Something about the ladder got Gulliver’s attention. But before he could figure out what, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. It was the vet clinic calling.
“Gulliver Dowd,” he answered.
“Hi, Mr. Dowd. This is Mia from Dr. Prentice’s office.”
He remembered Mia very well. How pretty she was. How she had looked at him. He liked the way she had looked at him. But he had felt a twinge of pain too. He remembered how a girl in college had looked at him and his handsome face with pity.
What a waste
, the girl had said.
What a waste
. That memory haunted him. He hated pity more than anything else, but he’s never let it hold him back.
“Please call me Gulliver. What can I do for you, Mia?”
“Dr. Prentice needs to see you. It’s about your dog, Ugly.”
Instantly he was worried. “Is there something wrong?”">REED FARREL COLEMAN”ho!
“I’m not sure. The doctor says he needs to see you. Please come into the office, Mr. Dow—Gulliver. As soon as you can.”.1//EN" "http:
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e wasn’t far off. Ugly wasn’t from another planet. But something the vet had found on him was from a strange place. A faraway place. Prentice pulled up a two-step ladder for Gulliver to stand on and asked him to look into the microscope.
“It looks like a bug,” Gulliver said.
Prentice nodded. “Yes, Mr. Dowd. It’s a bug. A very odd insect.”
Gulliver was confused. “So what, Doc? The dog must have been covered in all sorts of things. That’s why I brought him in here. So you guys could clean him off and fix him up.”
“He was in pretty good shape,” Prentice said. “Dirty. Smelly. Full of fleas and such. But still in pretty good shape.”
“Then what’s the problem, Doc?”
“Come with me, Mr. Dowd.”
Gulliver followed Prentice into his office. The vet sat down behind his desk. He tapped out something on his computer keyboard.
“Ah. Here we go,” he said, turning the screen to face Gulliver. “See that insect there?” He pointed at the picture on the screen.
“That flea? Is that what was on Ugly?”
“Well, no, Mr. Dowd. It isn’t a flea at all. It is a flea beetle.”
“So it’s a flea beetle. What am I not seeing?”
“Flea beetles are common enough, Mr. Dowd…but not in New York.”
“What?”
“That’s right. We found a few dead fleabeetle larvae on Ugly. I had to call a friend at Cornell to help me identify this insect. Even more strange is that flea beetles are leaf eaters. Odd that I should find them in the fur of a Brooklyn street dog.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Like I told Mia, Ugly belongs to a kid named Ellis Torres. I found the dog for him as a favor. I figured I would get the dog fixed up before I gave him back.”
“I have to ask. Is there any chance this dog has been to India within the last few weeks?”
Gulliver laughed. “C’mon, Doc. Are you joking? I just told you—”
“I know. But I have to report this to the U.S. Department of Agriculture. It would be a very bad thing if these insects took hold here.” The vet cleared his throat. “Is there a chance I could talk to this Ellis Torres boy? I assume he hasn’t been to India either.”
“My guess is he hasn’t even been out of Red Hook. You can ask him yourself. Just not yet.”
“What does that mean?”
Gulliver explained about the kid getting whacked in the head. “He’s in Brooklyn University Hospital. And last I heard, he was still not awake. You can talk to Detective Patrick at the seventy-sixth precinct if you want more info. But that’s all I know.”
Dr. Prentice shook his head. “Very odd. Very odd.”
“I agree. But right now, I’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
“All right, Mr. Dowd. Thank you for coming back in. I will be in touch if I need to speak to you or see you again.”
In the outer office, Mia stopped Gulliver. She was taller than him, though she was no more than five feet herself. She was pretty too, in a way he liked very much. Which was to say she looked nothing like Nina. Nina was dark. Curvy. Husky-voiced. Mia was petite. Blond. Fair-skinned. Her eyes were blue and earnest. When she got on her knees to rub Ugly’s belly, Gulliver saw just how pretty she was. He hadn’t been able to get the way she’d looked at him out of his head.
Ugly was even uglier when he was happy. And when Mia scratched his belly, he got very happy. His crooked tongue stuck out. His eyes got bulgier. And his belly sagged to one side. At least God had the same sense of humor with dogs as with humans.
Mia looked at Gulliver and said, “I’m sorry I had to bother you. Dr. Prentice wouldn’t stop asking me to call you. He was in a hurry to get you in. To speak with you.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad I got to see you again…even if you only love me for my ugly dog.” He smiled at her in a way he almost never smiled at anyone.
“He’s not so bad, really. Besides, it’s not Ugly I want to ask to dinner.”
“You’re asking me to dinner?” Gulliver was shocked.
“I am,” she said.
His heart thumped hard in his chest. “Tonight?”
“Tomorrow is better.”
His smile got bigger. “Tomorrow then. Should I come get you?”
“I’ll come by for you, if that’s okay?”
“Fine.” He gave >
G
ulliver took Ugly to the loft. He had to admit, the dog was good company. But he didn’t want his focus divided. He was going back to Ferris Street to ask about the kid. He knew there were things people wouldn’t tell the cops. Some people didn’t like cops. Or trust them. And some cops could be bullies. No one liked bullies. Gulliver knew that all too well. Until he got out of high school, he’d spent every day of his life being bullied. Cops aside, many folks just didn’t think that what other people did was any of their affair.
There was stuff people might tell a private detective that they wouldn’t tell the cops. PIs wanted answers, not arrests. And there was something Gulliver could do that the cops couldn’t. He could spread cash around. It was amazing how a little money improved people’s memories. Sure, people lied for the money. Some people lied no matter what. But there were times when money helped cut through all that. A good PI knew how to sort the lies from the truth. And Gulliver was a really good PI.
Ferris Street was like any other street by the docks. What happened here happened behind warehouse walls. Or factory walls. Or fences with razor wire. You couldn’t tell much by looking in from the outside. The only things you could see from the street were trucks or cars passing in and out of driveways. Gulliver decided to start by knocking on the doors of the few apartments and private houses scattered among the businesses.
The first two he tried got him nowhere. Either nobody was home or nobody answered. People didn’t like coming to the door for strangers. And Gulliver Dowd was stranger than most. He understood that. There were times he’d seen folks peeking out at him from behind curtains or window shades.
He felt good about the third door. There was a big water bowl on the stoop. Cat and dog food on paper plates on the welcome mat. Whoever lived here had a soft heart for strays. He was willing to bet that Ugly had eaten more than one meal here. An old woman came to the door when he knocked.
“What can I do fer ya, boyo?” she asked in an Irish lilt. She had a mop of white hair. Her skin was wrinkled and spotted with age. But her green eyes sparkled like a child’s.
He gave her a business card and introduced himself.
“A real private investigator. Yer jokin’. Yer such a wee slip of man.”
Gulliver winked. “Mustn’t judge the gift by the wrapping, mother,” he said in his best Irish accent.
It was weird how Gulliver’s looks helped him do his job. His lack of height. His uneven legs. His too-large head. The things that often made his life a struggle worked for him in his job. His looks threw people off-balance. They didn’t know what to make of him. That put him at an advantage. And for some reason, strangers didn’t like lying to him.
“Yer right, Mr. Dowd. Forg ive my rudeness. I’m Mary Shea.”
“Nice to meet you, Mary Shea.”
“So, Mr. Dowd. What is it yer thinkin’ I can do fer ya?”
He described Ellis Torres.
She smiled with a mouth full of well-worn teeth and said, “The lad who lives across the ways in the warehouse there?”
“That’s him. The boy with the ugly dog.”
Her face went cold. “Ugly, is it? Now who is it judgin’ the gift by the wrappin’?”
Gulliver raised his palms up. “That’s what the kid calls the dog. Ugly.”
“Well,” she said with a wink, “I suppose the wee bugger is a beastly bastard. Sweet pup though. As the day is long. This food here is for him. But he hasn’t been by lately.”
Gulliver explained what had happened to Ellis. How he was taking care of Ugly. How he wanted to find out why the kid had been attacked.
Mary Shea crossed herself and mouthed a silent prayer. “Will the lad recover?”
“He should. Would you tell me anything you can about the boy? Any detail, no matter how small. When you first noticed him? When you saw him during the day? His routine? Did you ever talk to him? Did you ever see anyone bother him?”
Mary invited Gulliver in for tea. She talked about her time in Red Hook. “’Twas a mighty rough place.” About her late husband. “Bill worked the docks until the day he passed.” Her children and grandchildren. “All moved long ago. Just me here with an empty apartment above.” Why she hadn’t spoken to the cops. “I’ve no use for them.” When she got around to Ellis Torres, her eyes sparkled again.
“I used to see him with his mother in the neighborhood. I knew the devil got hold of her from time to time. When he showed up at the warehouse, I knew the devil had her again. We played a game, the lad and me. I would leave a bag of food by that hole in the fence. Books to read. He would pretend they came from God. There was always food for the dog on me stoop. I kept one eye out for him. No one caused him trouble. He caused none to others.”
Gulliver told her Ellis was lucky to have a guardian angel like her. He was a bit disappointed Mary hadn’t given him anything to work with. He stood to go. Thanked her for the tea. Gave her some money. “For the dog and cat food,” he said, pressing the cash into her hand.
She blushed a bit and took it.
She called to him as he hobbled away. “Dowd. That’s Irish. Isn’t it?”
He turned back to her. “It is. I chose it. I don’t know what I am, really. I was adopted.”
“Yer a good soul, Gulliver Dowd. Bless ya.”
He couldn’t speak. He took another step.
“Mr. Dowd.”
He turned back. “Yes, Mary.”
“You did say to tell ya anything at all. No matter how small the detail.”
“I did,” he said.
“Well, the other night…”
He stepped toward her. “What about the other night?”
“Somethin’ woke me from me sleep. After fifty years I’m used to the sounds of the harbor. This was different. First a truck rumbled down the street. Men were shoutin’ at one another. Then there was some god-awful shrieking. ’Twas ungodly, I tell ya. Echoin’ down these streets. Scared the bejeezus out of me.” She crossed herself again. “Wailin’ like a banshee. Do you know of banshees?”
“I’ve heard of them. I don’t know about them.”
“They’re omens of death.”
“Do you remember which direction the truck went? Where the shrieking came from?” he asked.
“Down by the warehouse,” she said. “Do ya suppose the banshees have anything to do with what happened to the boy?”
“I don’t know, Mary. But I mean to find out.”
The first thing he did after leaving Mary’s house was head back to the warehouse. He walked around the whole of the building. At least as much as the sto.
W
hen he got back to the loft, Gulliver was beat. He had spent the rest of the afternoon on Ferris Street. Homes. Warehouses. Whatever. If it had a door, he knocked on it. If it had a bell, he rang it. Mostly everyone was cool. Eager to help. Happy to talk. Too bad they’d had nothing to say. A lot of guys had seen the kid and his dog—no one who saw Ugly could forget him.
Man, that is one funky-looking animal.
But nobody had come up with anything helpful. Not one person could think of a reason anyone would hurt the kid.
Tired as he was, it felt good to have Ugly there to greet him. When he got this thing with the kid cleared up, he would get a dog. Gulliver would go rescue the runtiest runt at the shelter and make a home for it. Since losing his parents and Keisha, he had forgotten simple joys. He’d forgotten what it was like to have someone happy to see him. To have someone at home he wanted to see. Or maybe he hadn’t forgotten at all. Maybe it just hurt to remember.
He took Ugly for a walk. Fed him. Then they curled up on the couch. They fell asleep watching tv.
It was close to his chest. “d 88z seven when he opened his eyes. He was still groggy. But he saw that Ugly had moved onto his blanket on the floor. The dog was still asleep. Gulliver made himself a quick sandwich. Washed. Brushed his teeth. Then he headed downstairs. He had done enough walking for the day. He got into his new van and took off.
His old one had been destroyed the year before. It happened while he was looking for Nina’s daughter, Anka. Anka’s real father had hoped that blowing up the van would scare Gulliver. Slow him down. Maybe even get him off the case. Not likely. Gulliver often said he was built low to the ground, like a hound. Once he got the scent, he didn’t let it go. He laughed. He and Ugly had a lot in common. This new van was great. It was customized with all the special controls that let him drive it with ease, and it also had cool tech stuff the old van hadn’t.
He wasn’t sure where he was going. He just felt a need to go somewhere. Anywhere. Even though he was a small man, he often felt like the world was closing in on him. Like it was weighing him down. Sometimes he just wanted to get in his van and keep going. To run away. Far away. But he could not escape his problems. Not by running anyway. There would be mirrors to remind him wherever he went. And in the mirror Gulliver Dowd saw the truth of who he was. Of what he was. There was no running from the truth.