At that moment, I found that somehow I’d gotten close to Duke’s ankle and also that my mouth was open pretty wide. Funny how you can be in one spot and then another, so fast. What happens in between? A total blank! Maybe not you, speed-wise; no offense. But when Bernie says my name like that it means whoa, so even though my teeth had this feeling of wanting to press down on something real, real bad, a hard to describe feeling that just won’t go away until—
“CHET!”
I backed off, even got my mouth closed, maybe not totally.
“What the hell’s with him?” Duke said.
“Nothing,” Bernie said. “What’s with you?”
“Uh, same,” said Duke. “Nothin’ much, keep on keepin’ on, like that.”
“You don’t seem happy to see us.”
A sort of smile made a wavery appearance on Duke’s face. “No, no, I’m real happy, couldn’t be happier. Just a bit pressed for time, is all.”
Bernie gestured at the foil package. “Grub for your brother?”
“Yup.”
“Which one?”
“Huh?”
“Which brother.”
“Lord, of course,” Duke said. He shot Bernie a quick glance. “What’re you gettin’ at?”
Bernie didn’t answer right away. Duke watched him, his smile wavering away to nothing.
“Tell you what,” Bernie said. “We’ll help you.”
“Help me what?” Duke said.
“With your delivery.”
“Don’t need no help.”
“It’ll be our pleasure,” Bernie said. “But first there’s something I want you to see.” He stepped over to the Porsche, reached under the seat, took out the thick pipe-like gizmo we’d found in Mack’s drawer at the stilt house. “Look familiar?”
Duke eyed it and nodded. “The contraption I told you about, the one I seen on my last visit to Ralph’s.”
“You mentioned he showed you two, very similar.”
“Yeah, but one was a piece of crap.”
“This one?”
“Beats me.”
“Take your time.”
“Huh?”
Bernie handed him the gizmo. “Give it some attention.”
“Think it’s important?” Duke said.
“I wouldn’t be subjecting my—” Bernie cut himself off. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“Okeydoke,” Duke said, turning the gizmo in his hands, peering inside. “Nope.”
“Nope what?” Bernie said.
“Nope, I can’t say which one,” Duke said. “Hey! But where’d you get it anyways?”
“Turned up in the course of the investigation,” Bernie said, taking back the gizmo. “What else did Ralph say that day?”
“Besides being pissed that one was crap?”
“Yeah.”
Duke wrinkled up his forehead, thought for a bit. “Talked about the weather, ’member that distinctly. Ralph said it was gonna clear up, but I said it weren’t, not with the wind outta the east, and he said it weren’t outta the east at all, but outta—”
Bernie did the stop sign thing. “Did he say anything more about the two pieces of equipment, such as their purpose, for example?”
“Don’t need to shout,” Duke said. “I hear pretty good, especially the left ear. Right’s another story, all those years standing next to the drummer, back when I played bass in a Lynyrd Skynyrd cover ba—” He caught a look in Bernie’s eye. “Nope. Nothin’ about their purpose, nothin’ about nothin’.”
“Tell me about his friendship with Mack.”
“They’re buddies.”
“Why?”
“Why they’re buddies?”
“Right.”
“You askin’ me to explain, like, friendship between two people?”
“Exactly.”
Duke wrinkled up his forehead.
TWENTY
Maybe you’ll think better if we walk and talk,” Bernie said.
“Walk where?” said Duke.
“To Lord’s place,” Bernie said. “Kill two birds with one stone.”
Even though I’d heard that one more times without result than I can count—which happened to be two, no better number in my opinion—I couldn’t stop myself from taking a quick scan of the sky. No birds: there never were when the two birds with one stone thing came around. Not going to happen, big guy. Too bad. Bernie has a great arm, pitched for Army, as I may have mentioned, and I had no doubt about his ability to bring down one bird. But two at once? I couldn’t wait, even though I knew from experience that I was going to have to.
“What’s he barkin’ about?” Duke said.
Barking? Yes, I heard it, too, for sure. I glanced around, spotted no members of the nation within.
“Probably just wants to get rolling,” Bernie said.
That again? No! What I wanted was for Bernie to pick up a rock and fling . . . But then all of a sudden I did sort of want to get rolling. The barking stopped. We started down the street.
“Well looka that,” Duke said. “It’s like you know what’s going on in his mind.”
“We’ve been together a long time,” Bernie said.
“Yeah? In dog years or human years?” Duke laughed.
What was funny? I didn’t get that one at all, and neither did Bernie. “Not a meaningful distinction,” he said.
“Huh?” said Duke.
“Especially if you’re living in the now.”
“Living in the now?” Duke rubbed his goatee, the way bearded-type dudes do when they’re digging down deep in their minds. He discovered the teriyaki smear, gazed at his fingertips, a little confused, and then licked it off. Exactly what I would have done in his place. Maybe Duke was all right.
“Isn’t that what life is all about down here?” Bernie was saying. “Living in the now?”
“You shittin’ me, man?” Duke said. “We’s all about livin’ in the past.”
Humans say lots of things I don’t get. That one was the most ungettable I’d heard so far. I didn’t waste any time on it, instead inched closer to Duke, walking right beside him in my most companionable style. In my judgment, the grip he had on that foil-wrapped package was kind of loose, even careless.
Duke knocked on the door of Lord’s little green and yellow house. No answer. He knocked again.
“Your goddamn grub’s here—open up.”
The door stayed closed. I heard no sound from within, except for a running toilet, which happens all the time with toilets, even ours, and is one sound Bernie can hear real, real well. “There’s only one aquifer, big guy. When it’s gone, it’s gone.” He’d bought a new toilet and installed it himself, the plumber only coming at the very end, and the mopping up hadn’t even taken the whole afternoon. Plus the fun we’d had! As for toilets in general: way too big a subject to go into now.
“Ain’t even his normal nap time.” Duke knocked again much harder. “Goddamn!” He made an impatient gesture and the foil wrapped package slipped from his—but no. Somehow he got a grip on it at the last instant. While all that was going on, Bernie reached out and turned the doorknob. The door opened.
“What the hell is wrong with him?” Duke said. “Who leaves doors unlocked in this town?”
We went inside.
“Lord? Lord?” Duke called. He put his hands around his mouth in a shape like the opening of a trumpet—love when humans do that!—and tried again.
No answer. Plenty of Lord scent around—not one of those everyday showerers, no doubt about that—although not as fresh as I would have expected, plus . . . what was this? Aftershave? Yes, the same square green bottle aftershave that Bernie used to like before Suzie put a stop to it. I’d picked up this aftershave scent somewhere else, and not too long ago. On Lord? Nope. I’m pretty good at remembering who smells like what, hard to explain why, just one of the things I bring to the table at the Little Detective Agency. But as for where I’d picked up this particular scent before, the answer refused
to come forward in my mind, instead flitted about at the very edge. Does that ever happen to you? A very frustrating feeling. All of a sudden I wanted to lift my leg—just a notion, of course—against this hat stand Lord had in his front hall. You’d probably get some different sort of notion.
“Chet?” Bernie said. “What are you thinking?”
Whoa! I seemed to be right beside the hat stand and my leg was—not up all way, but certainly rising. How had that happened? I lowered my leg pronto, gave myself a good shake, clearing my mind of any bad notions—in fact, clearing it of everything—and followed Bernie and Duke into the kitchen, tail up, head up, a total pro.
They stopped in an abrupt sort of way, just inside the room. I squeezed in between them.
“Tell me I’m seein’ things,” Duke said.
Why would he want Bernie to do that? Of course, he was seeing things—weren’t we all? I myself was seeing the old-fashioned stove with the claw feet—no bacon under it today, which I’d known from outside in the hall—the kitchen table where Bernie and the two brothers had polished off a bottle of bourbon, and on the table a sort of ripped apart black thing that might actually have been—
“Son of a bitch tore off the tether,” Duke said.
Bernie nodded.
“What happens now?” Duke said.
“Jail time,” Bernie said. “Soon as they run him down.”
“What was the one you said was worse than a moron?”
“Cretin,” Bernie said, “but they’re not scientific terms and probably no longer socially acceptable.”
“Socially acceptable?” said Duke. “What’s that sposta mean?”
“I’m actually not sure,” Bernie said, moving to the table. He picked up a sheet of paper lying under the remains of Lord’s ankle monitor, held it so Duke could see.
“He left a note?” Duke said.
“Is this his handwriting?”
“How the hell would I know?”
“You’re his brother.”
“So? Think he was a novelist or something? Never wrote a word in his life, far as I know.”
“What about in school?”
“Ralph did all the assignments—thought we’d been over this.” He grabbed the note and started reading. “ ‘Dear Duke, Thanks for bringing over the supper—steak teriyaki, right?—but I’m up to here with this shit. I stole the damn shrimp, I confess. Meaning with my record I’d be doing time. Well, I ain’t going to do no more time and that’s that. I’m taking off for parts unknown and don’t come looking for me. I’ll be back when the dust settles. Tell Mami I love her. Your bro, Lord Royal Boutette.’ ”
“His middle name is Royal?” Bernie said.
“All of us got Royal for a middle name. ’Cepting Ralph, of course.”
“What’s his?”
“Can’t see what that’s got to do with anything.”
“Never know in this business.”
Duke gazed at Bernie for a moment or so. Did he see that brightness in Bernie’s eyes, always a sign that he was enjoying himself? I sure did.
“Albert,” Duke said. “Ralph Albert Boutette.”
Bernie nodded. “What I’d like you to do now is read the note over—”
“ ‘Dear Duke, Thanks for—’ ”
“—silently, and try to figure out whether it sounds like Lord.”
“Sounds like him and silently at the same time?”
“Take a swing at it.”
Duke shrugged, raised the note. His eyes went back and forth, back and forth, and his lips started moving although no sound came out. Charlie’s lips did the same thing when he read: it looked way better on him.
“Hell, I don’t know,” Duke said. “Like what does Lord sound like, anyhow?”
“You’re his brother.”
“Why do you keep hammerin’ me on that? You sayin’ he sounds like me?”
“I’m saying you’ve known him your whole life,” Bernie said, “meaning you must have a feel for how he expresses himself.”
“Lord? He can’t express himself for shit.”
“Do you see that absence in the note?”
“Absence?”
“Is he expressing himself in his usual shitty way?”
Duke took another look. “Even shittier.”
“How so?”
“How so? You think it’s a smart idea, cuttin’ off his goddamn ankle bracelet and takin’ off like this?”
“Good question,” Bernie said. “But not the one in front of us at the moment.”
“No? How come?”
“Another good question,” Bernie said. “You should be doing my job.”
Duke laughed. He turned out to be one of those human laughers who open their mouth so wide you can see that strange pink thing hanging down at the back, a sight I don’t like, no telling why. “Then I could pay myself ’steada you,” he said.
Bernie went still. When he spoke his voice was extra-calm. I always listen for that extra-calm voice of his. What often happens next isn’t calm at all.
“Are you paying me, Duke?”
“Uh, how do you mean?”
“Vannah gave us a three-grand cash retainer,” Bernie said, “but if you—”
“Three grand? That thievin’—” Duke cut himself off, looked around in a confused sort of way, and happened to notice he was still holding the foil-wrapped steak teriyaki. He put them down on the tab—no, not the table. At the last second he maybe realized that would involve shoving the remains of the ankle monitor aside, so instead he laid the package on the nearest chair, which happened to be the chair right beside me. I’m having a very good life.
“Vannah did a little skimming?” Bernie said.
Duke licked his lips. “Not followin’ you.”
“Where did that retainer come from?”
“Can’t say as I know.”
“If you had to guess.”
“I’m a real bad guesser,” Duke said. “If I guessed the sun would rise tomorrow it wouldn’t.”
What was that? Something pretty scary. I tried to concentrate real hard, not so easy when at the same time you’re kind of pawing a foil-wrapped package toward the edge of a chair until it . . . until it slips off and falls to the floor, landing very gently and making just the faintest crinkly metallic sound, almost certainly unhearable by human ears. I nosed it over to a cozy space between the stove and the fridge and hunkered down.
Then came more talk about the retainer, but they didn’t mention its shrimpy smell, and after a while Bernie circled back to the note, which had to be the way to go. Bernie’s a great interviewer, as lots of dudes breaking rocks in the hot sun could tell you.
“Forgetting the meaning of the note for the time being,” he was saying, “and focusing just on the style, is it typical of Lord?”
“What’s style?” Duke said.
Bernie took the note. “Here, for example, where he writes ‘Tell Mami I love her.’ Is that him?”
“Why the hell not? We love each other in this family.”
Bernie—my Bernie, down under the interviewing Bernie, if that makes any sense, and if not, forget it—shot him a real quick glance, here and gone.
Duke leaned closer to Bernie, jabbed at the note. “But this right here—”
“ ‘Your bro, Lord Royal Boutette?’ ”
“Yeah. That ain’t him.”
Bernie—Bernie blinked? A total first. Was this case turning out to be a tough one? It didn’t feel the slightest bit tough to me. I polished off the last of the steak teriyaki, conveniently prepared in bite-size chunks, although I’m not fussy about things like that.
“Are you telling me his middle name isn’t Royal after all?” Bernie said.
“No way, Jose,” Duke said. “I’m talkin’ about this bro shit. Boutettes don’t go in for no bro shit.”
“Lord wouldn’t use the word bro?”
“What I just said. We don’t talk no jive talk.”
Bernie’s face got a little harde
r. What was wrong? Weren’t we getting places with the note? My feeling, maybe crazy: All we had to do now was ID this Jose dude and we could head for home.
And maybe Bernie was thinking the same thing, because he glanced around, found me in my little spot, and said, “Okay, Chet, let’s—” Then came a pause, Bernie’s gaze perhaps taking in the crumpled and torn remnants of the tin foil, although perhaps not. He cleared his throat. “Ah, hit the road. Time to split, big guy.”
“Just a goddamn second,” Duke said. Uh-oh. But his eyes were on Bernie, not me. “What does it mean, the style, all that?”
“Leave the note on the table,” Bernie said. “The cops’ll want to see it. And Duke?”
“Yeah?”
“Watch your back.”
“That a threat?” Duke said, jutting out his chin, a very goat-like look, and not just because of the goatee, although I’m sure that helped.
“Not from me,” Bernie said.
TWENTY-ONE
Could it be,” Bernie said as we walked to the car, “all just one big—”
One big what? I wanted to know, but Bernie had come to a stop in front of a store with cigar boxes in the window.
“How about we pop in here for a sec?”
We popped into the store and Bernie—oh, no—bought a pack of cigarettes. A whole pack: something he hadn’t done since I couldn’t remember when, certainly not today or yesterday. Back outside he broke the pack open and lit up.
“Ah,” he said, smoke drifting slowly from his nose, as he turned into smoking Bernie, a more relaxed dude than regular Bernie. “What is it about smoking that makes you think better?”
I had no clue, but then came maybe the most amazing thought of my life so far: If smoking really made you think better, then he’d know the answer to the question! Wow! I thought that? No way, Jose! Uh-oh: Jose? Again? Hadn’t that just come up? Did I know any Joses? Did I even want to right now? No, what I wanted to do right now was think that amazing thought I’d just had all over again. But . . . but it was gone!
“What’re you panting about?” Bernie said. “Thirsty, big guy?”
Thirsty? No! What I wanted was to . . . to . . .
We came to the car. Bernie dug under my seat for the water bowl—not my big kitchen water bowl from back home, but the smaller fold-up one for road trips. He filled it with a water bottle from the drink holder and set it on the sidewalk for me. I lapped up every drop.
The Sound and the Furry Page 16
