Doghouse (5 page)

Her left foot stretched out under the table, searching for the shar-pei sprawled under it, wuffling in her sleep. The desire to have the dog nearby, to get down on her knees and hug the dog, apologizing for her entire species, was intense.

“If you hadn't ended up at the shelter, baby, if I hadn't adopted you . . .” She didn't know where Georgie had come from, only that she'd been found as a puppy, abandoned. The shar-pei was a marshmallow, but you wouldn't know it to look at her, square-chested and solidly built under that loose skin. Shar-peis had been bred as fighting dogs once. And she'd bitten people, to protect Ginny. . . .

“I need to teach you not to go with strangers,” she said. “We'll work on that, next training session.” Georgie was
too much of a sweetie, generally willing to let anyone pet her. That had never seemed like a bad thing before.

And that reminded her—a quick check of the time and yeah, Tonica should be back soon. He'd agreed to give her and Georgie a ride to the vet today, rather than having to haul out on mass transit. It would save her at least an hour of travel time, and they could discuss the case along the way.

“You ready to go to the V-E-T, Georgie?”

The dog had no opinion one way or the other, although she perked up immediately when Ginny came back into the office holding her leash. “C'mon, kid. Walkies, then we're going for a drive.”

When they
came around the corner back onto her street, Georgie having done her business, Tonica was waiting for them, jeans and leather jacket like a postadolescent hood, leaning against the side of the car and taking in the midday sunshine. But he had something in his arms, was holding it like he wasn't quite sure what to do. . . .

Ginny came closer, and then stopped, Georgie bumping at her heel.

“That's a dog.”

“I can see why you like investigating things,” Tonica said, his voice drier than it had any right to be, considering there was a dog in his arms. No, not a dog, a puppy. Ginny reacted automatically, stepping forward and reaching out. “Don't hold him like that, he's not a beer, he's a puppy,
you have to support his body.”

Somehow, she ended up with a double handful of warm, wiggly dog, and Tonica was stepping back with a look of relief on his face. “Oh hi there,” she said, taking a closer look. “Aren't you adorable?”

“It's not adorable,” Tonica said. “It's a sad, rat-shaped excuse of a dog.”

“Terrier of some kind, I think.” The ears were upright and sharply pointed, and the muzzle was adorned with long silvery whiskers, while large brown eyes looked at her like she was the bestest thing since kibble. Georgie pressed up against her leg, face upturned as though to ask “whatcha got there, Mom?”

“Don't even start with me,” she warned the puppy. “I'm a one-dog woman and that job's already taken.” She reached down with one hand to pet Georgie, just in case the older dog was feeling threatened, then looked at Tonica. “Where did you find it?”

“Where do you think?” Tonica made a face. “In the basement of Deke's house, where he swore there were no dogs, ever.”

“Hell.” Ginny felt the dog shiver in her arms, as though it knew they were talking about it. “Anything else?”

“No.” Tonica went down on one knee and patted his thigh, calling Georgie over to him. She went without any reluctance, accepting his petting. “No sign of kennels, cages, or any indication that anything illegal or bloody had ever happened there. But Parsifal there is a pretty big neon clue.”

“Parsifal?” Ginny looked down at the terrier puppy.
“Tonica, that name's bigger than he is.”

“Get in the car, Mallard.”

She laughed, still cuddling the puppy, and watched while Tonica opened the door and coaxed Georgie inside. “It's a good thing we're going to the vet, then, anyway. We can get him checked out, make sure he's healthy, and see if he's got a chip to tell us who he belongs to.”

The look that Tonica threw her, as he got behind the wheel and started the car, was telling, and chilling. He didn't think the puppy was chipped, didn't think that any owners were going to show up with relief and claim him.

Neither did she.

“Georgie, settle down. Georgie!” She held the puppy in one arm and shoved the other dog's nose gently, until she sat back down. “Stay,” Ginny said sternly. “You know better than to try and get up in the car. Shut up, Teddy,” she said, not even looking at the driver, but knowing he was grinning. “If your puppy ruins Georgie's up until now perfect car manners . . .”

“Not my dog,” he said, but kept any other comment to himself.

“Hello.”

The puppy flopped on his side, and craned his short neck around Ginny's arm to better see who was talking to him. “Hello.”

“I'm Georgie.” The shar-pei came a little closer, shoving her nose into the space between the front seats, but still keeping close to
the floor, so Ginny didn't get upset again. “What's your name?”

The puppy looked at her quizzically. It had whiskers like Penny's, long and silvery, and twitchy.

“C'mon, Parsifal,” Ginny said. “Stop squirming, will you?”

“Parsifal,” Georgie said. “That's your name.”

“All right,” the puppy said. “What's a Parsifal?”

“I don't know,” Georgie admitted. “Penny will know.”

“What's a Penny?”

“She's a cat,” Georgie started to say, and the puppy scrambled under the warm hands holding him, trying to get up. “Cat? Where?”

“Seriously, dog, stop wiggling!”

“Not here. Later.” Georgie shushed the puppy, telling it to stay still. When Ginny used that voice, it was time to put your nose on your paws and pretend to be asleep.

They spent the rest of the ride staring at each other, Georgie curious, the puppy fading in and out of sleep.

As they
slid back into traffic, Teddy's attention was split between dealing with the road and Ginny's talking to the two dogs, trying to get them to settle down. He noticed the sedan that moved into place behind them, a late-model Chevy in dark blue, the kind that made airport runs for half the price of a cab, but he didn't think much of it.

He certainly didn't recognize it as the car that had been parked across the street from Deke's house when he arrived that morning.

The driver, an Asian man in his late thirties, kept exactly
one car length behind, slowing and speeding as they did, never getting too close, but not letting them out of sight until they reached their destination. While they parked in the open lot attached to the building, the sedan idled along the curb around the corner, waiting until they went inside.

The driver then picked up his cell phone from the seat next to him and entered a number.

“He picked up a woman and a dog, and went to a veterinary office in Washington Park. No, the dog was a big one, full-grown. No, no sign of the old man. Hell, I don't—no, sir. Yes, sir.”

He grimaced, then nodded. “I'll make sure of it, sir.” He ended the call, then pulled away from the curb and drove away.

4

S
cott Williams wasn't the closest
vet to where Ginny lived, by a considerable distance, and Teddy was quite sure that he wasn't the cheapest in town. But they'd met him when he was volunteering at the shelter they were investigating, and Georgie had liked him. After a less-than-stellar experience with her first vet, Ginny had decided that she was willing to spend a little more money and time for a vet Georgie had rapport with.

Especially since Teddy was sucker enough to drive them there when he had the time.

“Hi, Ms. Mallard, hey, Georgie,” the receptionist called out when they came in. “We're running a little behind, but we'll be ready for you in a few minutes. Oh, and who's the cutie?”

“I'll assume you're talking about the four-legged one,” Ginny said drily. “This is Parsifal, and no, he's not mine. Neither's the two-legged one.” Ginny tilted her head in his direction, and Teddy was suddenly under the intense scrutiny of five-foot-nothing of receptionist, and an only-slightly-taller male vet tech who showed up as though drawn by the scent of New Puppy.

“I found him,” Teddy said awkwardly, feeling himself shift from foot to foot, even as the technician lifted the dog from Ginny's arms and was expertly checking it over. “He'd been abandoned, I guess?”

“You guess?” the receptionist asked.

“I found him in an abandoned house. We were . . . it's complicated.” They weren't cops, or even licensed investigators; despite his earlier bravado, technically he'd been trespassing, since Deke hadn't actually given his okay, and since he was in the process of getting evicted Teddy didn't even know if his permission would be valid.

“Well, you did a good thing, taking him in,” the receptionist said. She was short, and round, and dark-skinned, with gray hair that curled around her head like a halo. “No collar? He's a little thing, but we'll see if he's chipped, and check him for all the usual, yes?”

“Um, yeah.” Teddy had the feeling that he'd just somehow been maneuvered into taking responsibility for the puppy. But it was for the case, right? The dog was evidence.

He heard a door open and close, and then there was a scrabble of claws on the linoleum as Georgie abandoned Ginny and raced forward, reaching up to put her paws on the newcomer's knees, putting her head within easy scratching range.

Dr. Williams laughed, rubbing her flopped-over ears with affection. “Hi there, Georgie. You're so good for my ego.”

“She knows you have chew treats,” Ginny said drily. “Not to knock down your canine charm, or anything.”

“That
is
my canine charm,” Williams said, even as he
took a treat out of his coat pocket and gave it to Georgie. “And I see you've brought us a new patient?”

They must have had other animals in the back, other things to be doing, but Williams took the puppy from the tech and studied its eyes and ears, stretching out each leg briefly. The puppy stared back at the silver-haired human, whiskers trembling, and then lunged forward and licked his nose.

“Oh, yeah, you're a real terror,” Williams said with a laugh. “C'mon in back, I'll check him out quick while Alan does up Georgie, and get you on your way.”

Teddy declined to go in the back with the puppy, feeling the need to distance himself from the entire situation. Not his dog. Ginny and Georgie disappeared into another room, and reappeared about fifteen minutes later. Georgie seemed as unflappably happy as ever, her stubby tail wagging when she saw Teddy, perfectly content to flop down at his feet while Ginny went up to the counter to pay.

The vet came out with Parsifal a few minutes after that, waiting until Ginny had finished at the counter before addressing them both.

“Well, the good news is that the young fellow appears to be a healthy four- or five-month-old pup. I'm putting down mostly border terrier as a breed—there's probably something else tossed in there, but not enough to worry about. He's a cheerful thing, good-tempered. A little scrawny, and definitely underfed right now, but proper care and feeding should take care of that. He'll probably max out at ten pounds—not quite a pocket pup, but
most apartment buildings won't have an issue with him. He's going to need a lot of exercise, though: they're active breeds, terriers.”

Teddy nodded, not sure what he was supposed to say at this point. Next to him, Ginny echoed his nod.

“But . . .” Williams's voice dropped in the way that never brought good news. “I saw a few things that worried me. I assume that you were not planning to breed him?”

“What?” Teddy looked at Ginny, and then back at the vet, who seemed to be expecting him to answer. “Um, no. No, I wasn't.”

“Good. I would suggest that you have him neutered sooner rather than later, just in case. I suspect his line's already been inbred to the point of . . . well, not damage, but you may run into trouble when he's older, and these are not genes you'll want to pass on to another litter.”

“Yeah, okay. I'll, um, I'll make an appointment.” Teddy wasn't going to keep the dog, but it was the least they could do, to make sure the little guy was adoptable. He'd charge it back to Seth, part of the unexpected expenses of the job. Maybe, if Deke could find a place, the two of them could stick together, two misfits, through no fault of their own. Teddy was pleased with that idea, even though he had no idea if the older man liked dogs, or could afford to keep one.

“How can you tell?” Ginny asked. “About the problems, I mean.”

“It's not definite, not without lab testing, but there are small things you can guess from,” Williams said, answering her question without hesitation. “The way his ears fall, the
shape of his muzzle, the way his hindquarters aren't quite squared . . . there are certain things we see, especially when you have too small a breeding population, or a breeder is focusing too hard on one particular aspect and forgets to monitor others.” His mouth tightened, like he wanted to say something more, but didn't. “But I don't see anything that should cause serious medical issues right now. He'll make a fine companion for someone.”

“And he wasn't chipped?” Thank God Ginny remembered to ask. Teddy was having trouble focusing on everything the vet was telling him, much less coming up with questions.

“No. And we ran the missing pets database and nobody's reported anyone with his description missing. I take it you're about as unsurprised by that as I am.”

Ginny just shrugged, an entire conversation in that move.

“I see.” Suddenly he was talking to Teddy again. “He's got his starter shots, but he'll need boosters later on. We'll set you up with some puppy chow to start, and remember to make sure he gets more time on the sidewalk than Georgie-girl. He's not used to holding it as long, right now.”

“I still have some wee pads,” Ginny said, possibly a sympathy offering, as though she could tell Teddy felt like someone had just rammed him with an invisible truck. A small, cute, furry truck.

“I'm not keeping him,” Teddy said, pretty sure that nobody was listening to him.

Williams didn't miss a beat. “Well, if you decide against it, and Ginny doesn't want to be a two-dog mom”—he
paused, but she declined to pick up the bait—“let us know. We might be able to find a foster for him, so he doesn't have to go to the shelter.”

Teddy didn't want to drop the dog off at the shelter, either, any shelter. Most especially not the one they'd met Williams at, which had been hit with the double whammy of one of the owners embezzling funds, and an employee using it as a front for exotic animal smuggling: they were still in business, but struggling to maintain funding. Teddy felt bad about that, but they'd brought it on themselves.

“We'll see,” he said, and could swear everyone in the room snickered.

Deke. He was definitely going to try and pass the dog on to Deke.

Although Georgie
got to ride on her own in the backseat, due to Parsifal's size and lack of training, he was introduced to a plain cardboard carrier with “I'm New!” printed on the side. He was dubious, but eventually stayed in long enough for them to close the top and load both dogs back into the coupe.

“So, what are you going to do with Parsi?” Ginny asked. “I mean, you can't just leave him in your apartment while you're working, not while he's a puppy, anyway. And I'm
not
taking him home, so forget about it.” She would, if he pushed. But she wasn't going to give in just yet.

“Mary's,” he said, putting the car into gear and pulling out of the parking lot. “We already have a house cat; we can
put up with a house dog for a few days. Maybe someone there will be dumb enough to want to rescue him. You want to be dropped off at home, or . . . ?”

“We'll go with you,” Ginny said. “Parsi could use some familiar company, and we still have to go over everything for the job.” They'd been too distracted by the dogs to talk about anything on the way over.

“Yeah, okay.” He didn't sound enthused about it, but she figured he was
still
distracted by the puppy.

She looked back, checking to make sure that both dogs were okay, and then looked at him. “So, did you learn anything, poking around the house?”

Tonica chewed on the inside of his cheek, fingers tightening and relaxing on the wheel. She waited. Unlike some guys she knew, Tonica never hesitated to say what he was thinking, even if it sounded dumb. He liked talking it out; that was one of the reasons why they worked well together.

“I don't know. There wasn't anything I could put a finger on, but something about that basement, the way it had smelled . . . I don't know,” he said again. “But there was something hinky going on there, Gin. The smell in the basement was . . . pretty bad. Multiple dogs, bad. Like the shelter's kennels smelled, only multiplied a hundred times, and minus all the bleach they used to clean the place up.”

“Dogfighting bad?”

“Blood, you mean? Maybe. I'm glad to say that I'm really not all that familiar with the smell of stale blood. And no, I'm not going to get my nose trained in case we need it
later, Ginny,” he warned, hopefully heading that idea off at the pass. “I don't think anything happened there, though. You were right, there wasn't enough room.”

“I've seen bullfighting,” Ginny said, seemingly out of nowhere. “Once, when I was in Spain. It was . . . beautiful, and horrible, and dangerous. But the humans took a risk, too. This . . .”

“It's all violence, Gin. And the animals don't get a say in it.”

She nodded, and stared out the car window, worrying at a fingernail with her teeth. He glanced over at her, listening to the sounds of the dogs behind them, restless.

“I know Deke said he didn't do anything, and I'm inclined to believe him, but my gut—and my nose—tells me that there were dogs there—one at least, and I doubt he showed up on his own. If whoever's got those dogs is involved in dogfighting, the way the landlord claims, that's a federal crime. Do you think we should call Agent Asuri?”

The federal agent had cleaned up the aftermath of their first case, and had warned them against taking another. But they had gotten the feeling that she was a straight shooter. They could probably trust her to not freak out at them if they called her now, before they got in too deep.

“Not until we can clear Deke,” Ginny said. “We promised no cops unless we knew for sure he was guilty, and feds are as bad as cops. Worse, maybe. And we're not assuming he's guilty yet. Are we?”

Teddy hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Not yet.”

The driver
of the dark blue sedan parked his car by the curb, away from a tree that might drop sap or something on the finish. He hated having to go back to a scene; he was supposed to be certain places at certain times, and that routine kept him safe, unnoticed. But he'd been interrupted earlier, by the other man's arrival, and the boss didn't accept jobs unfinished.

There were three young girls playing some game on the front lawn of the house next to the old man's place. The driver glared at them, waiting until they got bored and drifted to the side of the house before he got out of the car. If anyone had seen him once, it could be shrugged off. But if someone saw him there again, hours later, questions might be raised. Even with redirected plates on the car, he couldn't afford anyone asking questions that might be traced back to him, and through him the boss.

He ignored the front porch, going around back to the cellar door, pulling a key from his pocket, and opening the lock. The door slid open easily, and despite the darkness, he went down the steps with the ease of a man who had done it a hundred times before.

His nose wrinkled. The air was rancid, the smell of ammonia enough to make him gag before his nose and lungs adapted by the bottom step.

His hand touched the switch at the bottom of the stairs, and the basement flooded with light. He walked the perimeter of the room, checking the corners and under the wooden tables with the air of a man who had misplaced his car keys. After a single circuit around the room, he
dropped to his knees with a grimace, looking under the tables. Nothing caught his eye, and his shoulders relaxed slightly.

A noise in the house above him—a heavy creak and bang—made him freeze, half under the table.

“Shit.” The hand not resting on the concrete floor reached for the holster at the small of his back, fingers closing around the pistol butt and pulling it slightly out of the leather.

Footsteps moved across the floor, and he counted steps, visualizing where the walker was heading. Across the living room, toward the bedroom, not the kitchen.

Damn it, the old man was supposed to be gone.

He got to his feet, pistol now in his hand, and waited for five long breaths, letting each one settle before taking the next. “Go to bed, old man. Or jerk off or do something, but don't go into the kitchen.”