K-9 Blues (Paws & Claws Book 3)

by Ralph Vaughan

  “Life is not fair, but it is what it is,” Antony said, reciting the well-worn mantra of canines worldwide. “Remember the smells?”

  “Yeah, they were strange too, exotic, but definitely dog,” Arnold replied. “But also more than dog, primal, like maybe they were closer to First Dog than us, especially the Dingoes and the Basenjis. They were quite different.” Arnold thought about the outing he had tried to forget. “No barking…they didn’t know how. And they did not talk to us. Close to First Dog and what came before First Dog.”

  “I take it, you don’t mean wolves,” Antony ventured.

  “Like all dogs descended from wolves,” Arnold sneered.

  “If the Master is doglike and evokes the same sort of primal reaction as the Dingoes and Basenjis did with us,” Antony said, “it may be that the Master is a very ancient breed of dog.”

  “Do you think he could have escaped from the Wild Animal Park, or maybe the San Diego Zoo?” Arnold asked.

  “I don’t know, but he is certainly not from around here,” the Cane Corso replied. “Like you said, those guys at the park were primitive in many ways, but this Master does not act primitive at all. He has all the alphas in the area coming here, to him.”

  “To get meat?” Arnold shook his head, confused. “When gangs terrorize an area, they demand tribute from the pets, strays and ferals. They do not give away anything except a whole lot of grief.”

  “The Master is a different sort of dog, a different sort of alpha,” Antony noted.

  Arnold looked around where they were, noticing the play of light from the outside. “And it seems he has a penchant for staying in the shadows. From here, he sees everyone and everything, but they can only see him indistinctly, and if we’re talking about the nighttime, then he’s even harder to see, forget about moonlight or the reddish sky-glow or even glimmer-eye, if you’re born with that. No matter what, he’s the dog in the shadows. You know how dogs feel about shadows – an ancient and irresistible instinct.”

  “The mask might be part of another instinct,” Antony said.

  Arnold tilted his head in curiosity.

  “He might wear the mask because he has to,” Antony explained as he sniffed the trail into the next room, Arnold following. “You know as well as I do how much canine social order is founded on old traditions and instinct.”

  “Right.”

  “Dogs will not follow dogs they perceive as weak or outsiders,” Antony continued. “The Master is an unusual dog with an exotic scent and an odd form. He controls through fear and brutality. What if he wears a mask because without it he doesn’t look much like a dog? He may be that primitive.”

  “Dogs only follow dogs,” Arnold said. “It is such a basic tenant that most dogs don’t even think of it, but it’s very true.”

  “More blood over here,” Antony announced as he neared a scattered heap of old wood. “Just a drop. It may not mean anything but it is fresh.”

  “The Bulldog, or another breed?” Arnold asked.

  “Cat,” Antony said after another gentle sniff.

  “Cat?”

  “I have no idea what breed,” Antony reported. “But definitely a cat. I can tell that much about it.”

  “Levi, Yoda and Miss Sunny, along with that Mastiff, escorted a cat out of here,” Arnold recalled. “Hopefully it’s that cat’s blood.”

  “I know what you’re thinking, and it isn’t from that…that other thing,” Antony said gently. “This is only a drop, so it probably is from the cat we saw come out.” He peered into the wood. “There is some cat fur in some of the splinters.”

  “Cat trapped in the woodpile, dug out by those four?”

  “By Sunny and the Mastiff at least,” Antony said. “Levi is too small for these boards and beams, and as far as Little Foo-Foo…”

  “Judging Yoda by his appearance can lead you astray,” Arnold warned. “He’s much tougher than he looks, and from what I’ve heard, he is a pretty good brawler.”

  “He’s a fluffy boy,” Antony said dismissively.

  “You mean, he’s a fluffy boy…whose help we need.”

  “Hmm, I see your point,” Antony grumbled. “Anyway, if that cat was in here during all that activity in the warehouse we might actually have a witness to it all, someone who can not only tell us what’s going on, but who can describe the Master.”

  “And who has probably already been interviewed by the Three Dog Detective Agency,” Arnold stated.

  Antony sighed.

  They finished a search of the dilapidated warehouse, finding only one other item, and they counted it of dubious value because it had no context from which deductions might be made. It was a long length of rope that was out of place in the ruins of the citrus loading shed because the scent of the sea was heavy on its hemp strands.

  “This rope is no more than a few months old,” Arnold said after giving it a good sniffing. “From what I understand, this place has been abandoned a good fifty years ago or more.”

  “Before our grand-sires were a glimmer in their grand-sires’ eyes,” Antony commented.

  “What’s it doing here?” Arnold asked. “Something to do with the Master and his gang, don’t you think?”

  Antony examined it. “Or it might have nothing at all to do with the Master. Things end up in odd places simply because that’s what things do. Out of any kind of context it’s hard to know what to make of it.”

  “We have been hearing reports of strange animals in southern Chula Vista and of dogs howling inexplicably on the waterfront,” Arnold reminded his partner. “Although they were not cases we were actively pursuing, we had done some preliminary sniffing in those areas. Perhaps they both have to do with the Master. Maybe we didn’t know we were getting close to the Master, but it might have put him on his guard anyway.”

  “Perhaps so,” Antony agreed. “But, then, it could be one or more of the other leads we’ve been sniffing up. Maybe all of them taken together.” He gazed at the rope contemplatively. “As tenuous as it might be, this rope at least suggest a nautical connection. Snooping around the waterfront might be a good idea.”

  Finding nothing more of interest in the warehouse, Antony and Arnold set out for the police building. Not wanting to be observed, they took a circuitous route down Fourth to G Street, then up to the Chula Vista Women’s Club where a shortcut led them to Memorial Park. Passing through the park’s heart, they paused a moment to consider the same engraved stone that previously moved Levi to bow his head. Out of the park, they threaded through the shopping enclave and emerged near the police parking garage at its furthest point from the main building. They slipped in under the latticed barrier, then bided their time in the concealing shadows.

  They did not have long to wait. Dogs were instructed to sweep the various levels of the parking garage randomly. Though this was done for security reasons, it was also considered a rite of passage in the Unit, a task carried out by probies, the least senior K-9 members aspiring to full officer status. They had not known when the tedious and boring duty would fall to Blackie, but, as it turned out, he was the first dog they saw.

  “Hey, Blackie,” Arnold whispered. “Come here.”

  Antony hung back in the shadows while Arnold stepped out to meet the young Doberman. Previously they had decided it would be best if Arnold approached Blackie alone, at least initially. Despite the respect Blackie had for Antony, Antony had never played the role of mentor, a decision he now regretted.

  “You’ve been banished from the Unit,” Blackie said, but there was no fire in his tone. “You’re not supposed to be here, Arnold. What are you doing here?”

  “I need your help,” Arnold replied.

  “Actually,” Antony said, stepping from the shadows, “we both need your help.”

  “A-Antony,” Blackie stammered. “Neither of you are supposed to be here. Captain Reese gave orders.”

  “If you’ve been given orders, you should follow them,” Antony observed with uncharacteristic softness.
“Unless you think there is something wrong with the orders…unless you think them wrong.”

  “I don’t know,” Blackie muttered. “I should…”

  “If you think you should raise the alarm, go ahead,” Arnold invited. “We can’t stop you. We wouldn’t try. And we don’t want you to get in trouble because of us.”

  Blackie made inarticulate sounds as he tried to give voice to the conflicting emotions coursing through him.

  “A good K-9 officer follows orders,” Arnold said.

  “But a great K-9 officer uses his judgment,” Antony added.

  “Report us or listen to what we have to say,” Arnold continued. “The choice is yours. What’s it to be?”

  Blackie’s gaze shifted between the two disgraced K-9 officers, then he glanced quickly behind him, along the long line of marked and unmarked police cars. No one, neither K-9 nor regular police, was in sight.

  “All right,” he finally said. “Say what you came to say.”

  Retreating to the shadows between two parked cars, they told the Doberman everything that had happened since that morning, all they had discovered, and all they suspected, speaking quickly since at any time someone might be sent to check on Blackie. After they finished, they waited; in the shadows it was difficult to see the dark dog’s expression, and his ebony eyes betrayed nothing. Then the young Doberman sighed.

  “What can I do to help?” he asked.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Arnold asked. “You have to be sure of this.”

  “Arnold’s right, Blackie,” Antony confirmed. “Once in, there is no turning back; the only way out will be to plunge through until you reach the end.”

  “If the Unit discovers you’re helping us, you’ll be out in the cold with us,” Arnold said.

  “If the traitor suspects you,” Antony added, “it will be much worse. We already know he has a killer’s heart, so think carefully about this first.”

  “I have thought about it,” Blackie replied, his tone steady and resolute. “I know what I want to do…what I have to do.”

  Then they told Blackie what they needed of him.

  “If things get tough,” Arnold finished, “you can always go to Sergeant Rex for help. You can trust him.”

  “Sergeant Rex is no longer in the Unit,” Blackie blurted.

  “But…” Then Arnold thought about what Boris had claimed, more unbelievable than complex conspiracies and a masked dog. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Blackie admitted. “No one does. He had words with Captain Reese after the…well, what happened with you two, and no one has seen him since. A lot of us are really worried, but no one dares ask.” He snorted in disgust. “For two dog bones, I’d…”

  “You just take it easy, Blackie,” Arnold advised. “Sergeant Rex has been around a long time and seen more trouble than any of us. He can take care of himself.”

  “I hope so,” Blackie muttered.

  “I know so,” Arnold replied, sounding more confident than he actually felt. “You best finish your rounds and get back to the Unit.”

  Blackie nodded and turned away.

  “One moment, Blackie,” Antony said, stepping forward.

  Blackie turned and waited in expectant silence, his jaw tight, his muscles quivering almost imperceptibly.

  “I know I’ve been rather hard on you, even harsh at times,” Antony began. “I won’t apologize for what I’ve said, because my goal was to make you a good K-9 officer, to force you to find within yourself the strength it takes to do this job. Working for the police is not for every dog. Some dogs love the badge more than they do what it represents – honor, loyalty, duty and sacrifice. I believed you had those qualities, so I pushed you; if I did not believe in you, I would not have bothered. I hope you understand that.”

  Blackie nodded and said in a tight voice: “Yes, sir.”

  “However,” Antony added quickly, “I will apologize for not being a better mentor to you, a better guide. It’s been lately brought to my attention…” He glanced at Arnold. “…that I can come across as arrogant and cruelly critical, as condemning, not encouraging, as offensive even.”

  “I never took offense, Antony,” Blackie assured him.

  Antony smiled indulgently. “Of course you did, son; I surely would have. Looking back with the clear vision of hindsight, I’m surprised you didn’t give me a snap or a snarl. From what I know now, no one would have blamed you, and many would have supported you. I can’t say what’s going to happen in the future, and I can’t promise that I will ever change from being the dog I am, but I can tell you that you are a good dog and will be a great K-9.”

  Blackie wanted to shout and howl in joy, but he said: “Thank you, Antony, that means a lot to me.”

  Arnold made a whispery growl.

  “We have to get going, Blackie,” Antony said. “Thank you, Blackie, and take care – you watch your back.”

  The Doberman nodded and vanished into the gloom.

  Antony and Arnold crawled out they way they had entered.

  A few minutes later, a dog emerged from the shadows and peered at the two former police dogs from the garage as they headed toward F Street. He turned and gazed the direction in which Blackie had vanished. Moments later, he trotted silently away.

  Blackie, K-9 Probie

  Chapter 11

  “Just plain Rex now,” the old German Shepherd said. “When I put the K-9 Unit behind me, I left my rank as well.”

  “You can’t do that, Sarge…er, Rex,” Yoda protested.

  “Why not, young dog?”

  “Because…because…well, because you’re in the K-9 Unit,” Yoda stammered. “Great Galloping Anubis! In lots of ways you are the K-9 Unit.”

  “So, it’s true what they say about Pomeranians,” Rex replied. “And there’s no need to be profane.”

  “Sorry, uh, Rex,” Yoda said contritely. Then he bristled. “What do you mean, ‘what they say about Pomeranians’?”

  Rex chuckled and batted the top of Yoda’s head affectionately. “I hope you have a better argument that I have to be in the Unit because I’ve always been in the Unit. Pomeranian logic, is it, young fellow?”

  “Humph,” Yoda grunted and glared at the old dog.

  “Yoda’s logic may be a bit skewed,” Sunny admitted, “but he’s right nevertheless. You once said the only way you would leave the K-9 Unit was in an urn.”

  “Nothing lasts forever, Miss Sunny,” Rex said kindly. “When you get to be my age, you realize two things – you can do whatever you want, and you know better when to do the right thing. I know I said I would stay with Chula Vista’s K-9 Unit forever, but that was before everything changed. I wanted to leave the Unit, but, more than that, I felt it was the right thing to do.”

  “What changed, Rex?” Yoda asked.

  “Yes, what made you give up your life’s work?” Sunny asked.

  “That will take a little explaining,” Rex answered. “It will require some of your time, if you three have it to spare.”

  “Is it about Antony and Arnold?” Levi asked.

  Rex’s head jerked up in surprise, then his mouth opened in a grin and his tongue lolled out. “Levi, just when I start to doubt the stories I hear about you, you make me believe. I think we might have some information to trade.”

  “I am sure we do,” Levi agreed. “Let’s go inside.”

  Levi pawed the back door three times. After it opened, the four dogs started in.

  Rex paused on the threshold, turned and looked at Smokey and Groucho perched atop the Ford Escort. “Thanks for opening the gate, young kits. Much obliged.”

  “Glad to have helped, old fellow,” Smokey purred.

  “And thanks for not chasing us,” Groucho added, smiling.

  Rex growled, but his mouth remained open in a good-natured grin. “You might not have said that nineteen years ago. By the way, if you know any old cats hereabouts, be sure to ask them if they ever got struck by Lightning.”


  Smokey and Groucho looked at each other in confusion, then looked back at the nice old German Shepherd. And smiled.

  Rex turned and joined the three dogs in the living room. They were already in the attentive Sphinx Position, and Rex lowered his body carefully, slowly, ignoring the pain. At least nineteen years, he thought. How fast the cats ran then, and how we all laughed at the sport, at the sheer fun of it all. The cats called me Lightning, and those who managed to elude me really had something to brag about. For those who couldn’t, well, there was always next time, wasn’t there? He glanced up and saw the three dogs looking expectantly at him, and he chided himself for his foolishness.

  “That dog is not going to chase us, is he?” Little Kitty asked from her perch atop the back of the sofa, glaring at the stranger with her one good eye.

  “Don’t be rude, Little Kitty,” Kim chided. “Sergeant Rex has been here before.”

  “Then where’s his vest?’ Little Kitty demanded.

  “No chasing today, young kit,” Rex replied to the Calico. But you should have known me back in the day. To Kim he said: “And just call me Rex now, Miss Kim.”

  “You’ll always be Sergeant Rex to me,” Kim said. “Badge or no badge, you still wear it on your heart.”

  Rex shifted uneasily, then looked to Levi.

  “We’ve been conducting an investigation that seems to parallel something Officers Antony and Arnold are involved in,” Levi said. “Perhaps we could start by you telling us what happened to Antony and Arnold that led to your departure from the K-9 Unit.”

  With an economy of words, yet sacrificing no detail, Rex told the three dogs about Blackie’s report of a strange smell, how stolen meat and the murdered cat had been discovered in Antony’s and Arnold’s kennel, and how the Sulimov Boris, the Unit’s best sniffer, had confirmed their guilt through scent evidence.

  “When they returned to the Unit, a court of inquiry was held by Captain Reese, who conducted it with his usual efficiency,” Rex finished. “With the evidence before them and Boris’ nose against them, those lads had no chance. Arnold was offered a reprieve if he would turn on Antony, but he refused.”