K-9 Blues (Paws & Claws Book 3)

by Ralph Vaughan

  As soon as he saw Arnold come out of the shadows he knew he was going to help his friend. And Antony too, even though the Cane Corso had never responded to any of the overtures of friendship, had never spoken to him except in harsh and critical tones. The words hurt, of course, but he also knew that Antony never demanded from anyone else anything that he did not demand from himself. Antony did not need to explain himself, but Blackie was still glad to know the truth; Antony did not need to offer an apology to the probie, but Blackie was overjoyed to receive it. The apology had come at a price to Antony, a fee Blackie chose not to collect through his quiet acceptance. All the other probies called Blackie a fool for looking up to and taking guff from Antony, but now Blackie knew Antony was every bit the dog he had always believed him to be, and more.

  If Arnold and Antony were innocent, someone else had put the evidence in their kennels. Heading back, he pondered his suspects.

  Of all the members of the Unit, Boris the Sulimov was an obvious choice. Blackie had never trusted the sniffer, even before he found out about the dog’s dubious mixed ancestry. He was a sly one, that Boris, always slinking about, listening in on conversations that had nothing to do with him, trying to curry favor, disappearing for long periods only to show up with no good explanation of where had been or what he was doing. And it was he who gave the scent evidence to Captain Reese that ultimately condemned the two officers.

  Still, it had not been possible for Boris to put the evidence in the kennels, Blackie knew. The Sulimov had left the building about the same time as had Arnold and Antony, transported down to the marine waterfront area to sniff hulls and containers for Homeland Security and the Coast Guard.

  If not Boris, then who? And if someone else, why did Boris confirm the guilt of Arnold and Antony through scent evidence?

  Even though Boris was not liked, none disputed the keenness of his nose. His scores during test trials were the standards by which all other sniffers were judged, and found wanting. No dummy pack had ever fooled him, and he had never reported a false positive to the companion handlers. He could detect even a grain of contraband within any number of plastic wrappings, and could differentiate the real target amongst more than a dozen smell-a-likes.

  And yet Boris had confirmed Arnold and Antony guilty.

  Which means, Blackie thought, Boris lied.

  When he returned to the K-9 common area he looked around, then casually asked after Boris. The whereabouts of the Sulimov, however, were unknown.

  “As usual,” remarked a fellow Doberman named Seeker. “That dog – if you really want to call him a dog – is never around. Always off goldbricking. Why are you looking for him anyway, probie?”

  “I just wanted to ask him some questions about scents,” Blackie answered. “You know, the usual stuff, about how explosives smell, the difference in scent between powder and crystal.”

  “Oh.” Then Seeker frowned. “Why would a Doberman care about that? Your eyes, your muscles and your bark – that’s where your future lies, probie. Now, if you want to get ahead in this dog’s Unit let me give you some pointers…”

  Blackie was glad when, ten minutes later, he was pulled away from his self-appointed tutor by a couple of the regular police who needed someone from the K-9 Unit to ride with them on a security patrol. Blackie had no desire, however, to abandon his investigation so soon after starting it. At the last moment, as the companions were signing some paperwork, Blackie switched out with another probie, fortunately also a Doberman, who owed him a favor.

  Blackie chatted casually with several K-9 officers as he shifted between the kennel and common areas, always careful not to let himself get trapped as he had when first asking after Boris. No one had seen Boris for several hours. While that in itself was not very unusual, it was odd, taken in context with the events of the day.

  While unsuccessful in tracking down Boris, with whom Blackie wanted to have a serious dog-to-dog talk, Blackie was able to build a mental picture about the locations and activities of the other members of the K-9 Unit during this morning, when the evidence had to have been put in place.

  Most of the dogs he was able to dismiss as suspects right away because their claims were backed up by the stories of others. But as some suspects dropped away, others remained, notably Hector and Captain Reese.

  Blackie was in a quandary. Hector was not much older than he was, but the fact that he had been promoted out of probationary status last year created a gulf between them. There was an even greater chasm between Blackie and the Captain. While it was at least conceivable that he could approach Hector with some pointed questions about his activities this morning, the thought of him going to Captain Reese for any reason filled him with dread. One might as well think of walking up to Anubis and sniffing him without permission. It just was not done.

  Normally Blackie would have taken his problem to Sergeant Rex, since any dog in the Unit could seek the Sergeant’s help about any problem at any time, but that was not possible now. No one had seen Sergeant Rex after he and Captain Reese had had a meeting. The scuttlebutt around the Unit, whispered by all, acknowledged by none, was that there had been a face-off about what had been done to Arnold and Antony, and a battle royale, after which Sergeant Rex took the retirement he had been considering the last five years.

  He wished he knew where Sergeant Rex was now.

  “You’ve been pretty busy today, haven’t you, Blackie?” Hector said, stepping from out the shadows. “A real curious pup.”

  Needing to get away by himself to mull over his conflicting thoughts and theories, Blackie had sought the solitude of one of the lower sections, just below street level. Most of the fluorescent lights were off to conserve energy, so the only real source of illumination was that which filtered in through grates set high up the walls. That light was somber, an afternoon giving way to the muted hues of dusk. The area was used for storage, unvisited except for random security patrols.

  “Hector, I didn’t know you were there,” Blackie said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Hector replied. “And I would be justified, since you’re a probie, and I’m not.”

  “Just making a security check,” Blackie explained.

  “Oh, were you now?” Hector murmured, moving so that he was between Blackie and the ramp leading upward. “Volunteer for that, did you?”

  “I was at loose ends, looking for something to do, thought I would do this rather than be around when someone needed a probie to do drudge work,” Blackie said. “I don’t mind doing this; security is everyone’s business.”

  “How commendable,” Hector remarked. “And you parrot the Captain’s platitudes so well. Unfortunately, I don’t think you are nearly as clueless as he is, and certainly not as useful.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Blackie said.

  “And I’m sure you do,” Hector countered.

  Blackie felt his muscles tensing, felt his cropped ears pulling back a bit.

  “I’m sure your friends would be proud of the work you have done on their behalf this afternoon,” Hector continued.

  Blackie’s eyes narrowed, and a tightening of his cheek pulled his muzzle back slightly, barely exposing the tips of his very white, very sharp teeth.

  “You know who I mean, of course, the criminals Antony and Arnold,” Hector said. “Was it only this morning they were tossed out like a couple of pariah curs? They were around here much too long if you ask me. We don’t want dirty dogs like them here.”

  “They were good officers,” Blackie said, making a supreme effort to keep his tone soft and quiet. “I think they got a raw deal.”

  “Not nearly raw enough!” Hector disagreed.

  “I should be going now,” Blackie said, starting back.

  “So you can tattle?” Hector sneered, blocking the way.

  “Others will also figure out you framed Arnold and Antony,” Blackie said. “You might be more clever than the Captain…”
<
br />   “He wanted them out like we did, he just didn’t know it.”

  Blackie frowned. “What ‘we’ are you talking about?”

  “You know too much already, probie, and you’ve asked too many questions,” Hector replied. “No more for you.”

  “Stand aside, Hector.”

  Hector grinned. “You Dobermans think you’re the dog’s bark, but German Shepherds have the upper paw in any fight – we have the mass, the speed, the bite and the instinct for blood.”

  Blackie tried several times to get around Hector, but each time the other dog moved swiftly to block him. The Doberman felt as if every strand of muscle in his body was quivering like plucked steel cords. He watched as Hector hunkered down, mouth opening in a snarl that revealed rows of sharp teeth.

  With a savage sound that evoked racial memories deep in the core of the Doberman, Hector sprang forward and sank his fangs deep into Blackie’s throat.

  * * *

  “When we wouldn’t let them in, Antony tried to bust open the gate with his head,” Groucho explained.

  “It would serve him right if his head got stuck,” Smokey said.

  “Unlatch the gate for them please,” Levi instructed.

  Both outdoor cats looked at Levi incredulously.

  “Quickly,” Levi urged. “Before he does get his head stuck fast or the wood cracks.”

  Smokey purred, “I would bet kibble on the head.”

  Groucho walked along the fence-top fighting to keep balanced as Antony pulled back and the twin gates popped back together. At the center of the gate, he batted the latch with practiced ease. As one gate swung open under its own weight, Groucho remained on the half held in place by a movable bolt sunk into the concrete.

  “Spoil sport,” Smokey chided in his soft gravelly voice, but his tone carried neither rancor nor recrimination.

  “Thank you, Levi,” Antony said. “We, that is, Arnold and I, find ourselves in a situation where…” He paused, then started to back away. “No, I can’t do this.”

  “Antony,” Arnold called. “You need to…”

  “I need to find a way to help myself,” Antony snapped. “This was a bad idea. I’m going…”

  “Antony, wait!” Levi stepped forward, till his muzzle was mere inches from Antony’s. “Nothing right is ever easy.”

  “But this isn’t right,” Antony countered. “This is very wrong. I am supposed to help others, not beg help for myself.”

  “It’s never begging to ask a friend,” Levi said softly, the words carrying only to Antony’s ears. “We sometimes found ourselves adversaries, but never enemies. I like to think we have always been united in a common purpose, even when seemingly at odds. In that shared destiny we have a bond. That bond may be the only kind of friendship that two hard-headed dogs like us can ever have.”

  Antony nodded almost imperceptibly, but otherwise remained silent.

  “The Three Dog Detective Agency is at your service,” Levi said. “It would be an honor were you to allow us to help you.”

  Antony searched Levi’s expression for some trace of mockery, but saw only respect and concern in his eyes.

  “Levi,” Antony said after several moments, “we need help.”

  “Then you shall have it,” Levi replied. “We should take this out of the driveway and into the house. Please come inside.”

  Antony entered moments behind Levi, an acknowledgement he was a guest in another dog’s home, with Arnold bringing up the rear. The door closed behind them.

  “The situation is very complex, Levi, and it will take awhile to bring the three of you up to speed,” Antony said, walking with Levi. “First, I should tell you that…”

  Antony stopped dead in his tracks, so sudden that Arnold could do nothing but run into him.

  “Hello, Antony…Arnold,” said Rex. “Took you two boys long enough to find your way here.”

  “Sergeant Rex, what are you…”

  “Hold!” Rex commanded. “I don’t have a badge, anymore than you two pups do, so it’s just Rex now.”

  “You retired, Sarge?” Arnold asked.

  “I quit!”

  “Come on in,” Levi said to the newcomers. “Make yourself comfortable. It may not take as long as you thought to bring us up to speed.” He paused as everyone shifted about to make room. “What might take us awhile is figuring out where the Master is and what we’re going to do about him.”

  Antony and Arnold looked at Levi, stunned, then lay down. For the next half-hour the dogs traded information, filling in gaps of knowledge.

  “That Boris!” Rex snapped after hearing Boris’ confession.

  “Yes, he lied when he said there was scent evidence on the things in our kennels,” Antony agreed.

  “Of course he did, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” Rex snarled. “Even when he had nothing going for him but telling the truth, he still lied. Reese never suspended him, just told him to keep quiet about Slim Shady.”

  “Looks like a dog,” Yoda quipped, “talks like a jackal.”

  “That rope the two of you found in the warehouse, could you tell how long it had been there?” Levi asked.

  Arnold shook his head. “The best we could figure was no more than a few months. Even that is more guess-work than sniff-work.”

  “I could calculate the time element of the scent molecules if I were to sniff them myself,” Levi said. “But returning to the place would be too dangerous now.”

  “If the rope is still there,” Sunny added.

  “That sound you heard when you were with Boris was likely the Master,” Levi said. “He knows the warehouse is compromised, and if nothing else it will be watched carefully.”

  “I know I’m not a sniffer, neither of us,” Antony said, “but that rope was from the waterfront, we were sure of that.”

  “According to the statement of Swoon the British Shorthair,” Levi related, “the Master referred to a ‘place by the water.’ His lair could be somewhere along the marina.”

  “We thought so too,” Arnold said. “There have been some strange things going on down there. We should have a look.”

  “Agreed,” Levi said. “It will be dusk soon, so we should….”

  Little Kitty padded into the living room and leaped atop the sofa. She looked around, though because of her gimpy eye (and not being able to see too well out of the other) it was impossible to tell whether she was surprised, scared, or just counting.

  “Who let the dogs in?” she quipped. “Woof. Woof.”

  “Were you able to find out anything about the Kolignosae,” Little Kitty?” Levi asked.

  “Kolignosae, no,” Little Kitty replied. “But yes for Kolignos. Since a-e is used to form plurals, it probably is being used that way, but it’s not the right language for that suffix. According to what I’ve found out, the word Kolignos comes not from Indo-European, which is old, but from Proto Indo-European which is older…older than the pyramids…even older than Sergeant Rex.”

  Rex growled, though mostly to keep up appearances.

  “But what does it mean?” Yoda asked.

  “Dog,” Little Kitty replied.

  “You mean it’s an ancient dog breed?” Sunny said.

  “Dog,” Little Kitty repeated.

  “Little Kitty,” Levi said, “the word means ‘dog’?”

  “Just dog,” Little Kitty explained. “Not a breed, not a name, just d-o-g to those Proto guys.”

  “How long ago does it go back?” Levi asked.

  “No one knows,” Little Kitty admitted. “Thousands of years, probably longer.”

  “From what Swoon reported, I get the impression the Master is talking about something even older,” Levi said. “Millions of years.”

  “Ancient wolves?” Arnold asked.

  “Something so old that even the first wolves are relatively recent,” Levi answered. “Like Boris told you – a dog like no other.”

  “Did Swoon get a look at the Master without his mask?” Antony
asked.

  Levi shook his head. “Never took it off. Probably no one has seen him without it, not even his personal guards. He dares not let anyone see him without the mask.”

  “Dogs only follow dogs,” Arnold interjected.

  “I wish we knew what the master looks like,” Antony said.

  “Well, not that I’m bragging or anything, but…” Little Kitty paused and let everyone have her best Cheshire grin. “No, I really am bragging. I took everything you said about the Master…”

  “You were listening?” Yoda demanded. “We thought you were fast asleep.”

  “Just resting my eyes,” Little Kitty sniffed. “As I was saying when a hairball so rudely interrupted me, I took everything you said about the Master – his feet, his size, his doggishness, all that other stuff – and put it into an image search engine.”

  “Did you find anything?” Yoda asked.

  The wi-fi printer in the living room began to print.

  “Large file,” Little Kitty explained. “Took awhile to buffer.”

  After it finished, Sunny stood against the bookcase upon which the printer sat and pushed the picture from the tray with her paw. The sheet of paper floated to the carpet and all gathered around it.

  A savage beast stared up at them. It was, of course, an artistic depiction, but the painter had captured in its form the essence of brutality and violence. It had a high domelike skull, with little ears set behind a massive jaw. It glared at them with fiery green eyes. Its canines were almost tusks.

  “If that is the Master,” Little Kitty commented, “it does not look much like a d-o-g to me.”

  “It’s a monster,” Sunny murmured.

  “Put a mask on it, keep it in shadows, don’t let others get too near it,” Levi mused. “Yes, I could see it working, especially as its scent is doglike. Add a heavy dose of fear and most dogs, even the alphas of the gangs, would not challenge it.”

  “Obviously it’s not like any dog in the world…” Yoda said.

  “At least not for a very long time,” Sunny murmured. “Before the time of First Dog.”