Snowjob Page 8

  Hinton had followed us and he heard what I said. He came to my defense. “This man’s a police chief, sir,” he told his boss. “And the dog is a trained police dog. It’s a valuable piece of police equipment.”

  The chief said nothing for a moment. I was wondering who he would call to check on what I was saying. Peter Horn at Murphy’s Harbour would wonder what he was talking about. The only citation Sam ever got was a raw egg with his kibble. Peter knew how many times Sam had bailed me out but he was an Indian, an Ojibway, not the most talkative guy on the telephone. If these guys did ring him they would ignore anything he told them.

  After a few seconds the chief said, “Take it to the pound, Hinton. We’ll decide about it in the morning.”

  “Yessir.” Hinton turned away. I gave a shrill whistle and he turned around as Sam squeezed through the open window of my car and ran to me. “Easy, boy,” I told him. “Good boy, easy.” I reached out to pat him with my cuffed hands. “He’ll go with you now,” I told Hinton. “Take care of him.”

  The big man who had read me my rights laughed. “They keep ’em twenty-four hours at the pound. Then they’re gassed.”

  I said nothing and Hinton hooked his finger into Sam’s collar and led him away. Then the chief opened the rear door of the police station and they led me through to the area I’d visited earlier.

  “Siddown,” the big cop said and I did on a chair beside the desk. He unlocked the handcuffs. He had cranked them up tight when he put them on but I didn’t rub the hurt place. Another of my wife’s acting axioms. Never let them see you sweat.

  The chief said, “You can take it from here. I’m going home.”

  “Right, sir. See you tomorrow,” The arresting officer stood up politely until the chief had gone. Then he turned to me. “Okay, wise guy, what’ve you got to say?”

  “I want Mr. Maloney, the attorney.”

  “Yeah. Later.” He got a charge sheet and took out a pen. “Turn out your pockets.”

  I did so and he picked up my wallet and looked inside. He stopped when he got to my ID. “Chief of Police, Murphy’s Harbour, Ontario. Where’s that?”

  “Twenty miles south of Parry Sound on Highway 69,” I said. “Now would it be too much trouble for you to explain what kind of cockamamy charge you’ve cooked up to harass me?”

  He sat back, unbuttoning his topcoat. He was heavy and looked proud of it, the kind of guy who always has the biggest steak on the menu, with double fries and extra onion rings. “No problem,” he said jovially. “At or about six-thirty P.M. this date, you violently assaulted three men while holding them captive with that dog of yours.”

  I said nothing and he grinned at me. “How’s it feel? Bein’ on the other side of the desk, eh, Chief?”

  “I’m not saying anything until Mr. Maloney gets here. Call him, please.”

  He stood up, tossing my ID on the desk. “Gimme everything in your pockets, on the desk. And your belt and your shoelaces.”

  It was routine procedure and I did as I was told. I was glad that I wasn’t carrying Doug’s .38. It was hidden in my car.

  Once he decided that he wasn’t going to get a rise out of me he didn’t say a lot more. He put me in a cell and went out to the front to call Maloney. That left me more worried than I’d been before. I’d used the lawyer’s name as if I knew him, hoping it would give me some credibility. But if Hinton had been right and the guy was a friend of the senior Grant, he was liable to refuse the case and leave me there until they appointed some public attorney in the morning when I was brought before tide court. And by that time, Sam would be dead.

  My watch was with my other possessions, in an envelope in the charge room desk, so I didn’t know how much time passed but it seemed like a geological age before the door opened to the front office and the young cop from the desk came through with a thin little man in his fifties. He wore rimless glasses and he didn’t look anywhere near as self-confident as Garfield had. He fiddled with his spectacles as he came up to my cell. “Mr. Bennett? I’m Frank Maloney.”

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Maloney. Could we get rid of the officer so I can talk to you, please.”

  The cop took the hint. He nodded and went back out, leaving the door open.

  “You’re charged with assault, three counts?” Maloney said.

  “Yes, and I realize that you don’t do much criminal work, but Detective Hinton told me you were a good man.” I was studying him. He was pinch-faced without looking mean, something like the guy in American Gothic.

  “Garfield’s better,” he said. I liked his modesty. “My work is in property and so on, but I do take the occasional criminal case.”

  “Garfield is already representing the men I assaulted.”

  He blinked at me. “You mean they were charged?”

  “Charged, but not booted. Mr. Garfield raised such a ruckus that the police dropped all the charges. Then they turned around and had me picked up.”

  “Were they local people?”

  “Yes.” I looked at him. “And this is the test, Mr. Maloney. If you don’t want to take me on, I’ll understand, but I hope you’ll recommend someone else. I don’t have any friends in this town.”

  “Why wouldn’t I take you on?”

  “Because the guy charged in the attack on me is named Grant. I understand you’re a friend of his father’s.”

  He blinked again and his eyes narrowed slightly. “My friendship with Paul Grant has nothing to do with my practice,” he said. “And if it makes any difference to your peace of mind, the only disagreements we have had are over his son.”

  “Then you’ll represent me?”

  “If you can pay, yes.”

  I laughed. “You’re a professional, Mr. Maloney. How much do you charge?”

  “Four hundred dollars a day for court appearances. And I heed a retainer now of one hundred dollars.”

  “I have money in my wallet which is with my personal effects. Can you get me out?”

  “Who’s the arresting officer?”

  “Big guy, forty-eight to fifty, six-two, maybe two-forty. The chief addressed him as Fred.”

  “That’s Captain Schmidt. I’ll go and talk to him.”

  “Thanks. I’ll wait here.” I lay back and he looked at me for a moment and then realized I’d been making a jail-house joke.

  “Of course,” he said.

  He was away about twenty minutes, I judged, then he came back with the uniformed officer who was carrying some keys, which looked like a good sign. It was. He opened the cell door and I stepped out and shook Maloney’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Maloney. What happened?”

  “The charges have been dropped,” he said shortly. He seemed uptight so I said no more, just retrieved my belongings and signed for them, then stopped to lace my shoes. Only then I said “Thanks” to the policeman and followed Maloney out through the front.

  “You seem kind of angry, Mr. Maloney,” I said.

  “Would you come with me?” he asked. He was holding his briefcase handle by both hands in front of him, the way schoolgirls hold their books when they’re talking to a guy who’s coming on too strong. I nodded acknowledgment but first reached in my wallet and took out two fifties. “One hundred dollars,” I said. “Together with my thanks.”

  His answer surprised me. “Keep your money. I’ll collect later.”

  “Well, thank you. But I’m able to pay.”

  “I’m glad to get you out,” he said. “I’m sure that you, as a police chief, see the justice system from a different angle than do I.”

  “I just got an update that changed my perspective some.”

  “One reason I do so little criminal work is that I hate the insolence of office,” he said, still not moving from where he was standing, under the light. “That some official can arbitrarily deprive a man of his freedom as happened to you, that makes me angry, and anger is a bad trait in a lawyer.”

  It looked like I had an ally, over and above his professional involvement. �
��That’s the way it was. Those men were about to attack me. Detective Hinton charged them and that’s where it should have ended.”

  “Captain Schmidt said your dog has been sent to the pound.” He wasn’t really listening to me; he was steamed.

  “I’m just going to head over there and get him out.”

  “How?” He snapped it. His anger seemed to be boiling out of him.

  “I’m not sure. If all else fails I’ll break into the place and spring him. He’s more than a dog. He’s been my partner for years. We’ve been through a lot together.”

  “Get in your car and follow me,” he commanded and turned away, letting his briefcase swing in his left hand as he strode for his car, a neat little Volvo.

  He seemed to have a plan so I followed as he drove back through the center of town, then out and down a side road with only a few houses on it. He pulled up and I stopped behind him as he got out of the car. I did the same and walked toward him. He spoke as soon as I reached him. “If you do anything illegal, like stealing the dog, you’ll be rearrested. The dog will be killed and you will be charged,” he said.

  “Maybe I can switch one dog for another in there, leave a dog in his cage.”

  “They have a head count, I’m sure. That won’t work.” He scratched his chin with quick, impatient flicks of his forefinger. “There’s a better way.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “The dogcatcher, pound chief officially, is a man called Calvin Perkins. He’s a distant relative of the mayor. He’s a stupid man, cruel and unsuited to his position, but he has a weakness.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Greed.” Maloney gave his glasses a nervous little nudge. “He drinks a good deal and he’s greedy. I suggest you go in there and ask him if he has a dog to sell you. Tell him you want something vicious. He’ll appreciate that.”

  I nodded. “Good idea. Thank you, sir. Where’s the pound?”

  “At the end of this road. It’s a cinder block building with an orange light in the yard. Perkins will be there until nine o’clock. It’s eight-thirty now. Go in and see what you can do. I’ll wait here.”

  “Thank you.” I got into my car and drove around him and down the road a further quarter mile. I pulled into the yard and sat there for a few seconds with the headlights playing on the window of the office, which was lighted, working out what to do. I was also nerving myself up to handle the news if I was too late. If Sam was dead, Captain Schmidt was going to suffer.

  I saw a man’s face at the window and I doused the headlights and got out. The face disappeared and the door opened as I reached it. A big, rangy man in his thirties stood there with the light streaming out behind him. “We’re closin’ up,” he said. I could smell bourbon on the night air.

  “Yeah, well. I hope you got a minute. Might be worth your while.”

  “What’re you talkin’ about?”

  “Need a dog,” I said. “Pounds got dogs, don’t they?”

  “’Doptions’re done through the day, nine to five,” he said but he didn’t close the door.

  “Adoptions?” I laughed. “Hell, I don’ wanna ’dopt no dog. I wanna buy the biggest meanest mother you got.”

  “Who’re you?” He was speaking low, a cunning voice. I could see that he was a limited guy who thought he was clever.

  “Bob Little. I got a junkyard. My old dog died. Goddamn fork-truck driver ran over the dumb sonofabitch.”

  He laughed heartily. “Sounds dumb all right.’

  “Yeah, well. The kids’ll rip me off if I don’t get a dog over the weekend. I tried at Killington but they said no dice until Monday so I figured I’d drive over here. Glad I got here before you closed.”

  “Come on in.” He stood back and I walked past him into the office which was untidy and smelled of dog droppings and disinfectant. My heart went out to Sam stuck out behind in one of the cages.

  “Got anythin’ mean on hand?”

  “Couple,” he said. He was feeling in his pocket now and he came out with his makin’s and rolled a cigarette. I watched him and when he’d finished and lit it I said, “I don’t want no fag Airedale or nothin’ like that. I want a big mean bastard.”

  “How much?” he asked, looking at me directly for the first time.

  “We can talk about that when I see the dogs.”

  He thought about it for as long as it took him to drag on his cigarette and cough. “Sounds to me like you ain’t got a lot of choice.”

  “Looks to me like you don’ have a lot of customers standin’ in line,” I said and laughed.

  He cracked a grin. “’S fair. Come on an’ look.”

  He opened the rear door of the office and went into a hallway, clicking on the light. Immediately the corridor echoed with the barking of a dozen dogs. Sam’s bark wasn’t among them and I had a bad minute until I saw him down toward the end. But it wasn’t a straight pick. Next to him was a Rottweiler, a savage-looking animal twanging at the bars of his cage with his teeth as if he wanted to eat me.

  “Got a couple don’t look too bad,” I said.

  He led me immediately to the Rottweiler. “This one here’s in for biting the goddamn mailman. Lookit, meaner’n a snake.”

  “Yeah. That’s some dog.” I was right in front of Sam’s cage. He was standing silently, looking at me. I pushed a little forward so that my back was to him as I looked at the Rottweiler. While Perkins pointed at the Rottweiler I snapped my fingers behind my back. The sound was covered by the barking of all the other dogs but Sam reacted at once, barking and snarling his attack message.

  I ignored him for a moment while I said, “Hell. That thing looks like he could eat a whole horse every day.”

  “You said you wanted a mean mother. This is one mean mother,” Perkins said. “She’ll have your goddamn arm off soon’s look at you.”

  “She?” I had my excuse. “A bitch? Hell, every ratbag dog in the district’ll be diggin’ under the wire when she comes in heat.” I turned away and faced Sam who was a picture of ferocity. “How ’bout this bastard? This a dog or a bitch?”

  “Dog. S’posed t’ be trained. Brought in tonight by the cops. Said he attacked three guys. I’m gassin’ him tomorrow.”

  I pulled a coin from my pocket and flipped it, trapping it on my wrist. “Heads,” I said and showed it to Perkins. “I’ll take this one.”

  Now his cunning came to the fore. “Ah, well. Like I said, that’s special from the cops. I gotta gas him in the morning.”

  “Seems kind of a shame to gas a fifty-dollar bill,” I said.

  Perkins licked his lips. “What am I s’posed to say when they come askin’ if I gassed him?”

  “Keep his collar, looks like it’s got a license. They won’t wanna look at a dead dog. Just show ’em the collar.”

  He considered that, looking at Sam who was crouching at the wire, snarling and barking like a wild thing. “That’s a pedigree dog.”

  “He’ll be just as dead as a mutt once you gas him.”

  Perkins thought about it for half a minute. “Hundred bucks,” he said at last. But he had no confidence. He added, “Hell, you could be losin’ that much stock while you’re standin’ here arguin’.”

  “Seventy-five,” I said and he grinned at me.

  “Seventy-five. An’ you get the bastard into your car and outa here right now.”

  “You got one o’ them sticks with a noose on?”

  “Yeah. An’ mitts. Wanna borrow ’em?”

  “Think I’m crazy? Sure I do.”

  “Money first.” He held out his hand. I pulled out my wallet and snapped out a fifty and the rest in fives. He rolled it and stuck it into his shirt pocket. “It’s your ass. I’ll give you tie stuff. You put the dog in your car, leave me the collar. Okay?”

  “Sounds fair. Where’s the noose?”

  He walked the length of the hallway and took down a four-foot stick with a wire noose on it. He picked up a pair of leather gauntlets from on top of the las
t cage and handed them to me. “I’m gonna be in my office. You just drop the collar on the desk an’ bring the other stuff back in when you got that bastard in your car.”

  “Right.” I was happier with him out of the way while I did what I had to. I waited, pulling on the gauntlets while he backed the length of the hall and went into his office, closing the door.

  Then I unsnapped the door of Sam’s cage and told him, “Easy,” rubbing his big head with one hand while I slipped the collar over his ears and dangled it around my left wrist. Then I put the noose over his head and told him, “Speak.” He gave tongue again at once, a terrifying show. I urged him forward with my left hand and ran the length of the hall, throwing the door open and pausing only to toss the chain collar with its license and rabies tag onto Perkins’ desk, then seeming to let Sam pull me out of the office to my car. I could see Perkins’ face at the window as I put Sam into the trunk, and slipped the noose off his neck and patted him. “Good boy. Easy,” I told him and he curled down and lay still. I closed the trunk lid but didn’t lock it.

  Perkins was at the door. “Got ‘im in the trunk. That’s smart. He’ll likely eat your spare tire.”

  “I got a million spares at the yard,” I said. “Thanks. I won’t tell nobody where I got him.” I let the words dangle as a threat.

  “You better goddamn not,” he shot back.

  “Nice doin’ business with you,” I said. “So long.”

  He shut the door without speaking and I got into the car and drove out up as far as Maloney’s car. He saw me coming and got out. I stopped and let Sam out of the trunk and knelt to fuss him. He seemed puzzled. He always obeys me but I firmly believe that he can think and right then he wasn’t sure what in hell was going on.

  Maloney joined me. “Well done,” he said. “That’s a magnificent animal.”

  “He’s my partner. He’s saved my hide a lot of times.”

  “How did he lose that piece of his ear?” Maloney asked, bending to look closely at Sam’s old injury.

  “Someone shot him. That was a while ago. But it hasn’t stopped him from working just as well since.”