The Sound and the Furry

by Spencer Quinn

  “I’ve had bad luck with dogs,” Lord was saying.

  “Yeah?” said Bernie. “Why do you think that is?”

  Lord screwed up his forehead. There was a pause—like he was waiting for some action in there—and during the pause, Duke said, “Can we go inside, for Chrissake? I’m meltin’ out here.”

  I watched Duke closely, ready for anything. Humans were capable of many surprises. You never knew.

  “I guess,” Lord said. “If you want.”

  “Is that the best you can do?” Duke said. “We’re known for our hospitality down here.”

  “Put that where the sun don’t shine,” Lord said.

  I couldn’t quite keep up with that. The sun was starting to penetrate the steam now, but was it actually shining? Plus the sun never shone at night. That was as far as I could take it. Next thing I knew we were inside Lord’s crib.

  I’d seen worse. The kitchen, which was where we ended up, was kind of nice. It had one of those old stoves you sometimes see that stand on little feet, with space underneath, and in that space, would you believe it? Practically a whole strip of bacon, presently—but not for long, amigo—getting gnawed on by a nervous-eyed mouse. The little guy split in a hurry—and tried to abscond with the goods, abscond with the goods being cop talk for making off with the bacon. In the end, he barely absconded with himself. As for the bacon? Delish, and not really that old at all. Still plenty of crunch left, which is how we like our bacon, me and Bernie. This case, whatever it was about exactly, couldn’t have been going more smoothly.

  I looked around. Bernie, Duke, and Lord were sitting at the table, Lord pouring from a big square bottle. Bourbon: an easy scent to pick up, and one with which I was very familiar. Harder to pick up, but not what I’d call actually hard, was the scent of Vannah, a human female scent mixed with coconut, pears, and honey that’s been left out with the top off the jar for some time. Not a bad smell, but I preferred Suzie’s, which was all about soap and lemons and those little yellow flowers that grow beside the dry washes in the Valley. But back to Vannah. She’d left her scent in the room quite recently. Was it even possible she was in the house at this very moment? I wondered about that.

  Meanwhile, Bernie was saying something about taking it from the top.

  “Didn’t Vannah go over all this?” Lord said.

  “Can’t have too much input in this business,” Bernie said. Whatever that meant, it sounded brilliant to me. I went over and sat beside him.

  Duke nodded. Then Lord nodded.

  “Makes sense,” Duke said.

  “I guess,” said Lord.

  Duke stopped nodding. Lord stopped nodding.

  “Where you want us to start?” Duke said.

  “With the ankle monitor,” said Bernie.

  Under the table, one of Duke’s legs started up again, and so did one of Lord’s, namely the monitor leg. I felt the approach of an interesting thought about these two dudes. It came right up to the very edge of my mind and stayed there, just out of reach.

  “What the hell?” said Lord.

  Bernie remained silent. He was great at that!

  “Lord’s trying to say how come you wanna start with the tether,” Duke said. “Ain’t that right, Lord?”

  “No, it ain’t right. What I’m trying to say is it’s nobody’s goddamn business.”

  “But at the same time a matter of public record,” Bernie said. “Kind of a contradiction there.”

  “Like how?” said Lord.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Bernie said. “The point is your brother Ralph has disappeared and you seem to be under house arrest. Anyone doing my job would look for a possible connection—that’s basic.”

  “Ain’t no connection,” Lord said.

  “I can vouch for that,” said Duke.

  Bernie put down his glass and stood up.

  “Where you goin’?” Duke said.

  “Home,” said Bernie. “We can’t help you.”

  “Keep your shirt on,” Duke said. “Tell ’im, Lord.”

  “Tell ’m what?”

  “What you did, for Chrissake. Why you’re hooked up to that ball and chain.”

  Lord gazed down at the ankle monitor. “That’s what it is, all right. Never realized.” He pounded the table. “That goddamn judge. I’ll murder her.”

  Bernie gave him a look.

  “Uh, only in my prayers, kind of,” Lord said. And then he started in on the story of the monitor, all about some crime he wouldn’t have even dreamed of committing, no matter what his disloyal brother thought, a crime maybe involving stolen shrimp and a grandmother with a sawed-off shotgun, but I missed most of it because of how closely I was watching Bernie’s shirt, the one with the martini glasses and cigars pattern. Was he going to take it off? That wouldn’t be like him in an interview situation, which I was pretty sure this was.

  “. . . your alibi?” Bernie was saying.

  “Alibi?” said Lord.

  Bernie rubbed his eyes, maybe a bit tired all of a sudden. “You must know the meaning of alibi,” he said.

  “Sure he do,” said Duke. “We all of us learned it at Mami’s knee.”

  Then everyone was laughing and Bernie didn’t look so tired. “Let’s have it,” he said.

  “Have what?” said Lord.

  “Your alibi. If you didn’t steal the shrimp, you were elsewhere at the time, and as soon as we verify that fact, you’re off the tether.”

  “Elsewhere?” Lord said.

  “Right. Where were you late on the Saturday night and early Sunday morning?”

  “That’s a tough one,” Lord said.

  Bernie sat down.

  “See,” said Lord, “I might have had a drink or two.”

  “You’re having a drink or two right now,” Bernie said.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “And where are you?”

  “Sitting in my own goddamn kitchen. What’s your point?”

  “Similarly,” Bernie said, “you were having a drink on the night in question. So where was that?”

  Lord gave Bernie a long look. “ ‘Night in question,’ ” he said. “You sound like a cop.”

  “But not the ‘similarly’ part,” Duke said.

  “Huh?” said Lord.

  “That sounded more like an educated guy to me,” Duke said.

  Bernie raised his hand in the stop sign, also raised his voice just a little, and leaned closer to Lord, actually getting his face right in Lord’s. “Where were you when the shrimp were stolen?”

  “Easy, man,” said Lord, leaning way back. “Think I haven’t racked my whatchamacallit over this? The doc says I’m subject to blackouts. Happy now?”

  “Only when you been drinking like a fish, fair to point that out,” Duke added.

  Bernie nodded like things were now making sense. “Where did you wake up the next morning?”

  “I didn’t,” Lord said. “I woke up the next night.”

  “Where?”

  “In the Robideaus’s goddamn police station. Second cell on the left.”

  “How did you get there?”

  “Bastards busted me, of course. Whaddya think?”

  “Where?”

  “Where what?”

  “Where did the bust go down?”

  “Who gives a shit?”

  “I’m sorry?” Bernie said.

  “Lord means the Robideaus coulda said it went down wherever they want,” Duke said. “Lord being blacked out, and all.”

  “You’re saying they framed you?” Bernie said.

  “Square one, for Chrissake,” said Lord. “Wet behind the ears? What’s with Baron, thinkin’ we could use someone like you to—”

  “Lord?” said Duke.

  Lord went silent, although I can’t be sure about that because all I wanted to do was give the backs of Bernie’s ears a quick lick or two, check out this supposed wetness. He hadn’t just stepped out of the shower, but we had been out in the rain. Still,
I myself was completely dry. I shifted closer to Bernie, waiting for the right moment.

  “Someone like me to do what?” Bernie said.

  “Um,” Lord said.

  “Nothin’,” said Duke. “Lord was just runnin’ his mouth. Tell ’im.”

  “I was just runnin’ my mouth,” Lord said.

  Bernie drained his glass, glanced at me in a strange sort of way, almost like . . . like he wanted to see something real. What a thought! I couldn’t understand it at all.

  “Let’s move on to this grandmother of theirs,” Bernie said. “Alleged victim of the crime.”

  “What about her?” Lord said.

  “Grannie Robideau’s a Robideau,” Duke said. “The Robideaus been enemies with the Boutettes goin’ way back.”

  “Even further,” said Lord.

  “Meaning they’re enemies of your brother Ralph.”

  “Wouldn’t say that,” Lord said.

  “Why not?”

  “Ralph’s got no enemies,” said Duke. “He’s a loner, keeps his nose clean.”

  Keeps his nose clean? That had to be important. I checked the noses of everyone in the room. All clean, if you didn’t count the long hairs sticking out of Lord’s. I wasn’t sure whether to count them or not. Had this problem ever come up before? Not in any case I could think of, and we’ve cleared a bunch. I licked my muzzle: totally clean. So where were we?

  “What about these patents of his?” Bernie said. “Patent disputes are commonplace.”

  “Wouldn’t know about that,” Lord said.

  “Ralph’s a genius,” Duke said.

  “IQ like two fifty, two sixty.”

  “Way up there, anyways.”

  Bernie’s eyes were very bright, like he was maybe about to laugh. Was something funny? Probably not, because instead of laughing, Bernie said, “What has he invented?”

  “Gizmos,” said Lord.

  “Vannah mentioned that. Can you be more specific?”

  Duke and Lord turned to each other. “What was that funny-looking thing, sorta thick?” Duke said.

  “Had a special kind of steel, I know that,” said Lord. “Came all the way from Germany.”

  “Japan.”

  “Germany.”

  “Japan.”

  Bernie held up his hand and the Germany-Japan back-and-forth came to an end. “How long has he been reported missing?”

  “To who?” said Lord.

  “The police,” Bernie said. “You can file a missing persons notice after twenty-four hours in most jurisdictions.”

  “The cops?” Duke said. “You mean down in the parish?”

  “Isn’t that where he lived on the houseboat?”

  “Yeah,” said Lord. “But we didn’t file no report.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not?” said Duke. “Because the cops in St. Roch is all Robideaus.”

  “And they’re our enemies,” Lord said.

  “You covered that,” Bernie said.

  Duke sighed, a long, weary sound. “There you go,” he said. “No matter what I do, I always end up going through these things twice.”

  “Hank Williams say that?” Lord said. “Still the best, now and forever.”

  Bernie drained his glass real quick, like he needed that drink bad. He gave his head a little . . . whoa! A little shake? Yes, he did. Wow.

  “When was the last time either of you saw Ralph?” he said.

  “Musta been before I got busted,” Lord said. “Let me think.”

  While Lord was thinking, Duke said, “I seen him last week, maybe Thursday or so.”

  “And when did he disappear?”

  “More like the Sunday or so.”

  “Where did you see him?”

  “I paid Ralph a little visit over by his boat,” Duke said.

  “Yeah?” said Bernie. “You do that often?”

  “Whenever he’s runnin’ short on cash,” Lord said.

  “Pot callin’ the kettle,” said Duke, losing me completely.

  “Right back at ya.”

  “Times two.”

  Bernie held up his hand in the stop sign. “Does Ralph have lots of money?”

  “He does all right,” Duke said.

  “But no one knows exactly,” said Lord.

  “Ralph playing things close the vest,” Duke said.

  “Kind of a loner,” said Lord.

  “Got that,” Bernie said. “Where does his money come from?”

  “Gizmos,” Duke said. “Dint we mention that already? Fact is, he was workin’ on one when I dropped by.”

  “What was it?”

  “Metal contraption, about so big. Had two of them, now I think of it. The other one looked pretty much the same, but Ralph said it was a piece of crap.”

  “What was it for?” Bernie said.

  “Huh?”

  “The contraption—what’s its purpose?”

  “Search me,” Duke said. “But Ralph was pretty pissed off about something. Cussin’ and such, which ain’t him at all.”

  Lord started laughing. “Meaning you came up empty.”

  Duke glared at him. “None of your damn business.”

  Lord kept laughing, slapped his knee. Bernie opened his mouth like he was about to say something, then changed his mind. We hit the road, hadn’t gone a block before I leaned across and gave him a quick lick behind the nearest ear. Totally dry, just as I’d suspected.

  Bernie laughed, gave me a pat. “You’re in a friendly mood.”

  No, not that at all. But . . . yes, I was!

  EIGHT

  Crackpot idea, quote unquote?” Bernie said.

  We were back in the Porsche, crossing a bridge over a wide river, the widest river in my life by far, the water shining in the sun. And so much of it!

  “Is that what we are?” Bernie went on. “Someone’s crackpot idea, come to life?”

  I couldn’t help him. When the quote unquote thing starts up, he’s on his own.

  “Do those two birds actually think they can manipulate us?”

  Uh-oh. Birds: not my favorite, as I may have mentioned already. I looked up and saw birds right away, more than two. Which two did Bernie mean? I wasn’t sure, but then a big brown one with a huge beak dove down toward the water, and a few moments after that an even bigger brown one followed it. The first bird plunged right into the water, smack, without even trying to slow down, disappeared under the surface and came up with—what was that? A fish? And then the two birds were fighting over it. A mistake, because the fish wriggled free and fell back into the river. The two birds rose up as one, beating each other with their wings. Even from this high above, I could hear their squawking. We had nothing to fear from those two birds. Bernie was right again. I put a paw on his knee. He gave me a pat.

  We drove over the bridge, were soon on a two-lane blacktop in flat country, the wettest, greenest country I’d ever seen, some kind of creek or canal glistening through the trees almost the whole time.

  “Bayou country, big guy,” Bernie said. He sniffed the air. Whoa! How often did that happen? “I think I smell something.” Go on, Bernie, go on. But he did not. There was lots to smell, of course, way too much to go into now, but sometimes in life one certain smell dominates all the others—take the time all the trash haulers in the Valley went on strike—and that was the case in bayou country. This was a rot domination zone, no question, rot falling down on and rising up through all the other smells out there. Quite pleasant: I liked it here.

  “On the other hand,” Bernie said and then paused.

  On the other hand what? I couldn’t remember the first hand. Once at a party, maybe that time some of the guys had a beer keg throwing competition, Bernie’d said that if people had a different number of hands they’d think different. But nobody had gotten it, whatever it was, and we’d had to leave pretty soon after. That keg bouncing down the street after us: what a sight! Especially under a full moon. But that wasn’t the point. The point was . . . the thread, the thr
ead. I was in danger of losing it, and then the danger passed, and it was gone. I was back to feeling tip-top, or even better.

  “What if the whole family’s in on it, even Ralph,” Bernie continued after a nice relaxing silence, “and they’re using us as a cat’s paw against these Robideaus?”

  Whoa! Stop right there! Or even before. Us? A cat’s paw? Had I ever heard anything worse in my whole life? Panting started up, big-time.

  “Nah, no way,” Bernie said, after a moment or two. “Too Byzantine.”

  I got the “no way” part. No way meant forget it, one of my specialties. The panting got itself under control. Meanwhile, the road had narrowed, the trees looming in closer and closer. Their leaves were dark green, but a kind of whitish fringe grew over everything, touching the ground in some places. I’d never seen anything like that whitish fringe. The smell was a bit like the smell of the sponge in the tub after one of Leda’s long baths; back in the Leda days, of course. Bernie always took showers, and so did Suzie, so there were no more sponges at our place. I missed them: a damp sponge in your mouth is a nice feeling, as long as it’s not too soapy. Here’s another thing about the smell of the whitish fringe. It made my eyelids heavy.

  Bernie’s a real deep sleeper, can sleep through just about anything—like when that truck loaded with cymbals rolled over practically right in front of our house!—but I’m not like that. Even if part of me is sleeping deeply, there’s another part that always knows what’s what. For example, we’d slowed way down, the sound of the Porsche throttled down to just a mutter. I opened my eyes.

  We were driving along a street in some little town. On one side stood some trailers up on blocks, a few houses, all a bit lopsided, and a store or two, green things sprouting in every open space. And what was this? Chickens on the loose? Plus some members of the nation within the nation—that’s what Bernie calls me and my kind—resting in the shade.