Chihuahua Confidential (15 page)

Needless to say, our date did not end well. When the evening started, I had hoped it would end with Felix in my bed. Instead it ended with me kissing him good night in the parking lot. I watched Felix drive away with tears running down my cheeks, then tiptoed up the back stairs to my room.

Pepe was asleep, curled up on one of the pillows, with the TV on. I thought he might wake up when I entered, but he didn't even stir. Which was maybe for the best. He would know right away that I was upset and would want to know why.

All along I had been afraid that Pepe really was Caprice's dog. Now I knew the truth. How could I give him up? How would he react when I told him? But I realized I was being selfish. Caprice obviously loved him as much as I did. And she had so much more to offer. How could my small condo in rainy old Seattle ever compare to her mansion and staff of caretakers in balmy Beverly Hills?

And that was just it, I thought. It was the life he'd been accustomed to before spending his few short weeks with me. If I really loved him, I'd have to do the right thing no matter how much it hurt. But I could wait to tell him, maybe until after the competition was over. I didn't want to get him too distracted on our last day. And the truth was, I wanted to enjoy one more day with him.

I went to turn the computer off, and when I hit the mouse, a video started playing. Pepe had figured out how to use the webcam and had posted a video of him in the hotel room. He was barking away. It almost seemed like he was talking. His inflections and expressions made you think you could understand what he was saying.

For the first time, I saw what other people probably saw when they saw my talented dog. Was it possible that's what he was doing all along? And was I just interpreting his very animated yips and yaps to what I wanted to hear? Which was that I finally had a partner, someone to care for me and protect me, someone who would love me with no reservations.

 

 

It was bittersweet: going through our morning routine, knowing it was for the last time. The special twist for this last day was that Rebecca had decided both teams were going to do the same dance: a tango. So we had only half as much time as usual with our choreographer. But that was fine. After running through our routine for a while, we had enough time to help Jimmy G with his scheme to get his hands on the MetroLand Studio logs.

His plan was crude and simple, rather like Jimmy G himself.

He positioned me and Pepe near the MetroLand main gate and told us to wait until a car approached. Then my job was to distract the guard by approaching and asking him a question. Meanwhile, Pepe ran out in front of the oncoming car and pretended that it hit him, rolling off to the driver's side, yipping and howling in faux pain.

“Oww! My leg is broken like a chicken bone!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “And my head is cracked like an egg! It feels like castanets are going off inside it!”

The driver naturally got out of the car to see what he could do. I dashed over and started crying about my poor dog. And, as we hoped, the guard left his post and ran to Pepe's side to try and help.

Jimmy G darted into the empty guard shack and swiped the logbook while the guard was distracted. He was in and out in a flash.

“Oh, I am feeling better now,” said Pepe when he saw that Jimmy G had made his score and was safely out of sight.

I picked Pepe up and told the driver and guard, “I think he's better now.” I patted Pepe's head. “Aren't you, little amigo?”

“I deserve an Oscar!” Pepe said.

“Are you sure?” the guard asked me.

“Positive,” I said, strolling away with my dog.

“And a Golden Globe, too,” said Pepe.

A few minutes later, we were outside our soundstage, sitting on a bench with Jimmy G while looking over the logbook's pages.

“Good plan your boss came up with, huh?” said Jimmy G.

“Without my thespian talents, it would have been a fiasco,” said Pepe.

“Did it ever occur to you that the guard will quickly notice that the logbook is gone?” I asked my boss.

“No, Jimmy G didn't think of that,” he said.

“Well, I think you better get it back before they start searching the lot for it,” I suggested.

We pored through the pages. The guard book was just a standard composition notebook with ruled lines. To the left was the date and time, and on the next line the name and affiliation of the person. For instance, I was happy to read my name: “Geri Sullivan, Soundstage 13,
Dancing with Dogs
participant.” I wondered how Ted was listed and I paged back to the previous day. He was listed as “Ed Galliano, Soundstage 13,
Dancing with Dogs
choreographer.” So he must have created a fake ID.

“Did you find the name of the package delivery service?” Jimmy G asked.

I had completely forgotten what I was looking for. I paged back a few more pages. “Here's an entry,” I said. “For Hollywood Parcel Service on Wednesday at five p.m.”

“Jimmy G was already here on Wednesday,” he said. “Are you sure that's right?”

“It says, ‘Soundstage Thirteen, package for Luis Montoya.'”

“Maybe they deliver a lot of packages to the studios. Check for Monday. That's the day you called Jimmy G.”

I paged back to Monday. “Yes, here it is again. Around three p.m. Hollywood Parcel Service, Soundstage 13, delivery for Geri Sullivan.”

“Well, there you go!” said Jimmy G. “Hollywood Parcel Service. Jimmy G's going to go check them out.”

“And give the logbook back to the guard,” I told my boss. “Just tell him you found it lying on the ground. Pepe and I have to go get ready for our final performance.” In more ways than one.

As soon as we walked into the soundstage, Pepe was on high alert.

“Something is wrong, very wrong,” he said.

“Another murder?” I asked.

“No, not a murder. But almost as bad. Someone has made Caprice very sad.”

He went running off in the direction of the special lounge where the judges congregated when they weren't actually in the judges' box. Rebecca was standing over Caprice, who was curled up on the sofa, with her face in her hands.

When she looked up as we entered, I could see her skin was blotched red and her eyes were puffy. She had been crying hard, for a long time. “I just can't go on!” she said. “I'm just too stressed out.”

“You have to go on,” Rebecca said, waving the paper. “Your contract says you must complete all five days of work to get your payment.”

“I don't care about the payment. How can you even talk about money at a time like this?” Caprice's voice was screechy.

“Plus we can assess punitive fees to cover the cost of replacing you and reshooting all of the judging scenes,” said Rebecca.

“How can you expect me to work when my precious dog has been kidnapped?”

“Kidnapped? Does she think you kidnapped me, Geri?”

“Hush! I think she's talking about Princess.” The Papillon, usually in Caprice's handbag or on her lap, was conspicuously absent.

“Yes! My Princess! My precious Princess Pepe!” Caprice wailed. She didn't even seem to notice my poor Pepe, who went running over to comfort her. He leaped into her lap and tried to lick her chin. She stroked him idly with one hand while dabbing at her eyes with the other.

“My dog was kidnapped and I didn't break down!” said Rebecca.

“Your dog was kidnapped?” Caprice looked up, startled.

“Siren Song was kidnapped?” Pepe asked, his ears twitching.

“When?” I asked.

“A few days ago,” Rebecca said. “And did I start crying like a baby? No! I got a dog to replace her and went right on with the show.”

“I told you, Geri,” said Pepe. “That dog was not Siren Song. That dog is an imposter.”

“How did you replace her?” I asked.

“I found a similar dog in Orange County, who already knew how to dance. I had to dye her fur a little to make her look more like Siren Song.”

So Pepe was right. Why was he always right? So annoying.

“So it was Siren Song that Miranda could sense at the murder scene!”

“Yes, I guess so,” said Rebecca.

“Well, then maybe the murder was related to the kidnapping,” I suggested.

“I told you so,” said Pepe.

“It's possible,” said Rebecca. “At any rate, when I got the ransom demand, I informed the police. They are looking into it. I trust they will get my dog back. Meanwhile I did what I had to do to keep the show going.”

“Geri! This is serious!” said Pepe. He jumped off Caprice's lap and ran over to me. “We must rescue Siren Song.” He looked back at Caprice. “And Princess, of course.”

“And that's what you should do,” Rebecca continued, turning back to Caprice. “Inform the police and let them handle it. Pull yourself together for the judging. You only have to be on camera for an hour.” She gave Caprice the once-over. “You should get yourself into makeup. You look awful.” And she marched out of the room.

“I can't call the police!” wailed Caprice. “The kidnappers said if I called the police, they would kill my poor Princess Pepe.”

I saw Pepe wince every time Caprice used that name. Still he was determined to help her.

“Offer our services, Geri!” he said.

“When did this happen?” I asked.

“This morning,” said Caprice. “Jennifer was walking her around the block and a van drove up. A guy jumped out, shoved Princess into the car, and took off.”

“This sounds familiar,” said Pepe. “Something like this happened to me once.”

“This is not the time for one of your stories,” I told him.

“What stories?” asked Caprice.

“Never mind,” I said. “Did Jennifer get a good look at him? Or the car?”

“No. She said the guy wore a black ski mask. And the van was white.”

“How do you know it was a kidnapping?”

“I got a call asking for ransom. About an hour later. After I had fired Jennifer.”

“You fired Jennifer?”

“Yes, I mean, she let my precious Pepe get run over by a car. And then she let some guy steal Princess right from under her nose.”

“Good! I never liked her,” said Pepe. “She is part of that bad memory.”

“What do they want?” I asked.

“They want money! That's no problem. I've got it right here.” Caprice patted the bulging red patent leather purse sitting next to her on the sofa. “The problem is the delivery. I'm waiting for a call now. They said I had to come alone. And Rebecca says I can't leave. And my manager says I can't go without a bodyguard.”

“Those shopgirls thought you were a stand-in for Caprice. You could pretend to be her,” Pepe said.

“What if we delivered the money for you?” I asked.

“How could you do that?” Caprice asked.

“I could pretend to be you. We have all the tools we need right here in the costume shop and in makeup.”

“Say you will drive her car, Geri!” Pepe said.

“I could drive your Ferrari, too,” I offered.

“That is brilliant!” said Caprice. She leaped up and hugged me. “If you get Princess Pepe back, I'll give you a reward. I can't believe you would do this for me.”

That was generous of her. And I had to admit that I was secretly hoping that if I gave her back Princess Pepe, it would make it OK for me to keep
my
Pepe.

“Oh!” she said suddenly. “But you can't do it. You have to perform.”

“That's true,” I said, sobered. “It's the final performance. All the other dogs have been eliminated.”

“Except for the imposter,” Pepe said.

“Pepe would hate it if we missed the final performance.”

“Especially if that fake won instead!” Pepe said. “But we have no choice, Geri. We must help Caprice. Fame and fortune are nothing when we can save the life of a precious dog.”

 

 

Caprice was overjoyed. She gave me the dress right off her back (it was a sparkly short silver number that reminded me of tinfoil) and borrowed another dress from Robyn in the costume area. Robyn outfitted me with a pair of sparkly heels, a blond wig, and a pair of sunglasses to complete the disguise. In fact, it was so effective that when Jimmy G came strolling into the costume shop, he thought I was Caprice. The real Caprice was in the makeup area trying to conceal the effects of her grief.

“Where's Geri?” he asked Pepe.

I had to take off my sunglasses and my wig before he could recognize me.

“It's great you're here,” I told Jimmy G. “We need your help.”

“Well, Jimmy G needs your help as well,” he said. “Turns out that Hollywood Parcel Service is just a front. Tried to go to the address they gave and found it's actually about a mile out in the Pacific Ocean. Something fishy is going on.”

Just then, Caprice came running up, waving her cell phone. “I just got the call. They want me to meet them at three p.m. at the La Brea Tar Pits at the Giant Sloth statue. I described what I was wearing—I mean what
you're
wearing. And I told them if they didn't give me Princess first, I wouldn't give them the money.”

We pulled into the main parking lot at the La Brea Tar Pits at about a quarter to three. I was driving Caprice's red Ferrari and Jimmy G was going to meet us there. He was driving his rental car. It was crowded on a Friday afternoon, and I had to keep driving around looking for a parking spot. I was pretty nervous. Even though we had given ourselves plenty of time, I was worried about being late for our appointment with the dognapper.

I wasn't sure whether to be happy or frustrated that he had chosen this spot for our meeting. At least it was public, so I didn't think we would be in any danger. And I had always wanted to see the Tar Pits, not to mention the museum next door. Not much chance of that, with so much at stake.

As if reading my mind, Pepe said, “You would love the Tar Pits, Geri. They contain bones going back eons, including the bones of my largest forebear, the dire wolf.”

“Since when have you been interested in paleontology?” I asked.

“Since Caprice took me here for the first time and I saw the skeleton of that fearsome beast at the museum.”

“Oh,” I said. “I'm glad you had such a good time the last time you were here.” I was annoyed by how often he brought Caprice into the conversation. “But this is serious—”

“
Uno momento
, Geri,” he said. “I am most serious. Deadly serious. Some of my formidable ancestor's blood still courses through my veins. When I get my paws on that dognapper, I will attack as ferociously as any dire wolf!” For emphasis, he reared up at the side window and loosed a terrifying “Grrrrrrrrr!”

When we finally found a parking place, Pepe was still in wolf mode. He bounded out of the car, growling, but stopped abruptly when he got to the edge of the parking lot.

“Holy guacamole!” he said.

“What is it, Pepe? What's the matter?”

“The
ninos
,” he said. “They are everywhere!”

He was right. The green lawns that surrounded the low-slung museum were covered with laughing, running, crying children. Dozens of them. Pepe is not afraid of much, but he is afraid of children. He began to shiver.

“Don't worry, Pepe,” I said, picking him up and gently stroking his back. “You'll be safe with me.”

Four kids picked that moment to run up to us, yelling, “Can we pet your dog?”

“No, he'll bite!” I said, a little more sharply than I intended. Their parents, who had caught up with them, frowned at me, then shooed their offspring toward the parking lot.

When the juvenile storm had passed, Pepe looked up at me and said, “Geri, tell me you are not planning to have
ninos
of your own someday soon.”

“No,” I told him, even though at age thirty-two, I felt my biological clock starting to tick down.

“
Bien
,” he said. “
Muy bien
.”

We began wandering through the park. We were waiting for Jimmy G to arrive, although we had already agreed that he wouldn't approach us, since he might scare off the kidnapper. Also we needed to find the Giant Sloth. The park was dotted with large metal sculptures depicting the various creatures that had once roamed this part of L.A.: lions, saber-toothed tigers, and a huge woolly mammoth just to name a few.

I was surprised to see puddles of black tar in the grass that we had to avoid. I'd thought the Tar Pits were surrounded by a big fence or something.

“Do not be concerned, Geri,” said Pepe. “This stuff only bubbles up from the ground here and there. The puddles are not deep, just nasty if you get your paws in them.”

“Is that right? Well, what about that one?” I asked, pointing at some tar that was about four feet in diameter with a small fence around it.

“
Sí,
” said Pepe. “That one could indeed be deep. Like they say, there is always an exception to the rule.”

Jimmy G was supposed to make himself inconspicuous, but he was hard to miss in his green sports coat and a brown fedora with an emerald feather. But although he was quite noticeable—people actually turned and stared as he strolled around the park—he pretended not to know us when we caught sight of him.

Finally we spotted the Sloths. Two of them, made out of some kind of brown metal. The one in front stood up on its hind legs, looking around.

“It is bueno that they were supposed to be slow. I would not ever want a thing like that to grab me,” Pepe said.

The Sloth was much taller than me. I stood in the space between its arms, looking out across the park to see if I could spot the dognapper. But what did a dognapper look like?

“What is our plan?” asked Pepe. When I shrugged he said, “How about this: When you are talking to him, I will circle around and bite him in the Achilles tendon. That will bring him down. With any luck, we will get the
perrita
back and keep the ransom!”

“I don't like that plan!” I said. “We aren't going to confront this creep. We just want Princess back! As long as he delivers her, we're going to let him walk away. So don't do anything foolish!”

“What about Siren Song?” asked Pepe.

“You're right! But I doubt that he'll bring Siren Song along. So we'll have to follow them back to their lair.”

“Put me down!” said Pepe. “I want to be ready for this dognapper. We are on time, are we not?”

“Yes,” I told him, glancing at my watch. “We're a couple minutes early, in fact.”

“
Bueno,
” he said, “because I must relieve myself.”

“Now? Of all the times to use the bathroom, you pick
this
moment?”

“I am a dog, Geri,” he said, moving about six feet out into the grass and starting to sniff and circle. “I do not pick the time—it picks me.”

“Great. Just great.” I scanned the park. I didn't think I would recognize the dognapper, but I could keep my eye out for Princess. The park was full of dogs: a black Lab chasing after an orange Frisbee, a little terrier being carried by a dapper gentleman, two dachshunds getting tangled in their leashes.

A man was approaching with a small furry dog on a leash. The dog was the same size as Princess, but her fluffy coat was a dirty brown.

“Pepe!” I cried. “Hurry up! I need your help!”

“This is most inconvenient,” said Pepe. He centered on one patch of grass and gave it a really good sniff. “Ah, this is the spot,” he said, then squatted down.

The man was short and round, with a peculiar bounce in his step. He had a round face and a fringe of wispy beard.

An older woman walking by scowled at me. “I hope you're going to clean that up, young lady.” She pointed at the pile Pepe was making and started to repeat herself. “I said, I hope you're going to—”

“Go away!” I yelled at her. I was never rude to people, but the short guy with the dog had stopped in his tracks, maybe thirty feet away, and looked very suspicious. “Just go away!” I yelled even louder.

“Well, I never,” said the woman, taking a step back.

Just then Jimmy G jumped out from behind the Sloth. I thought he was going to pull a gun on the guy, but instead he raced toward him.

“I'm going to report you to the authorities,” said the woman, pulling out her cell phone. She glared at Pepe as she headed off, punching in numbers. If she called the cops, that would scare away the dognapper.

“Nacho!” said Jimmy G, falling on the guy and giving him a big clap on the back. “I've been looking for you everywhere, man. Fancy running into you here!”