by An Anthology
Duke bounded across the seat from the back and was out and running before she could stop him.
Horrified, she pelted after him. “Duke, stop! Heel! Duke, no!”
Jake turned sideways to protect the arm, and braced himself for eighty pounds of dog. Duke planted his paws on Jake’s shoulders and gave him the equivalent of the best facial money could buy, after which Jake, his rich laughter booming across the parking lot, yanked his shirttail free to wipe off the slurp. Duke escorted him to the car, his tail wagging with such ferocity that his whole hind end wagged with it.
“Hi,” Jake said, with a warm smile for her. “Thanks for picking me up and bringing my buddy here. You look good.”
“Thanks.” Startled at the compliment, A.J. stepped back so he could get in. “So do you. How’s the arm?” Not standing on protocol, Duke jumped in first.
“Good. Lost some muscle but no nerve damage, and no more infection. I was lucky.”
“I’m so glad, Jake. What’s the final word on Fielding and Marsden?” she asked, wondering why she cared. “Nobody will tell me anything. Is Fielding paralyzed?”
“Nah, it was only temporary. Busted pelvis but he’ll heal. And Marsden missed hurting anything important. They’ll be perfectly healthy inmates. God, it is good to be outdoors. Can we just ride around, maybe head for Rock Creek Park or somewhere? I want to put off being inside four walls for a little while.”
“Why not?” A.J. pulled the seat belt around so he could reach it. After closing the door for him, she got in. “Duke, settle. And Rock Creek Park is where?”
“I forgot. You’re not from around here. I must be crazy, but I missed you. Where are you from? Where do you work?”
Starting the engine, she smiled. “Elm Corners, Virginia, my hometown. Which way?”
The traffic she encountered between northeast Washington and the park convinced A.J. she’d made a wise decision in sticking to familiar territory. People in D.C. drove as if they were hell-bent on either suicide or homicide.
Jake directed her through the park to a spot where picnic tables and benches sat under trees still shedding their leaves. They cleared off debris and sat down, letting Duke romp and sniff to his heart’s content.
“Did they let you see your cousin?” Jake shifted his shoulders, trying to get comfortable.
“Yes, finally. She’s fine, told me to tell you ‘hi.” She’s waiting for a trial date, is chomping at the bit to testify. I think she’s run away for the last time. Now, give. What was the point of them sending me to you?“
He scratched his jaw and leaned back, bracing his weight against the picnic table. “Somebody with a badge was swiping the driver’s licenses of traffic fatalities and passing them off to someone to alter and sell to whoever needed one. A kid I put on a bus to go back to her parents was carrying a couple of ID’s, and I recognized the name on one as a woman who had died after a hit and run a month before. Out of gratitude, the kid ran it down for me, the groomers, the days of not remembering who she was, the parties and services she provided. I started nosing around and Fielding saw me the night I dragged your cousin to a shelter. Marsden had been working on her, but hadn’t had an opportunity to slip anything in her food or drink. They couldn’t be sure what she’d told me, which is why Marsden was after her at the bus station.”
“That silly twit.” A.J. watched absently as Duke poked through a pile of leaves.
“She’s got guts. Anyway, after you showed up looking for her, they figured they could use you to find out what I knew.”
“I was supposed to wear a wire,” A.J. said, getting mad all over again. “Only they showed up at the truck stop where I was to meet them with this rinky-dink tape recorder. They said they’d follow me, mark the bills I’d pay you with, and once you’d told me where Alicia was, they’d come in and arrest you. That’s when I got suspicious.”
“Why?”
“One, they’d be out of their jurisdiction and two, Marsden just didn’t smell like a cop. When I asked to see his badge, I figure that’s when they slipped that crap to me. It was smooth; Marsden knocked over his drink and splashed it all over me. I went to the Ladies’ room to clean up, trying to figure a way to tell them I’d changed my mind. All I took was a couple of sips of my coffee when I got back. The next I know, I’m waking up in that car. Where had they gone?”
“Marsden was following Fielding, who was driving your car. Marsden took the curve too fast and ran off the road. And you were right, he slipped getting out and wound up in the creek, got a fast trip downstream. Fielding took off after him in the Honda. Marsden got lucky and grabbed on to a stanchion under the bridge, but it took Fielding a while to fish him out. By the time they drove back to the Taurus, you were gone. There went their plan to come visiting and kill me, dump your body—”
“So they were going to kill me, too,” she said, pulling her coat closed against a sudden chill.
“You got it. Whenever we were found, Fielding would make sure I got credit for the prostitution and false ID scheme. But you, like your cousin, have guts. You turned out to be my guardian angel. I would not have survived the night without you.”
A.J. shrugged. “I think that cuts both ways, so we’re even. It’s Duke you should thank. Looks like he’s going to be yours, by the way.”
Hearing his name, Duke abandoned the pile of leaves and trotted over to sit and listen.
“Which means I’ll have to get used to him bringing home the halt and the lame,” Jake said, with a groan for effect.
“I’ve repaid him for saving me, bought him a rawhide bone the size of Texas, but you owe him double. I’ve figured out why he kept showing up at your place.”
“Why?”
“You were in such a funk that you needed rescuing. He was just doing his job.”
Jake considered it for a moment. “You’re right. I do owe him double. I’ll keep him. Could I interest you in a bowl of beef stew?”
“You mean,” A.J. said, “since I have two good hands and opening a can would be a problem for you? You really know how to make a woman feel needed.” Typical Jake, she thought. But she’d take it. “Sure. You’re on.”
He looked genuinely pleased. “One last thing and we can go. Your name. What is it?”
A.J. couldn’t contain her smile. “And here I thought you were being sly, slipping in that bit about my being your guardian angel. That’s it. Angel. Angel No-Middle-Name Jericho.”
Jake’s groan was genuine this time. “God almighty. I’ve been living a rerun of Touched by an Angel. Come on, Duke. It’s time to go back to Nowhere.”
The French Poodle Connection
Lee Charles Kelley
Chapter 1
The Dog Who Dug Bullets
I was explaining the flaws in the alpha theory to Cady Clark, tall, early twenties, with a face made to be stared at—lush, ripe lips, big emerald eyes with supple lashes, a strong nose, and high cheekbones, lightly freckled, all framed by a loose tumble of strawberry curls. There was also a crescent scar just beneath her left eyelid, which in no way marred her beauty but enhanced it; its dark, sere shape, jagged and violent-looking, made a stunning contrast to the bone china clarity of her skin. She wore faded Levi’s and a sun yellow V-neck sweater, smelled of citrus and oak moss, and had that long-limbed yet ample roundness you can’t get at the gym—it either comes with your DNA or it doesn’t.
Not that I paid much attention to all this, mind you. I’m a one-woman guy; just ask Jamie. Besides, I was only sitting in the sagging armchair in the shabby living room of Cady Clark’s rundown, one-bedroom “modern” to teach her how to get her cinnamon toy poodle, Charley, to stop biting.
Or so I thought.
Cady had been told by her vet and a previous trainer that Charley had “alpha tendencies,” which he didn’t (no dog does).
“Then why is he biting me?”
“Because he’s feeling insecure and defensive,” I said and noticed that she and Charley were looking over my shoulder.
I was seated facing away from the kitchen and heard quiet footsteps coming up behind me. Before I could turn to look I felt cold gunmetal being pressed against the back of my neck.
“Don’t move,” a man’s rough voice said. “This is a gun.”
I believed him.
Charley barked from the safety of his mama’s lap.
As for me, my mouth dried up and my heart invented a new form of calisthenics.
“Earl!” said Cady, eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”
“The question is,” the rough voice countered, “what is he doing here?”
Charley jumped out of Cady’s lap and began racing around the room, barking in a red blur of frantic circles.
“Listen, Earl,” I mumbled, “is the gun really necess—?”
“Shut up! Put your hands on top of your head.”
I did as I was instructed.
Cady stood up. “He’s just a dog trainer, for god’s sakes! Charley’s been biting and—”
“No, he’s not. He’s that famous detective—Jack Field. Don’t you know who he is?”
Cady sat down. I gave her an eyebrow shrug. “I retired from the NYPD a few years back, though I still dabble.”
Earl began frisking me with his free hand. “Well, you picked the wrong day to dabble around here, bud.”
I said to Cady, “Maybe you should introduce me to—”
“I’m her husband,” said Earl, still behind me.
“Ex-husband,” she spat at him.
Charley, tired of doing donuts, jumped back up in mama’s lap and continued his vocal protestations from there.
“Where’d you get the gun?” Cady asked sharply.
“What do you mean where’d I get it?” Earl asked, his fingers still tickling my wardrobe.
“Don’t tell me—your idiot cousin Bruno.”
“Don’t knock Bruno. He just made us fifty grand so you can have your operation. It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises. Especially like this.”
“But I did it for you, babe,” he said as he finished his search. I’d been waiting for the gun to move away from my neck for a fraction of a second. It hadn’t.
Cady shook her head. “I don’t want your money, Earl.”
Charley was still barking in a loud, shrill voice.
“But baby, you don’t have health insurance, and—Jesus!” The gun wavered nervously at my neck. “I swear to God, I’m going to shoot that damn dog if you don’t shut him up!”
Cady’s face flushed; her scar was swallowed up in red. She snapped a “No, bad dog!” at Charley then tried to grab him by the snout, but he bit her. She shrieked. He squirmed out of her grasp, jumped to the floor, and kept barking.
I stifled an impulse to praise Charley; it probably would have quieted him (and taught Cady a lesson), but I wanted the distraction. I held my breath and waited for the gun to stop wavering and actually move away from me. I thought if I could disarm Earl before he got a shot off at the dog I could control the situation, but I didn’t get the chance. The damn poodle suddenly stopped barking and lay down on the hooked rug, panting, with a happy grin on his face.
“Finally,” Earl said, with a sigh of relief. Then to me, “Okay, detective, on your feet.”
I stood up, with my hands still on top of my head. Cady and Charley stood up too. The dog started barking again. Cady took a step toward us then thought better of it.
“What are you going to do?” she said, wringing her hands.
“What do you think?” said Earl, moving the gun down to my rib cage. “Take him out the back way to the garage, lay down a tarp, and put a bullet in his brainpan.”
“Earl!” Another flush of red. “Don’t kill him!”
“Too late. He knows who I am. Now let’s walk, Field, you and me, very slowly.”
I said, “Killing me’s not such a good idea, Earl.”
“Shut up! I don’t know how the hell you found out about the job me and Bruno just pulled in Bangor, but I already killed the bank guard. What’s one more body?”
So that’s what was going on. I’d unwittingly stepped into a situation. “Still, there has to be a better way.”
“Sure, better for you. Shut up that damn dog!”
“Charley!” Cady scolded. “Quiet!”
Rrrr-rrrr-rrrruff!
Cady glanced behind me and said, “Earl, watch out!”
The gun swerved from my ribs, to my right.
I gave a hard, downward chop with my forearm. The weapon went off—blam!—making my spine itch and my blood freeze; then in what felt like slow motion, a tuft of white stuffing plumed out of the chair, I jabbed my elbow back hard into Earl’s solar plexus, whirled on my right heel; facing him now and finally getting a look at his pallid, gray, lizardlike face and a whiff of his stale cigarette breath, I gave him a stinging uppercut to the chin. The gun flew out of his hand, toward where Cady stood. He caved in on himself and crumpled to the floor, out cold.
I looked behind me. Cady had been bluffing; there was no one there. I stood trembling, trying to breathe and work some feeling back into my knucklebones. Then I looked down to see that Charley had hold of my pants leg and was entertaining himself with his own game of tug. The violence was still in my system so it was a struggle not to kick him hard with my other foot. He’s just a harmless little doggie, I told myself, feeling damp points on my back and neck. Then, still hobbled by my ankle attachment—rrrr-rrrr—I took a few steps toward the phone, which sat on a side table next to the sofa.
“What are you going to do?” asked Cady.
“Call the cops. And thanks for distracting him,” I said, then saw something in her face. “Oh, no, Cady. Don’t do it.”
She got to the gun before I could. It was a Colt .45 automatic. Her hands were steady as she aimed it at me.
“Now, come on,” I said, somewhat tiredly.
“No. Put your hands in the air.”
I put them up. “I thought you were on my side.”
“I am. Just shut up. I have to think.”
Charley was still at it—rrrr-rrrr—and Earl was starting to moan, meaning he’d be coming to in a little while.
To ease the tension I sat down, with Charley nibbling my jeans, and said, in a light tone, “And another thing, it’s biologically impossible for a dog to want to dominate others. His brain simply isn’t capable of forming the requisite—”
“Shut up!” Hard lines unprettied her face. “Just let me think! She waved the gun crazily at me.
I shut up and let her think.
Charley gave one last tug on my jeans and let go. He sat back on his haunches, all worn out and smiling again. In some ways I shared the feeling, or wanted to.
Cady thought hard. “What if I let you go?”
I liked that idea and said as much.
“Okay.” She let out a breath; her face got pretty again. “But you have to promise not to call the police or go after Earl until he has a chance to get away.”
“Like a head start?”
“Yes.”
I made a casual toss of the hand. “Well, of course, that goes without saying.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re lying. You’d call the cops first chance you got.”
I hung my head and shrugged. “You’re probably right-She let out a breath. ”Okay. Where are your keys?“
“My keys?”
“Your car keys. Where are they? Toss them over.”
I got them out and tossed them over.
“Okay, get up.”
“Don’t do this, Cady. It’ll make you an accessory after the…” I let my words trail off. There was no sense in pointing out what her legal imperatives were until my biological imperatives—like staying alive—were taken care of.
“Okay,” she waved the gun. “Unplug that table lamp.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
I did.
She told me to pull the cord out. I
argued; she aimed the gun; I pulled it out. She told me to tie Earl’s hands behind his back, saying, “Make it tight but not too tight.” I argued; she aimed the gun; I tied Earl’s hands behind him.
When I was done, I stood up.
“Now, get your coat,” she said.
“You’re just going to leave him here like this?”
