Open Season (26 page)

He went out through the back; things were a little busier now than they had been before; an officer had brought in a drunk driver, a big guy who stood about
six-six and weighed at least three-fifty. When Jack came through the doors, both Sergeant Wylie and the officer glanced at him, their attention momentarily distracted, and the drunk saw his chance for an escape, ramming his shoulder into the officer and sending him flying, then lowering his head and charging straight into Wylie’s stomach.

It had been a while since Jack had seen any action. With a whoop of sheer joy, he joined the melee.

It took all three of them to subdue the big guy, and they had to resort to some rough stuff before they got him down. It was a good thing the guy had been cuffed, or someone would have been really hurt. As it was, once they had him down and hog-tied, Sergeant Wylie felt his ribs and winced.

“Anything broken?” Jack asked, wiping blood from his nose.

“I don’t think so. Just bruised.” But he winced again when he touched them.

“Go get them checked out. I’ll handle things here.”

The officer, Enoch Stanfield, had a fat lip and a rapidly swelling eye. He was trembling slightly from adrenaline overload as he soaked his handkerchief at the watercooler and held the cold cloth to his eye. “God, I love this job,” he said in an exhausted voice. “Nowhere else would I have the opportunity to get the shit kicked out of me every day.” He eyed Jack. “You sounded like you were having fun, Chief.”

Jack looked down at the big drunk, who had gone to sleep almost as soon as they got him hog-tied. Gargantuan snores issued from his open mouth. “I live for days like this.” Jack was abruptly exhausted, too, though he wasn’t shaking like Stanfield.

He had to call in another officer to help them drag
the drunk into the tank to sleep it off. He also called in one of the medics to check him and make sure he was okay, that the big guy wasn’t in insulin shock, or something like that, even though the Breathalyzer indicated that he was simply piss-assed drunk, a diagnosis with which the medic concurred. A cold pack was put on Stanfield’s eye, a stitch in his lip, and another cold pack on Jack’s left hand, which was beginning to swell. He had no idea what exactly had happened to hurt his hand, but that’s the way it was with fights: you just threw yourself in and took stock afterward. By the time he had everything organized, including a replacement for Wylie for the rest of the shift, it was almost ten-thirty, the third-shift officers were there to take over, the second-shift officers were all there except for Wylie, and a couple of the first-shift guys had heard the excitement on their scanners and had come over to take a look. After all, it wasn’t every day the chief got involved in taking down a D and D, drunk and disorderly.

“There’s no way Eva Fay won’t hear about this,” he said glumly, causing general laughter.

“She’ll raise hell, you being here without her on duty,” Officer Markham, a twenty-year veteran with the force, said tongue-in-cheek.

The men, Jack realized, were thoroughly enjoying the situation. It wasn’t often the rank and file got to see their chief get down and dirty. There had always been a hint of reserve in them that wasn’t due just to difference in rank; the biggest part had been that he was an outsider. His wrestling with a big drunk had made them feel he was one of them, a regular cop despite his rank.

To top it all off, he had to walk back home. He could have had one of the guys drive him home, but then he’d have had to come up with a reasonable explanation
for why he’d walked over in the first place, and he didn’t want to deal with it.

The house was just as he’d left it. Nothing seemed disturbed or out of place. He went straight to the phone and called information, to see if he could get the number of the mayor’s private line in city hall. There was no such listing, which didn’t surprise him. Next he called Todd Lawrence, who answered on the third ring with a sleepy “Hello.”

“I got the address changed,” he said. “And I used call return on the mayor’s private line to get the number of the last call to him, and
redial
to record the tones of the last call he made.”

“You’ve been a busy little boy.” Todd sounded more alert.

“This gives us two numbers to check out Think you can find out what the mayor’s private number is and get those records, too?”

“Too? You want me to get telephone records on three numbers.” It was stated as fact.

“What else are federal friends for?”

“You’re going to get your federal friend’s ass fired.”

“I figure my federal friend owes it to Daisy.”

Todd sighed. “You’re right. Okay. I’ll see what I can do, maybe call in some favors. This is completely off-record, though.”

Next Jack called Daisy, though a quick look at his watch told him it was just after eleven. She’d probably gone to bed at ten on the dot, but after all his efforts on her behalf that day, he thought he deserved at least a brief chat.

“Hello.” She didn’t sound sleepy; she sounded tired, but not sleepy.

“Are you already in bed?”

“Not yet. It’s been an . . . eventful night.”

“Why? What’s happened?” He was instantly on alert.

“I can’t turn my back on him for a second, or he’s tearing something up.”

“ ‘Him?’ ”

“The dog.”

The dog. Jack heaved a sigh of relief. “He doesn’t sound very well trained.”

“He isn’t trained at all. Killer, no! Put that down! I have to go,” she said hurriedly.

“I’ll be right over,” he said, just before she hung up, and didn’t know if she heard him or not. He didn’t care. He grabbed his keys, turned off the lights, and went out the door.

Daisy was exhausted. Her mother had called her at three P.M. and said tiredly, “Jo and I are taking the puppy over to your house. At least the yard is fenced in and he can run there. We’ll stay there with him until you get home.”

“Oh, dear.” That didn’t bode well. “What has he done?”

“What
hasn’t
the little devil done? We’re run ragged just trying to keep up with him. Anyway, we’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

When she got home at ten after five, both her mother and Aunt Jo were dozing in the living room, while the puppy slept between her mother’s feet. He looked so adorable, lying on his belly with his back legs stretched out behind him, like a little bearskin rug, that her heart melted.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she crooned. One heavy eyelid lifted, his little tail wagged; then he went back to sleep.

Aunt Jo roused. “Thank God you’re home. Good luck; you’ll need it with this little devil. Come on, Evelyn, let’s git while the gitting’s good.”

Evelyn sat up and looked ruefully at the puppy between her feet. “We called Miley Park to see if maybe there was something wrong. She just laughed and said he might be a little excited at being in a new place, but that golden retriever puppies are nonstop mischief until they’re about four months old. Well, he does stop when he’s sleepy.”

“He has two speeds,” said Aunt Jo. “He’s either at a dead run, or he’s asleep. That’s it. Have fun. Come on, Evelyn.”

“I think we’ll go by Wal-Mart and buy some baby gates so we can at least hem him up in one room. Do you want us to pick up some for you, too?”

“We’ll buy what they have in stock,” said Aunt Jo. “Come on, Evelyn.”

“Oh, dear, is he that bad?” Daisy asked, dismayed. He looked like such a little angel, lying there asleep.

“He seems to be mostly house-trained,” said her mother. “But he needs to go outside every two hours, as regular as clockwork. He did piddle on the puppy pads—”

“When he wasn’t tearing them to shreds,” interrupted Aunt Jo. “Evelyn, come on.”

“He likes his stuffed toys—”

“He likes everything, including his water dish. Evelyn, if you don’t come on, I’ll leave without you. He might wake up any minute.”

The puppy lifted his head and yawned, his little pink tongue stretching out. Within ten seconds, her mother and aunt had their purses and were out the door. Daisy put her hands on her hips and looked at the
little fluff ball. “Okay, mister, just what have you done?”

He rolled over on his back, stretching. She was unable to resist rubbing the warm little tummy, which he took as an invitation to begin licking her everywhere that pink, eager tongue could reach. She picked him up and cuddled him, loving the warmth and smallness of him under all that fuzz. His big, soft feet batted at her, and he wiggled, signaling that he wanted down. She set him down, then broke into a sprint when he darted for the kitchen.

All he wanted was some water. He lapped eagerly, then all of a sudden pounced into the bowl with both front feet, sending water flying.

She got the kitchen floor mopped up—which he thought was a great game, because he kept pouncing on the mop—fed him, and took him outside to do his business. He squatted as soon as his feet touched the grass; then he attacked a bush. Worried that the leaves might be poisonous to him, or at least upset his little tummy, she got him away from the bush and used the hose pipe to run water in the kids’ wading pool she’d bought for him.

He was too little to climb over the rim of the pool, so she helped him in and watched him run and slide in the two inches of water until he was drenched, she was drenched, and her sides ached from laughing so much. Lifting him out of the pool, she wrapped him in a towel and carried him inside, hoping he’d take another nap so she could eat.

He pounced into his water bowl again. While she was mopping, he chased the mop. Then he grabbed the kitchen towel and made a run for it. She caught him as he dove under the bed, and hauled him out. Her efforts to take the towel away from him evidently convinced
him she wanted to play tug-of-war and he pulled on the towel for all he was worth, emitting baby growls while his whole body quivered with effort.

She distracted him with a little stuffed duck. He threw the duck over his head, pounced on it, and managed to stuff it under the couch where he couldn’t reach it. Then he stood there and yapped until she got down on her hands and knees and retrieved the duck. He immediately stuffed it under the couch again.

Next she tried a rubber chew toy as a distraction, and it worked for about ten minutes. He lay on his belly and held the chew toy between his front paws, gnawing with fierce concentration. Daisy took the opportunity to get out of her work clothes and begin making herself a sandwich. She heard a crash from the living room and ran in barefoot to find he’d somehow dislodged the television remote control from the lamp table and was busy trying to kill it. She took the remote away and put it in a safe place.

He loved her red toenails. He pounced on her bare feet. He kept jumping at her, trying to catch her fingers in his mouth; startled, she would jerk her hand back, and his sharp little baby teeth
hurt.
Finally, she just held her hand down and he mouthed her fingers as if tasting her, then, satisfied, released her.

At last, he got sleepy. He stopped practically in mid-run and collapsed on his belly, heaving a huge sigh as his eyes closed.

“I guess it was a big day for you, little guy,” she murmured. “Do you miss your mama, and your brothers and sisters? You’ve always had someone to play with, haven’t you? And now you’re all by yourself.”

It was after seven o’clock by then, and she was starving. She finished making her sandwich and ate it standing
where she could keep an eye on him. He looked so sweet and tiny while he was asleep, but as soon as his eyes opened, he would be full speed again.

He slept on, with the absolute obliviousness of a baby. She decided to take a quick shower and left the bathroom door open so he could come in if he woke up. She undressed, dropping her clothes on the floor, and stepped into the tub. She had just gotten soaped when she heard something and parted the curtain to see a pale fuzz ball darting into the hall with her panties in his mouth.

Daisy leaped out of the tub and ran in naked, sliding pursuit. He somehow squeezed behind the couch with his captured treasure. She pulled the couch away from the wall and retrieved her panties. There was, of course, a hole in them. He wagged his tail.

“You little demon,” she said, picking him up and carrying him into the bathroom with her. She closed the door so he couldn’t get out, put her clothes on the back of the toilet where he couldn’t reach them, and got back into the shower. He spent the whole time yapping and standing on his back legs, trying to crawl over into the tub with her.

She had learned from the mop episode; instead of stepping out onto the bath mat to towel off, she stood in the tub. He eyed the towel with longing, sitting on his haunches and looking angelic.

His little face was so happy, she thought, his mouth open in a perpetual smile. His dark eyes, the rims dark, as if someone had lined his eyes with kohl, were very exotic with his pale fur and long blond lashes. He was so curious and enthused about everything that his tail wagged nonstop, like a souped-up metronome.

“So what if you’re a little devil,” she said. “You’re
my
little devil, and I fell in love with you when you climbed in my lap.” His tail wagged even faster as he listened to her voice and the crooning note in it.

“I have to come up with a good name for you, something that sounds big and tough. You’re supposed to protect me, you know. I don’t think it would scare many burglars if I yelled, ‘Sic ‘im, Fluffy,’ do you? How about
Brutus?”

He yawned.

“You’re right; you aren’t a
Brutus.
You’re too pretty. How about
Devil?”
After a moment, watching him, she vetoed that choice herself. “No, I don’t like that, because I just know you’re going to be a sweetheart when you grow up.”

She tried out names on him for the rest of the evening: Conan, Duke, King, Rambo, Rocky, Samson, Thor, Wolf. None of them were right. She just couldn’t look at that smiling little face and make a macho name fit.

She learned not to leave water in his water bowl, or it ended up on the kitchen floor. When he went to his bowl, she poured a little water in, and after he’d lapped that up, she poured some more, until he quit lapping. Unfortunately, there was usually some water left in the bowl when he finished, and he pounced into it. Daisy mopped up water seven times that night, with him in fierce pursuit of the mop head.