by Lyle Howard
Lance raised his hands out in front of him. “Then you kidnap the girl and hold her for ransom, Julie! You don’t incinerate her!”
Julie frowned. “Hmmm, you could be right.”
Lance shook his head. “No, there’s more to these deaths than meets the eye. I’ll probably find out more when I visit Animal Control in the morning.”
Julie’s head was beginning to throb and suddenly she was regretting having opened the second bottle. “You think someone down at Animal Control has something to do with this?”
“There were animals involved.”
Julie covered her mouth to stifle a belch. She wasn’t feeling too well now. “I think you’re grasping at straws. Have you ever been down to Animal Control?”
Lance shook his head.
“Well, I have.”
“And?”
“There’s nothing down there but a licensing agency and cages full of stray animals waiting to be either adopted, or put to death. It’s a dreary, noisy place.”
Lance could see the color draining from Julie’s face as the morning after had abruptly come the night before. “Why would you go there? Were you looking for a dog to replace me?”
Julie shot him a cold glance and scowled. “Not that a dog couldn’t replace you, Lance, but no, it’s a county agency and we had to do our annual fire inspection. They passed the inspection with flying colors. The people working there happen to be very warm, caring individuals. It’s not an easy job, you know, to have to execute innocent animals.”
Lance studied Julie as she began rubbing her forehead. “Are you sure there isn’t something I can get for you?”
Julie stood up, holding onto the back of her chair for support. “You’ll have to excuse me for a minute. I have to go to the bathroom, I’m afraid I’m not feeling so good.”
Lance walked behind her into the hall and held open the bathroom door. “I’ll be here when you get out. Take your time.”
Over the distant sound of Julie’s retching, Lance searched through the kitchen cabinets for the can of ground coffee. He was surprised to see the cupboards as barren as they were. She must be eating out a lot, he thought, as he rummaged through the scattered jars of peanut butter and cans of fruit cocktail. After coming up empty on his coffee hunt, he remembered that she used to keep the coffee in the freezer. Sure enough, there in the freezer door, sitting alone like a stepchild, was the blue can of Maxwell House.
Lance had just thrown three scoops of the coffee into the filter basket when he heard Julie begin another round of vomiting. He slid the plastic scoop deep into the coffee can and drew out three more scoops. This was going to be a long night.
Julie’s eyes darted around the indistinct bedroom ceiling like she was a guilty shoplifter. She had no idea of how she came to be tucked neatly into her bed, nor did she know how she was suddenly wearing her favorite Dolphin’s nightshirt. The last thing she could remember was kneeling over the toilet in the guest bathroom and heaving up most of a taco salad into the bowl. And oh, was her head pounding!
The smell of eggs frying somewhere off in the distance was, at first, a pleasing sensation, but then the thought of putting more ammunition into her stomach steadily grew more and more repulsive to her.
The harsh light of the early morning sun crept around the sides of her bedroom blinds and lit up her room like a stage. Most days, she would have eagerly jumped out of bed and opened the shades to perform her daily ritual of calisthenics in the warmth of the sun’s brilliance. But today, the glare intruded into this dungeon of hers like an unwelcome caller. While her head should have been filled with optimistic thoughts of the upcoming day’s events, it was instead congested with morbid images of stained porcelain and shredded lettuce.
Her blanket felt like it weighed a ton. She grappled to liberate herself from beneath the comforter by kicking and clawing without mercy. The spread seemed to have a mind of its own, flapping wildly and clinging to her legs like a second skin. What Julie didn’t realize was that the edges of the blanket had been tucked under the mattress. It never would have occurred to her, because she never tucked them in herself. She preferred to drape the blanket over the sides of the bed to conceal the box springs.
Julie was out of breath. Her heart was racing and her arms had lost all their punch. She threw her head back onto her pillow and stared up at the ceiling. If only the room would stop spinning, she thought, she might give getting out of bed another shot. Now she could smell bacon. Where the hell did someone find bacon in this house? She hadn’t sniffed sizzling bacon around here since…
The blanket, the eggs, the bacon … it was all coming together. “Lance?” she yelled.
A few seconds later the bedroom door tipped open and Lance peeked inside. “Did you call for me?” he whispered.
“I smelled bacon.”
“Just making some breakfast.”
“Where’d you get the bacon?” she groaned, trying to remove a bale of cotton from her mouth.
“Grocery store. Your fridge was kind of low on supplies, so I stocked you up.”
Julie blinked her eyes, but they couldn’t seem to focus. “I can’t move.”
Lance stuck his head in farther. “Why can’t you move?”
Julie wiggled under the blanket. “You’ve trussed me up like a Thanksgiving turkey, that’s why!”
“I just didn’t want you falling out of bed and hurting yourself in the middle of the night.”
Julie stifled a yawn and decided it was better if she just kept her eyes shut. “What time is it?”
Lance poked his hand in through the door and looked down at his watch. “Eight-thirty.”
Julie scratched at her privates under the comforter. “Oh God, I’m gonna be late.”
Lance smiled. “No, you’re not. You’ve got the next forty-eight off.”
“How long did I sleep?”
“A solid twelve hours.”
“You changed my clothes?”
“I did.”
“Thanks.”
“I even took the dress to the dry cleaners.”
Julie lifted one eyelid. “I wrinkled it?”
Lance frowned. “You stained it.”
Julie remembered and moaned. “I’m a regular party animal.”
“Party of one.”
She opened both eyelids and tried to focus on those extraordinary purple eyes across the room. “Thanks for staying close.”
Lance stepped into the room but remained close to the door so that he could keep an eye on the food cooking in the kitchen. “I’m trained to serve and protect.”
Julie managed to wriggle one hand free and wiped what felt like a pound of crust from around her eyes. “My hero!”
“Do you want to sleep some more?”
“What are you going to do?”
Lance picked at his shirt pocket. “Well, the first thing I have to do is go home and shower. Then, I’m off to Animal Control.”
Julie closed her eyes. “Oh, that’s right.”
Lance knew it would be a foregone conclusion, but he thought he should ask the question anyway. “Do you want to come?”
Julie scratched her head and yawned loud enough to rattle the bed springs. “I think I’ll just sleep a little more.”
“Yeah, I think that would be best.”
“Did you sleep on the chair all night?”
Lance giggled. “Yep, just like old times, eh?”
Julie smiled. “You’re one of the good guys, Lance.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Don’t you ever forget it.”
“Are you gonna leave some coffee for me?”
Lance nodded. “A full pot in the machine, just flip it on whenever you decide to get out of bed.”
Julie’s post-intoxication depression was beginning to set in and she started to whimper. “I’m really sorry about last night, Lance. I behaved like a little girl.”
Lance walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. The eggs would probably burn, but he c
ould always make more. “Don’t beat yourself up, Julie. So you were upset and you had a bit too much to drink. It can happen. I’m not calling Alcoholics Anonymous yet.”
Julie rolled over on her right side to face him. “But I never drink like that!”
Lance rubbed her side through the comforter. “Hey, you had a long day and heard some very awful news. You didn’t get behind the wheel. You didn’t kill anyone. You’ll be fine in another few hours, you’ll see.”
Julie’s eyes were as sad as a scolded puppy’s. “What’s Brandon going to do without Crystal?” She reached out and touched Lance’s hand. “He’s all alone now.”
Lance held Julie’s hand. “He’ll never be alone as long as he has his family and friends like you and the rest of the crew.”
Julie looked up and their eyes joined like they hadn’t in nearly a year. “It’s not good to be alone,” she sighed.
Lance took his free hand and rubbed it across Julie’s damp cheek. “No one has to be.”
Julie leaned closer. “I want a hug.” Lance bent over and they held each other, separated by a blanket, but united by something stronger.
“I think you need your rest, and I think I had better be on my way.”
Julie didn’t like the feeling of letting go. “Can we meet later?”
Lance rubbed her derriere through the comforter’s downy material. “How about meeting me at the hospital? I bet Brandon would love to see you.”
“When do you think you’ll get there?”
Lance shrugged. “I can’t say. I don’t know how long it’s going to take at Animal Control. I think I could probably be there by noon.”
Julie lifted the pillow under her head and turned it over. “We’ll have lunch.”
Lance looked at her skeptically. “Are you going to be up to eating?”
Julie’s stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard above the covers. “We’ll see.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Lance agreed as he stood up.
“Do you have to go just yet?” Julie asked. “It’s nice having you around.”
Lance moved toward the door. “I’ll be in the kitchen for a few more minutes. I’ll check in on you before I take off.”
“Lance?”
He turned around. “Yeah?”
Julie half-pulled the comforter over her face. “I’m really embarrassed about last night. You won’t tell anyone, right?”
Lance crossed his heart with his finger. “I swear.”
Julie rolled over on her other side and pulled the covers up under her chin.
“Sleep tight,” Lance whispered. There was no response.
EIGHT
An hour and a half later, after making sure that Julie was sleeping peacefully, and having showered and changed, Lance pulled into the rain-soaked parking lot of Broward County’s Animal Control. The only space specified for official vehicles he could find was directly behind the canine shelter, so as soon as he stepped foot out of the car, the pandemonium of barking dogs inundated him. This August morning was proving to be another steamy one, but not even the heavy, humid air could curtail the odor of sweaty fur and dog waste that wafted out of the tiny windows in the rear wall of the kennel. Lance found himself forced to hold his nostrils as he jogged quickly around the kennel to the front office.
Once inside the air-conditioned building, Lance had to wait while two men in tan jumpsuits sporting Animal Control emblems on their sleeves, and a young girl and her mother, stood in the line designated for completion of adoption forms. Clenched to her chest, the ecstatic little girl held a calico kitten that pawed at her blouse, struggling to liberate itself from her compassionate grasp. An older woman with a deathly pallor and a personality to match stood behind the counter, busily typing the information that the two men gave her into a computer. Although the walls of the office muffled the noise outside, anytime someone opened a door, it sounded like the office was being surrounded by a pack of wild dogs closing in for the kill.
Lance strolled around the little room, flipping through some informational pamphlets that hung in a wooden rack on one of the walls. Most of the brochures were standard, dealing for the most part with the spaying and neutering of family pets, and schedules for vaccinations. There were also a few charts nailed to the walls, most of them depicting the most traditional varieties of cats and dogs. Lance never realized that there were so many unusual species, never having been a real pet owner himself. Sure, there had been animals on his grandparent’s farm, but those were farm animals … cows, hens, sheep, and, of course, the fish in the hatchery. None was the example of animals that you could easily teach to play fetch. The thought of a heifer coming up the stairs carrying a pair of bedroom slippers in its mouth made Lance giggle to himself.
He vaguely remembered that there had been a stray dog that he used to feed every once in a while, but he didn’t think it had a name, it was so long ago. One day, the big old dog just stopped coming around. His grandfather told him that someone else was most likely feeding it, but the truth was, it had probably been hit by a truck on the nearby four-lane. That kind of thing was happening all the time.
“I’ll be with you in a minute, sir,” the woman behind the counter said, pointing to the little girl and her mother, “as soon as I’m done with these people here.”
Lance held up his hand. “Take your time.” He continued his tour of the office, pausing momentarily to admire a series of black and white photographs that had been blown-up to poster size, hanging on one wall. With all of the chaos that existed outside of these four walls, this group of pictures displaying animals running loose in the wilderness would probably have a calming effect on anyone who studied them.
“Can I help you, sir?” Lance spun around to discover that he was alone in the office. He had become so lost in the photographs that he never heard the mother and daughter, or the two other men leave the premises. “Nice pictures.”
The old woman shuffled some papers behind the counter and frowned. “Yes,” she drawled, making the word seem to last an eternity. “Are you here to adopt an animal?” she asked without lifting her eyes from her paperwork.
Lance walked over and leaned on the counter. The woman’s name tag read “Esther Paulsen,” and there was a frightful odor of mothballs or camphor that seemed to radiate from her. Lance had to take a step back. “No, ma’am, I’m not.”
The woman looked up surprised. Her face had more crevices and ravines than the Grand Canyon, and thinning hair that barely cloaked her liver-spotted scalp. Either Esther hadn’t aged gracefully, Lance thought, or mandatory retirement was just minutes away.
“Then why are you here?” she snapped, “we’re a county agency, there’s no solicitation allowed on these grounds.”
Lance shook his head. This was one mean old broad! “I’m not here to sell anything, ma’am,” he said, pulling out his identification, “I’m just here to ask some questions.”
The old woman raised her glasses to her face that had been dangling around her neck on a silver chain. She studied the picture on the ID and then scanned Lance’s face. “Hmmm.”
“Something wrong, ma’am?”
The old woman raised her eyebrow. “Let’s see here …”
Lance tried to lean over the counter as she began typing on her keyboard, but he had to back away again because the awful stench was too much for him.
“That’s Cutter…with two Ts?”
Lance watched as she rattled away at the keys. “What are you doing there?” he asked.
She set her hand on top of the monitor and contemplated the screen as though she were waiting for something. “Ah, here we are … Cutter, Lance … hmmm.”
Lance was appalled. She had accessed his personnel records in the county’s data base. “You’re not allowed to do that!”
“Your address is 15140 Eaglebrook Drive?” she asked coldly. “That’s an old address,” Lance admitted sadly. “I’m in an apartment now.”
Paulsen looked up over the edge of
her spectacles. “You should really notify record keeping of the change of address.”
“Hey!” Lance gasped, not concealing his anger at the invasion into his right of privacy.
“Hey what?” she mocked.
Lance got as close to her as his nose would permit. It was times like this that he was sorry his sense of smell seemed to be better than the average person’s. “You’re not supposed to be sneaking into the system like that! Don’t they have passwords to prevent that kind of unauthorized entry?”
She patted the top of the monitor. “Cool your heels, fireman. I can’t change any records with this thing, I can only retrieve them. This is a licensing bureau, after all!”
Lance reached over and swiveled the viewing screen so he could read it. All of his personal information was right there, in all of its stark, monochrome glory. “Why would you need to access this kind of intelligence for pet adoption?”
The old woman shrugged. “They’ve been cracking down on animal cruelty violations for the past few years. If someone has a police record, they’ll be in here. It only takes a few seconds to check, but we feel it’s worth the time.”
Lance couldn’t argue with her over that point. She grabbed the screen back and turned it around until it was facing her again. “Now, Mr. Cutter, what can I do for you?”
Lance slipped his wallet back into his pocket and thought for a moment. “Let me ask you a question,” he said thoughtfully. “Do you keep records of every adoption in the system?”
The old woman shook her head and chuckled a bit. “Are you serious? Do you know how many pets are adopted here each year? Whatever guess you make … triple it.”
Lance frowned. “That many, huh?”
The woman pointed over at a printer that was sitting on a desk behind the counter. “After we print the license, we’ll keep the name on file for thirty days, that’s it.”
“And then?”
The old woman sprayed her hands in the air. “Then, poof … it’s gone.”
Lance thought for a moment. “How about returns?”
