A Wedding and a Killing (27 page)

Special Bonus Feature

The Gnarly Rehabilitation Program

A Gnarly Mystery Short

By

 
Lauren Carr

The bell over the top of the door at the Doggie Hut clang to signal the arrival of a customer; prompting Lizzy, the blonde receptionist, to look up from the business of ordering butterscotch-scented doggie conditioner from her on-line supplier.

These two guys have to be looking for directions.

Set on the shores of Deep Creek Lake in western Maryland, Spencer’s most luxurious pet salon didn’t usually have patrons who appeared less groomed than their canine clients. Snapping her spearmint-flavored chewing gum, Lizzy noted that the bald-headed man wasn’t in need of a haircut as much as he was in need of deodorant, which became apparent when he stepped up close to the reception desk and flashed her a mouth full of rotten teeth.

“Mac Faraday sent us to pick up his dog.”

Lizzy looked him up and down before turning to his companion, who had his gray mop tied back into a loose ponytail.   His beard was so matted that it didn’t look like a comb could get through it.

At least their clothes are clean. Their khaki slacks and blue button-down shirts still had the factory folds in place.

“Excuse me,” the bald man said in a sharp tone and snapped his fingers. “The dog. Mr. Faraday left orders for us to retrieve him as quickly as possible. We don’t want to keep the big guy waiting, do we?” He uttered a low chuckle and once more flashed those rotten teeth at her.

“Sure.” She popped a bubble in her chewing gum. “We’ll get Gnarly for you right away. Today’s visit will cost Mr. Faraday three-hundred-fifty-two dollars and thirty-five cents.” Drumming her manicured fingertips on the desktop, she smiled at him from behind the reception desk.

He gestured with a wave of his hand. “Put it on Mr. Faraday’s account.”

Lizzy laughed. Her amusement caused the men’s smiles to drop. “Mr. Faraday doesn’t have an account.” Folding her arms across her chest, she fell back in her seat.

After exchanging stunned expressions, the hairy man found his voice to ask, “What do you mean Mr. Faraday doesn’t have an account? All rich guys have accounts. He brings his dog in every month—”

“His fiancée Archie Monday brings Gnarly in every month,” Lizzy said.
“She
pays for his grooming. She went to a bridal shower today and told us that Mr. Faraday would be picking Gnarly up. I guess he decided to send you so that he could watch the game. A lot of our clients are being picked up early so that their parents can catch—”

“Put it on his broad—I mean his fiancée’s account,” the bald man ordered.

“She doesn’t have an account either,” Lizzy said. “Listen, the only way you’re going to get Gnarly is to pay for his   grooming which is three-hundred-fifty-two dollars and thity-five cents. We will accept a credit card.”

The two men stepped back from the counter.

“What are we doing to do, Ernie?” the hairy man whined. “She won’t let us take the dog.”

“We can just steal him.” Ernie fingered the weapon in his pocket. “I’ll show her my gun and order her to turn the dog over.”

The two men looked over at Lizzy, who eyed them while chewing her gum. Her eyes were narrowed to thin slits.

“Hey, Bert,” Ernie whispered, “do you think she suspects we don’t work for Mr. Faraday?”

“She’ll know we don’t work for him if you pull your gun on her,” Bert replied. “How much money do you have?”

“Are you serious? We’re crooks. We can’t pay our victim’s bill. Do you know how wrong that is?”

“We’ll tack it onto the ransom,” Bert said.

“If I had three hundred and fifty bucks to pay to give a dog a bath, I wouldn’t be needing to kidnap rich people’s dogs.”

“Let’s just forget it,” Bert said.

“No,” Ernie said, “We’ve put too much into this to just walk away. We got ourselves respectable clothes and did all the casing—following Faraday and that woman around with that dog—”

“Do you really think Faraday is going to pay a hundred thousand dollars to get that dog back?” Bert said. “He doesn’t act that crazy about him.”

“But his woman completely adores him,” Ernie said. “If Faraday ever wants to get laid again, he’ll pay up to get his stupid dog back.”

“But before we can snatch that stupid dog and hold him for ransom, we need to pay three hundred and fifty bucks,” Bert said.

“Not to worry.” Ernie ushered his friend out the door.

“What are we going to do, Ernie?”

“We’re crooks, aren’t we? We’re going to do what any self-respecting crook does when he needs money.”

A half-hour—and a liquor store robbery later—Bert and Ernie returned to the Doggie Hut with cash to pay for their kidnap victim, who was waiting for them in the reception area.

When they walked through the door, Bert stepped back behind Ernie at the sight of the hundred pounds of newly washed and blown-dry fur, and shiny, white, sharp, teeth—freshly brushed with peanut butter flavored toothpaste. Wearing a bright red bandana around his neck, the black and sable German shepherd sat in the reception area. His majestic ears stood up tall upon his head while Gnarly locked his gaze on the two men and followed their movements around the room.

After taking their cash payment, Lizzy handed them a receipt.

“Leash,” Bert whispered to Ernie.

“Where’s his leash?” the bald-headed crook asked the receptionist.

Lizzy laughed. Once again seeing their perplexed expressions, she said, “This is
Gnarly.”
She gestured at the German shepherd studying them. “He has no leash.”

“Do you have one we can use?” Ernie asked.

“Sure.” Lizzy led them over to a rack that had a variety of leashes in lengths, thickness, and colors. “Pick one out.”

Eying up the dog, who stared at them unblinkingly, the two men examined the leashes on the rack. “He looks like he needs a really big strong leash,” Bert said. “We’ll take this   one.” He picked out the thickest black leather leash he could find and stepped over to Gnarly.

“That will be twenty-seven-fifty,” Lizzy called out.

Bert stopped with the leash over Gnarly’s head. “Are  you serious?”

“Yes.” Lizzy held out her hand. “No money. No leash.  No Gnarly.”

“Pay the woman.” Ernie grabbed the leash out of his hairy friend’s hand. “I’ll get the dog.”

Bert dug the handful of bills from his pocket and went up to the counter while his partner in crime reached for  Gnarly’s collar. He snapped it to the ring and stepped over to the door with the leash in his hand. “Let’s go,” he called to his companion who was still waiting for his receipt.

“I’m coming.”

Hurrying to leave before Mac Faraday arrived to catch them leaving with Archie Monday’s beloved dog, the two men threw open the door and ran out into the parking lot of the lakeshore shopping plaza. Leash in hand, Ernie threw open the rear door of their van and gestured for the German shepherd to leap into the back, only to find the leash hanging limp in his hand. The end of the leash was slightly frayed where it had been cut through.

“Where’s the dog, Ernie? I thought you got the dog.”

“He must have bitten through the leash.”

The two men ran back into the Doggie Hut to find Gnarly sitting in the same spot where they had left him. Lizzy was leaning on the reception desk with her chin in her hands. She snapped a bubble in his chewing gum. “Forget something?”

“He bit through the leash.” Ernie showed her the frayed end of the now useless leash.

“Of course he did,” she said. “Gnarly doesn’t like leashes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that when I paid twenty-seven bucks for this one?” Bert asked.

“Hey, I told you that Gnarly doesn’t use a leash,” Lizzy replied.

“But you didn’t tell us why,” Ernie said.

“You didn’t ask,” Lizzy noted.

Ernie was about to reach for his gun when his buddy pushed him back with a hand on his chest. “How are we supposed to get him out of here then?”

“You could try telling him to come,” Lizzy said.

“And he’ll follow us?” Bert asked.

“If he wants to. If not, well …” Lizzy shrugged.

Bert told Ernie, “Tell him to come.”

“I suggest you say please,” Lizzy said.

“Gnarly,” Bert said in an upbeat tone, “come.”

Cocking his head to one side, Gnarly looked at the two men. He narrowed his eyes into a glare.

“Please,” Bert added in a pleading tone.

Gnarly stood up and came to him. With a grin, Bert petted the German shepherd.

“Is there anything else you can tell us before we leave?” Ernie asked the receptionist.

“Make sure your health insurance is paid up.”

Things were finally looking right for the bad guys when Gnarly followed them out the door.

Lizzy waited until they were gone before picking up the phone and hitting the redial button to call the last number she had spoken to. When Mac Faraday picked up, she announced, “The Gnarly Rehabilitation Program has begun.”

Bert and Ernie had rented a small hunting cabin in the woods on the mountain overlooking Deep Creek Lake. It was pricey, but since Gnarly was well-known in the resort town, they needed an out of the way hideout in which to stash him until after Mac Faraday paid the ransom.

Then, they would be on easy street until they ran out  of cash and had to move on to their next crime.

Coordinating a dog napping that doesn’t work out according to plan can make you hungry. So the bad guys stopped to pick up a pizza from a takeout place on the way up the mountain.

When Gnarly tried to climb up into the front seat to help himself to the pizza, Ernie pushed him back. “You’ll eat when we reach the hideout.” Thinking about the gross canned food that they had for the dog, he uttered an evil chuckle. “This pizza is much too good for the likes of you, leash-eater.”

With a huff, Gnarly fell back into the back seat, uttered a deep sigh, and glared at the criminal who rejoiced in teasing him with the food permeating the van with its delicious scent.

“Ah, the sweet smell of pizza hot from the oven.” Ernie turned back to Gnarly. “You probably don’t even know that you’re a dog. Well, you are. You’re a d-o-g, dog. As long as you’re with us, you’re going to be treated like one. So you better hope your master pays up fast to get you back to your pampered pooch life, dog. Because until we get our money, you’re going to be treated like a dog. Got that, dog?”

In silence, Gnarly returned his glare.

Ernie checked his watch. “Step on it, Bert. The game starts in a couple of minutes. We’ll tell Faraday to drop off the ransom after the Steelers bury the Redskins.” He chuckled. “The Steelers and a big payoff. Can’t get any better than this.”

“I’ve got five hundred on the Steelers,” Bert grinned. “Yep, this is going to be our big day.”

The van turned off the main road and followed a gravel trail back to the cabin. Gingerly carrying the pizza box, Ernie opened the door and slid out. He had only one foot on the ground when a hundred pounds collided with his back to send him and the pizza box flying. Ernie landed face first  into the gravel. The pizza box hit the ground and bounced. The lid flew open and the pizza toppled out to land upside down in the grass.

Bert was running for the food while Ernie wrestled the dog who tore at his clothes before breaking away and running around the corner of the cabin.

“Our pizza!” Bert wailed. “What did you do?”

“The dog got the jump on me. Where’d that mutt go?”

“Really? The dog got the jump on you? Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Ernie said with a growl. “That dog isn’t  going to live long enough to get back to Faraday. First chance I get—” He reached for his gun, but it wasn’t in his pocket. “What happened to my gun?”

“Maybe the dog took it,” Bert said with a scoff.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ernie searched the inside of the van.

“I don’t know, Ernie. Have you seen the way he looks at us?”

The bald-headed crook stopped searching. “What are you saying, Bert?”

“I don’t know.” Bert shrugged. “He kind of looked at us like the way cops look at you when you see them and you suddenly slow down to below the speed limit. Like they know. He knows, Ernie. He knows we’re bad guys and he’s just waiting to take us out.”

“He’s a
dog
, Bert.”

“Are you sure about that?” he replied. “Remember what that lady at the groomer’s said? She told us to make sure our health insurance was paid up. Why would she say that?”

“Because she’s a nut.” Unable to find his gun, Ernie slammed the van door shut. “Pick up that pizza and let’s go inside. I’m hungry.”

“It’s got dirt and grass in it.”

“What else have we got to eat?”

“Hot dogs,” Bert said. “Hot dogs and cheese curls.”

“I guess we have to settle for that.” Ernie chuckled. “But by the end of the day, after the Steelers kick the Redskins’ butts, we’ll be feeding on caviar.” He slapped his buddy on  the back and turned to the cabin.

“I don’t like caviar, Ernie.”

With a roll of his eyes, the bald-headed dog napper turned back to his partner. “Then you’ll be feasting on champagne.”

“Champagne gives me gas, Ernie,” Bert whined. “You know that.”

“Let’s find that dog, tie him up, and call Faraday to ruin his day.” Seeing that the cabin door was open, Ernie stopped. “Did you leave the door open when we left?”

“No, I shut and locked it,” Bert said with a tremble in his voice.

“Who opened it?”

“The dog, Ernie. It was the dog. He must have opened it and went inside. What kind of dog opens doors … locked doors?” He looked around. “Where is he now?” With a gasp, he grabbed his partner in crime’s arm. His hand trembled when he pointed toward the doorway.

There in the open doorway, Gnarly sat. His eyes were directed at the two men who had dognapped him. His tall ears stood erect like antenna picking up their very thoughts. After their eyes had all met, Gnarly stood up and turned to go back into the cabin.

“He’s waiting for us, Ernie,” Bert said in a low voice while backing up until his back was up against the side of the van.

Seeing his fear, Ernie growled. “What’s wrong with you? Have you forgotten who we are?” He pound his chest with a fist. “We are the bad guys!” He pointed to the dog in the doorway. “He’s our victim! He’s afraid of us!”

Bert shook his head. “He doesn’t look very scared to me, Ernie.”

“Because he’s too dumb to be scared.” Ernie held up his finger in declaration. “But I promise you, Bert, by the end of the day, someone here is going to be crying in fear and it won’t be me!”

“Are you sure about that?”

“It’s only for a couple of hours until we collect the  ransom from Faraday.” Grabbing his partner by the arm, Ernie dragged him to the door. “Let’s go. We’re missing the game. I’m hungry and I wanna call Faraday with our ransom demand before the kick-off.”

When the two men stepped into the cabin, they stood in shock. Taking in the scene that lay before them, they struggled to find their voices. It was Ernie who found it first.

“What the—” he cursed while stepping further into the cabin’s great room.

The food that had been resting on the kitchen counter in grocery bags was strewn on the floor. The refrigerator door hung open. Their case of beer had been dragged out and the cans scattered everywhere. The plastic wrappers from the  container of hot dogs lay empty.

Any food that had escaped consumption was drenched with dog urine.

The only food that appeared to have survived the siege was the canned dog food, which rested in a neat row on the kitchen table.

Wagging his tail, the culprit eyed them from where he was stretched out on the sofa.

“He did it, Ernie! Notice the cans of dog food? He’s trying to send us a message.”

Ernie shook him. “Bert, get hold of yourself. He’s a
dog.
Dogs rummage for food. He saw the wrappers and he broke in and ate everything.” Spying the overturned television, he let go of his partner to inspect the set. “The TV!” The electric cord was bitten into three pieces.

“He heard us talking about the game, Ernie,” Bert said. “He did that on purpose to get back at us. You never should have teased him in the van and called him a dog. You got him mad at us.”

“Dogs don’t do things on purpose.”

“Then why’d he wreck the TV and broke into the fridge and stole the hot dogs, Ernie?” Bert said. “And he shook up our beer.”

“Only because he couldn’t open the cans.” Ernie picked up one of the cans of beer. “He’s a dog. He’s a spoiled mutt that’s used to getting his own way. What you gotta do with a dog like that is show him who’s boss.” He turned to Gnarly. “Off the couch!”

Unfazed, Gnarly sat up on the sofa. His eyes were trained on Ernie and the can of beer that he wielded in his direction.

“I said off the couch!” Ernie pointed at the floor. “Now!”

“He’s not doing it, Ernie.”

“Because he doesn’t know who’s boss yet.” Ernie said. “This will show him.” He hurled the beer can at the large dog.

Without flinching, Gnarly caught the can in his mouth. While the two men stood in disbelief, the German shepherd closed his mouth with his powerful jaws, popping out both ends of the can to send beer flying out in a sudsy explosion. He then went on to crush the can flat in his jaws before  spitting it out onto the floor.

With a roar, Gnarly charged at them from across the room to send them up onto the kitchen counter before  returning to the sofa and lying down.

“Well,” Bert said, “now we know who’s boss.”

“Give me that phone,” Ernie said. “We’re calling Faraday right now.”

Bert dug the throw away burn phone from his pocket and handed it to Ernie. After dialing the number that he had written down for the multi-millionaire and retired homicide detective, Ernie waited while the phone rang on the other end of the line.

“Mac Faraday here,” was the upbeat greeting.

“We have your dog,” Ernie said in as menacing a tone  as he could muster while trapped on top of the kitchen counter.

“How much?” the multi-millionaire replied.

“One hundred thousand, three-hundred and eighty-six dollars and eighty-five cents,” Ernie said.

“Are you sure you can come up with that much cash in one hour?” Mac Faraday replied.

“Me?” Ernie squawked.

“Small used bills,” Mac said. “I don’t want the IRS asking embarrassing questions.”

Ernie was still wrapping his head around the turn of events when Mac interjected, “Oh, I got a call on the other line. What’s your phone number?”

“510-555-2948,” Ernie replied.

“Who should I ask for?”

“Ernie.”

“Okay, Ernie, I’ll call you back in one hour and tell you where to bring Gnarly and the money,” Mac said. “Oh, and don’t call animal control.
They won’t help you.”

Ernie was still sputtering when Mac disconnected the call.

“Did you give Mac Faraday your name and our phone number?” Bert asked.

With a scream, the two men jumped down off the kitchen counter and ran around the room yelling at each other.

“How could you give him our phone number and your name?” Bert asked. “You’re supposed to be the brains of this criminal team.”

“He asked … it was reflex. Someone asks you for your name and phone number and you give it to them.”

Crunch!

They turned back to the sofa.

During the dog nappers’ hysteria, their kidnap victim had discovered a monster-sized can of cheese curls, opened it, spilled the cheesy food across the sofa, and proceeded to munch on it—smearing an orange stain from one end of the sofa to the other.

“Ernie?”

“Yeah, Bert?”

“You do realize the rental company will take the cost of cleaning that sofa out of our deposit?”

“We’ll cover it up with a blanket and they’ll never notice until we’re long gone.”

Rrripp!

Enraged by a cheese curl that attempted to escape by dropping back behind a cushion, Gnarly grabbed one corner of the back of the sofa and shook violently until he ripped the cover from the back of the sofa to expose the foamy cushion inside the upholstery.

“I don’t think we can cover that up, Ernie.”

The upholstery flew.