Spencer Quinn - A Fistful of Collars

“Nope.” His jaws started up again.

“Would a C-note refresh your memory?”

“Nope. Anything else I can he’p you with?”

Suzie called when we were almost home.

“I remembered where I heard about Thad Perry and the Valley,” she said. “Carla told me.”

“Yeah?” said Bernie.

Carla? I knew Carla, a friend of Suzie’s at the Tribune, and one of those humans who was fond of me and my kind, even made sure to always carry a little something in her purse. I waited for Bernie to whip us around in a quick U-turn.

“… called her,” Suzie was saying. “She’s on assignment, back in the morning.”

“Thanks.”

“Bernie? You sound tired.”

“I’m not,” he said.

But once we were inside, he fell asleep with his clothes on. I lay down on the floor at the foot of the bed and listened to him breathe.

Lookin’ good,” Carla said. “So glossy.”

“Thanks,” said Bernie. Bernie always looked good, of course-and even better today on account of the deep sleep he’d had, breathing slow and even, the darkness under his eyes all gone and the zigzag in his forehead hardly showing at all-but glossy? I didn’t see it.

“And that tail,” Carla went on, “you could power the whole city off it.”

“He likes getting patted,” Bernie said.

They were talking about me?

“Sure you do, you beautiful boy,” said Carla.

Yes, me. How nice.

Carla gave me one more pat. She was glossy, too, at least her hair, and also had smooth skin the color of coffee the way Rick drank it-with lots of cream-skin that today was smelling of grapefruit soap. We’d met Carla downtown, in the little park across from city hall. The morning sun shone brightly on the white columns of the building, making all the details, like the chipped paint and the bird droppings, so clear. What a day this was going to be!

“Working on a story?” Bernie said.

“Zoning reform,” Carla said.

“Gonna happen?”

“Soon, no. In our lifetime, yes.” She checked her watch. “Starts in ten minutes, Bernie. What’s up?”

Bernie got going on one of those stories with lots of twists and turns, something about Suzie and Thad Perry and the Valley, not easy to follow. I preferred a very short story with no twists and turns-only my opinion-and besides, right under the next bench, on which a drooling old guy with a paper bag drink between his knees was zonked out… could it really be? Yes! A half-eaten hot dog with ketchup and relish, still in the bun. Humans: how often they threw food away! I just didn’t understand, and neither did those shiny black ants, some of them getting their tiny legs stuck in the ketchup. I made short work of the hot dog-don’t get me started on that strange name-ants and all. Ketchup and relish: a nice combination, and pretty unusual. Didn’t relish usually go with mustard? My head practically spun with fascinating thoughts about hot dogs and all the things you could put on them. I drifted back over to Bernie and Carla.

“… but I can’t remember whose uncle,” Carla was saying. “Probably one of my friends at the time-I’ll make a call or two after the hearing and get back to you.”

“Thanks, Carla.”

“Don’t mention it,” Carla said. She got up from the bench. “Heard from Suzie?”

“Yup.”

“The Trib ’s not the same without her.”

Bernie looked down at his shoes. He was wearing his best sneakers, not the pair with the paint spatters but the ones with mismatched laces, one black, one white, on account of the other white lace breaking and… a thought, possibly very important, fluttered through a shadowy part of my mind and disappeared. Wait! Something about black and white? It came oh so close to where I could grab it. But no.

“I’m not, um…” Bernie began, and then came to a halt.

Carla, kind of hesitant, reached out and touched Bernie’s shoulder. He looked up. “Not my place to say anything,” she said.

“No fair to stop now,” Bernie told her.

“Maybe I shouldn’t admit it,” Carla said, “but sometimes I’ve found wisdom in sappy song lyrics.”

Bernie smiled. “Like?” he said.

“‘Once you have found her, never let her go,’” said Carla. “Just an example.” Did her eyes well up? I didn’t get a good look because she walked away immediately, headed toward the street. “Almost forgot.” She turned and reached into her purse, her eyes now definitely dry. “Can Chet have a treat?”

“Don’t see why not,” Bernie said. And what was this? Now his eyes were a bit misty? Was everyone getting all emotional about my treat? That was nice, but totally unnecessary. “Did you have breakfast, big guy?” Bernie said. I couldn’t remember. “And even if he did, he hasn’t had a bite since then.” I found myself licking my muzzle, not sure why. The next thing I knew I was taking an extra-large size biscuit-my favorite of all the possible sizes-from Carla’s hand, gently but firmly.

She walked across the street. At that moment I happened to see the stone stairs leading up to city hall, and there was Cal Luxton in a dark suit, watching us from the topmost step. I looked at Bernie. He was checking his cell phone. I got a bit uneasy and barked a short, sharp bark. Bernie glanced down at me. “What’s up, Chet?” Then he turned to city hall. Carla was just going through the door and there was no sign of Luxton. I barked again. “You’ve had your biscuit,” Bernie said. “Don’t be greedy.”

Greedy? A new one on me. I was wondering whether to try puzzling it out when the old dude on the bench woke up and started going on about a hot dog, or something like that, hard to tell on account of most of his teeth being missing. Bernie made this quick little clicking sound in his mouth that means time to split. We split.

A taxi was idling in front of our place on Mesquite Road. The rear door opened as we parked in the driveway and a young blond woman in a very small dress jumped out and ran up to us.

“Felicity?” Bernie said. “Something wrong?”

Felicity: Thad’s girlfriend. The connection came to me with amazing speed, not always the case. There’s a lot to keep track of in our line of work. Try it sometime.

Felicity nodded, a real quick and nervous nod. Nervous humans had a special smell, sort of thin and sour, and Felicity was giving off plenty of it. Bernie lost control of his gaze for a moment-oh, Bernie-and it slipped down to the top of her very small dress. But he snapped that gaze right back up to her eyes in a flash-so quick for Bernie, really on his game today-big, golden brown eyes, with tears maybe on the way at any moment.

“What is it?” Bernie said.

“Thad,” she said. “I think he’s gone on one of his rambles.”

“Rambles?” said Bernie. “A kind of hike?”

She shook her head, again with that same nervous speed. One Christmas when Charlie was younger-and completely by accident-I’d taken apart this little wind-up bear that banged on a drum when the key got turned-well, who wouldn’t have? — and all these springs had come springing out. I thought of that now, not sure why; funny how the mind worked.

“Rambles is Thad’s word for it,” Felicity said. “It’s kind of a…” Her eyes shifted. She was searching for a word. Humans had so many, no surprise when one or two got lost. They did lots of struggling in life-humans, I mean-but no time to go into that now.

“Euphemism?” Bernie said, losing me completely.

But not Felicity. She nodded, a calmer movement this time. “You’re smart,” she said. “That’s what Thad says-you’re smart in the old-fashioned way.”

The old-fashioned way? And every other possible way, amigo.