Рита Браун - The Tail Of The Tip-Off

"Really?"

"Oh yes." Pewter smiled up at the big dog. "You can't see nearly as well as they do, but you can hear and smell way, way beyond them."

"Harry's got good ears." Mrs. Murphy loved Harry.

"Actually, she does. She quite surprises me." Tucker thought Harry exceptional for a human.

"Well, they could all hear better if they'd yank those stupid phones out of their ears, turn off the computers, TVs, and radios. They can't hear because they're surrounded by noise." Elocution finally dropped her tail.

"No animal would willingly shut out information about what's around them," Brinkley sensibly said. "Why do they keep noises?"

"Oh, they think it's information. They will sit in front of the TV and watch something that happened in New Zealand but they won't know what's happening in Crozet. Or they sit and watch things that don't happen." Cazenovia giggled.

"How can you watch what doesn't happen?" The Lab thought this was insane.

"Made-up stories, films. Or books. They'll sit down and read fiction. It's stuff that never happened!" Cazenovia watched the yellow handsome fellow just get bowled over with the information.

"How can they tell the truth from what they make up?"

"Brinkley, they can't!" Cazenovia laughed so hard she fell onto the Lab's back, then rolled under his tummy. She quickly righted herself but remained under his tummy.

"Now wait a minute, Cazzie. You aren't exactly fair." Mrs. Murphy swept her whiskers forward, all attention. "Brinkley, humans are afraid. They're not fast, you see. They can't outrun danger and they aren't strong or quick. They are much more afraid than we are because of this. So these stories that are made up are made up to let them learn about other humans' lives. See, it gives them courage. They don't feel so alone. They're herd animals. Always remember that they fear being alone and they fear the dark. Their eyes are good in daylight but pretty bad at night. I would have to say that the made-up stories serve a purpose and I think most humans do know the difference between those stories and what's happening around them."

"Oh, Mrs. Murphy, you're too kind." Cazzie shook her head. "I've seen Herb weep over a story."

"Daddy's sensitive." Elocution nodded in agreement.

"They have a great range of feeling if they choose to use it," Mrs. Murphy said.

"Mostly they blunt their nerve endings, listen to the noise, and wonder why they feel out of step." Cazzie moved to sit alongside Brinkley. "They're too caught up in words."

"We can talk. We have words," Brinkley said.

"Yes, but we don't confuse the word with the deed. They do," Mrs. Murphy told him.

"Better yet, they substitute the word for the deed and do nothing." Pewter laughed uproariously, the others laughing with her.

"I had no idea humans were so complicated." Brinkley liked Cazzie rubbing along his side.

"They are and they aren't. They need to go back to their senses, live where they live instead of worrying about something thousands of miles away. Too much planning." Elocution liked humans nonetheless.

"Hey, if you live in a temperate climate, you have to plan. Winter changes how humans think. Humans who live in the tropics or subtropics don't have to plan." Mrs. Murphy read along with Harry who had been reading about these things. "But any animal that lives with winter has to figure things out. Even squirrels bury nuts. Humans, too."

"I haven't seen Tazio bury nuts."

"Her bank accounts. That's where the nuts are," Pewter sagely noted.

"You mean that's what she does when she goes to the bank?"

"Oh yes. They store things. Lock them right up, they do." Cazenovia nodded in agreement. "That's why we have, I mean had, those boxes of communion wafers."

With this all the animals screamed with laughter.

"What's going on in there?" Harry called from the next room using her "mother" voice.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Pewter sassed.

32

Harry drove from the meeting to the Clam. She'd missed the first half of the game because the meeting went on and on. The animals curled up in the blankets and she hurried into the building.

Matthew, BoomBoom, and Tazio also rushed to get to the game. The rest of the gang was already there.

Fred flipped a bird at Matthew when he looked over his shoulder at him. Harry saw it and couldn't believe Fred was that childish.

Anne Donaldson had given her seats to friends. Harry, Fair, and BoomBoom introduced themselves.

Tracy and Josef officiated a tough game, a dirty game, too. The opponents stuck out elbows under the basket, tripped players if no one was looking. Tempers frayed. Despite their efforts to throw the UVA team off stride it didn't work. UVA easily won by twelve points, which was a boost after their last game.

Miranda joined Harry, BoomBoom, Susan, Brooks, and Fair for a bite to eat down at Ruby Tuesday's, which wasn't that far from the Clam.

Tracy said he'd join them after he showered. He pulled on his clothes, picked up his gym bag and was all ready to go out the side door. Josef, in a hurry, had already left. The players' locker rooms were on the other side of the officials' locker room.

Tracy walked into the hall. He marveled at how quiet a large building could become after a game. The silence created a pensive mood; one could almost hear the echoes from the dispersed crowd.

He passed a closed door, the lacrosse coach's name on it. No one worked late on this January night. He passed by the equipment room and stopped. He thought he heard sounds coming from inside even though no light spilled from under the door. Given that Mychelle had been killed at the Clam he was extra alert. He pulled out his cell phone, hit the On button. He was so intent on punching in the numbers that he didn't hear someone tiptoeing behind him. The last thing he heard was a crack and he sank like a stone.

33

When Tracy awoke he was flat on the cold floor and it was dark. He touched his head, and a knot the size of a golf ball with a thin crust of dried blood greeted his fingers. He sat upright. He felt pain but he wasn't dizzy or nauseated.

Good, he thought to himself, I don't have a concussion. Where am I? Tuesday night. Game. Twenty-six referee signals. He stopped. That was irrelevant. Perhaps he wasn't as clearheaded as he thought. He breathed deeply. He reached into his pants pocket, retrieving a plastic lighter. Tracy always carried a lighter and a small Leatherman all-purpose tool. He flicked it on, discovering he was inside someone's office. He carefully stood up and switched on the light. The lacrosse coach's office. He sat down at the desk, picked up the receiver of the phone, and punched nine for an outside line. Where was his phone? He'd worry about that later.

"Miranda-"

"Honey, where are you? I've been calling and calling and I get that infernal recording, 'The cellular customer you have dialed is not available at this time or has left the reception zone. Try again later.'?" Her voice accurately mimicked the inflection of the recording.

"Well." He didn't want her to worry. "A little delay here after the game. I'll explain when I swing by." He checked his watch. "Maybe I'd better wait until morning. It's eleven-thirty. Forgot about the time."

"You come right over here. I don't care if it's three in the morning. Tracy, are you all right?"

"Yes." He felt in his right pants pocket for his car keys. Still there. "I won't be any longer than an hour."

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"A little headache. Be right along. Okay?"

"Okay. Love you."

"Love you, too. 'Bye." He hung up the phone, stood up and scrutinized the office. It seemed orderly enough. No skid marks on the floor from his shoe soles meant whoever dragged him, if one person, dragged him by the feet. Two people would have picked up both ends and dumped him but he didn't feel as if he'd been dumped. No other bruises or aches and pains. Just his head, which throbbed the more he moved about.