by Lauren Carr
Unfazed, Gnarly sat up on the sofa. His eyes were trained on Ernie and the can of beer that he wielded in his direction.
“I said off the couch!” Ernie pointed at the floor. “Now!”
“He’s not doing it, Ernie.”
“Because he doesn’t know who’s boss yet.” Ernie said. “This will show him.” He hurled the beer can at the large dog.
Without flinching, Gnarly caught the can in his mouth. While the two men stood in disbelief, the German shepherd closed his mouth with his powerful jaws, popping out both ends of the can to send beer flying out in a sudsy explosion. He then went on to crush the can flat in his jaws before spitting it out onto the floor.
With a roar, Gnarly charged at them from across the room to send them up onto the kitchen counter before returning to the sofa and lying down.
“Well,” Bert said, “now we know who’s boss.”
“Give me that phone,” Ernie said. “We’re calling Faraday right now.”
Bert dug the throw away burn phone from his pocket and handed it to Ernie. After dialing the number that he had written down for the multi-millionaire and retired homicide detective, Ernie waited while the phone rang on the other end of the line.
“Mac Faraday here,” was the upbeat greeting.
“We have your dog,” Ernie said in as menacing a tone as he could muster while trapped on top of the kitchen counter.
“How much?” the multi-millionaire replied.
“One hundred thousand, three-hundred and eighty-six dollars and eighty-five cents,” Ernie said.
“Are you sure you can come up with that much cash in one hour?” Mac Faraday replied.
“Me?” Ernie squawked.
“Small used bills,” Mac said. “I don’t want the IRS asking embarrassing questions.”
Ernie was still wrapping his head around the turn of events when Mac interjected, “Oh, I got a call on the other line. What’s your phone number?”
“510-555-2948,” Ernie replied.
“Who should I ask for?”
“Ernie.”
“Okay, Ernie, I’ll call you back in one hour and tell you where to bring Gnarly and the money,” Mac said. “Oh, and don’t call animal control. They won’t help you.”
Ernie was still sputtering when Mac disconnected the call.
“Did you give Mac Faraday your name and our phone number?” Bert asked.
With a scream, the two men jumped down off the kitchen counter and ran around the room yelling at each other.
“How could you give him our phone number and your name?” Bert asked. “You’re supposed to be the brains of this criminal team.”
“He asked … it was reflex. Someone asks you for your name and phone number and you give it to them.”
Crunch!
They turned back to the sofa.
During the dog nappers’ hysteria, their kidnap victim had discovered a monster-sized can of cheese curls, opened it, spilled the cheesy food across the sofa, and proceeded to munch on it—smearing an orange stain from one end of the sofa to the other.
“Ernie?”
“Yeah, Bert?”
“You do realize the rental company will take the cost of cleaning that sofa out of our deposit?”
“We’ll cover it up with a blanket and they’ll never notice until we’re long gone.”
Rrripp!
Enraged by a cheese curl that attempted to escape by dropping back behind a cushion, Gnarly grabbed one corner of the back of the sofa and shook violently until he ripped the cover from the back of the sofa to expose the foamy cushion inside the upholstery.
“I don’t think we can cover that up, Ernie.”
The upholstery flew.
Spencer Manor
Balancing a giant bowl of popcorn and a bottle of beer, Police Chief David O’Callaghan hurried into the home theater in time to hear Mac Faraday disconnect the call from the kidnappers before turning his attention back to the football game between the Washington Redskins and the Pittsburgh Steelers. “What was that about animal control? What’s Gnarly gotten into now?” Plopping down into the seat next to Mac, he offered him the bowl of popcorn.
“Oh, Gnarly’s gotten picked up by a couple of dog nappers.”
“Again?” David sat up. “Seriously?”
“We’ve just kicked-off.” He gestured for the police chief to sit back and enjoy the game. “I’ll check in with Gnarly at half-time.”
“Are you sure they have that long?”
“That all depends on them.” Mac took a drink from his bottle of beer. “Gnarly likes to play with his food first. Once they cease to amuse him, then they’re in trouble.”
“Now what are we going to do?” Bert asked. “Mac Faraday is going to call the police and give them our phone number and then they’ll track the GPS and—those satellites see things!”
“That means we need to get out of here,” Ernie said. “We need to make a run for it.” He started gathering their belongings.
“What about the dog?” Bert looked over at the German shepherd who was still digging up the gutted sofa in search of escaped cheese curls.
“We’ll shoot the dog,” Ernie said. “He’s been nothing but trouble since the beginning.”
“You lost the gun. Remember? Once he’s done eating the sofa, he may decide to start on us!” Spotting Gnarly, Bert let out a squawk. “Ernie, I don’t think he wants us to leave.”
Ernie looked up to see that Gnarly had abandoned the sofa and was now sitting at attention in front of the door leading out of the cabin. “He’s just sitting there. What are you afraid of?” He waved his arm at Gnarly. “Git out of here! Back up on the couch!”
When he moved in closer to the dog, Gnarly charged to send both men running back into the kitchen and up onto the counter. Once they were in place, the dog returned to lay down in front of the door to block their escape.
“I don’t think he wants us to leave, Ernie,” Bert said.
“You think so, Bert?”
The dog nappers lost the feeling in their butts by the time the burn phone rang. Seeing the caller ID read Mac Faraday, Ernie snapped up the phone. “It’s about time.” He could hear the half-time of the football game he was missing playing in the background.
“Hey, Ernie, how’s this life of crime working for you?” Mac asked.
“I’m going to kill your dog!”
“Good luck with that. Have you got the money?”
“He’s got us trapped on the kitchen counter.”
“I guess that means no,” Mac said. “Too bad. I was looking forward to buying something pretty for my fiancée with this ransom. Well, maybe next time.”
Ernie let loose with a string of cursing.
“Now, Ernie, that’s no way to talk to your victim,” Mac said. “Gotta go. Kick-off for the second half is about to start.”
“Who’s winning?” Ernie sputtered out.
“Who do you think?”
Ernie spewed out another round of cursing.
“I’ll check in again at the end of the game. You’re missing a great game.”
With another curse, Ernie threw the phone down onto the floor. It broke into pieces.
“What did he say?” Bert asked.
“Redskins are winning.”
“Damn! I’ve got five hundred on Pittsburgh. This day sucks, Ernie. It’s all because we kidnapped that dog.”
“That’s right. It’s that dog’s fault!” Ernie yelled. “He’s cost us close to four hundred dollars.”
“Not to mention the security deposit on this cabin since he tore up the furniture.”
“Forget the security deposit!”
“We might as well!”
“He’s making us miss the game,” Ernie screamed. “Hell! I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t
his fault the Steelers were losing! I’m going to kill him!”
“How?”
Ernie realized the small bathroom, with a tiny window over the back of the toilet, was the perfect cell in which to place their captive. With an evil laugh, he picked up one of the cans of beer and shook it in Gnarly’s direction. The glint of the sunlight made the silver can sparkle.
Gnarly cocked his head.
“Want to play catch?” Ernie moved over to the bathroom door and opened it.
Gnarly stood up and moved in closer.
Ernie continued to shake the can to hold the dog’s attention. “Come and get it. Come on, boy. Let’s play. Fetch the can.” He tossed the can so that it rolled into the bathroom.
Gnarly gave chase. As soon as he was inside the room, Ernie slammed the door shut on him.
Gnarly let out a low bark.
“Now who’s the boss?” Ernie said with a loud cocky tone. He continued to laugh. “Let’s see what Mac Faraday has to say about paying up now.” He grabbed the phone and pieced it together to make the call.
The Steelers had just scored a touchdown to tie up the game when the phone rang in the home theater at Spencer Manor.
“I take it you got off the kitchen counter,” Mac said.
“We have your dog under control now,” Ernie said.
“Very good,” Mac said. “Only fifty percent of the dog nappers have ever gotten that far. I hope you didn’t lock him in the bathroom.”
Ernie was silent.
“Of course, you’re a smart man, Ernie. You wouldn’t lock Gnarly in your only bathroom. … Or would you?” After receiving no response, Mac said, “That’s okay. Forty percent of the dog nappers who decide to lock him in the bathroom don’t think about that either. Now, what are you going to do if you have to go?”
Ernie started sputtering.
“Listen, Ernie, you sound like a nice guy,” Mac said. “I like you and don’t want to see anything bad happen to you. So, I’m going to give you this piece of advice. Now, I don’t do this for all of the dog nappers, but like I said, I like you. Whatever you do, don’t go outside and drop your pants.”
“Say what?” Ernie said with a squawk.
“I said don’t turn your back on Gnarly and drop your pants.”
“Why?”
“The last dog napper who did that is still in the hospital.”
On the television, a Redskin player intercepted the ball from the Steelers. The crowd cheered.
Ernie was still translating Mac’s warning when he said, “Gotta go. The Redskins are going all the way for a touchdown!”
Click!
His gaze locked on the player running down the length of the field with the football, the police chief, carrying a platter of Buffalo wings, plopped down in his seat. “Is Gnarly locked in the bathroom?”
“Not for long.” Mac snatched a drummette from the platter and jumped out of his seat to cheer for the Redskin touchdown. After bumping fists with David, he dropped down onto the sofa and took a bite from the snack. “I hope Gnarly is kind and doesn’t finish them off until after the game.”
Ernie was alternating between pacing and stopping to cross his legs.
“I wouldn’t go in there if I was you, Ernie,” Bert said with a shake of his head.
“He’s quiet,” Ernie said. “Maybe he’s asleep.”
“I don’t think he sleeps,” Bert said. “What did Mr. Faraday mean about not going outside and dropping your pants?”
“He’s trying to psyche me out,” Ernie said with a growl. “Well, I refuse to be psyched out.”
“The lady at the Doggie Hut warned us about keeping our health insurance paid up,” Bert said. “And now Mr. Faraday said the other dognapper is still in the hospital. I think there’s something weird about that dog, Ernie.”
“He’s a dog!” Grabbing his crotch, Ernie danced.
“Wasn’t there a dog on the SEAL team that took out Osama Bin Laden?” Bert said. “Dogs can be pretty smart.”
Ernie squeezed his legs together and crossed them at the knees. “I refuse to let a dog make me pee my pants!”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Ernie, this dog ain’t like other dogs.” He lowered his voice. “I think he’s a demon dog from hell.”
Unable to stand it any longer, certainly not long enough to talk about it, Ernie tore out of the cabin and ran around to the woods behind the cabin. Leaping over a fallen tree, he barely made it to the tree line before stopping and unzipping his fly to relieve himself.
The feeling of relief washed over him.
Then, in the stillness of the quiet of nature, he heard a familiar click. It was not the type of click that you hear when someone steps on a tree branch to break it. It was a metal click, like that of someone cocking a gun.
Leaning against the tree, Ernie turned his head to look over his shoulder.
What’s he doing outside? How—Ernie looked beyond where Gnarly was perched with his front paws on top of the fallen tree to the open bathroom window.
With his long tongue hanging out of the side of his open mouth, Gnarly looked like he was laughing at him—as he should with one paw placed on top of what Ernie recognized as his gun. Gnarly placed his other paw on top of gun at the trigger.
He wouldn’t. He couldn’t—
He saw Gnarly wink before jerking a claw to pull the trigger.
The football game was down to the two minute warning when the phone rang.
“That dog,” Mac said with a curse. “Why couldn’t he wait until the end of the game?”
“Maybe they can’t get the game at the dog napper’s place,” David suggested while offering Mac a brownie.
Mac snatched up the phone and placed it to his ear. “What do you want?”
“Your dog made Ernie cry.”
“How’s that my problem?”
“Mr. Faraday,” Bert sobbed, “come get your dog.”
“Do you have my money?” Mac asked.
“No, but … pul-eze,” Bert begged in a choked voice. “What kind of man are you? We’re only a couple of small-time criminals trying to redistribute the wealth of the rich who have it to the poor who are motivationally challenged when it comes to working for a living. It’s the American way! Pul-eeze! We’ll do anything you want!”
“Hey, your buddy Ernie set the terms,” Mac said with a small grin. “Where is Ernie?”
“He’s up a tree with his pants around his ankles,” Bert said. “Your dog shot him in the butt while he was taking a leak.”
“Caught him with his pants down, huh?”
“That dog is vicious! He doesn’t play by the rules.”
“That’s not true,” Mac said. “When burglars come to our house to play hide-n-seek, Gnarly always counts to one hundred before going after them.”
“Your dog chased me inside when I went out to help Ernie,” Bert said. “I had to leave Ernie up in the tree. I had no choice but to save myself. I thought he was going to kill me. What kind of dog is he? He’s supposed to be scared of us!”
“Where is he now?”
“I told you,” Bert said. “He’s up in a tree with his pants down.”
“I meant Gnarly,” Mac said.
“He’s got a gun,” Bert said. “He’s crazy!”
“Of course he is,” Mac replied. “I warned Ernie about turning his back on Gnarly and dropping his trousers.”
“I’m not talking about Ernie being crazy,” Bert said. “Your dog! He’s got me trapped in the cabin! He shot Ernie in the butt! What kind of dog shoots guns? You have to help us.”
“No, I don’t,” Mac said.
“Have you no compassion for your fellow man?” Bert said. “Due to our amoral psyche we are incapable of obeying the law. We deserve your understanding. Maybe if people like you offered mercy to people like Erni
e and me for our social deficiencies instead of judging us when we threaten, rob, and steal from you, then we’d all get along more peaceably.”
“You really do believe that, don’t you?” Mac replied with a chuckle. “You and Ernie can think about that worldview while spending the night with your kidnap victim. See you in the morning.”
“Wait! Don’t hang up!” Bert blurted out. “We’ll rob a bank tomorrow and pay you anything you want!” He sobbed. “Please, Mr. Faraday! I’m begging!”
Mac glanced over at the television. The Washington Redskins were ahead by two touchdowns and David was finishing his second brownie.
The police chief shrugged his shoulders. “Is Gnarly done playing with his new friends?”
“I guess so,” Mac said before turning back to the phone. “Okay, Bert, here’s what you need do. Do you know how to say, ‘I confess …’”
The Washington Redskins won the game against the Pittsburgh Steelers: 36-20.
Bert and Ernie were waiting on the doorstep of the cabin when the police arrived ten minutes after the end of the game. Bert was sitting. Ernie was bent of the porch rail. Both men were sobbing.
Gnarly gave up his weapon after Mac gave him a bone stuffed with peanut butter.
Mac and Gnarly beat Archie home by five minutes.
“Don’t say anything,” Mac warned Gnarly after he climbed up onto his loveseat with his new bone. “You know how she is. She’ll never let you out of her sight again if she finds out you got dognapped again.” He paused. “On second thought, it would save her several thousands of dollars a year if she stopped taking you to the groomer.”
Gnarly cocked his head at him.
“But then you’d stink and I’d have to give you a bath.”
With a growl, Gnarly dropped his head.
Dressed in a flowery lilac dress, Archie swept through the door. “Ah, it was a lovely shower.” She kissed Mac on the cheek on her way to greet Gnarly. “How was the game?”
