Dead Man's Best Friend

by Sarah Hines-Stephens

  Hayley was no giggler. Milk-out-her-nose laugher? Yes. Giggler? No. I glanced back at Taylor, who was pretty much the best guy friend I had, and it suddenly dawned on me that he was not only really nice and really committed to animals, he was also cute. And that Hayley obviously thought he was super, duper, cute. Oh, man!

  I was trying to wrap my head around these two lightning bolt thoughts when Officer Riley and Hero appeared around the corner of the warehouse. Really? I thought. Now? Riley was in street clothes; the pair was clearly off duty. Only Hero was wearing the stupid FIDO camera and bounded up to me, sniffing wildly.

  Riley squared his shoulders and adopted his policeman expression. “What are you kids doing down here?” he asked. “This is not a good place to play.”

  Play? Please! Did he think we had a bag of Barbies with us? I considered bluffing, but Taylor took charge. “We’re working, actually — trying to rescue stray dogs that have been abandoned,” he said, pulling out his Pet Rescue ID. I was totally grateful that he’d thought to bring it, even though the sight of it made Haley’s admiring eyes grow even wider.

  I wanted to ask Riley what he was doing down here. After all, it wasn’t “a good place to play,” and he hardly seemed to be working. But I didn’t want to seem too interested in his comings and goings. So I asked about the camera instead. “I see Hero is wearing the FIDO. Are you getting any good footage?”

  Riley cleared his throat. “Um, yes. We’re just, um, practicing with it out in the field,” he mumbled. I was instantly suspicious. As a rule, police property wasn’t supposed to be used off duty.

  “Yeah, I suppose there are a lot of empty buildings around here to explore….” I stopped talking, because I suddenly spotted a pair of dark noses poking out from under the loading dock. The pups! Now that the boots were off, they’d come almost all the way out of hiding! I reached for a burger for extra enticement, but at that moment Hero smelled the other dogs and went berserk.

  “Rwoof! Rwoof! Rwoof!”

  He strained hard on the leash, and Riley pulled him back. “Hero, no!”

  But it was too late. The pair of pups disappeared and we were back to square one. Ugh!

  Hanging out with The Sister wasn’t too bad except for one thing: She smelled like The Cat. Which made my nose itch and bugged like a flea under my collar. Not that she could help it — that thing slept on her bed. They were bound to share a scent.

  On the other hand, The Sister loved brushing fur — my fur. And that almost made up for The Cat smell. A good brushing was like a good pet and a good scratch all rolled together. Woof. I loved a good brushing.

  The Sister brushed me for so long that I forgot to think about Cassie. Forgot to wonder what she was doing. I let go. Let my muscles go soft. Let my mind off-leash. When she finally stopped brushing and switched on the TV, I lay there. Relaxed. Then The Cat jumped onto The Sister’s lap, flicking my snout with her tail. My nose twitched, making me unrelax. I got up and took a stroll to the kitchen for some crumb patrol. Nobody likes a dirty floor.

  The Brother was already in the food zone. His stomach was growling (I can hear these things) and his whole head was in the fridge. He was lucky. He could open the giant treat box without help.

  “Hey, D,” The Brother greeted. I gave a wag, and wagged harder when he straightened. He was totally loaded down with food. So loaded he had to close the fridge with his foot. He set the grub on the counter. I couldn’t see everything that was up there, but I smelled the good stuff: bread, mayo, cheese, and … I breathed in deep so the smell would hit the back of my throat, so it would feel almost like eating a mouthful of … salami! I loved salami. Salami was my favorite.

  The Brother looked my way and I licked my chops. To remind him how much I enjoyed sandwiches. Especially the insides.

  “How’s it going?” he asked. The Brother was never perky. He moved slowly. Spoke softly. Grumbled a lot. He was a laid-back guy. “This stuff making you crazy, too?”

  Was he talking about the pile of yum on the counter? Or the way the Sullivan Pack was acting? I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. The answer was yes. Yes! Yes! Yes! He pulled a knife loaded with mayo out of the jar. My eyes locked on the creamy, delicious blob. I might have whined. I definitely drooled.

  “Right?” he said, looking at me. “Me, too. It sucks when things are messed up. It sucks when your mom makes you scrub the floor with a toothbrush. It sucks when your parents aren’t talking to each other. It all sucks.” Oh, that stuff. I knew what he was talking about now but couldn’t take my eyes off the knife. The mayo was about to plop onto the floor.

  The Brother topped his sandwich with a second slice of bread and carried it to the table. He slumped into a chair. He took a bite and chewed. I rubbed against his leg and rested my chin on his thigh.

  “Thanks, D.” He patted my head and took another bite. I watched the sandwich move from the plate to his mouth. Plate. Mouth. Plate. Mouth. A piece of salami was sticking out on one side. I wiggled and licked my chops.

  Finally he set the last of his sandwich on the floor. Finally! It was gone in a single bite.

  “Glad you enjoyed that,” The Brother said with a chuckle. He ruffed up my neck fur. “You’re a good listener, Dodge. Best one in the house.” He put the plate in the dishwasher and went down the stairs to his den. I considered following him. I liked his den. But now that I was up and had gobbled down a little snack, I was thinking about Cassie. Hard at work without me. I barked at the back door, and The Sister came to open it for me. I waited until she was out of sight, then jumped the fence. Even though Cassie told me not to come, I had to go.

  I ran through the neighborhood, not bothering with my usual sniffing and news gathering. When I got to Pet Rescue, I slipped into stealth mode. Stealth mode was all about moving slow. Not being seen. Taking everything in. Sights. Sounds. Smells. Stealthy.

  I passed warehouses, most of them empty. I passed abandoned cars, all empty. I smelled some garbage. Old garbage. Stinky delicious. And other stuff: mildew, dust, grease, rats. I even caught sight of a disappearing rodent tail.

  Skirting the side of an abandoned building, I heard a car engine. Then voices. I slunk up along the metal wall, peeked around the corner, and pulled back. My nose and eyes got the information at the same time: Hero and Riley were here. With someone who smelled like a meatball sub.

  I peeked again and noted some stuff. The meatball sub held an armful of signs with leafy buildings on them. Riley wasn’t in uniform. But Hero wore the FIDO. His nose twitched.

  Any second now my replacement would smell me and go nuts. It was time to head out. I doubled back the way I came, then turned down an alley. I listened for Cassie’s voice. I sniffed for burgers. But I didn’t smell anything good, and what I heard was the sound of … paws?

  Yes. Four paws trotted along the pavement behind me in a rhythm just a little faster than mine. I sped up. So did the steps. I slowed down. The steps slowed, too. Was Hero following me? Maybe I hadn’t gotten away fast enough. Or maybe it was the Burger Burglar!

  I turned down another alley and heard my tracker turn, too. I needed to get a look, or at least a smell, of whoever it was. I needed the wind at my back. I turned again and the breeze brought me the information. It wasn’t Hero. Or the Burger Burglar. My four-footed pursuer smelled like flowers and nail polish and . . .

  Summer Hill! I whirled around and saw Muffet, Summer’s tiny Maltese, half a block back. She stopped when I turned, but stood her ground. Trying not to tremble in the shadow of the building. Her girl was not with her. She wore a sparkly collar with a chewed-off bit of leash still attached. The puny pup had busted out. Gotten free. Run away. Who could blame her? She was probably sick of wearing sweaters. Just the thought of playing dress-up made me drop fur. How humiliating.

  I was having other feelings looking at her, too. Lots of them. Annoyance: I’d lost time getting to Cassie. Admiration: For a petite pooch, Muffet had pluck. Worry: The docks were no place for a pampered pet.
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  “Grrr.” I growled at Muffet, telling her to go home. Go! She lifted a paw to step back, but didn’t. I growled again. It wasn’t safe for her here. Still, she stayed. Pluck.

  Aw, woof. If I couldn’t scare her, I’d have to lose her. I whirled and took off at a run. Not my fastest. How hard could it be to lose a Maltese? Muffet was smaller than The Cat. I did a zigzag down a side street, around a row of Dumpsters, and past a pair of cargo containers. I thought that would do it, but I could hear without turning that Muffet was still on my tail. I jumped onto a pile of pallets. I leaped onto a loading dock. I cleared the Dumpster beside it. I heard Muffet scramble onto the pile behind me. There was no way she’d make the jump. No way she’d even try. I stopped to look back. I was right and I was wrong. She jumped. And missed. I heard her land in the Dumpster with a squishy plop. Woof.

  My ears drooped. The tiny dog’s moxie had gotten her in deep, but I hadn’t exactly helped. Which meant I had to help now.

  I walked back to the edge of the loading dock and looked into the Dumpster. It was ripe with smells. Rotted broccoli. Rancid potatoes. Liquid lettuce. And there, in the middle of it, was Muffet. She yipped at me and clawed at the slimy metal walls, but I was helpless. I couldn’t reach her, couldn’t help her out. I had to call for backup. I threw my head back and barked out the alarm.

  Living on the street was tough on dogs. Hunger gnawed at them. Fear gnawed at them. Loneliness gnawed at them. The hunger was probably the worst. Hunger could drive a dog to do strange things, like accept a Smokehouse burger from the hand of a stranger.

  Hero and Officer Riley hadn’t been gone long when the smaller of the black-and-white pups, the female, crept into the light to grab the still-warm burger from my outstretched fingers. She took it gently, cautiously, then dragged it about a foot away and inhaled it as fast as she could. “Slow down,” I said in a calm voice. “It’s okay. I’m not going to take it back.”

  I held out another burger to her brother, whose quivering nose poked out of the shadows. Once he saw that his sister hadn’t been hit or kicked or yelled at, he grew braver. He stretched his neck out, took the burger, and scarfed down his free meal with his tail tucked between his legs.

  I offered the puppies two more burgers and inched closer while they ate them. “Everything’s going to be fine,” I soothed. The dogs were older than I thought — maybe close to a year. They were skinny and shaking. I could count every one of their ribs.

  I looked up at Taylor and Hayley. Taylor was getting out leashes and a crate. Hayley was watching his every move. I turned back to the pups, who were chewing and keeping a wary eye on me. “It’s okay,” I said again. “We’re here to —”

  “Woof! Woof! Woof!” Three short, sharp barks echoed through the deserted neighborhood, making me sit up straight. They weren’t just any barks; they were Dodge’s barks. Dodge’s barks? That didn’t make sense. Dodge was supposed to be . . .

  “I gotta go!” I stood up too fast, making the pups startle and run. Dang! We’d almost had them! But I couldn’t worry about that right now — I had to get to Dodge. He wasn’t supposed to be here, and I knew that bark. That bark meant trouble.

  I heard it again, this time a little louder, and I shoved the bag of burgers at Hayley. “Here,” I said. In a way I felt grateful to be out of there — away from Hayley’s lovesick face. I ran past four warehouses and turned a corner to find Dodge hanging halfway in and halfway out of a Dumpster in front of Happy Produce — the place where we’d seen the two men arguing a few days before.

  “What are you doing?” I panted. I could hear whimpering coming from inside the big metal bin. I thought Dodge had gotten stuck on the edge of the Dumpster, so I helped him down. But the whimpering didn’t stop when he was back on all fours. Dodge cocked his head toward the Dumpster and I looked inside the can of gross. There was another dog in there, half buried in rotting vegetables.

  At first I didn’t recognize the little dog. Then I wished I hadn’t. “Oh, no. Muffet?!” What was she doing here? Panicked, I looked around for her person, Summer — the last human I wanted to see — and quickly realized I would never spot her here. Not because she was hiding, but because Summer wouldn’t be caught dead down by the docks. There was no place to shop and nobody to see in this neighborhood. Just trash and strays … and Muffet.

  “Good boy,” I told Dodge. I never would have heard the Maltese’s pleas without his big bark. “But … Muffet?” I locked eyes with my dog, wondering how he’d gotten us into this little situation. He looked away.

  Muffet let out a yip. “Don’t worry,” I called down to her. “We’ll get you out of there.” Somehow. I didn’t exactly want to climb into the Dumpster and wasn’t even sure I’d be able to get back out if I did. I was staring at Muffet, wondering what to do and trying not to gag, when Dodge emerged from the Happy Produce rolltop door carrying a long pole with a claw on the end, an industrial grabber thingy.

  “Nice,” I said, nodding. I peered back at Muffet, who appeared to be sinking in the muck. “And just in time. I think she’s stuck in quick trash.” I held out my hand, but before I could take the rescue pole, I heard something way worse than Muffet’s whimper.

  “Hey, you, get back here!” A man in an apron was coming after Dodge.

  “Hang on, Muffet,” I called before rushing over to intercept the guy.

  “Come back with that, you thief!” the man shouted.

  “Sorry, sir!” I yelled back to get the man’s attention. “My dog’s not trying to steal anything!” When he saw me, the man stopped chasing Dodge but still looked furious. He also looked familiar.

  “That your dog?” he asked angrily.

  I nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry, but we have a kind of … situation.” Right on cue, Muffet barked from inside the Dumpster. “That dog is mine,” I pointed at Dodge. “But the dog trapped in your Dumpster isn’t.”

  The man squinted at me, and that’s when I spotted Hayley coming around the corner of the warehouse. She took one look at Dodge with the grabber thingy and headed over to help.

  “One of those strays is stuck in my trash?” the man asked. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and swabbed his face. “Maybe you should just leave it in there.”

  That was the wrong answer for several reasons, but there wasn’t time to get into it. “Well, this one’s not a stray, exactly. She’s actually a registered AKC pedigree. She belongs to a . . .” I stopped, because I couldn’t bring myself to call Summer a “friend,” even in an emergency. “. . . person I know.”

  I led the Not-So-Jolly-Green-Grocer over to view the prized Maltese, hoping Muffet still had her head above the sludge. He galumphed after me and peered into the Dumpster. Muffet’s head was still visible, and Hayley was using the grabber pole to try and fish her out. Hayley moved the pole in close. She closed the claw on Muffet’s collar and swung her onto the asphalt, setting her down gently.

  “Catch of the day,” Hayley laughed as Dodge let out a bark.

  Muffet let out a pathetic yip and shook. Rotten produce goo flew everywhere.

  The green grocer’s scowl deepened as a blob hit his shoe. I took the pole from Hayley and wiped it off as best I could on my shirt. “Thank you, Mr., um . . .” I offered the man my hand. He shook it and introduced himself reluctantly.

  “Albrici,” he said. “Ernest Albrici.”

  “I’m Cassie,” I said, leaving off my last name. “And this is Dodge and Hayley and Muffet.” The trio stood in a line, smiling and looking innocent.

  Mr. Albrici managed half a smile and accepted his pole. “This place is really going to the dogs,” he mumbled, turning away. “Been here thirty years. Thirty years running my own business. But lately . . .”

  I followed, trying to look innocent and curious. “What do you mean, sir?”

  “It’s going to the dogs,” he repeated. “The neighborhood is falling apart. Most of my neighbors have been bought out. They tried to buy me out, too. But I’m not budging.” He rapped the po
le on the ground, punctuating his words.

  As he pounded the asphalt, I realized why he looked familiar. He was the guy Dodge and I’d seen on Wednesday, having an argument with the other guy in the suit. And that guy in the suit . . .

  My thoughts were interrupted by Muffet shaking again, as if she were fresh from a bath — only what she sent flying was not soapy suds.

  “Gross!” Hayley squealed, wiping slime off her cheek.

  Mr. Albrici scowled at the glops spotting his apron.

  “I’m so sorry,” I apologized. But he didn’t answer. He just walked away, ducking under the Happy Produce door, mumbling about stray dogs and real estate vultures.

  “Thank you, Mr. Albrici!” I called after him. Then I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my camera roll to one of the pictures I’d taken in Mom’s office last week. I squinted at the fuzzy image of two men from the photo on her desk. The notes under the photo identified the man on the left as Gerard Slatterly. My misty memory identified him as the guy in the suit who’d been fighting with Mr. Albrici — that’s why he looked familiar! My mind whirled. My thoughts needed sorting. I was thinking two things: suit guy was part of The Corps, and suit guy was no friend of Happy Produce. But before I could figure out if those things were connected, I heard somebody start to chuckle.

  “Summer is going to bust a gasket when she sees her precious Muffie,” Hayley laughed behind her hand. I looked down at the once snowy-white Maltese, crinkling my nose at the smell coming off her. It was true. Dodge took a reluctant sniff, then a tentative lick of the greenish-brown muck. Blech! I knew dogs weren’t picky eaters, but … ew!

  I didn’t know what I was going to say to Summer when we delivered Muffet in her compost suit. Worse than that, I suddenly didn’t know what to say to Hayley. She’d acted so weird around Taylor that it was making me act weird around her.

  “So, uh, where’s Taylor?” I couldn’t help asking when we got back to our bikes. If I sounded annoyed, she totally missed it.