up enough brain cells to figure this out before my two dogs could?
EIGHT
I’ll save you the trouble. No, I hadn’t. I thought I had, but as you’ll soon see, I’m frequently wrong.
Case of the Ragin' Cajun Page 12
