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- Herausgeber: Black Cat Weekly
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
This issue, things lean a bit heavier into science fiction and fantasy than usual. The action starts with the return of Sir Galahad (only 1,500 years late!) as he encounters the modern world. We also have a pair of very different time-travel tales from Philip E. High and Nelson S. Bond. E.C. Tubb’s story hasn’t been reprinted since its first publication, so we’re delighted to reintroduce it to the world. And topping things off is the conclusion of our book serial by Edmund Glasby. But don’t despair—Glasby’s novel is the first of a trilogy, and we begin serializing Book 2 in the next issue.
There’s a lot happening on the mystery end of things, too. First, Acquiring Editors Michael Bracken and Barb Goffman have lined up great tales from Eve Fisher and R.T. Lawton. Plus we have originals from Robert Lopresti and Ron Miller (another in his Velda P.I. series). And, of course, we have a brand new solve-it-yourself mystery from Hal Charles. Great fun!
Here’s the complete lineup—
NOVELS
Gods of the Jungle, by Nelson S. Bond [complete in this issue]
Two American pilots discover the jungles of Cambodia hold the secrets of a lost civilization—including time travel!
The Pale Galilean, by Edmund Glasby [Part 2 of 2]
Brother Santiago finds himself in a strange fantasy world plagued by demonic creatures.
SOLVE-IT-YOURSELF MYSTERY
“A Pickleball Perplex,” by Hal Charles
Can you solve the mystery before the detective? All the clues are there!
SHORT STORIES
“Lady With a Past,” by Eve Fisher [Michael Bracken Presents short story]
A chance meeting leads to romance for Officer Tripp and a woman with a past…
“Vet’s Day,” by R.T. Lawton [Barb Goffman Presents short story]
When a veteran asks his old partner to help break a dog out of an upscale vet’s office, things go hilariously awry!
“Shanks Gets Lost,” by Robert Lopresti [Shanks series]
Mystery writer Leopold Longshanks’s search has a bizarre misadventure involving a cash-strapped stranger, cryptic family feuds, and unexpected run-ins with the police…
“Velda and the Thirteen Feathers,” by Ron Miller [Velda series]
Velda investigates arson—uncovering sinister secrets, ruthless suspects, and deadly clues—including thirteen feathers!
“Galahad Returns,” by Larry Hodges
After centuries seeking the Holy Grail, Sir Galahad returns, ready for Camelot but landing in modern-day America instead…
“Routine Exercise,” by Philip E. High
During a routine drill, the nuclear submarine Taurus takes an impossible journey through time…
“The Robbers,” by E.C. Tubb
Tony defies his parents and joins the Service, a mysterious force recruiting Earth’s disaffected youth. But why are they teaching such primitive skills?
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Seitenzahl: 609
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Table of Contents
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
TEAM BLACK CAT
THE CAT’S MEOW
LADY WITH A PAST, by Eve Fisher
A PICKLEBALL PERPLEX, by Hal Charles
VET’S DAY, by R.T. Lawton
SHANKS GETS LOST, by Robert Lopresti
VELDA AND THE THIRTEEN FEATHERS, by Ron Miller
GALAHAD RETURNS, by Larry Hodges
ROUTINE EXERCISE, by Philip E. High
THE ROBBERS, by E.C. Tubb
GODS OF THE JUNGLE, by Nelson S. Bond
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
THE PALE GALILEAN, by Edmund Glasby
WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 2024 by Wildside Press LLC.
Published by Black Cat Weekly
blackcatweekly.com
*
“Lady With a Past” is copyright © 2024 by Eve Fisher and appears here for the first time.
“A Pickleball Perplex” is copyright © 2024 by Hal Blythe and Charlie Sweet and appears here for the first time.
“Vet’s Day” is copyright © 2018 by R.T. Lawton. Originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Nov/Dec 2018. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Shanks Gets Lost” is copyright © 2024 by Robert Lopresti and appears here for the first time.
“Velda and the Thirteen Feathers” is copyright © 2024 by Ron Miller and appears here for the first time.
“Galahad Returns” is copyright © 2024 by Larry Hodges and appears here for the first time.
“Routine Exercise” is copyright © 1961 by Philip E. High. Originally published in New Worlds Science Fiction, February 1961. Reprinted by permission of Philip Harbottle of the Cosmos Literary Agency (UK).
“The Robbers” is copyright © 1954 by E.C. Tubb. Originally published in New Worlds, December 1954. Reprinted by permission of Philip Harbottle of the Cosmos Literary Agency (UK).
Gods of the Jungle, by Nelson S. Bond, was originally published as a two-part serial in Amazing Stories, June and July 1942. Reprinted by permission of the Nelson S. Bond Trust.
The Pale Galilean (part 2) is copyright © 2024 by Edmund Glasby and appears here for the first time.
TEAM BLACK CAT
EDITOR & PUBLISHER
John Betancourt
ART DIRECTOR
Ron Miller
ASSOCIATE EDITORS
Barb Goffman
Michael Bracken
Paul Di Filippo
Darrell Schweitzer
Cynthia M. Ward
EDITORIAL BOARD
Thomas A. Easton
Ryan Hines
Vicki Erwin
Paula Messina
Richard Prosch
PRODUCTION
Sam Hogan
Karl Wurf
THE CAT’S MEOW
Welcome to Black Cat Weekly.
This issue, things lean a bit heavier into science fiction and fantasy than usual. The action starts with the return of Sir Galahad (only 1,500 years late!) as he encounters the modern world. We also have a pair of very different time-travel tales from Philip E. High and Nelson S. Bond. E.C. Tubb’s story hasn’t been reprinted since its first publication, so we’re delighted to reintroduce it to the world. And topping things off is the conclusion of our book serial by Edmund Glasby. But don’t despair—Glasby’s novel is the first of a trilogy, and we begin serializing Book 2 in the next issue.
There’s a lot happening on the mystery end of things, too. First, Acquiring Editors Michael Bracken and Barb Goffman have lined up great tales from Eve Fisher and R.T. Lawton. Plus we have originals from Robert Lopresti and Ron Miller (another in his Velda P.I. series). And, of course, we have a brand new solve-it-yourself mystery from Hal Charles. Great fun!
Here’s the complete lineup—
Cover Art: Ron Miller
NOVELS
Gods of the Jungle, by Nelson S. Bond [complete in this issue]
Two American pilots discover the jungles of Cambodia hold the secrets of a lost civilization—including time travel!
The Pale Galilean, by Edmund Glasby [Part 2 of 2]
Brother Santiago finds himself in a strange fantasy world plagued by demonic creatures.
SOLVE-IT-YOURSELF MYSTERY
“A Pickleball Perplex,” by Hal Charles
Can you solve the mystery before the detective? All the clues are there!
SHORT STORIES
“Lady With a Past,” by Eve Fisher [Michael Bracken Presents short story]
A chance meeting leads to romance for Officer Tripp and a woman with a past…
“Vet’s Day,” by R.T. Lawton[Barb Goffman Presents short story]
When a veteran asks his old partner to help break a dog out of an upscale vet’s office, things go hilariously awry!
“Shanks Gets Lost,” by Robert Lopresti [Shanks series]
Mystery writer Leopold Longshanks’s search has a bizarre misadventure involving a cash-strapped stranger, cryptic family feuds, and unexpected run-ins with the police…
“Velda and the Thirteen Feathers,” by Ron Miller [Velda series]
Velda investigates arson—uncovering sinister secrets, ruthless suspects, and deadly clues—including thirteen feathers!
“Galahad Returns,” by Larry Hodges
After centuries seeking the Holy Grail, Sir Galahad returns, ready for Camelot but landing in modern-day America instead…
“Routine Exercise,” by Philip E. High
During a routine drill, the nuclear submarine Taurus takes an impossible journey through time…
“The Robbers,” by E.C. Tubb
Tony defies his parents and joins the Service, a mysterious force recruiting Earth’s disaffected youth. But why are they teaching such primitive skills?
Until next time, happy reading!
—John Betancourt
Editor, Black Cat Weekly
LADY WITH A PAST,by Eve Fisher
At seven a.m., Megan Davison’s living room looked like HGTV, but her bedroom was an absolute wreck. I know, I was there, amazed and happy. And surprised, because I gave up trolling a few years back, and I’d gone to the Norseman’s for a quick beer. But Tuesday night led to Wednesday morning and there I was, waking up with armfuls of her. There I was, drinking coffee in her kitchen. Megan came out of the bedroom, sharp and sexy and when I left gave me a kiss that melted my heart right out of my chest.
Eight thirty a.m. found me pounding down coffee at the Laskin Café in a desperate attempt to get rid of what I refused to call a hangover. Nobody could have a hangover and feel that good.
Eleven a.m., doing paperwork at the police station. Downstairs. No windows. For two hours.
Three p.m. On school patrol. Very quiet. I managed to stay awake by thinking about the night before. It had started out in the parking lot, with some guy bothering Megan. I got rid of him; she bought me a beer. I bought her one. One thing led to another… I called, heard her voice mail.
Four-thirty. Megan would be off work in half an hour. In my rearview mirror, I saw Linda Thompson heading home. She’d also been at the Norseman’s last night. I didn’t want to think about that. Just Megan.
Seven p.m. I texted Megan: “Meet me Norseman’s”.
I raced home to shower and change clothes, and was down at the Norseman’s by seven thirty. I passed Ulrik Johnson in the parking lot. He was talking to Dill Davison, Megan’s half-brother, and some other young toughs… I didn’t want to think about that either.
Megan wasn’t inside. She didn’t call, didn’t text, didn’t come. Did she ever come by? Did she see Dill and them and leave? Or did she not want to see me again?
By midnight, that happy sucker from the morning was a sour damn near middle-aged guy sitting alone over another boiler maker. I wasn’t Megan’s type, I knew that. I was ten years older than she was. She was part of Laskin’s largest criminal family; bikers and tough guys were her past, and I was a cop. So why did she take me home? Sure, she’d been drinking, but she wasn’t drunk. Even drunk, most people stick with their type, unless it’s last call, unless they’re desperate, unless there’s no one else in the bar—in other words, unless they’re men.
Well, maybe she decided to change her type. Or experiment, and I didn’t make the cut. Maybe that goodbye kiss was just that. And I wanted to drown myself, or at least my sorrows, and I couldn’t do either one, because I had to get some sleep and go to work the next day, and I was way, way, way too old for this…
* * * *
Except for the headache, the next morning I was fine and over women. Work was my life. For two long boring days. Which is why, when my cell phone buzzed very late that afternoon, I jumped on it.
“Grant. C U 2NTE? Megan.”
“When/where?”
“Home. L2KO?”
I called across to Cathy, the evening dispatcher, who has teenagers. “What does L2KO mean these days?”
“‘Like to come over?’”
I texted, “8?”
“D8.”
* * * *
“I was starting to think you didn’t want to see me again.”
Her laugh rippled in the dark. “No. Just playing hard to get.”
“Honey, you had me at hello.”
“Mm. I saw that movie, too.”
“No, I mean it.” And tried to prove it.
Later she added, “But we probably should play a few games. My family… Your workmates… Laskin.”
“Keep it quiet?”
“Mm-hm. My last relationship in this town was high profile enough.”
“Ulrik Johnson.”
“Yeah. What an idiot. I am so embarrassed by that now. But you do what you know, right? At least I finally figured it out.”
“How’d that happen?”
“One day the universe literally sent me a message. I was watching TV, and I decided I was not going to be one of those Orange is the New Black chicks, in prison because someone got her messed up with drugs for them.” The silence suddenly felt very thick.
“I’m off duty.”
“I hope so… No, I got out. I told my family, I am out. I’m going to college this fall. I’m getting my degree in interior design. I’m going to have a career, dammit, and I’m not going to let anyone—even my family, especially my family—stand in my way.”
“Good for you.”
“And I don’t want them ruining this. Whatever this is. What is it?”
“It’s whatever you want.”
* * * *
Megan was right. Even if she hadn’t been part of the notorious Davison clan, Laskin’s a small town, and they’re hell on romance. They see you once, you’re dating, they see you twice, you’re engaged, they see you three times, you’d better have set the date. Over the next couple of weeks, Megan and I did lots of takeout. When we did go out, it was nearer Sioux Falls than Laskin. Even the Lakes was pushing it, as I could tell when we walked in and I saw fellow officer Bob Johnson with his wife. They started whispering. When I came out of the men’s room, a guy was talking to Megan. I knew who he was: I’d arrested him a few times.
“Srstka. When did you get out?”
There was a beat of silence. Then, “A month ago. I flatted.”
“Good for you.” I turned to Megan. “Everything okay?” I asked pleasantly.
“Ryan was just leaving,” she said firmly.
He went back to the kitchen.
“Good to see he’s gainfully employed. Was he bothering you?”
“Not really. He wanted to know where Olivia is. They lived together for a while.” She finished her wine, and I ordered another. “What on earth Olivia saw in him I’ll never know. I told her he was a loser. And that I knew losers, because I dated Ulrik. She finally got a clue and dumped him and came to live with me. So, he kind of blames me for them breaking up and all that.”
“He’s trying to get her back?”
“If he is, he’s stupid. It’s not going to happen. For one thing, she hooked up with Ulrik. Can you believe that? From loser to loser, you know? Not to mention when she did it, she was living in my condo. Which was hugely awkward. We had a terrible fight, and I told her to get rid of him or get out.” Megan sighed. “She got out.”
“She’s living with Ulrik now?”
“I guess. Who cares? I mean, I care. I really do. But I’m not going to let myself get drawn back into that. Which is what I told Ryan. I told him, you got a problem? Talk to Ulrik.”
“Good for you.”
“Thanks.” She smiled, shyly. “I’m kind of proud of myself, you know? I’m finally standing up for myself.”
* * * *
Well, after that, word got out. Being Laskin, no one actually said anything directly. Instead, I got things like Mom asking, “I heard that one of the Davison girls, now what’s her name? Mary… Mavis… Megan. That’s it. Megan. She’s going to college. How on earth did that happen?”
Olivia Davison came by Megan’s one night to bum some money. She looked me over while Megan went off to get it and said, “Yeah. You’d be a handy man to have around in a tight spot. You interested in another tight spot to be in?” I tried not to blush while she laughed her head off. After that, whenever I saw her, she gave me a come-hither look before laughing.
Speaking of Olivia, brother Barry said that he liked Olivia best of all the Davisons because she was the least snooty. I told him she was also the poorest, because she was always bumming money. “She doesn’t from me,” he protested.
Note: When I asked Megan, “Why on earth do you keep giving her money?” she replied, “Because. She’s on a tight leash. I can help her out a little bit.”
When I came to work slightly hung over, Jean, the dispatcher, told me, “You know you’re getting a little old for this, Grant.”
Bob Johnson said, “Be careful, man.”
And Detective Jonasson didn’t say a word, which was the worst of all.
Karl Srstka, at the grocery store: “I heard you were harassing my boy, Ryan.”
“I ran into him—”
“Look. He’s out of prison, he’s got a job, he’s doing all right. Leave him alone. Let him get back on his feet.”
Siv Davison, Megan’s uncle, pumping gas next to me one day. He didn’t say a word, just gave me a cold once over. I managed not to twitch, but still…
And one morning Dill Davison banged on her door.
“You want me to go out the back?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, please.” I started off and she stopped me, laughing. “No. Stay here. Dill. What the hell do you want this early in the morning?”
“Hello to you, too. Listen, Ryan’s been talking smack—” He saw me for the first time and stopped. “What the hell? You move in or what?”
“Dill!”
“Shut up,” he told her. “So, this… Seriously?”
“It’s none of your business,” Megan said.
“No. No, it’s fine with me. Might be a solution…”
“What’s the deal with Srstka?” I asked.
“Nothing. Just being an asshole, like always. Nothing to worry about. Yeah.”
“Yeah, well, we both have to go to work,” Megan said. “So, if you would please leave. Now?” After he left, she shook her head. “Brothers. So damn protective. A real pain in the ass.”
“Do you need protection? From Ryan?”
“God no. But I do like having you around.” And with another killer kiss, she left.
* * * *
I sat out on the bypass, drinking coffee and waiting for speeders to come around the curve. Ryan Srstka had been in court every couple of months as a juvenile. At eighteen he calmed down, only to get busted for meth. He’d gotten out on parole after a while. A fight down at the Norseman’s sent him back to the pen for parole violation. Did his time, and now he was out. And, like his dad said, at least he was working.
The thought of him and Olivia together was…well, the Srstkas and the Davisons were pretty much the Montagues and Capulets. What the hell had she been thinking?
I could hear Linda Thompson: “Olivia’s one of those wild-child Davisons. She never means any harm, but she screws everything up.”
Linda would know all about it. She’d been married to Gary Davison, and she had stories on all of them. But I really didn’t want to talk to her. Small town, and we’d dated twice. Not a good idea. Not until I knew what I was doing. What we were doing. Me and Megan.
* * * *
I stopped at Squeegee’s for coffee and found Ryan Srstka sitting in the casino area. It was early, and he appeared to be the only customer.
“Officer Tripp.”
“Ryan. Shame they don’t put a flushing sound on those machines. You know, truth in advertising?”
“Yeah. So, you and Megan.” He glanced my way.
“She said you were looking for Olivia.”
“Yeah. But they’ve got her tucked away, nice and safe somewheres. ’Cause I’m the big bad wolf. And they’re the pretty little lambs.” He glanced my way again. “Davisons, they stick together.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“The women are the worst. You don’t know what you’re dealing with, man.”
“So, tell me.”
“Money. Just money. Her and Olivia, back when I met them? They had nothing. Just made enough to pay the bills. And then one day, they’ve got a ton of money and everything I had was gone.”
“You had a ton of money? I didn’t know you won the lottery.” He put in more quarters. “The only way you ever got a ton of money was by selling drugs. Which you would’ve gotten from Dill Davison. And you’d have had to rip him off. So then someone ripped you off? You want to come down to the station, file a complaint?”
The screen showed another losing hand. Srstka exploded onto his feet.
“You know, the hell with you! Me and Olivia, we were good until Megan showed up. Then everything goes to hell. She’s going to college! She’s got a new car! She’s got everything she wants! And I’ve got nothing. Nothing at all! I’m going home. You wanna arrest me for DUI, go ahead! What the hell? Take me in.”
“You know,” I said, “What I really want to know is why you’re still in Laskin. If I were you, I’d be so long gone that no Davison would ever find me again. Think about that.”
* * * *
Megan and I didn’t spend every night together. I got put on night-shift, and I was afraid I’d lose her. I strongly suspected that Jonasson had done it on purpose to make that happen. Every night I drove past her place, front and back. I almost always saw her car in the driveway. Then one night, I saw Ryan in the alley, standing under the trees.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.
“Having a cigarette.”
“The hell you are. I could arrest you for stalking.”
“The hell you can. I got my rights!”
“Wanna bet?”
“All right. All right, I’m going.”
I waited until I was sure he was gone, and then I knocked on Megan’s window.
“Megan? It’s Grant. Let me in.”
The next morning, we both called in sick and went to Lake Okoboji.
* * * *
Late Saturday night. “Why don’t you join me? You could come to Minneapolis. They need cops there, too.”
“Maybe.” I didn’t tell her I tried that once. Didn’t work out.
“You’d work, I’d go to school. Nights we’d be together. I’ve already bought a condo. There’s definitely room for two.”
“You bought a condo?”
“Yeah. Cheaper than rent in the long run, ’cause I can sell it when I’m all done. And you could be there with me.”
“Until you met some artist type. Want you to model for him. Promise to make you the next Mona Lisa.”
“Ewww…she’s plain and overweight. Really. Besides. You’re enough for me.”
“Me?”
“Mm-hm. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, don’t you know that?”
* * * *
“’Michelle, ma belle…’” Jean looked up from dispatch. “What?” I asked. “I like the oldies.”
Jonasson called out, “Grant!”
“Great,” I said. “Now he’s going to be on my case for being in a good mood. That’s what you get around here for being happy.”
“You check the activity reports for last weekend yet?” Jonasson asked. I shook my head. “Ryan Srstka was found behind the Voelker condos Friday morning. Assault. No witnesses.” There was a long pause. “But someone did see you and Megan Davison leave together that morning. Mind telling me where you went?”
I swallowed hard. “Lake Okoboji. We were there all weekend.”
“I heard you’d called in sick. Hope you’re feeling better. Did you see Ryan Srstka on your way out?”
“No.”
“How about on your way in?”
I thought about lying.
“Yeah. He was in the alley, behind her place. I told him to get the hell out of there or I’d arrest him for stalking. He left. I didn’t hurt him. I didn’t touch him. He left whole and sound.”
“And then what?”
“I went and saw Megan.”
“You were still on duty. I also heard about your talk with Srstka a while back. At Squeegee’s. John Standing Bear saw you. Said Srstka appeared to be upset.”
“Look, Srstka’s been looking for Megan. He says he was ripped off. A ton of money is how he put it. He blamed both his old girlfriend Olivia and Megan. Megan for breaking them up. I asked if he wanted to file a complaint. He declined. I told him that if I were him, in his shoes, I’d leave town. I didn’t touch him, then or later.”
“Mm. Why did you hunt him—”
“I didn’t hunt him up. I went there for coffee.”
“And you went to the back to talk to him. He’s not a parolee. You were in uniform. It could be construed as harassment. Especially since you and Miss Davison are dating.”
“Is he pressing charges?”
“He’s in a coma.”
I made a conscious effort to breathe normally.
“Your actions could be construed as inappropriate. Perhaps unprofessional. Definitely unadvisable.”
“Talking to Ryan or dating Megan?”
Jonasson looked up from the paperclip noose he’d made. “I want a complete written statement of any and all interactions you and Ryan Srstka have had since his return from the pen. Afterward you’re suspended with pay until we clear this mess up. You will stay away from Srstka until the investigation is complete. That’s an order.”
“And Megan?”
He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Bob Johnson should be getting her statement right now. That’s all.”
I walked off, steaming, apprehensive, humiliated, angry, scared. There’s nothing like being suspected. Again.
* * * *
Megan. I had to talk to Megan.
I pulled out my cell phone and saw a text message:
I texted her back: “Please call. Need to talk to you ASAP.”
I went home, where I sat in the dark and listened to my heart pound.
I needed to talk to Dill and maybe Ulrik. One of them, both of them, beat up Ryan and left me holding the bag. Maybe on orders from Siv, who’s been running the Davison family business ever since Dave Davison’s heart attack…
I don’t know. I just don’t know.
Oh, God, I’ve got to quit lying: That night, before we left, while we were lying in the dark, Megan asleep (I think) and lights came down the alley. A car door opened, then slammed. Then another. Noises: scuffling, muffled voices. Yes, I thought about Ryan. I knew what was happening. Damned sure of it. But I did nothing. Nothing but lie there and pull her tighter to me. And get her the hell out of town the next morning.
I was in a world of trouble, and I couldn’t plead total innocence. I’d listened and done nothing. That’s what made it all so damned hard.
And it had happened before: Years ago, a man named Neil Inveig had given so many drugs to my brother, Barry, that he might as well be brain-dead. Years ago, Neil Inveig had stolen my girlfriend, Julie. Years ago, Neil Inveig and I had played cat and mouse, him a dealer, me a cop, in a small town where his money and family got him out from everything. And then, only a little while ago—seemed like centuries, but it wasn’t—Neil Inveig was murdered. A young man went to prison for that crime, but a lot of people believed I did it. Still believed I did it. Would always believe I did it.
Which was why if Ryan died, if Ryan never woke up, if Ryan woke up and decided to finger me—a whole lot of people would believe I did this, too.
I pulled out my cell phone.
“Linda, it’s Grant Tripp.”
“Yeah. What can I do for you?”
“I need to find Olivia. I heard she moved out of town. I thought you might know where she is.”
“Mm. She’s living over in Herman somewhere. If you want to see her, my advice would be to go to the Studio 1 tanning salon. She works there. Downtown Herman. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks, Linda.”
“No problem. But don’t tell her I sent you.”
She hung up. I would have felt more guilty, but panic was eating up everything else.
The Studio 1 place was already open, and Olivia Davison was sitting at the front desk reading a magazine.
“Well, Officer Tripp. Do you want a cut or a tan?”
“Neither. Wanted to ask you about Ryan Srstka.”
“Oh. Him.”
“You know he’s in the hospital? Got beat up?” A noncommittal nod. “I talked to him a few times. He said he wanted to find you. He also said he was ripped off. By you and Megan.”
“He can say anything he wants. See if I care.”
“He’s in a coma.”
“Good. Let him stay in one.”
“Did he ever threaten you?”
She snorted. “Of course he did. Guys like Ryan are always threatening someone. That’s how they know they’re in charge.”
“Olivia. He might die. I’ve got to find out who did it. I think I might be—”
Ulrik Johnson walked out of one of the tanning rooms, looking sweaty and prone to skin cancer. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Talking to Olivia.”
Ulrik looked at Olivia. “He bothering you?”
“Not a bit.”
“How about him?” I asked Olivia. “Is he bothering you?” She started laughing.
Ulrik flushed even darker. “Why don’t you get the hell out of here?”
“Make you a deal. I’ll go away after somebody tells me the truth about Ryan Srstka. I’ll make it simple. Who beat him up?”
“Like I’m gonna tell you anything. Other than stay away from Megan.”
“You’re with her now,” I nodded at Olivia. “What do you care?”
The first surprise was that both Olivia and Ulrik turned brick red. The second was that he let rip a haymaker. I blocked it, turned him around and slammed him, face first, against the wall.
“Listen, asshole, you want to be tough, fine. But what the hell are you being tough about?” He twisted, trying to get free, and I shoved him harder into the wall. “Did you put Srstka in the hospital? Or were you the one that ripped him off? Or both?”
He mumbled something, so I put some more torque into it. “I was never near those goddam condos!”
“Then how do you know where he was?” He sounded like he was choking, so I let him go, and he slumped down to the floor. “Get up.”
He did. “You’re goddam nuts, you know that. I got a witness if I want to sue for police brutality.”
Olivia said, “I was in the back. I never saw a thing.”
Ulrik turned toward her, and I got ready for a rematch. But instead he whined, “You’d really…”
“Yes, I would.” And she meant it.
He turned to me, but it was half-hearted: “You can’t prove nothing.”
“Maybe not. But somebody will. And I’ll get them on it.” He left.
“I feel like I missed an episode or two. You want to fill me in?”
“He’s an asshole,” she replied. “I’m sick of assholes, and that’s all I get. How did Megan get you?” I turned kind of red myself. “Oh, what the hell. Yeah, Ulrik beat up Ryan. But don’t say I said that. Ryan…He ripped them off. Dill and Ulrik. The only reason he’s made it this far is cause he managed to get back in the pen before they could teach him a lesson. He got out, so they did.”
“And Megan?”
“What about her?”
“What’s she in all of this?”
“Shit if I know. I’m trying not to hate her for having everything I want. You’d better get out of here. I have clients coming, and you might scare them away.”
* * * *
Money. It’s always a question. Sudden inheritances, big lottery winners, they’re a lot rarer than anyone thinks. In Laskin, people never talk about money. They don’t put on a big show, no matter how much they have. Most people live close to the ground. Some families never make it more than an inch above that. Some dive a lot deeper. So how was Megan Davison, of all people, of all families, suddenly able afford a new car, a nice condo, to go to college?
I hadn’t thought about it before. I hadn’t thought about anything but how beautiful she was. How great everything was between us. And still could be. Maybe. Or maybe not. I’d said I wasn’t her type, and it was true.
“A solution,” Dill had said, and he was right. She needed a bodyguard, she got herself a bodyguard. From Ryan, for sure. Maybe from Ulrik. And maybe even from her family.
She’d said she wasn’t going to be a criminal, she wasn’t going to go to prison, she wasn’t going to be like the rest of her family. But the truth was that, in order to get out of her situation, her family, she would have had to do something criminal. Not that she, or any other Davison, would have seen it as wrong…
* * * *
Thursday morning, Ryan woke up. By Friday, he’d named Ulrik, who’d taken off for parts unknown. I was off the hook and was expected back at work on Monday. Night shift. It gave me time to think about what I was going to say to Megan when she got back.
I went over to her condo, but I couldn’t settle down. “What’s wrong?”
“Ryan Srstka,” I said.
“Not him again. He’s awake, he’s going to be fine.”
“Yep. Listen, I’ve had time to think about this, and I have to ask. Where did you get the money for all of this?” As she sat silent, staring at me. “A condo here, a condo in Minneapolis. A new car, all this stuff—” I said, waving my hand around the HGTV living room.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“I have to know,” I said. “I mean, let’s face facts, there’s no way you could have earned it. Not this much. But maybe…if you found a stash of cash that the dipshit boyfriend of your roommate had stolen from your ex-boyfriend and your brother. The kind of money that would give you a way out of the family. Go to college, go somewhere, anywhere. So, what the hell. It’s there for the taking. Of course, Ryan’s pretty pissed off. But who cares about him? And he sure as hell can’t report it.”
“How did you come up with this?”
“It’s so goddamned obvious! Everyone was worried about Ryan, what he would do, but you. They kept checking on you, but you didn’t care. Because you’d already taken care of it. You hooked up with a cop, who fell hard for you. Would do anything to protect you. No way would Ryan get to you. Or anyone else. And soon you’ll be gone, and it’ll all be over. Or maybe not,” I said. She was up on her feet by now, staring at me. “We can still be together. It’s just…you need to tell me the truth. Damn it to hell, you owe me the truth!”
“What do you mean ‘owe’? We’re lovers. I thought we were. That you loved me, ’cause I love you. But I was wrong. You don’t trust me, we’ve got nothing. I don’t owe you a damned thing. Get out of here!” As I walked down the sidewalk she yelled, “Don’t ever come back!”
* * * *
Laskin’s a small town, but you can get lost in it if you know how. I do. Megan never called me. I made myself not call her. That was hard, but it got easier. Especially when she moved to Minneapolis a month early. The gossip was flying, but I didn’t hear it. Everyone was very quiet around me.
Except Linda Thompson.
“So, what the hell happened between the two of you?” she asked.
“Linda…”
“Just curious. She was crazy about you. Seemed vice versa.”
“Money. Family. That kind of crap.”
“Mm.” There was a long pause over paperwork. Finally, she said, “Dave Davison set up a trust fund for Megan after her father died.” I stared at her. “Her dad was killed in the pen, you know.”
“Yeah. Back when she was a toddler. Her mom remarried.”
“Well, her dad was killed protecting Dave from getting shanked. Dave promised him as he died that he’d make sure Megan would be taken care of, and he did.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Gary told me. It was set up so she’d get the money when she turned twenty-one.”
I started to ask why she hadn’t told me, but I knew the answer: I’d never asked.
“So, who did rip Ryan off?”
“Nobody. That was complete bullshit. He and Olivia went to Vegas, blew every cent. Which is why Olivia’s stuck working in Herman for nothing. She’s just glad she can work it off.”
“So why did Ryan try to turn me against Megan?”
“Because he’s an asshole. I’m surprised he’s still alive.”
“But why?”
“Because that’s what he does. Why’d you listen to him?”
Because I couldn’t believe she loved me.
But instead of admitting it, I said, “I don’t know.” And left.
* * * *
Here’s the thing. In every noir film, the beautiful, sexy woman is guilty as sin. That’s why she takes up with the hero. You know from the get-go that he’s being used. That she’s lying through her teeth. About everything. And whatever happens to her, well, she deserves it. Same for him. So, I’d known that she was guilty of something, right from the get-go. And I didn’t care, until the end. Then all I’d wanted was the truth.
And the truth was—I’d been wrong. One hundred percent wrong. I’d broken my own heart. For nothing.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Eve Fisher’s stories have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Black Cat Mystery Magazine, Mystery Weekly, Crimeucopia, The Bould Awards, and elsewhere. Three of her AHMM publications have been Honorable Mentions in Best American Mystery Stories (2012 and 2023) and Best American Mystery and Suspense 2023. She blogs biweekly at sleuthsayers.org.
A PICKLEBALL PERPLEX,by Hal Charles
When Detective Dani Harlow entered the large building in the strip mall at the edge of town, she immediately spotted Officer Paul Hicks, who moonlighted as a security guard. “The dispatcher told me to get over here on the double,” Dani said. “What’cha got?”
“Somebody killed Mr. Culross.”
Hicks led Dani across the expansive complex to where the body of Jack Culross lay near the net on one of the pickleball courts that made the new facility the talk of Shadow Creek.
“I left him here last night about 11:30,” said Hicks. “He was really excited about this weekend’s tournament. Showed me the new paddle that came in late yesterday. Said it was his secret weapon.”
Dani looked down at the blood spattered pickleball paddle next to the body. “I don’t think that’s what he meant by weapon.”
“Anyway,” said Hicks, “Mr. Culross had me lock the door when I left. When I came by the building at the end of my shift this morning, the lights were still on and I found him like this.”
“Besides you and Culross, who has a key to the building?”
“Mrs. Culross has one.” He hesitated. “I don’t want to gossip, but last week the two of them had a real blowout. Something about him and Faith Bennett, the club pro.”
“Does Faith have a key?”
“Absolutely. She’s been coming in at all hours getting ready for the tournament.”
“Anybody else?”
“Mr. Burkhart, Mr. Culross’ business partner.”
After calling the medical examiner’s office, Dani left Hicks with the body and headed out to interview the key holders.
“Ms. Culross,” Dani said when a diminutive woman opened the door of the bungalow, “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
“It’s Jack, isn’t it?” said Teresa Culross. “I just got back an hour ago from visiting my sister in Capital City, and I had this odd feeling that something was wrong.”
After identifying herself, Dani explained the situation. Then she asked, “Can you think of anyone who might want to harm your husband?”
“Jack and Bob Burkhart, his partner, have been at odds lately. Bob thought Jack was hurting the business with all his charitable endeavors and wasting too much time and money on what Bob called ‘that silly game.’”
Dani found Burkhart at his downtown office. She wasn’t sure that Teresa Culross was telling her the whole story, but the detective wanted to talk with all the keyholders as soon as possible. “Mr. Burkhart,” she said, flashing her badge, “could you tell me your whereabouts last night?”
“What’s this about?” said the rotund businessman.
“Jack Culross was found dead this morning,” said Dani.
“Where? What happened?”
“He was murdered at the pickleball complex.”
“Jack and I had our differences, but murder? If I seem a little bleary eyed, it’s because I was involved in an all-night poker game at Judge Ambrose’s. I’m sure he and four other upstanding citizens will vouch for me.”
Dani located Faith Bennett at the high school athletic field, where she was jogging around the track. “Ms. Bennett,” said Dani, holding up her badge as the woman approached, “could I have a minute?”
“Is there a problem?” said Faith, drawing in a deep breath.
“Jack Culross has been murdered, and I need to know where you were last night.”
“Jack murdered? And you think I had something to do with it?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” said Dani.
“If you must know, I went to bed early. I wanted to be in top shape for this weekend’s tournament. Jack said he was gunning for me this year, but I told him he would need more than a fancy new paddle to take me down.”
As Dani reached for her handcuffs, she said, “I believe I’ll be the one taking you down—down to the lockup.”
SOLUTION
When Faith mentioned Culross’ new paddle, Dani remembered Officer Hicks saying the paddle was Culross’s secret weapon. Faith could have known about it only if she had been at the complex after it arrived. Arrested, Faith confessed she had met with Culross, and he wanted to end their longtime affair. In a rage she had ended him.
Barb Goffman Presents showcases modernmystery and crime stories, selected by one ofthe most acclaimed authors and editorsin the mystery field, Barb Goffman.
VET’S DAY,by R.T. Lawton
Yarnell had just tucked into a plate of steaming crab legs at Oscar’s Seafood House, his favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant just off Fifty-Seventh Street, when the chair on the opposite side of his table got pulled out. The chair’s right rear leg made a screeching sound—much like a wood saw rasping through sheet metal—as its jagged aluminum foot grated across the cement floor. Yarnell shivered slightly, but kept eating and didn’t bother to look up.
“Oscar needs to get some new dining room furniture in here,” said Beaumont as he sat down. “There’s a metal slide missing on the bottom of one of these legs. Makes a hell of a noise.”
“Oscar needs a lot of new stuff in this place, but the food’s good. So what do you want?”
Beaumont pointed with a thick index finger. “You got butter dripping from your chin.”
“That tends to happen when you eat crab legs right. So I ask again, what do you want?”
“I got a problem.”
Yarnell dipped another crab leg into the small heated pot of drawn butter.
“Most of us do.”
“Yeah, but I need your help on a piece of work I gotta do.”
“Three weeks go by, you don’t call, and now you show up asking a favor.”
Beaumont leaned forward with his elbows on the table.
“Hey, you’re the one who got mad at me for setting off the alarm on the last thing we did together. And, in case you forgot, I still say that was an accident.”
“As I recall, you were the one who swore you had them wires rerouted so it wouldn’t go off. Just so happened I needed the payoff from that job to make my rent money for the month.”
“That place must’ve had a backup system I didn’t know about. Could’ve happened to anybody. But, I tell you what, I’ll make it up to you.”
“How you gonna do that?”
“You can pick our next job…after this one, of course. And, you’ll be in complete charge. I won’t tell you anything about how we’ll have do that one.”
Yarnell gave it some thought.
“You’re saying you won’t give me a hard time about how we do the next job?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“It’s all my way?”
“Right.”
“No armchair quarterbacking from you?”
“Fine.”
“At all?”
“You got it.”
Yarnell thought about the offer for a while longer.
“Okay, deal. So what’s this piece of work you gotta do that you need me for?”
“Veterans Day is coming up, and I owe this guy a personal favor.”
“What kinda favor?”
Beaumont averted his eyes, gazing off to the side and out the front window. He pursed his lips as if having a private debate with himself.
“This guy, uh, sorta saved my life in Iraq.”
Yarnell immediately stopped chewing. His mouth fell open, and the crab leg in his right hand froze partway there. Warm butter started running down the pale pink meat and onto his fingers.
“When were you in Iraq and I never heard nothing about it?”
“It was about twenty-five years ago. You and I weren’t full time partners yet, so I didn’t see any reason to bring it up.”
“Keep talking.”
“Remember Feeny’s old fencing operation across the river?”
“Yeah.”
“I had the misfortune to be delivering some fell-off-the-truck stuff to Feeny when the cops raided his place and took me downtown with everybody else. Judge Markowitz was sitting that day. Said the group I was hanging with didn’t bode well for my future.”
“You’re talking about Maximum Markowitz?”
“That’s the one. Told me that one way or the other, I was gonna get a change of scenery out of this. He then give me a choice of signing papers with an army recruiter who happened to be in the back of the courtroom that day or going to trial, followed by a trip upriver to state prison with him doing the sentencing.”
“Neither one sounds like a nice vacation, but ol’ Maximum Mark would’ve had you busting rocks with a sledgehammer if he could still do that.”
“My thoughts exactly, so I took a chance on the army. Found out later, the army recruiter who happened to be standing at the back of the room was the judge’s son-in-law and he was looking to make some bonus money if he filled his quota of new recruits for that month.”
“That don’t sound good,” said Yarnell.
“It wasn’t,” said Beaumont. “They had me on a green army bus that same afternoon, me with a window seat and a big recruit sitting between me and the aisle, blocking any escape I might’ve had in mind. Guy was big enough to play left guard for the Giants.”
“They might as well have locked you up in a paddy wagon.”
“No kidding. After a half hour, the swaying motion of the bus on the road put me to sleep while I was still figuring on ways to get out of this situation.”
“So what’d you come up with?” asked Yarnell.
“The way it went,” replied Beaumont, “there wasn’t much I could do.”
“How’s that?”
“Next thing I know, before I could even put any plans into motion, I woke up at some training camp way out in the woods with several muscled-up sergeants in starched fatigues and Smokey the Bear hats screaming at us to get our asses off the bus. I tell you, that was one scary time in my life. Seems this was one of them places what was supposed to turn tame civilians into fighting-mad soldiers.”
“A guy can get hurt in them kind of situations.”
“Gets worse,” said Beaumont. “Wasn’t but a few months after training that they handed me transfer orders to an outfit on other side of the world. I was going there as an Eleven Bravo.”
“Eleven what?”
“Bravo. That’s a rifleman. You know, them guys on the ground doing the shooting and getting shot at.”
Yarnell lowered his crab leg.
“You never said nothing about being a war veteran.”
Beaumont made a gesture with his hands, both palms spread out and facing forward.
“Well, I was and I wasn’t.”
Yarnell finally laid the crab leg down on his plate.
“How do you…? Never mind.”
“It’s like this,” said Beaumont. “When I reported to the company first sergeant at our camp in Saudi Arabia prior to the invasion of ninety-one, the sarge looked me up and down and said he had a proposition for me.”
“What kinda proposition?”
“Turned out he knew how and why I come to join the army, plus a lot of other things about my alleged unsavory past, all of which he alluded to in conversation. And, being the first shirt in what was about to be a war zone, he mentioned he just so happened to have need of a special man for a special job.” Beaumont paused for a moment. “Did I ever tell you about the time I was a bartender in my youth at an Irish mob joint? It might help explain part of this.”
“Nope, don’t think it ever come up in conversation.”
“It was an after-hours blind pig across the river, mostly hijacked liquor and untaxed cigarettes in a storefront with the windows painted black so nobody could see in. Place was populated by up-and-comers in the criminal life, that is until the Russians took it over for themselves when our boss wouldn’t pay off for protection.”
“Putin’s boys do get a little touchy when it’s their opinion other people owe them money.”
“Yeah, put me out of a job.”
Yarnell was trying to decide whether or not to re-dip his crab leg in hot butter while his brain running in a parallel tunnel opted to put the discussion back on track.
“Tough about the job,” he said, “but let’s get the story back to what happened in Iraq.”
“Sorry,” replied Beaumont. “Anyway, Arabia’s one of them Muslim countries what don’t believe in alcohol. But, since soldiers are a thirsty lot, the first shirt needed someone to run an off-the-books NCO club for corporals and up. The club was concealed inside a couple of Conex boxes out in the supply yard, a place where the troops could safely unwind after a hard day in the field and not come to the attention of any stiff-neck officers. That’s where I was supposed to come in with my bartending experience from back home.”
“Let me guess, he made you a tempting offer and you went for it.”
“Right. If I ran the club, I wouldn’t have to go out in the boondocks and get my hindquarters shot off. Also as incentive for my services, he would finagle the paperwork for an early discharge. This was to be an undated document that he would hold in his private files, the date to be filled in after he saw how well I worked out. This way, I find out much later, if the club got busted by the MPs, he’d get the discharge backdated, giving himself deniability that the army itself was running a club serving illegal booze in a Muslim country.”
“Leaving you to take the fall as if he didn’t know what was going on.”
“You got it.”
“Sounds like he knew all the angles.”
“I thought so at the time. And, he did keep me from losing any body parts I’d grown fond of. Plus he kept his word after my year was up, sending me home in one piece with an early out.”
Beaumont scooted Yarnell’s glass of beer over to his own side of the table and took a drink.
“However,” he continued after placing the glass down in front of himself, “last month, a long time after his own army retirement, it seems our local vice squad popped the sarge for running a fake computer chip distribution operation. Had to do with counterfeit chips from China.”
“I heard something about them things being on the street.”
“As for myself, I hadn’t seen or talked to this guy in twenty-some years, didn’t even know he was in our town, fake chips or not. Now it looks like he’s going away for a while.”
“So where’s your problem?”
“He called me to come down to the holding facility and have a chat with him. Said I owed him, so to speak, so I went. Turns out when sarge got arrested, his pet dog was at the local veterinarian shop for his annual tune-up, plus any required shots the pooch was supposed to get. Problem is, if the dog don’t get paid up and out in the next two days, the vet’s gonna give him to a high-kill shelter to keep the kenneling bill from getting any higher.”
“That’s a little harsh,” said Yarnell. “If he isn’t adopted fast, the shelter could put him down to make room for another dog that somebody might take a liking to.”
Beaumont nodded.
“And, since the vet figured out sarge is probably going away for a long while, he wants his money right quick.”
“Then go bond the dog out.”
“Can’t. This vet is very exclusive, probably runs the most expensive kennel in town. Me, I can’t afford to even pay the dog’s room and board much less his annual tune-up fee.”
“Get sarge to give you the money. It’s his pet.”
“No dice. All of sarge’s assets got seized by the IRS when he got busted, so there’s no help there.”
“In which case, what did you have in mind for us?”
Beaumont leaned forward and lowered his voice.
“I thought maybe tonight we’d go in and get him out.”
Yarnell thought about this for a moment.
“You mean like a jail break?”
“Exactly.”
“We are talking about the dog, right?”
“Well, yeah, I’m not breaking a prisoner out of a state holding facility. What kinda criminals do you think we are?”
“Just clarifying the situation.”
Beaumont sat back as if he was miffed.
Yarnell picked up his growing-cold crab leg and re-dipped it in the hot butter.
“Okay, I’m in”—he took a bite and chewed—“as long as I get to plan the next job without you telling me how to do it.”
“Fine,” said Beaumont.
“Dogs shouldn’t be locked up anyway,” Yarnell concluded. “That’s too much like prison.”
* * * *
Standing in the dark alley, Yarnell used a pipe wrench to twist off the doorknob assembly on the rear door of the building. He then punched out the remaining innards and inserted a special tool through the hole to reach up and flip the deadbolt handle. The rear door swung open a few inches.
“You sure you got the right wires on the alarm this time?”
Beaumont gave his partner a look.
“You don’t hear any bells ringing, do you?”
“Could be one of them silent alarms.”
“You think I didn’t wire it right,” said Beaumont, “we could go back down the block, wait fifteen, and see if a patrol car shows up.”
Yarnell glanced up and down the alley. He didn’t see any flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the brick walls, and he sure didn’t hear any wailing sirens coming their way. He wavered for a minute.
“Forget about it. Let’s just get this done and get outa here.”
Beaumont opened the door farther, and the two men stepped inside. Yarnell put a wide piece of black duct tape over the outside of the hole where the doorknob used to be and closed the door behind them. Now, it was completely dark inside the back room.
Flicking on a miniature Maglite, Beaumont shined the beam around to get his bearings. It appeared to be a storeroom for veterinarian supplies, large sacks of dry dog food, cat food, small animal medicines, and the like.
“Keep going,” whispered Yarnell. “It smells like there’s a bunch of animals up ahead.”
In the next room, Beaumont played his Maglite over the stacks of wire cages. Small dark forms moved restlessly inside the containers. Barks and a few meows filled the silence. A couple of empty food dishes rattled against the wire structures as the locked-up animals moved around in their confinement.
“How do we know which cage your sergeant’s dog is in?”
“They’re all numbered,” replied Beaumont in a low voice, “and I’ve got the cage number from the vet’s billing voucher. Sarge gave me a copy of the bill so we can find the little fellow.”
“So he’s a little guy then, right?” said Yarnell. “Cuz the big ones make me think of police attack dogs, and I get nervous around them.”
“No sweat,” said Beaumont. “He’s supposed to be a cross between a Chihuahua and a terrier. How big could he be?”
“Good, seeing as how I don’t do so well with animals to begin with.”
“No sweat,” Beaumont said again as he flashed his light over the cage fronts. “I brought a leash for the little guy. We’ll just slap it on him and be on our way.”
Yarnell took off his left glove to scratch the itch on his nose. “What number we looking for?”
“Thirty-seven. I think it’s just up ahead.”
They waded deeper into the darkness.
“Found it,” whispered Beaumont. “This one up here. They must put the little dogs in cages on top of the stack.” He fumbled with the latch on the wire door.
“Hurry up,” muttered Yarnell. “All these animals make me jumpy.”
Beaumont opened the cage door. “Just relax, would you.”
That’s when Yarnell heard the snuffling to his rear.
“Beaumont,” he whispered in a strained voice, “is there something behind me?”
“Hold on. I’m up to my shoulder trying to get this little feller out of his cage.”
Now Yarnell felt something cold and wet against the palm of his naked left hand.
“Uh, Beaumont…”
“Give it a minute, Yarnell. This little SOB bit me when I grabbed for his collar, but I think I got him.”
Yarnell heard the snuffling behind him again. He wanted to turn around and look but was afraid of what he might find. It was only when he felt something prodding him in the vicinity of his rear pants pocket that his adrenaline finally kicked into overdrive. After one quick leap from a standing start, followed by some pushing with his legs and pulling with his arms, all to the chorus of barking by multiple dogs, he found himself lying face down on the top row of dog cages. He strained to see into the darkness as to what had snuffled him.
“Ow,” said Beaumont who still had his right arm buried deep into the top cage. He finally withdrew his gloved hand from the little dog’s container. A dark lump wriggled from the end of Beaumont’s arm as he stopped to look up at Yarnell.
“What the hell are you doing up there?”
Yarnell peered down over the edge.
“Shine your light where I was standing and tell me what you see.”
Beaumont swung his small light in the requested direction.
Two yellow eyes and a large set of sharp white teeth reflected in the light beam. A thin stream of saliva dripped quietly from blood-red gums and down onto the cement floor.
“Holy crap,” exclaimed Beaumont as he scrambled for finger and toe holds to scale the wire cages. The dark lump on the end of his arm continued to chomp on the fingers of his right-hand glove as he climbed. Meanwhile, one of Beaumont’s shoes became dislodged and fell to the floor. A long wet tongue licked the length of his big toe sticking out of a now enlarged hole in his sock. He shivered uncontrollably and jerked his foot onto the top of the cage as he lurched upward.
“What the hell is that?” screamed Beaumont. “Looks like a wolf.”
“I think it’s a very large guard dog,” whispered Yarnell, staring down into the darkness to see if the beast was going to stay on the cement floor or was going to stand up on its hind legs and look them over.
“It licked my toe,” said Beaumont, now lying beside Yarnell and also peering over the edge, “like it was tasting to see if it wanted more.”
“I think he likes you.”
“Why?”
“He just picked up your shoe. It’s in his mouth.”
“Whatever that thing is, he can have it. I can buy new shoes, but I can’t say the same about toes.”
The beast stood up, full length, eye level with Yarnell. Beaumont’s shoe in his mouth was right in front of Yarnell’s face.
“What’s he doing?” asked Yarnell.
“How am I supposed to know? Maybe he wants to make you a gift.”
Yarnell tentatively reached out and took hold of the shoe. The beast released it and dropped down to all fours with its head pointed toward the front of the building.
“Now what?” asked Yarnell.
“Just a minute,” whispered Beaumont. “This little monster on the end of my hand is trying to shorten a couple of my fingers. Let me do something with him first.”
“Stash him inside your coat. He’s supposed to be small, remember?”
Using his left hand, Beaumont pulled the little dog off his fingers and stuffed him, right glove and all, inside his jacket. He then yanked up the zipper. A muffled growl came from inside the cloth.
“Let’s get back to the big yellow-eyed beast,” said Yarnell in a low voice. “What do I do?”
“I think maybe he wants to play,” whispered Beaumont. “Try throwing the shoe.”
Yarnell tossed Beaumont’s shoe into the darkness. He could hear the slap of rubber sole when the footgear hit the cement.
With a scraping of toe nails, the beast took off in the direction of the noise. In no time, he returned, stood on his hind legs again, and presented the shoe.
Yarnell stared at Beaumont’s slobbered-up shoe. “What do you think?”
“I got an idea,” whispered Beaumont. “Throw the damn thing as far as you can into the front of the store. When he takes off after it, we’ll make a run for the back door.”
“How fast can you run with only one shoe?”
“Throw it and see. Just don’t get between me and the exit.”
“Get ready then, cuz here goes nothing.”
Yarnell gingerly took the wet shoe out of the dog’s mouth and underhanded it down the passageway and into the front office. He was gathering himself to jump to the floor when he noticed Beaumont was already down and high-stepping it for the supply room in the back. By the time Yarnell made his way into the supply room, Beaumont had thrown open the back door and turned into the alley.
