The Dog Who Knew Too Much (34 page)

D
evin and I walked out of the old hunting lodge, me keeping real close to him. I led him past the sheriff’s cruiser—passenger door open so the inside light was on as well as those little front lights, nice and bright outside—and over to the bushes. The sheriff lay on the ground where we’d left him and Suzie stood nearby, holding the nightstick by the middle, not how it’s done.

The sheriff’s eyes were open and he was saying something like, “… got it all wrong.” He shut up when I gave him a long look, my face almost within touching distance of his. The sheriff had pissed himself, too? This was turning out to be quite an evening.

Suzie came toward us. “Devin?” she said.

“Are you Suzie?” he said. “I’m supposed to wait with you.”

Suzie gazed at him. The look on her face at that moment: hard to describe. Let’s just mention again that Suzie was a gem, and it all came from deep inside her. She held out her free hand, very steady in the space between them. After a bit of a pause, Devin took it. She—how would you put this?—kind of reeled the boy in, slow and gentle. Suzie hugged Devin, not the tight
squeezing kind, but just a nice hug. From where I was, I could see his face, eyes open and staring.

“We’re going to get you to your mom as fast as we can,” Suzie said.

Devin’s eyes closed. His arms reached up and circled around Suzie’s back.

Bernie came outside, Devin’s pack in one hand, the gun in his belt, and a hard look on his face.

“Everything under control?” he said.

Well, of course! Controlling them after the cuffs were on wasn’t much of a challenge.

“And you, Bernie?” Suzie said. “What was that shooting?”

“No casualties,” Bernie said. “All secure.”

The sheriff’s eyes shifted.

Bernie gave him a quick glance, the sort of glance you might give to a not-living thing. “Looking at a double murderer here,” he said. He popped the trunk of the black-and-white, bent down, grabbed Sheriff Laidlaw, and hauled him to his feet, not gently.

“Whose idea was wiring my car?” Bernie said.

Sheriff Laidlaw did not reply. His mouth made a funny little movement, like … like he was thinking of spitting in Bernie’s face. I’d seen that once before and won’t describe what happened after. But in this case, no spit flew, the sheriff maybe changing his mind.

“Nothing to say?” Bernie said. “Makes sense—you have no cards.” He picked up the sheriff’s hat, crammed it on his head, and slung the sheriff in the trunk and slammed it shut. Then he turned to Devin. “Did they feed you all right? Hungry or thirsty?”

“I’m a bit thirsty,” Devin said.

“Any water, Suzie?” said Bernie.

She moved toward her pack, lying by the bushes. Out of the blue, I was suddenly kind of thirsty myself, but at that moment, from over by those bushes, came wafting that strange locker-room-laundry-hamper scent. I sniffed my way over there, and kept sniffing, the scent growing stronger and stronger. It’s possible Bernie spoke, saying something like, “Chet? Chet?” but it’s not for sure. Very soon I found myself all the way around the back of the hunting lodge, following the scent toward a falling-down shed, a crooked shape in the darkness. But not complete darkness, on account of the moon, or a slice of it—don’t ask me what’s going on with that—rising in the night. And what was this? Two sort of chubby little figures seemed to be playing near the shed, bumping into each other, falling down, running around, that kind of thing. It looked like fun. I went closer and saw they were … wow! Bears! More specifically bear cubs, which I knew from Animal Planet.

What a time they were having! Who wouldn’t have wanted to join in? Once Bernie had said something about what we’d do if we ever stumbled upon bear cubs. Was it play with them? While I was trying to remember, I trotted a bit closer. They heard me, turned, went still. They looked at me. I looked at them and wagged my tail. Friendly little guys, no doubt about it. I took a few more steps and gave the nearest one a friendly bump, the kind that said, you can give me a friendly bump back. And maybe the little guy was about to do that, but before he got the chance, an enormous figure shot straight up behind the bear cubs, and it came to me:
The mother bear will be close by. Do not get between the mother bear and her cubs.

Yes, this was the mother bear. She had her mouth open: the size of her teeth! And her front paws were raised high: the claws on them! The moonlight gleamed on all those huge sharp things, teeth and claws. But the truth was I didn’t happen to be between
her and the cubs—I was on the other side of them—so no reason for alarm on her part. I barked to let her know just that.

The message didn’t get through. The next moment she roared—a roar unlike any I’ve ever heard, deep and loud and growly and—I don’t want to admit it—scary. I barked my loudest, making my no-reason-for-alarm point as strongly as I could. She roared again, kicking it up another notch to a notch I don’t have, also sending waves of locker-room-laundry-hamper scent my way, and then she charged. There are times, hardly any, when booking is the best policy. I booked.

Booked my very fastest, wheeling around and racing back in the direction of the lodge. When I came to the corner, I glanced back and there she was, bounding after me and maybe even closing the distance—how was that possible?—her eyes mad with fury. I picked up the pace, hit a speed of faster than my very fastest, skidded around to the front of the lodge and dashed for the car.

There it was, Devin already sitting in front, Suzie in the back, Bernie standing by the open driver’s-side door. I dove right in, landing somewhere in back.

“Chet? What the hell?” And then Bernie saw. He dove in, too, backed the cruiser in a wild fishtailing turn and zoomed down the lane. The mother bear chased us halfway to the track that led out of Jackrabbit Junction.

When we reached the track, Bernie glanced one more time in the rearview mirror and stopped the car.

“Everybody okay?” he said. He glanced back. “Chet? Could you get off Suzie, please?”

“It’s all right,” Suzie said. “I think he’s had a fright.”

Whoa. What a suggestion. I moved as far as possible from
Suzie, sat straight and still, got the panting under control. Fright was not part of my world, amigo.

We were back in the spot where Miss Rendell had dropped us—at the top of the crest where the track started zigzagging down toward Durango, its distant glow even more apparent to me than before—but now we had our own wheels, namely this black-and-white. That was how things went down in our business: we rolled with the punches.

“Headed for home?” Suzie said.

“Soon as we finish up,” Bernie said.

What did that mean? I wasn’t sure, but if Bernie said there was finishing up to do, then that was that. He put the car in gear, and just as he did, lights appeared, bobbing slowly up the track from Jackrabbit Junction.

“Still got that flashlight, Devin?” Bernie said.

Devin handed Bernie the flashlight. Bernie got out of the car, switched on the flashlight, and set it down in the lane, the beam pointing in the direction of the hunting lodge. He got back in the car.

“Civic duty,” he said.

“Helping the FBI?” said Suzie.

Bernie laughed. Suzie smiled and touched the back of Bernie’s neck through that little gap under the headrest. We started bumping our way down the ridge.

I’d been on bad roads before—and also on no roads at all—but this road was almost worse than no road, if that made any sense. It got no better when we came down off the ridge, pothole after pothole, streams streaming across it every now and then, and once Bernie and I had to get out and drag away a whole tree. But eventually, down lower, it started to smooth out a bit. It seemed
almost quiet, and not long after the beginning of the almost-quiet period, Devin spoke up.

“What happened to me?” he said.

It went still in the car. Suzie’s eyes seemed very liquid in the darkness.

“How about you tell us what you remember?” Bernie said, his voice not particularly soft and gentle—what I’d expected—but more businesslike. “I’ll try to fill in the blanks.”

“Okay,” said Devin. Then came a long silence. The moon was rising in the sky and stars were shining all over it. Otherwise: darkness everywhere, and rough country gliding by outside my window. After a while, Devin said, “Where do you want me to start?”

“Stiller’s Creek,” Bernie said. “Where you all camped that last night.”

“You want to hear about pitching the tent, getting all set up?”

“Sure.”

“Um. We pitched the tent and Turk built a fire and we had these Spam burgers and then it was dark … so that’s about all.”

“You bedded down for the night?”

“Uh-huh,” said Devin. There was another long silence. Some silences are just no sound happening. Others are like something heavy is in the room. This was one of those. It got heavier and heavier, and then Devin said, “I … uh, didn’t feel like sleeping in the tent.”

“No?” said Bernie.

“It gets kind of crowded,” Devin said. Another silence, but not so long. “And it’s nice under the stars.”

“Right about that,” Bernie said.

“So anyway I took my sleeping bag outside and went to sleep,” Devin said. “Turk sleeps under the stars, too—I forgot to mention
that. He was over by the fire pit. But he woke me up during the night. And he said, ‘Hey, did I want some Coke.’ I sat up and he had this Coke. We hadn’t had any Coke on the trip—there’s no Coke at camp, no sweet drinks at all. So I said yeah.”

“Can or bottle?” Bernie said.

“Bottle.”

“Did he take the cap off or was it already open?”

“I … uh, I’m not sure,” Devin said.

“That’s okay,” said Bernie. “Do you remember that snap-fizz sound you get when the cap snaps off?”

Devin was quiet for a moment or two. Then he said, “I don’t think so. Is it, like, important?”

“Not really,” Bernie said. “The only important thing now is that you’re safe.” He gave Devin’s shoulder a quick pat. “What happened next?”

“I drank the Coke and went to sleep.”

“How did it taste?”

“Like Coke. You know. Great.”

“Before you went to sleep,” Bernie said, “did you hear any talking?”

“From the tent, you mean?” said Devin.

“Or anywhere?”

Devin shook his head. “The next talking I heard was when I woke up.”

“And when was that?”

“I don’t know. The blindfold was on.”

“Uh-huh,” Bernie said.

“I didn’t even know what was happening—I thought I was blind. Then I tried to get the blindfold off, but my hands were tied. Then I tried to yell, but there was tape on my mouth. That’s when I heard talking. A man said to shut the fuck up.”

“Did you recognize his voice?”

“No,” Devin said. “But it turned out to be one of those two guys, the meaner one.”

“Which one’s that?”

“The not quite as big one.”

“Mack.”

“They never said their names.” Devin turned to Bernie. “And I never saw their faces till … till you came. Who are they?”

“Criminals,” Bernie said.

And soon they’d be breaking rocks in the hot sun. I felt pretty good about that. I squeezed over toward Suzie. She put her arm around me.

“… he picked me up,” Devin was saying. “I kind of struggled, and my shirt got ripped, and I fell and tried to roll away, but he grabbed me and then I felt a sharp thing in my leg and that’s all I remember till I woke up again and I was in that room.”

“In the hunting lodge.”

“Yeah. That place.”

“The ripped shirt,” Bernie said. “Is it the one you’re wearing?”

“Yeah.”

Bernie turned. “Is that the rip? At the back of the neck?”

Devin nodded.

“And that’s where the name tag goes?”

“My mom sewed it on.”

“Check if it’s still there.”

Devin checked. “It musta got torn off.”

“Good thing you’re a fighter, Devin.”

“Huh?”

“That name tag turned out to be real important.”

“You found it?”

Bernie smiled. “A fighter and pretty smart, too.”

“Thanks,” said Devin in a very small voice. We went bumpity bump over a long washboard stretch, but then came smooth gravel and Bernie stepped on it. “You’re taking me to my mom?” Devin said.

“After one quick errand,” said Bernie.

“Where is she?”

“At home.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“Suzie?” said Bernie.

Suzie flipped open her phone. “No service,” she said.

“Should have service soon,” Bernie said.

“That’s all right,” said Devin. “Will my dad be there, too?”

Suzie’s arm tightened around me.

“Your dad got involved with some bad people,” Bernie said. “That’s why this happened.”

“Does he know about me?”

“He felt very bad about it,” Bernie said.

Devin went quiet for a bit. Then he said, “I want to talk to him.”

Bernie stepped on it a little more; we were whipping through the night. “They killed him, Devin,” Bernie said.

“My dad’s dead?”

Bernie nodded.

Sometimes humans go to pieces. I hate seeing that, and kids going to pieces is the worst. Devin went to pieces. Bernie tried pulling him over, closer to him, but Devin wouldn’t be pulled. He went to pieces by himself. We drove faster and faster; I thought we’d lift right off the ground.

“Why? Why?”

Bernie didn’t answer at first. But then, after more why-whys, he took a deep breath and said, “Your dad finally stood up to them.”

Was that what had happened? Not the way I remembered it, but the whole thing was pretty complicated, and if Bernie said so, then end of story.

Devin started quieting down after that. We came to a crossroads, the crossing road being paved, and made a pit stop. When we returned to the car, Devin climbed into the back with me and Suzie sat in front. We drove down the paved road. Devin said, “So he was brave?”

“Yeah,” said Bernie.

Devin leaned against me and fell asleep. Somewhere high above a chopper went
whap-whap-whap
. Not loud; no reaction from Bernie or Suzie; no surprise.

It was still dark when we pulled into the town of Big Bear and parked in Judge Stringer’s pebbly driveway. His house was dark, too.