Odd Partners

by Mystery Writers of America

  They were waiting for us when we got there—Vasily and Nina. They leaped toward us. If you didn’t know them you’d be terrified, but these two are like a pair of dancers from the Bolshoi Ballet. Borzois do not walk or run. They prance.

  “Comrade,” said Vasily. “What brings you here?” One word slid into the next, in the Russian way.

  Wagatha raised her nose. “We come to ask for help. One of our pack has lost his people—taken from him. And we believe there was some…some interference from humans of your kind.” She took her time, let the words sink in. “If you have any information at all, we would be grateful.”

  “How grateful?”

  “Not again—tell them we’ll leave out a couple of dead coyotes.”

  “Hank!” I nipped his flank. Got hair in my teeth—jeez, that undercoat!

  “Tell the Canadian to leave,” said Nina.

  “What?” said Hank. “Oh yeah, I know—they’re still sore about that hockey game at the Olympics. And what about Labrador? That’s Canadian.”

  “Hank—move on back a few feet,” said Wagatha. Hank sloped back three paces.

  She turned again to the Borzois. “That’s as far as he’ll go—we only return through the grove as a pack.”

  Nina nosed the air. “There is something we’ve learned. I cannot reveal our sources. We were at a show yesterday—a meeting of Russian dog owners. There was talk.”

  “What kind of talk?” asked Wagatha.

  Nina and Vasily looked at each other. Vasily spoke. “About people in your ranging zone. Specifically, the humans belonging to the one who has wheels.”

  A low growl went through the Alliance.

  “Where are they?” That was me, cutting to the chase.

  “We don’t know—but it seems they have come to the attention of some powerful people,” said Nina. “And it’s all to do with something called….” She turned to Vasily and they jumped around a bit.

  “What’s that all about?” said Wrigley.

  “He’s telling her to keep her mouth shut, no more telling, and she’s asking why and saying it’s only fair to help us,” said Penny.

  “Hold on a minute. How the heck do you know that?” I had my eye on Pen now.

  “I’ve heard ‘Back in the USSR’ in Russian—my people have got Beatles recordings in all sorts of languages. They started learning some Russian, and I just kinda picked it up.”

  “Now she tells us,” I growled.

  Vasily and Nina stopped prancing. Vasily approached. “Okay. Here’s a morsel. We overheard the Samoyeds. The words I heard were ‘data collection.’ I know no more.”

  And with that the Borzois turned and danced away, but not before we’d heard the words: the Samoyeds.

  * * *

  —

  “All I can say is, I think the Russians were poor losers,” said Hank.

  “Shut up, Hank!” we howled in unison.

  Wagatha growled us to attention. “It’s time,” she said. “It’s time to bring in the humans. Tomorrow we see Dr. Lacey and Bill.”

  No one argued. Not even Maya and Ella, who had joined us for our return to the ’hood.

  And just so you know, Dr. Lacey Cashman is our veterinarian. She’s ex-army, so she’s seen action—taking care of our kind deployed in Afghanistan. At the end of her military service, she became our vet, and all I’ll say about Dr. Lacey is that she has a heart of gold—but she knows when you’re faking it, and she doesn’t like sass. You don’t mess with the good doc. She also understands us. And then there’s Bill—the only mailman who loves dogs, and the dogs love him right back. Go figure. He understands, too. Some humans are gifted that way.

  Maya and me were earmarked to find Dr. Lacey in the morning. I stayed with Wagatha for a few minutes to talk strategy.

  That night, after Ed had turned in, and—I should add—after a formal “missing persons” report on Tom and Livvy had been filed with the local police department, I settled down for the night. I was tired and my shoulder hurt. But my day wasn’t finished yet.

  I called Angus from his crate and pulled a book from the shelf. The 101 Dalmatians by Dodie Smith. The little fella’s education had begun. I’d get him onto Call of the Wild as soon as it was age-appropriate.

  PART FOUR

  The Human Factor

  I went with Maya to see Dr. Lacey. We skipped out in the morning while our people slept. Josie came over last night so, well, you know, she and Ed wouldn’t be getting out of bed anytime soon. And Dr. Lacey gets into the office real early. She said it was on account of being in a war zone—incoming kept you awake at night, so you learned to catnap. I didn’t like the sound of that—never met a cat I could trust. Well, with the exception of Delderfield but she’s gone, and sadly missed. Honorary member of the Alliance, and even Ella howled when the big C got that little calico. She served us all her days. Oh, and if you’re wondering how me and Maya got out before sunup—hey, you’ve gotta be kidding! A dog can always get out, if it wants.

  We barked at the back door of the veterinary office until Dr. Lacey answered our call.

  “What’re you two doing here?” she said, kneeling down to ruffle our ruffs. Maya curled into her—she was one tough rescue dog the good doc had helped tame. And because of their bond, the doc can see Maya’s pictures real clear. “Looks like you’re on a mission.” She closed her eyes as she touched us, and we pulled up the pictures into our heads. That’s the only way to describe what we do—like running a movie behind our eyes, and Dr. Lacey can see the same thing. It’s how she knows when Hank has been at a slice of banana bread with chocolate chips—he cannot get that stuff out of his head.

  “Tom and Livvy gone? Is that it?”

  Maya yelped, going all paws down.

  “Has Ed been to the police?”

  Maya and me, we yelped together.

  “But what’s this about Nina and Vasily—which reminds me, they both need their leptospirosis shots and anal glands attended to.”

  That was way too much intel.

  “Oh—Russians—you think it’s something to do with Russians!” She was getting there.

  We yelped again.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to Ed. Make up a story about how I know.”

  Thank Dog for the doc. Maya and me, we barked our thanks, snuggled in for a hug, and ran home. We split up on the street.

  “I’ll report to Wagatha,” I said. “Thanks, Maya—we needed your pictures to get Dr. Lacey on board.”

  “Part of the job, Lieutenant,” said Maya. “But what was that about the Borzois and their anal glands?”

  “Don’t even go there, Maya—don’t even go there.”

  * * *

  —

  Dr. Lacey called Ed and shared her intel. Maya found Bill delivering letters on a neighboring street, and brought him up to speed with her mind-pictures. She reported that Bill said he’d delivered an official-looking document postmarked “Russia” to Tom and Livvy last week. But who uses snail mail with two techies? The plot was definitely getting thicker.

  I heard Wagatha’s call, and snuck out the back door to meet her between the two big cypress trees.

  “We need a lot more information, Reb. We must expand our investigation,” she said. “I’m sure the Borzois know more than they’re telling. And I don’t like the fact that they mentioned the Samoyeds. They can be ruthless.”

  “Ed’s going down to the town PD with what we got from the doc and Bill—Doc spoke to him, so he’s in the picture. But the clock is ticking—Dude could lose his people.”

  We agreed to expand our reach, which would mean some serious roaming. Easy for Ladybird, who was always on the prowl, but long-term absence can be noted. Ed wanted to check out Tom’s workplace. I leaped into the car as soon as my partner opened the do
or. Angus started whimpering about being left for Cruella de Ville to find him. It was time to elevate his education, so I went back inside and pulled The Art of Racing in the Rain off the shelf—you know, the one about Enzo, the dog who comes back as a…wait, better not tell you. It’s a bit of a tough story for a pup, but I think he’s ready for it, and it’ll distract him until I’m home.

  Oh, and just so you know—dogs can read, but we don’t do words. No, what we see is pictures. We turn a page and we see pictures in our heads. You know that old saying about putting your nose into a good book? Came from a dog. True.

  * * *

  —

  Tom’s company was way cool. Guy at the reception desk—called a greeting circle—took us into what he called a “meeting pod.” Didn’t even bat an eyelid about me being there, because they are a dog-friendly environment. His words. And as if to prove it, a big fluffy Goldendoodle comes out to say hi. Now, I’m not one to cast aspersions, but a Goldendoodle asking me if I’d like some refreshment feels a bit strange. I wanted to say, “No, let’s go outside and lay in puddles, then we’ll see what that coat looks like.”

  But back to the pod. So, we’re in this transparent sort of round tube, like being in a big fat water glass, and a “human resources parent” (I know—the names they come up with, like all these people need another mom!) joined us to ask if we had news about Tom, because he’s not been in the office, and they assumed he was working from home. I mean, Hello! What sort of place is this? Wasn’t it cool to call Tom to find out?

  Ed asked a few more questions, but didn’t get very far. I think he was thinking the guy was keeping something back. I just thought he was a bit, well, dopey. And I wanted out of that pod!

  By the time we were back in the ’hood, some big stuff was going down. I heard the call—the Alliance was in the Redwood Grove. Wagatha brought me up to speed. Nina had danced down the hill earlier and met Penny, who was rocking out to Sergeant Pepper in the front yard. Nina and Vasily had been taken to another Russian dog show last night, after we’d seen them, and they’d discovered that there were people “staying” at a house in the city owned by some Russians—real Russians, from Russia, not just people into Russian dogs or whose ancestors came through Ellis Island, like, one hundred years ago. And apparently those Russians don’t live in that house—they just use it.

  “Where is it?”

  “Russian Hill,” said Wagatha. She looked down. “I should have considered the possibility earlier.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” I said. “Who knew Russians lived on Russian Hill?”

  Wagatha cast a grateful look in my direction—what good is a lieutenant if he can’t support his leader? She pawed the ground.

  “Dude, I want you to go home—just for as long as it takes for some pictures to come into focus. I believe you were too upset to receive any before, but now we must have a clearer vision of what happened in the house. Hank and Samba—go with him; he’ll need your support.” Our leader gave Samba a special look before turning to me. “Reb, Nina gave Penny a picture of the house on Russian Hill, so she’ll know it when she sees it. Bill should be along to deliver our mail in half an hour. That gives Dude enough time to receive pictures while Maya and Ella go to Dr. Lacey. Is Ed at his desk in the city?”

  “Planning a special conference on violence in schools,” I said. “Getting kids, teachers, and police involved.” I sighed one of my big-dog sighs. “Sad, that’s what it is. Plain sad that it even needs to be talked about.”

  “Can we get him?” asked Wagatha.

  “We’ll ask Dr. Lacey to call him.”

  “Okay, Reb. Let’s go over the plan.”

  We closed our eyes, put noses together, and to a dog we saw Wagatha’s pictures in our heads. We knew what to do.

  * * *

  —

  “I can get you all in my van,” said Bill. “This street is last on my route today, but don’t get your paws on the outgoing mail.”

  We were loading up when Dr. Lacey came down the street in her truck, Maya and Ella riding shotgun. She leaped out, dogs following. She knew Bill was like her—could see a dog’s thoughts.

  “Looks like they’ve done a lot of work, Bill. Can you get everyone in?”

  “Almost, Doc. You following?”

  “I’ll take Hank and Samba so you have more room. I called Ed. Made up a story about an emergency patient coming in and the owner mentioning a house on Russian Hill. I’m sure he suspects something.”

  “I’ve some pictures to share,” said Dude. You can tell his people are of that strange generation, you know, everyone’s sharing and all that stuff. No one can just give someone a call anymore—they have to do this reaching out thing. Really confuses a dog, I mean, our language never changes.

  We all concentrated on Dude, and the pictures started coming. The doc gasped. “They had guns! Oh dear—and they took the computers, too.”

  Bill was shocked. “They didn’t even let them change out of their pajamas.” He turned to Dude. “Any idea what was in those files they took with them?”

  Dude shrugged. “I tried not to get too involved. I thought it was best I didn’t know what they were doing—because I knew it was something important.”

  Wagatha licked his ear. He liked that.

  “Okay. Time to hit the road,” said Bill.

  PART FIVE

  The Dognouement

  Our mailman drove fast toward the city. Me, Maya, Penny, Dude, Wrigs, and Ella were aboard with Wagatha. I’d managed to lock Angus in his crate, and threw in a copy of Oogy: The Dog Only a Family Could Love. It was time he was introduced to memoir, and there’s nothing more inspiring than a dog who’d made it up from the streets to become a beloved family pet. It’s a tear-jerker, but Angus needs to know that he’s got it good—no one is asking him to be a bait dog for the fighters. Maya and Ella wept when they read Oogy’s story—they know how it goes when you’re a rescue dog.

  “This is it—stop!” barked Penny.

  We were first to the house on Russian Hill. The street was quiet, just a few cars parked.

  Maya whistled. “Check out this pad,” she said. “How many rooms do you reckon they have. Twenty?”

  “This ain’t the Tenderloin, that’s for sure,” said Ella. She growled.

  Dr. Lacey pulled up, releasing Hank and Samba.

  “All he talked about was freaking food!” said Samba.

  Wagatha called us to attention.

  “We have to follow the humans now,” she said. “But as soon as we’re in—spread out fast. I can see there are three floors, so Maya, Ella, take the third. Dude, Penny, and Wrigs, take the second, and Samba comes with Reb and me to the first. Hank, you stay on guard at the front.

  Dr. Lacey checked her phone. “That’s a text from Ed. He’s on his way in a black-and-white with another guy from the PD. Busy day—it’s all he could get.”

  My heart sank. I knew what happened. He’s a wounded desk jockey now—no one listens to him. It’s like he’s an old guy—at forty.

  Bill rang the doorbell, a package under his arm and his signing device in his hand. We waited behind his van with the doc. I felt hackles go up along the line. We were all trembling, ready to roll. No answer. He hit the bell again. The door creaked, then opened to reveal a tall guy, bald, dressed in a suit, blue, and his jacket bulged at the chest. He was carrying. I’d say it was a Magnum.

  “Your lucky day, sir. Anyone’s birthday?” Bill smiled at the guy, who frowned.

  “Nothing was ordered. We are not expecting a parcel.”

  Russian. Definitely Russian.

  Dude whimpered. “It’s him. It’s the guy in my pictures.”

  “Well, I can’t take it back with me, sir. You gotta sign for it right here.” Bill was firm, and held out the device.

&nbs
p; The guy opened the door a little wider and reached for the package, which Bill conveniently dropped.

  “Oops,” he said.

  That was our sign. The pack moved with lightning speed, knocking the Russian over. Doc Lacey ran to Bill’s side, a roll of Vetrap in her hand—you know, that bandage stuff they use to keep a dressing in place—and a cone. Before the guy could utter, “Privet, tovarich,” we were in the house, splitting up like Wagatha instructed.

  Hank sat on the Russian, who started going on about Canadians, so Hank sat harder, putting a paw on his face while the doc coned and tied him. I heard the black-and-white’s siren in the distance: Ed was on his way. Maya and Ella had taken down another Russian on the stairs, and he wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon—knocked out cold. Wagatha, Samba, and I searched the first floor—couple sticks of furniture, and crates stacked everywhere. Wagatha yelped at the crates—she knew what was in there: fentanyl. We could hear Wrigs, Penny, and Dude above us, so we launched up the stairs. That’s when we heard a commotion coming from the third floor. Doc Lacey was right behind us.

  “WTF is going on?” That was Ed in the distance, as he reached the doorstep.

  What followed happened fast. Maya and Ella had taken down another two guys, and Wrigs and Penny were keeping them there. Dude was scraping at the foot of a door, the last in a long hallway. Wagatha went to his aid, and I was right there with them. Doc Lacey told us to stand back, then—I swear to Dog, I would never have believed this—she took a flying kick at that door and it caved right in. And there they were, Tom and Livvy tied to chairs, their mouths bound, and they were still in their jammies. Dude rushed up, but Wagatha and me, we turned around—we’d been on enough busts between us to know it couldn’t be this easy. And it wasn’t. Big Russian guy was pointing his piece directly at the doc.

  “One move, just one step, and she dies.”

  “Does this guy know he’s talking to dogs, and that he sounds crazy?” I whispered to Wagatha.