by Nikki Attree
“What was that all about then?” Gizmo thinks to himself. But he’s not bothered. He gave up trying to figure out humans long ago.
The Lad asks Jennifer for one last favor. She’s happy to oblige: “of course. It’s my tea-break, I’m all yours for twenty minutes.”
“In that case, I wonder if it would be possible to have a quick look at the room where Doodle sleeps, if it’s not too much bother.”
“No problem. Follow me then.” She gives him another little wink and sets off down the corridor. Opening a door she beckons to Jack: “I think this is Doodle’s room.” In fact she’s wrong - this is actually Gizmo’s room, an easy mistake to make with identical dogs, and anyway, as she says: “all the rooms are the same, and they’re all top notch, don’t you think? Not bad eh? And how about this bed?”
She flops onto the impressive four poster bed, reclines beguilingly, and beckons to the Lad again. “Just feel how comfy this mattress is. I’d certainly be happy to make use of it!”
There’s no mistaking her message, and he’s seen enough of the room now, perhaps this is a good chance to test out how effective the web-cams are. “Well, OK Jennifer. I feel sure that I owe it my boss to thoroughly test all the facilities, including the bed, but what about the camera?” he says, pointing up at the webcam.
“No problem. There won’t be anyone watching it. But just to give us a bit of privacy ...” She takes off her Wags teeshirt and drapes it over the camera. This gives Jack an idea. Well yes, of course it does, but apart from the obvious it does give him another idea (more of that in a moment).
We needn’t divulge the details of the next fifteen minutes, suffice to say that having rigorously tested the bed, Jennifer removes her teeshirt from the camera and they make themselves respectable again. They return to the foyer separately, having agreed that it would be safer.
Before he leaves, Jack has one more thing to do. He strolls into the Wags boutique. It’s full of the sort of luxury accessories that Wags’ clients love: ‘Chien Paris’ fake fur beds, ‘Gucci Poochie’ collars, Italian designer harnesses, Cashmere coats ... Jack marvels at the variety and the unbelievable prices of this stuff (“never mind ‘Cashmere’, more like cash mire” he’s thinking), but he’s looking for something else. Remember that teeshirt? Of course you do. He spots a pile of them proudly sporting the Wags logo, picks out a medium and an extra large, along with two of their baseball caps, and pays the assistant (swallowing hard when she presents him with the bill). We’ll see them again shortly.
He exits the shop. Jennifer is back behind the reception desk, looking cooly efficient again. He gives her a wave, blows a little kiss, and walks out through the revolving glass doors to the car park.
* * *
When he gets back to Stoke Newington The Lad shows Harry the photos he’s taken on his phone and tells him about his recce, omitting the fifteen minutes he spent testing the bed with Jennifer, and concentrating instead on the five that he spent with their canine target. He reassures his partner that the dog seems to be no trouble. Harry can’t believe that Jack was so close to the pooch and again didn’t nab it.
“Ow long are you gonna feck around before we can get our mitts on this mutt?”
“Like I keep telling you mate, the timing has to be right.”
There’s a snort of disgust as Harry wonders when exactly that might be, if ever? Jack realises that his partner’s limited supply of patience is just about exhausted. Besides, he’s seen enough of Wags’ layout and limited security to have formulated a plan. So now it’s time for action.
“OK, let’s do it tomorrow night. It’s a Friday and they’ll be winding down for the weekend. We’ll be in and out with the dog before anyone’s even awake. Like I said: a surgical strike.”
Harry is relieved to feel adrenaline coursing through his body again (along with alcohol of course). “OK, that’s more like it. Now yer talkin Lad! I’ll speak to my mate down the boozer, and get tooled up for tomorrow night then.”
Jack can’t believe that his partner-in-crime actually thinks heavy weapons are needed to nick a dog. Not for the first time he regrets his decision to team up with this Neanderthal. Perhaps he’ll be able to move on once they’ve got the loot from this job, but until then he’s stuck with the ape, so he’s got to make sure that Flash ‘Arry doesn’t fuck it up.
“Um, look Harry mate, I don’t think that’s a good idea. We definitely won’t be needing guns. This isn’t the Great Train Robbery. There aren’t even any security guards, let alone armed ones. The only staff they have at night are on reception, and they’re more than likely to be asleep in the small hours. By the way, I’ve sorted out a bit of disguise, just in case we’re spotted on one of the cams. Try this on for size” he says, tossing Harry the extra large Wags teeshirt.
It’s a tight fit, but Harry somehow manages to squeeze into it. He poses in front of the mirror, flexing his biceps and sniggering at the Wags logo. “Oh very nice. Shows off me muscles a treat. Cute dogs all over it, and we know ‘ow women love ‘em. Maybe it’ll finally do the trick with that Rosie down the boozer tonight.”
“No way mate. You get to wear it just once. Tomorrow night, for the job. After that we burn them. You got that?”
Yet again Jack is spoiling his partner’s fun, but as always Harry understands that he needs the Lad’s superior brain power and professionalism if he is ever going to get anywhere in the criminal world, other than the nick. He’s disappointed that they won’t be going in all guns blazing, but nether the less he can’t wait for Friday night, and excited to be seeing some action again at long last.
* * *
Friday afternoon, Pinewood Studios. Alfredo, the trainer, has been through the scene with the dogs. They’ve been in make-up for quite a while (most of the morning in Doodle’s case). Elizabeth orders all non essential crew off the set, so that her canine co-stars can give their best performance in this intimate and important scene.
“Rolling” shouts the cameraman. “Scene one oh one, take one” shouts the clapper loader, and slaps the clapboard. “Action!” shouts the director. Gizmo hesitantly nuzzles Doodle and tentatively licks her face. You can cut the tension with a knife. Doodle bristles at the touch of his tongue, but the longer he does it, the more she relaxes. Then something unexpected happens: the two dogs are suddenly all over each other.
The director is watching on a video monitor and he’s loving what he’s seeing. The dogs are doing a great job. A bit of a slow start, but now you can really feel the electricity between them. This is going to be one of the great love scenes in canine movie making. “Forget that” he thinks. Watching the two of them going for it, he’s tempted to call it simply one of the great sex scenes in any kind of a movie!
There’s a stillness in the studio. For the dogs, time stands still. The crew watches in awe. There’s just the sound of the camera gently whirring and some guttural grunts and yelps from the dogs. The director doesn’t mind that. He’s imagining it now with a full orchestral score soaring away. Eventually he knows that they’ve nailed the take. “Cut” he shouts. “No need for another one. It’s in the can. Well done everyone. Fantastic!”
Gizmo and Doodle ignore him. They are going for it with gusto now. This isn’t simulation any more.
“OK, that’s enough guys” shouts the trainer. “You can stop now ...”
Gizmo and Doodle ignore him. The sparks are flying between them. The rest of the room has vanished. They are alone in their own world - Dog World.
Some of the crew are giggling now, but Elizabeth is shocked. She has, of course, witnessed many simulated sex scenes, but she has never seen passion like this. The dogs are going for it with raw animal enthusiasm that quite frankly looks anything but simulated.
Eventually the trainer strolls onto the set and gently, but firmly, separates them. They are both sweating, panting ... and frustrated. All they can think about is: “when are all the humans going to feck off and leave us to ‘get a room’ together?”
“Right. That’s a wrap” shouts Elizabeth. “Let’s get you two in the limo and back to the hotel. On second thoughts, Gizmo can go in the limo and I’ll take Doodle in my car. Thank you everyone, and see you all next week in Tenerife.”
“See you back at Wags” woofs Gizmo, gazing into Doodle’s eyes.
Later that evening, they are finally alone. “So, are you planning on locking the door again tonight?” woofs Gizmo.
“Well, I’m not sure ...” Doodle replies coyly. “Now that beastly Shaggy has gone, I probably don’t need to. So if you give it a push, you might just find it open.”
Later, much later, they are curled up together on Doodle’s bed. “I must admit, I found you a bit of a rough diamond at first” she woofs. “To be honest, we don’t have much in common do we?”
“Apart from the obvious, eh?” chortles Gizmo. “Perhaps a ‘bit of ruff’ was what you needed. Anyway, I’m knackered, and tomorrow we’re flying out to The Reef. I’ll see my family, and run on the beach, and we can finally get some sun. You’ll love it there.”
He yawns, and a few minutes later he’s snoring gently. “I just knew he’d be a snorer” thinks Doodle, snuggling up to him. It’s her last thought as she drifts off to sleep, and her last thought before their lives are turned upside down once again.
8 WHICH ONE DO WE NICK?
Friday night / Saturday morning, two am. The dognappers arrive at the dog hotel in Harry’s van, wearing their Wags teeshirts and baseball caps. They park on the road outside the main entrance while Jack checks the building through binoculars. There’s no sign of life, canine or human. The place is in darkness except for a dim light in reception. Jack can just make out someone behind the desk, who appears to be asleep.
Armed only with a dog collar and lead, they leave the van and sneak around the side of the building until they come to the back door. As before it’s unlocked, and they slip inside. As they creep down the corridor there’s some snuffling, snoring, and low growling from a few of the rooms, as you would expect in a dog hotel.
Harry is on edge about the growling, and definitely regretting not carrying a weapon now. He clenches his fists and tenses, but Jack grips his arm and gives him a thumbs up. The Lad knows that what staff are on duty will be well used to a bit of growling, and would probably also sleep through a fair amount of woofing.
They get to the room in which Jennifer entertained Jack, telling him that it was Doodle’s. We know otherwise however: it is, of course, not Doodle’s room but Gizmo’s, and he’s not there, but next door.
Jack eases the door open an inch and peers in, expecting to find their target inside. The room is dark, and the blind is drawn. He puts his ear to the crack, expecting to hear some breathing, but there’s no sound coming from inside.
The Lad is sweating now. He takes a tiny pen torch from his pocket and shines the light into the room. There’s the familiar bed, but no dog on it. He pans around the room. Nothing. Panic sets in. Harry pushes past him and stands there breathing heavily.
“What the fuck are we gonna do now” he whispers hoarsely.
Jack shrugs. To be honest, he doesn’t have an answer. He’s feeling desperate. All those hours of careful preparation - wasted. If they break into each room looking for Doodle they’ll disturb every fekin dog in the place, and there’ll be more than enough commotion to wake the heaviest sleeper. No, there has to be a reason that the pooch isn’t in the room. “Come on Lad, THINK.” He forces the cogs to turn faster, and suddenly he has it.
He remembers their first visit, a week ago. They’d checked the windows from the outside hadn’t they? And they’d seen their target through the last one on the corridor. This the wrong room! He kicks himself for his mistake, and for being so distracted on his previous recce.
Grabbing Harry, he pulls him back into the corridor and points at the next door. It’s Harry’s turn to shrug now, but he follows Jack as the Lad softly eases open the door to the adjoining room. Geronimo ...! Eureka ...!
“Blimey!” whispers Jack.
“What the fuck ...?” hisses Harry.
There on the bed, curled up into a cute ball of fur is their target. Or rather: targetS. Because there’s not one, but two dogs on the bed. Two identical white dogs. It’s as if the universe has decided to reward Jack for his Eureka moment by cloning their target.
One of them opens an eye, tilts his head slightly to one side, raises an eyebrow, and sort of squinting through the one eye, gives the dognappers a quizzical look. The other one stirs in her sleep, yawns, and stretches.
“Which one do we nick then?” mumbles Harry.
Jack realises that they will have to act very quickly. Goodness knows what’s going on, but one thing’s for sure, and it’s not “let sleeping dogs lie”. These mutts are waking up fast, and they’re going to be much more of a handful when they are wide awake. If they hesitate for a second they’ll have two angry dogs to pacify.
“Hang on, give me a sec, I’m thinking” whispers Jack.
And indeed he is. The cogs are whirring at lightening speed. He can’t work out exactly why one dog has suddenly become two, but he can imagine some kind of scenario involving a film producer needing two identical canine actors. Maybe the other one is some kind of stand-in, or stunt double. Yes, that must be it. What he can’t work out though, is which is the real star, and which is the double. All of this flashes through his brain before he even gets to the word: “thinking”.
First things first: they need to block the security camera, just as Jennifer did on his previous visit. He takes off his Wags cap and drapes it over the camera. Harry makes a move towards one of the dogs. It flinches and growls at him, so he moves towards the other. It looks at him quizzically. Harry looks at Jack quizzically (not that he’d know what that meant). Clearly there needs to be some decisive leadership.
“OK. I’ve decided” Jack whispers. “We take both of them.”
He kneels on the bed and gently strokes the quizzical dog. It gives him another one-eyed, eyebrow-raised look, and a little sniff. “Do I know that smell?” Gizmo wonders, searching through his short-term memory of stored smells. “Ah yes, it’s that’s weird looking human who was stroking me yesterday afternoon when I was having a nap on a sun lounger. He looks a bit different now, but he smells the same, and that’s what counts. He was alright. Dog friendly.”
He relaxes and Jack slips the collar and lead on him. Gizmo gives him another quizzical look. “What’s he doing waking me up in the middle of the night to take me for a walk? Especially as I had company” he thinks, glancing over at Doodle, who is looking increasingly anxious.
Then he remembers that they are supposed to be flying to Tenerife in the morning. He didn’t realise it would be this early, but that must be it. He woofs reassuringly to Doodle that everything’s OK: these humans are taking them to the airport and he’s going home. Wooftastic!
Doodle isn’t happy but she wants to trust Gizmo, so she decides to be stoic about being woken up so rudely. Her stoicism evaporates abruptly though as Harry lunges at her. To his ears Gizmo’s reassuring woofing just sounded like an alarm going off, and he’s dammed if he’s going to hang around. He reaches into his pocket, produces some kind of spray can, and aims it at Doodle.
“What the feck are you doing mate?” Jack hisses.
“We ain’t got time to mess around, mate. This will knock ‘em both out. That’s wot they told me down the boozer anyway.”
Doodle is making panicky little growling noises. At least that‘s what they sound like to the humans. Gizmo hears them as: “what’s going on? Why is this human threatening me?” He tries again to reassure her: “don’t worry. I met the other one yesterday. He must be the chauffeur. Look, they’re both wearing the Wag’s uniform, so don’t panic Doodle.”
But even he is not so sure about the fat one. He doesn’t smell so friendly. The dogs can smell sweat, fear, and aggression coming from Harry. The human hears yet more barking between the dogs, and prepar
es to grab Doodle.
Jack knows he must act quickly before his partner ruins his meticulously cunning plan. Grabbing the spray can from Harry, he hands him the lead that he’s attached to Gizmo and tells him not to move. Then he cautiously approaches Doodle. She backs away and bares her teeth, growling softly. Jack reaches into his pocket and brings out a biscuit. He whispers gently to her, offers her the treat, and lets her sniff his hand. After a few minutes Doodle calms down and eventually allows Jack to stroke her head. She’s always been a sucker for humans who actually pay some attention to her, after all the days spent home alone or being ignored by her ‘family’.
Jack reaches for Doodle’s diamond studded collar and very carefully slips it on her. “OK my furry friend, we’re all going for a little walkies” he whispers soothingly to the pooch, attaching her lead. He gestures to Harry and they lead the two dogs out into the corridor. Gizmo yawns. He’d much rather be curled up with his new lady-friend, but hey he’s going home! He can’t wait to show Doodle his favourite beach.
As they sneak out of the room Jack notices a “Do Not Disturb” sign, and on an impulse, hangs it on the door handle. Perhaps it might buy them a little more time. They creep back down the corridor and there’s more growling from the other rooms. Harry yanks Gizmo’s lead and drags him along. “This one could do with learning some manners. I hope that he’s not coming with us to Tenerife” Gizmo thinks to himself, but he’s as stoic as ever.
They slip out the back door, and slink around the building to the van. This time Jack is better prepared for the getaway, and has brought a cage. He’s learnt from their first dognapping (remember Angus?) not to allow the hostage to wander freely around the vehicle, eat whatever he finds, and vomit everywhere. Not to mention making a grab for the Lad’s unmentionables.
