Maya’s probably mostly Labrador, but there’s something else in there, too. Something suspect. I’d say pit bull—just a spoonful, enough to give her an “I can take care of myself” edge. She hangs out with Ella because they’re both rescue dogs. Maya would never start a fight, but boy, does she know how to finish it. Do not mess with Maya. She’s sharp as a whip and together with Ella, they are our sniper force. They can go in, take out whatever needs taking out, and get home without anyone being any the wiser.
Now I get to the final member of our gang. But he’s still on probation on account of his age. So, here’s how it goes. Ed comes home a couple weeks ago, strokes me on the head and says, “You need a pal, old fella.” I didn’t like the sound of “old fella.” As Wagatha might say, it did not bode well.
Ed goes out to the car and comes back with a crate. First thing that goes through my mind is, Oh shit. Now what the freaking hell is this? Yeah, you know what it is—it’s a freaking kid! And not only that—Ed has completely lost it because it’s a Border Collie pup!
I give Ed the look that says, “Ed, partner, my buddy, Ed—you’ve got more sense than this. You do not bring home a Border freaking Collie unless you also have a freaking sheep or two in the backyard! He is going to drive us out of our minds!”
Even Josie says, “But Ed, these dogs are herding dogs.” What she left out was “Where the f%*k is his herd?” But Ed just brushes it all aside, and calls him Angus. Something to do with his heritage. Whatever that is.
* * *
—
Now to the case. “At last,” I hear you say. Yeah, but you’ve gotta know who you’re dealing with in the Wagatha Labsy Secret Dogtective Alliance first, haven’t you? Otherwise you’d’ve been stopping me and asking me who was who. Or whom.
Wagatha had just come off a big job—pulled in a shipment of cocaine coming up from the south. All the narcotics guys were on it. So, like I said, she’s on R & R right now, though her handler don’t get the vacay. I guess I left out most of the human names, but they’re not what you’d call germane. But Tom and Livvy are important because they vanished.
As I was saying, Wagatha had just come off an all-nighter, and her human was opening the passenger door to let her out of the car, when they saw Wrigley and his person across the street with Dude. Dude was downcast—you know, droopy eyes, all “Oh, woe is me”—so there was a conversation about what was going on, and Wrigley’s person said that the back door of Tom and Livvy’s house had been left open, and she’d heard Dude howling in the kitchen—in a crate. Wow.
Wrigs told me that the minute the story started, you could see the hair on Wagatha’s neck go up. Just like that—you know, full-on hackles. That’s when me and Ed came along for our morning walk. I don’t need no leash. I know my place and I am right there, by his side—where I’ve been since basic training. Which is more than can be said of freaking Angus. “What part of ‘heel’ are you not getting, you little shit?” I growled. Before we could say “Cute Puppy Approaching,” the humans were all over little Angus. And Wagatha’s handler should have known better, having just been given serious intel and letting it slide. Wagatha nodded to Wrigs and me, and we did some sniffing of one another and Dude—we didn’t want the humans to know what we were communicating about. At this point I will say that I do not know what Wrigs gets into, but it has to be cat scat, because he just stinks. At both ends.
Wagatha brought us up to speed about Dude’s people. Dude one-pawed his skateboard back and forth, so it looked like he was playing.
“Did you see anything suspicious?” asked Wagatha. “I mean, Dude—you must’ve seen something.”
“Nothing much, because I’d chewed some good shoes yesterday and was confined to crate.”
“A crate?” said Wrigs. “What kind of shoes were they? Livvy’s new trail runners?”
“Wrigley.” Wagatha raised her nose. He shut up.
“You didn’t hear anything?” Wagatha pressed the Dude.
“I had my headphones on,” he said sheepishly. “I caught a look at one guy, came to the door.”
“Wassup?” Ella joined us. She was wearing a new Kate Spade coat. Her person was distracted by Angus and was all, “He’s just the cutest!” If Ella hadn’t been more interested in us, Angus would have been chow. I sighed in relief—I didn’t relish having to protect the little bro from Ella’s fangs.
Wagatha summed up the story, then said, “If Tom and Livvy haven’t been located by lunchtime, the Alliance meets at the top of the fire road, under the redwoods. Twelve hundred hours. You know what to do.” She looked at me. I’m her lieutenant—did I tell you that? “Reb, we’ll need Ladybird for reconnaissance into C-territory. Bring Penny, and someone tear Hank away from the Wilsons’ fridge—Ladybird will need backup if this goes dark. Ella, make sure Maya’s with you—I want sniper presence.”
“Ten-four, Wagatha,” I said. The others raised their noses.
The human talk came to an end. The professionals—Ed and Wagatha’s human—agreed that Tom and Livvy would probably be back later, but they’d check in anyway. No one wanted to sniff them out at their day job—might cause embarrassment—but they’d call if they had to, maybe just to tell them they forgot to lock the back door, but Dude was okay because he was with Wrigs.
“They’re employed by one of those strange places where the people all sit around on multicolored plastic blocks, like it’s preschool,” said Ed, laughing.
Wagatha looked at me. It was her grave look, the sort she has when the smell of something amiss is under her nose. We knew—we’d all got the vibe—that the strange place right now was our street. And it was our duty to protect it. Semper Fi.
PART TWO
Coyote Grove
Samba, the Rhodesian Ridgeback/Great Dane, who lives closer to town, reported that there was nothing to report. He’d ambled up the road to find out what was going on and said he’d post lookout—he can see right into the local police department from his living room. There was nothing doing. Samba wants into the Alliance, so he’s been providing intel lately. I don’t blame him—he’s alone sometimes when his human goes off on business trips, though on the other hand he kinda likes it because he gets to walk with Wrigs, and he’s got that Ridgeback independent thing going on. But his human lets him have the run of the house, so he hangs out in the living room, watching. Wagatha says he’ll probably make it in the next recruitment go-round, after I’ve given my field performance report.
At 1200 hours we met under the redwoods. We were all there—the boss, me, Penny, Hank, Dude, Wrigley, Maya, Ella (coat by Stella McCartney), and, yes, right there in my shadow, Angus. Ladybird crawled out of the bushes. Angus gave a yap and began circling.
“Angus. Angus, will you just get over here now!” My lip was curled above my gums.
Ella went for him and he yelped.
“Ella! No!” said Wagatha, hackles up. Ella opened her mouth to complain, but Wagatha had already turned to me. “He should begin his lessons, Reb—he can’t go on like that.”
“I know. I’ll start him tonight.”
“On what?” said Dude. “Lassie Come Home?”
“I said I’d deal with it,” I snarled.
“I’ve some information,” Maya piped up. She was a dog who liked to get the job done. No messing around. “I heard my people talking this morning—about Livvy and Tom. Before we knew they were gone.”
Ella snarled at Angus again. I felt him lean into me.
“Go on,” said Wagatha.
“Talk was that they’ve been doing well—and I mean real well. My man works in the same biz, and met Tom for lunch. Couple days ago. Little bistro south of Market.”
“What’d they eat?” Hank pushed forward.
“Hank, would you shut up?” said Penny.
Wagatha took down Penny and Hank w
ith one look.
“There’s this stuff called VC money. Means venture capital, and it’s a lot of cash given to someone to invent something, or when they’ve invented it, for the big-money guys to buy in,” said Maya. “There was a lot of interest in what Tom and Livvy had. Whatever it was.”
“Dude—Tom and Livvy ever mention anything to you?” Wagatha knows people talk to their dogs—tell them a lot they wouldn’t tell their best friend. Or their doctor.
Dude shook the shades off his nose, let them drop. Eyes filled up. “I knew they’d had some serious cash coming in. All those Embarcadero Center treats—they don’t come cheap. They bought me a new bed. Memory foam. Thick and soft. And another for the crate, so even if I’d been a bit, well, bad, I wouldn’t suffer.”
“When did you ever suffer, you shit,” said Ella.
Maya rolled her eyes. “Ella, don’t mind me saying, but—”
Angus came closer. If I was a kangaroo, he’d’ve climbed into my pouch.
“Go on, Dude,” said Wagatha.
“There was new furniture—and I don’t mean Ikea. Top-of-the-line stuff—real comfy couch. And last week a Sub-Zero refrigerator was delivered.
“Sub-Zero!” Hank shot over to Dude. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He looked at Wagatha. “New refrigerator means major grocery shopping. I’ll watch the Dude at his house tonight.”
We all growled. Hank backed off.
Wagatha nodded, taking in Dude’s description of the change in Tom and Livvy’s fortunes. She raised her head, shot a look at Ladybird. “Are you ready for the coyotes?”
Ladybird seemed to slink lower. She was ready.
“Okay,” said Wagatha. “Ladybird, you go up the hill, but I want Reb and Hank as backup a few paces behind. Maya and Ella—on the banks either side of the path so you’re flanking the team. Watch Ladybird like a pair of hawks—any trouble and you go in.” She paused. “Ella—lose the jacket.”
“Pen, pull this thing off me, would ya?” said Ella.
“Angus, you stay here,” she added in a soft voice. “And do not move at any point. Unless you want to be coyote chow.” She went on. “Dude, you’re emotionally involved, so you stay with the boy. Penny and Wrigs—second tier behind Hank and Reb—and keep your distance. If they’re down, you go in—understand?”
They nosed the ground. They were ready.
“As soon as Ladybird gives the signal, I’ll approach.”
Wagatha pawed the tarmac and we started up the hill, just like she said. Ladybird first, then me and Hank. I heard him breathing hard.
“You’ve gotta get some cardio going, Hank—you’ll be dead before you see a Sub-Zero.”
“It’s my undercoat. Needs combing out—it’s like I’m wrapped in a duvet.”
Ladybird turned. Lifted her right front paw, the signal to stop. “Wait until I’ve made contact.”
Four more paces and she began to yip, just like a coyote. I could feel everyone’s hackles go up. Ladybird was not of this world. She was—well, she was weird. Out of the corners of my eyes, I saw Maya and Ella take up position. Any trouble, and we would all go in.
A big red-and-gold coyote crept out of the undergrowth, his snout like a dagger topped with coal.
“He ain’t missed any rations,” whispered Hank.
“And you have?” I snipped.
Ladybird and the coyote circled each other, and we heard her yip and he yipped back, and then four more coyotes came from behind. Ella and Maya moved closer, crawling down the banks toward the path—just one false move, that’s all it would take.
“What’re they saying?” said Hank.
“Would you shut the f—” I started to say when Ladybird turned.
“They’ll talk. Signal Wagatha to come forward.”
Penny and Wrigley moved aside, then fell in behind Wagatha. Hank and me, we kept real close to her, so she was protected. Ladybird crouched nearer the ground, exposing her neck—she was demonstrating Wagatha’s standing in the Alliance.
Our leader put her head to one side, then the other. “We come seeking wisdom from you.”
“WTF?” said Hank, real low. “What wisdom does that mange bucket have?”
I ignored him. It’s the only way sometimes.
“Ladybird says you were seeking sustenance in the trash cans on our street in the early hours. We want to know if you saw something unusual—humans lurking.”
The coyote nodded, his eyes on Wagatha. “We might have. Depends upon what’s in it for us.”
“Of course,” said Wagatha. She let the silence hang. Five seconds. “We’ll leave rations near every trash can tonight. Good stuff. High quality.”
The coyote looked around at his pack, then back at Wagatha. “Agreed.” He paused. “There was a black moving monster with four round paws.”
“WTF is that shit talking about?”
“SUV. A sport utility vehicle, Hank,” I snarled.
“Outside the house of the one with black eyes and wheels on his legs,” added the coyote.
“That’s Dude’s house.” I heard Wrigley behind me.
Wagatha was calm. She was a cool one—all those narcotics busts, you need to be real easy with the trigger.
The coyote started again. “The humans spoke in an unfamiliar tongue.” He coughed, his red coat shimmering as the sun shafted through the redwoods. He coughed again, yipped, and described what he’d heard.
My ears went back, and I cleared my throat. “I know the rhythm of that language, ma’am.”
Ladybird cast me a look—I hadn’t been approved to speak.
“What is it, Reb?” said Wagatha.
“It’s Russian, ma’am,” I said.
I heard the collective whining behind me. There was muttering, a few growls, and I could have sworn I heard Ella cussing from her place on the hill. That Ella’s got a potty mouth.
“You know what that means, don’t you, Reb?” said Wagatha.
I pawed the ground. “Yes, ma’am.” I could hardly speak. “The Borzois. It means we’ve gotta go talk to the Borzois.”
“Oh heck,” said Hank. Only he didn’t say “heck”—it just had the same sort of sound. “Those skinny Russian sh—”
Wagatha glared, then motioned Ladybird to come closer. “We must secure safe passage through the coyote grove to see the Borzois. Can you do it? If anyone has intel on Russians, it’s the Borzois—it’s imperative we speak to them.” She uses words like “imperative.”
Ladybird walked back to the coyote. The pack yipped and Ladybird returned.
“We can move on through the coyote grove at 1800 hours. They’ll be resting before nightfall hunting. It’s our best chance.”
“But that’s freaking dinner time!” Hank whined beside me.
“Listen, you big-assed lug, if you want to get chucked off the Alliance, you’re going the right way about it.”
That shut him up.
Ladybird agreed on the terms—more food left by the trash cans over two nights—and we all backed up down the hill without turning around. Never, ever turn your back on a coyote.
When we were clear of the redwoods and home on our street, we reconvened.
“The Borzois! That’s a whole new bowl of kibble,” said Wrigley.
“I’m scared,” whimpered Dude.
“You’ve got to watch those Borzois,” said Ella. “Foreign to the core.”
“Pedigree all the way through, though,” said Maya, which was probably the wrong thing to say to Ella.
“It’s certainly an unforeseen impediment,” said Wagatha. She was thoughtful. “Ladybird, Rebel, and I will range into the coyote grove, and Hank, we need you there, too—there’s always the chance of a renegade coyote. Ella and Maya—as before, you keep to our fla
nks on the hills either side of the path. Wrigley and Penny—go no farther than the line into the grove. Dude—keep watch on Reb’s house and make sure Angus remains inside. This is no place for a child.”
She looked up at Samba, who had kept back. “Samba, if you’re with us, I want you to make your way up around the other side of the hill, in position above the House of the Borzois. Keep watch from there and give the alert if anything is amiss.” She looked around the circle. “This case has only just started, and already we are in dangerous territory. Let us give the signal for danger, so our collective voice memory is refreshed.”
We pointed our noses to the sky, to the clouds above us, and we howled. Even little Angus looked up and was doing his best to howl, one paw raised like a true member of the Alliance. Then, as one, our emergency siren-call ended. That’s when Angus started running circles around the pack.
“That boy needs some sheep,” growled Samba.
PART THREE
The Russians
Angus was down for his nap when I left to meet the Borzois. Ed was home, in front of the TV watching the game—sort of. He was asleep in the chair. And we’d taken in Dude for the night. You guys think you know where we are at all times, but really, you are so in the dark about what your dog is up to.
Maya and Ella fanned out as Ladybird went ahead and spoke to the coyote sentry. We were cleared for safe passage through the grove. And I can tell you, it’s not for the faint-hearted. Every cracking twig sounds like a leg breaking. Every branch caught by the breeze could be a coyote ghost. We moved with speed, but stealth. From the track through the grove there’s a staircase up to the Borzois’ dacha—140 wooden steps to the perimeter of their territory.
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