Want to see the beginning of Thereby Hangs A Tail, #2 in the Chet and Bernie series? Yes? No?
The perp looked around – what nasty little eyes he had! – and saw there was nowhere to go. We were in some kind of warehouse, big and shadowy, with a few grimy high-up windows and tall stacks of machine parts. I couldn’t remember how the warehouse fit in, exactly, or even what the whole case was all about; only knew beyond a doubt, from those nasty eyes and that sour end-of-the-line smell, a bit like those kosher pickles Bernie had with his BLT’s – I’d tried one; once was enough for the kosher pickles, although I always had time for a BLT – that this guy was the perp. I lunged forward and grabbed him by the pantleg. Case closed.
The perp cried out in pain, a horrible, high-pitched sound that made me want to cover my ears. Too bad I can’t do that, but no complaints – I’m happy the way I am (even if my ears don’t match, something I found out about a while back but can’t get into right now). The perp’s noises went on and on and finally it hit me that maybe I had more than just his pantleg. That happened sometimes: my teeth are probably longer than yours and sharper, too. What was that? Yes, the taste of blood. My mistake, but a very exciting one all the same.
“Call him off!” the perp screamed. “I give up.”
Bernie came running up from behind. “Good work, Chet,” he said, huffing and puffing. Poor Bernie – he was trying to give up smoking again, but not having much luck.
“Get him off! He’s biting me!”
“Chet wouldn’t bite,” Bernie said. “Not deliberately.”
“Not deliberately? What are you – “
“On the other hand, round about now he usually likes to hear a confession.”
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