Excerpt, part four:
"Hear you cleared the El Camino case," Lieutenant Stine said. "Nice job."
"Luck, mostly," Bernie said.
"And a full confession to boot."
"Chet's doing."
Lieutenant Stine glanced down, saw me. He had a thin face and thin lips, didn't smile much in my experience, but he smiled now, somehow ended up looking a little dangerous. "He's a good interrogator," he said.
"The best," said Bernie.
I thumped my tail.
"Understand a tidy reward went along with that," the lieutenant said. A few stools down the row, a guy in a Hawaiian shirt glanced over.
"No complaints," Bernie said to Lieutenant Stine. "What are you drinking?"
A minute or so later, Bernie and the lieutenant were clinking glasses. I'd lost count of Bernie's bourbons by now; counting isn't my strength, not past two.
"Glad I ran into you," Lieutenant Stine said. "There's a little something that might be up your alley."
"Like what?" Bernie said.
Lieutenant Stine glanced down at me. "Up your alley for sure, come to think of it," he said. "And potentially lucrative besides."
"You have our attention," said Bernie.
Lieutenant Stine lowered his voice, but nowhere near out of my range. Have I mentioned the sharpness of my hearing yet, or was that just about my teeth? At that very moment, for example, I could hear a woman huddled over a cell phone at a table clear across the room saying "They're upping my medication." That sounded so interesting, I missed the beginning of the lieutenant's remark, tuning in in time to catch "...Great Western Dog Show."
"Never heard of it," Bernie said.
"I'm surprised," said the lieutenant. "There's been a lot of publicity." Bernie shrugged. I loved that shrug of his. If only I could do that! I gave it a try, but all that happened was the hair on my back stood up on end. "...coming to the Arena end of next week," the lieutenant was saying. "Used to be in Denver, but the mayor lured them here."
"Why?"
"For the money it'll bring into the Valley, what else?"
"What money?"
"Hotel bookings, food and drink, all the tourist **bleep**," said Lieutenant Stine. "The flowers alone come to a quarter mill."
"Flowers?" Bernie said.
"Exactly," said the lieutenant. "The Great Western crowd is a certain class of people — happens to be the mayor's favorite class, actually."
"I thought he was the reform guy."
"You're not alone."
"So what does he want me to do?" Bernie said, knocking back more bourbon. "Give the welcoming address?"
Lieutenant Stine laughed. There was something metallic in the sound; it gave me a bad feeling, deep inside my ears. "Not quite," he said. "In fact, he didn't single you out per se — it's even possible he's never heard of you, believe it or not — he just wants someone like you."
"To do what?"
The lieutenant lowered his voice some more. "Bodyguard duty."
"Nope."
"Nope? Just like that?"
"We don't do bodyguard duty."
"What about the Junior Ramirez case?"
"That's why."
"This is different. First, it pays two grand a day. Second, next to a psychotic like Junior Ramirez, this client's a walk in the park." Lieutenant Stine laughed that metallic laugh again. "Just about literally," he said.
"Two grand?" Bernie said.
"And a bonus at the end wouldn't be a stretch."
"Who's the client?" Bernie said. And, despite my memories of guarding Junior Ramirez — especially that incident with the ice cream and the razor blade — I was glad. Our finances were a mess, and two grand was two grand, and a whole week of two grands was...well, I'll leave that to you.
Lieutenant Stine reached into his jacket pocket, took out a photo.
"What's this?" Bernie said.
"That's her long name on the back," the lieutenant said.
"'Kingsbury's First Lady Belle.' But for every day I think they call her Princess."
"The client is a dog?"
I sat up. Bernie was gazing at the photo. I could see it, too. One of my guys was in the picture? Where? And then I spotted her: a tiny fluffball with huge dark eyes, reclining on a satin pillow. I knew satin pillows on account of Leda having had one, although it got chewed up in a kind of frenzy, the details of the episode not too clear in my mind. But that satin taste: so strange and interesting, a vivid memory. I glanced around the Dry Gulch bar: no satin in view.
"Not just any dog," said Lieutenant Stine. "Princess is one of the top dogs in the country. She won best in show at Balmoral."
"What's that?"
"You don't know Balmoral? It's on ESPN2 every year, Bernie — the biggest dog show in the country."
"Never heard of it," Bernie said.
