Gideon's Rescue

by Alan Russell

  Of course, I had no real evidence to link Mateo Ramos with the three filmmakers. I was working on a gut feeling and not much else. No one could yet say for sure that Mateo had been hired by one of the three young men. And there were no witnesses that could put Mateo at the Woodland Hills address. Even if I were able to locate a witness that could do that, it wouldn’t prove Mateo participated in the movie, or that he got hurt.

  My best chance of getting to the truth, I thought, would be to go through Steinberg or Durand. One of them, I hoped, had a conscience. One of them, I believed, had sent Luciana the $2,500 and the love poems of a dead man, and had allowed her a chance for closure.

  I just needed to keep following the money, and maybe my muse.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In Search of Light

  Something had brought me to Angie’s Rescues, but now that I was there I didn’t know what it was or what I should be doing. There’s never a burning bush and a voice speaking from within it when you need one.

  I checked into the shelter’s front desk area, asked if Heather was available, and was told she was in a meeting. Then I inquired if Dr. Misko was on the property and was told she wasn’t there. It didn’t seem as if my stars were exactly aligning.

  “Let’s go see a friend,” I said to Sirius.

  We walked over to the dog compound, passing St. Francis along the way. I pretended that the good saint was talking to me and that I couldn’t quite hear him.

  “What’s that you say? ‘For it is in giving that we receive’? Didn’t you know that’s not in keeping with today’s mores? There are those who insist that it’s only by taking that we receive.”

  And then I remembered another St. Francis of Assisi quote, or maybe I heard it in the wind: All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle.

  Was I looking for that candle? Diogenes the Cynic had walked around ancient Greece during the daylight hours carrying a lantern and proclaiming that he was looking for an honest man. Accompanying Diogenes on his search was his canine companion, Rataplan. Neither man nor dog ever found that honest individual. Diogenes seemed to believe that dogs were much more innately virtuous than humans. Indeed, the word cynic derives from the Greek and originally meant doglike. After Diogenes died, his connection with dogs was remembered by the Corinthians. They erected a statue of a resting dog made from Parian marble, a white, semitranslucent stone that was the most sought-after marble of its day.

  “At least our casework doesn’t involve us having to try and find an honest man,” I said.

  It’s always good to have a dog at your side. You can chatter away and people will just assume you’re talking to your dog. Today my dog and I were having a philosophical discussion, even though I doubted seriously that we’d be mistaken for Diogenes and Rataplan.

  Maybe Emily had heard me talking out in the courtyard. As we turned the corner, she could be seen standing at the entrance to her cage. It looked as if she expected us.

  “Go ahead,” I said to Sirius, and he ran to her.

  For a moment I was afraid the Frankenstein dog might retreat in fear. She had been used as a chew toy by fighting dogs. The abuse she had suffered offered her every reason to be afraid, but her nub of a tail wagged furiously at Sirius’s arrival. She was wearing her cone, and her broken back leg forced her to move awkwardly, but that didn’t stop her from shadowing Sirius’s movements and shuffling from side to side in her cage.

  I offered Emily my hand to sniff, and her docked tail signaled her joy. This time I didn’t exclude Sirius from coming inside the cage. Both of us entered the enclosure, and Emily reacted with delight, rubbing her stitched and scarred body up against us.

  “Good girl,” I said to her.

  When I began to scratch Emily’s coat, she didn’t want me to stop. Her body contorted, twisting one way and then the other, allowing me to get to the spots that itched the most. After a few minutes I decided her entire body was one big itch. I did what I could to offer her relief; Emily’s cone was not such an obstacle that she couldn’t lick my fingers, and occasionally my face, with her tongue. Sirius also got his share of affection, if not a bath.

  “Hey!”

  The three of us had been enjoying our lovefest so much that none of us had noticed Heather’s approach to the cage.

  “Hey,” I said.

  She squatted down; Emily had more than enough love to accommodate Heather, too. Seconding that motion was Sirius. Heather used one hand for each dog.

  “Where’s Angie?” I asked. “Of course, if she were here, she’d probably insist that you scratch her with your foot.”

  “She’d probably insist on both feet,” laughed Heather. “Her royal nibs is taking her late-afternoon snooze. She’s found a spot not far from here that gets the last rays of the afternoon sun. Angie doesn’t like to miss the opportunity for a sunbath.”

  “Smart dog,” I said.

  “What are you doing here?” asked Heather. “I thought you did all your volunteer hours earlier in the week.”

  It wasn’t until Heather asked her question that I knew the answer. Suddenly, it was obvious to me why I was there.

  “We’re here to adopt Emily,” I said.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Sirius was looking back and forth at the two of us, as if he was following the conversation.

  “We’re sure,” I said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dead Man’s Hand

  While I was in the middle of signing paperwork to make the adoption official, Lisbet called. I wasn’t sure if her timing was providential or couldn’t have been worse, and I excused myself to take her call.

  “Lisbet,” I said, prepared to offer an apology and an explanation, but she beat me to it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m going to have to cancel on our evening. Deborah is down in the dumps. I told her I’d bring her some dinner, and then if she felt like it we’d play a few games of Scrabble.”

  Deborah is Lisbet’s good friend who is fighting breast cancer. She’d recently had a double mastectomy. Shitty thing, cancer.

  “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you,” I said. “Let me remind you, though, that you’re always saying I need to be more spontaneous.”

  “Uh-oh,” she said. “I hate it when you quote me to me. What did you do?”

  “Consider this my begging forgiveness rather than asking permission,” I said. “I know I should consult you on any big decision, and I hope you won’t be upset at what I’ve done, but I’ve gone ahead and adopted Emily.”

  There was silence on the line. The longer it lasted, the more sure I was of Lisbet’s disapproval at what I’d done.

  “Lisbet?” I said.

  “That’s the dog that was left for dead, right?” she said.

  “Correct.”

  “And she’s a pit bull?”

  “She’s an American Staffordshire terrier,” I said, “but yes, her breed is commonly referred to as the pit bull.”

  Lisbet sighed and said, “I wish I could be enthusiastic, Michael, but I’ve always thought that anyone who owned a pit bull was asking for trouble.”

  “She’s a sweet, sweet dog,” I said. “From the moment I met her, that was apparent. And she almost died because of that sweetness. The reason Emily was used as a bait dog was that she wouldn’t fight in the pit.”

  “Didn’t you say she’s horribly scarred?”

  “She won’t be winning any beauty contests,” I said, “but then again, neither will I.”

  “After what she’s gone through, aren’t you afraid something might set her off?” asked Lisbet. “What if she just snaps?”

  “I’d say my PTSD is much more pronounced than hers,” I said.

  Lisbet was quiet again for a few moments. Finally, she said, “I hope you selected her for the right reasons, and not just because you sympathize with her plight.”

  “I wouldn’t have picked a dog that didn’t feel absolutely right to
me. Everyone I’ve talked to who has dealt with Emily has sung her praises, and that includes an animal control officer, a vet, and Heather Moreland. If there’s a mean bone in her body, it’s well hidden.”

  “Expect your home insurance rates to go up,” said Lisbet, “that is, if you can get insurance.”

  “You’re not making me feel very good about this.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to having some reservations.”

  “I’m still at the shelter. If you’re completely opposed to this, I’ll cancel the adoption.”

  “No,” said Lisbet. “I know you wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t believe it was the right thing to do.”

  “I know it seems wrong,” I said, “but I am sure.”

  “What about Sirius? I assume he gets along with her?”

  “Peas in a pod,” I said.

  “That makes me feel better.”

  “My judgment is iffy, but Sirius’s is spot-on?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said. “Give my best to Deborah.”

  “And you give my best to Emily.”

  She heard my kiss and I heard hers, good sounds to end our conversation. Then I returned to the desk area. Emily seemed to know that something special was in the works. She was looking at the happy humans and reading their vibrations.

  Heather handed me a packet. “Here’s a list of the medications that Emily is currently taking, and a schedule for when they should be given to her. Dr. Misko just signed off on the adoption, but she wanted to warn you that Emily still has a low-grade infection, and she wants to make sure that gets favorably resolved. You’re also supposed to keep her cast dry, and the cone needs to stay on for at least one more week.”

  “Okay,” I said, trying to get everything clear in my head.

  Heather must have known I was on sensory overload, because she said, “All that information was put in your packet.”

  “Great,” I said.

  “What would probably be best for Emily is if you transported her by pet carrier,” Heather said. “You can borrow one from us.”

  I have never had the fortune of bringing a newborn home, but have known many parents who have. First-time parents always look shocked at the huge responsibility that suddenly enters their lives. Babies don’t come with manuals, and I’ve heard many parents confess that they felt woefully unprepared to take on the responsibility of looking after another life.

  Bringing home a dog isn’t the same thing as bringing home a newborn, but it’s still a big-gulp moment. Sirius and I had been a team for years, and when Lisbet came into our lives we became a family. Now we were bringing a stranger home. What would Emily’s demands be, and could I meet them? Would she fit in the existing routine, or would we have to create a new formula? Was Emily housetrained? Had she ever been part of a family before? There were all sorts of questions. The only sure answer was that life wouldn’t be the same.

  We put Emily and her carrier inside my car. Sirius sat next to her, and I think his steadying influence helped keep Emily calm.

  “I always said that if I ever had a daughter I would play Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely” on the ride home,” I said. “I guess you’re going to be the closest thing to that, Emily.”

  I made my hands-free song request, and Stevie started singing. Once upon a time I had thought Jennifer and I would be going home with our own bundle of joy and I’d be playing this song, but that’s not what life had in store for me. During my marriage there had been times when I had imagined myself looking into the rearview mirror and seeing my wife and baby.

  Now, years later, I looked through that rearview mirror. Almost, I could see them now, but then they disappeared into the ether.

  “Bye-bye, love,” I said, but I didn’t call out to Bluetooth for the Everly Brothers song of the same name. There had been a time when that was my song, and my lament, but I had held on long enough for there to be a second act. Thankfully, Fitzgerald had been wrong when he said there were no second acts in American lives.

  In my rearview mirror I took stock of Sirius and Emily. They might not have been the vision I once expected, but it was good to see them there.

  I pushed a button and said, “Call Shaman at home.”

  “Calling Shaman at home” was my electronic genie’s response. Her pronunciation made it sound like “Hey man.”

  Seth picked up on the third ring. “I’m about to stop at El Pollo Loco,” I said. “Are you in the mood for some chicken and fixings?”

  “As a matter of fact I am,” said Seth.

  “I’m about twenty-five minutes out,” I said. “How about we dine at my place?”

  “I’ll put some beers on ice,” he promised.

  “Great minds think alike,” I said, and ended our conversation.

  I turned my head for just a second and waved at Emily. “That’s your uncle Seth,” I told her. “You’re going to love him.”

  Five minutes later I pulled up to the order window of the drive-through line, and Sirius joined me in putting in our order. “Let’s go with a grande meal,” I said into the intercom, “with sides of pinto beans, black beans, and Mexican rice.”

  Sirius gave my ear a lick. “And a three-piece leg-and-thigh combo,” I said.

  I cradled his head in my left arm and said, “I know, that order wasn’t really for you. It was what Emily told you that she wanted.”

  At the pick-up window I was handed two bags, and I immediately became the most interesting person on the planet. Sirius and Emily did their sniffing in stereo. My partner went so far as to stick his nose over the seat so that he could inhale the bag.

  “Pfui,” I told him, the German word for shame. “You’re supposed to set a good example.”

  He withdrew his nose but didn’t appear shamed at all.

  When we pulled into the driveway, Seth’s front door opened and he walked over to the car. Sirius was making his happy sounds as Seth opened the door. Normally Sirius jumps out of the car, but tonight he stayed put for a few moments, licking Seth’s hand and then turning to Emily’s cage and licking her through its openings. It was almost as if he was telling her, “This is a good friend of mine. I am sure you will like him as well.”

  “You’re an uncle for the second time,” I informed Seth.

  “So I see.”

  “I’ll need some help carrying Emily’s carrier into the house.”

  “I’m attached to my fingers, you know,” said Seth, mindful of putting them in harm’s way.

  “They’ll only be in danger of being licked,” I promised.

  I raised my right arm out to the side, and then gestured inward to my chest, and Sirius followed my hand signal by coming to my side.

  “The carrier is bulky but not that heavy,” I told Seth. “I’ll pull it out so that we can both get a good grip on it.”

  Before doing that, I leaned in toward Emily so that the two of us could have a little conversation. “How did you like your ride, cutie-pie?”

  Inside the cage, her docked tail thumped. I pulled the carrier out far enough for Seth to get a grip, and then the two of us walked it into the house.

  “Let’s put her out back in case she has to go,” I said.

  “Lead the way,” said Seth.

  We carried the carrier to the back yard, and then I opened its door. Sirius was there to greet Emily as she came outside, and he decided to play tour guide. He went over to the Valencia orange tree and lifted a leg. And then he did an encore on the Meyer lemon tree.

  “Why don’t you watch the two of them while I retrieve our dinner?” I said.

  Seth waved his approval. A minute later I returned with the bags and Seth said, “Emily decided to join Sirius in his watering. And now he’s leading her on a tour of the house.”

  “While he’s doing that,” I said, “I’ll make their dinners.”

  “And I’ll get the beers,” Seth said.

&nbs
p; I went into the kitchen and was halfway through deboning the leg-and-thigh combo when I was joined by company. The dogs watched carefully as I mixed the chicken into two bowls of kibble. The senior dog had priority, so I called Sirius over to a corner and put down his bowl. I was glad that Emily didn’t try to horn in.

  “Emily, come,” I said.

  I’m not sure if she followed the command or the bowl of chicken and kibble. Either way, she moved toward the opposite side of the kitchen from where Sirius was eating. I removed her cone so that she could more easily eat.

  “Good girl,” I told her, and Emily began eating. It was a positive sign that she didn’t appear possessive of the food, nor did she exhibit any food anxiety.

  Seth reappeared with the beer. After he flipped two caps, we took seats on bar stools at the kitchen counter and lightly clinked the tops of our bottles.

  “To your new girl,” said Seth. “I’ll have to get you a pink collar.”

  “I’m not sure if pink is her color,” I said. “Right now she seems to be more into the Goth look.”

  “Is Emily a permanent addition to the roost?” he asked.

  “That’s the plan,” I said. “But you know what they say about plans.”

  “Man plans and God laughs,” said Seth.

  I nodded.

  Both dogs finished eating. Emily began touring the kitchen, sniffing at the cupboards. Her broken leg didn’t seem to be inhibiting her tour. Since she wasn’t trying to lick her wounds at the moment, I decided to hold off putting on her lampshade.

  “Hard to imagine she was on death’s door not very long ago,” I said.

  “Dogs are amazingly resilient,” said Seth.