Road Kill (cont.)

It was a mess, all right. What had once been a strong, vital Greyhound was now just so much hamburger with flies buzzing about it. Death was not new to me, but this much carnage was. I turned my head and took a deep breath.

“Here’s one for you, Em,” Jake sneered.  “Tell us what car ran over him.”

I took a closer look.  “Weren’t no car, Jake,” I answered.  “With this much gore there’d be bloody tire tracks leaving the scene.  Look at the neck, the holes missing chunks of flesh have bite marks around them.”

Jake wrinkled his nose and leaned in for a closer look.  He was big and tough, solid muscle even though a little gray around the muzzle.  “Even a big boy like you couldn’t have done that much damage,” I ventured.

“Then it was a car, like I said,” Jake shot back.

“No, just a bigger dog than you.”

He shot me a look that could kill.  “Ain’t no bigger dog than me, Em.  Don’t you forget that!”  He growled.

“Easy, Jake,” I smiled.  “Too much red meat.”

Jake turned and stalked off, growling under his breath.  I turned to the officer behind me.

“Got an I.D.?”

The young Shepard had heard my conversation and had a small grin on his muzzle.  “Not many dogs talk to the Chief that way,” he said.  “Name’s Griswold, he races at the track, pretty fast too, I hear.”

“Not fast enough,” I said, walking away.

When I arrived at the office my secretary ignored me because she was doing her nails.  “Good job, eh Amanda?” I groused.  “You get paid to do your nails.”

“When you pay me, I’ll stop doing them.”

Oh, yeah, guess it was the end of the month.

The Times was on my desk for a change so I leaned back and turned to the Society Columns.  Not much going on there.  On a hunch I turned to the Sports Page.  Griswold, the odds-on favorite had won yesterday, but he wasn’t listed to run today.  Odd.  I slid off my chair and rummaged through my pile of old newspapers.  Griswold had run the previous two days.  Why not today?  Did somebody know he wasn’t going to be available?

I crawled back into my chair and took out the books.  Wasn’t much left in the old bank account, but there was enough to keep Amanda from doing her nails.  I scrawled out a check and tossed it on Amanda’s desk as I walked by.  “I’ll be at Rick’s if you need me.”

Rick’s, in The Valley, was my favorite hangout.  Rick and I had something going before the War, but that was over now.  At least for me.  After the waiter seated me, Rick came to my table.

Impeccably dressed, even for a Doberman, Rick sidled over and began, “Of all the gin joints in all . . .”

“C’mon, Rick,” I interrupted.  “Those lines don’t work anymore.  And neither do we.”

“I’ve been misinformed,” he said in his cute little lisp.

“We’re just friends now, Okay?”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

I lapped my Shirley Temple and eyed the crowd.  Pretty good for a Friday.  The noisy table near the windows caught my eye.  A pack of greyhounds and one pit bull.  I knew the bull, Brad, Boss of East L.A.  Unusual group.  The ‘hounds seemed to center on the oldest one, like an ex-racer gone to fat.  Rick came by and I asked about them.

“The old ‘hound is Red something or other, a pretty fast boy until he got hurt a few years ago.  Now he runs a training camp by Griffith Park.  I hear he’s bought a few contracts.  You know Brad Pittbull, of course.  Say, why don’t you join . . .”

“Can’t, Rick, thanks but I’m up to my nose in work.”

“And a lovely nose it is.”

Rick never gives up.  A crime boss and a stable of dogs, now THAT wasn’t unusual.  I needed a little background.

I left Rick’s and went to visit Pops at his newsstand.  Pops was an old, shriveled Peke but he knew everything in the news and on the street.  I bought a racing form and waited until another customer left.

“Whaddya know about an old racer named Red, Pops?”

“Hello to you, too,” he said with a grump.

Did I mention he was a grumpy old shriveled Peke?  “Okay, how ya doin, Pops?”

“You don’t wanna know.  What’s up, Nosey?”

His nickname for me.  “I’m playing a hunch.  Whaddya know about Red?”

Pops eyed the form under my arm.  “I know he don’t race no more.”

Resigned, I took out my last ten-dollar bill and dropped it on the counter.  It disappeared.

“Red, called that because of his reddish coat, was top dog about five years ago until he broke an ankle in a pileup.  A racer can’t race, you know he’s got nuthin’ but the streets.  Red was a little smarter.  He started a race camp, bought a few contracts.  Hear he’s doin’ pretty good now.”

“What’s he doing with Brad Pittbull?”

Pop’s eyes shifted around.  “Wouldn’t know nuttin’ about that, I got a business to run.”

That ten hadn’t bought me anything I didn’t already know, so I pressed on.  “What about the ‘hound that crossed the Rainbo Bridge this morning, Griswold?”

Pops looked left and right.  “Word is he refused to join Red’s stable.  Now, beat it unless you’re buying something else.”

I went back to my office.  Amanda had left a note, ‘gone shopping’.  Should have guessed, payday.  I got comfortable and read the racing form.  It wasn’t long before I knew what was going on.  None of my business, though, I wasn’t making a cent on it.  Still, I ought to let Jake in on my suspicions before another ‘hound bought it.

I was on my way downtown when I saw that someone had saved me the walk.  Another crowd, even the big Dane was there.  I eased through the onlookers and up to Jake.

“Got another one?”  I asked, waving my snout in the direction of a lumpy sheet on the ground.

Jake’s eyes were red and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.  “Yeah, but this one’s different.  Just a bag of bones, every one of them broken.”

“Gotta name?”

“Matilda.”

I looked at the racing form I’d brought along.  “No stable listed, an independent.”  I showed the paper to Jake.

“So what?”

“Griswold was also an independent, but word on the street is that he refused to join Red’s stable.  I’ll bet Matilda refused, too.  I saw Red together with Brad Pittbull, at Rick’s.  Do I need to draw you a picture?”

“You’re saying Red and Pittbull are trying to corner the racing market?”

“See, you’re not as slow as some people think.”

Jake scowled, but I could see his wheels turning.  “Alright,” he growled, “I’ll look into it.”  His face softened.  “Thanks.”

“You owe me,” I said lightly, and turned for home.

It was a quiet walk, what with all the dogs in a ten-block radius at the crime scene.  Only, after awhile, I didn’t feel so alone.  I stopped and looked back, but saw nothing.  The fur began to stand up on my back.  I was being followed.  I slipped into an alley, deciding to wait until whoever it was caught up.

It wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done.  When my follower appeared, it was the big Dane and his eyes were on fire.  I thought of “The Hounds of the Baskervilles” he was that scary.  He had managed to catch two Greyhounds.  What chance did I have?

The Dane stood, blocking me in the alley.  A quick glance behind me showed it was a blind alley to boot.  I’d stepped in it this time.

“You’re even dumber than the Greyhounds,” the Dane said in a squeaky high voice.  “You caught yourself!”

The strange things you think of when you’re confronted by death.  I’d bet that if I could see him from behind I’d know why his voice was so high.  But I’d also be willing to bet that few dogs laughed at it. I waited, not sure what I could do against a dog whose head is almost as big as I am.

He took a step forward.  “Let’s see, how shall I do it this time?  Maybe bite your head off and spit it into the street?”

Could I dash between his legs before he could grab me with those crushing jaws?  I hunkered down, ready for any opportunity.

Suddenly, twelve of LA’s Finest, led by Lt. Jake Shepard leaped on the Dane’s back and drug him to the ground.  He never had a chance to fight.  Jake himself snapped the leash on.

Jake turned to me and winked.  “We’re even, now”

Stunned, I could only manage a “How . . .”

“When you left the scene, he followed you.  On a hunch, we followed him.  After all, didn’t you say he was a bigger dog than me?”

I sidled away from the wet spot.  “Not anymore, Jake, not anymore!”  I gave him a quick lick on the cheek.

Jake just sat there with his mouth open.

I  waddled away.  A girl has to keep up a front.

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