Posts Tagged ‘Freddie Dancer’

Duct Ducks


August 27th, 2009 Posted 11:23 am

“Sis?” said Bernie. “Meaning this gentleman – ” He pointed with his chin at Trimmer. Love when Bernie points with his chin. He has a very nice chin. Some humans have almost no chin at all. I never like the sight of that. “Meaning this gentleman,” he was saying, “is your brother?”

“He’s no gentleman,” said Portia. “I want to make a deal.”

“Portia, for God’s sake,” said Trimmer.

“Make a deal and it’s the last thing you ever do,” said Freddie Dancer.

Bernie’s face got hard. A minute or so later, Freddie Dancer had a strip of duct tape over his mouth. We can be tough, me and Bernie. Also duct tape has nothing to do with ducks; that confused me for a long time. Once a duck nipped at me, maybe a story for another time.

“What kind of deal?” Bernie said to Portia.


A Tiny Taste of Blood


August 25th, 2009 Posted 8:52 am

Suzie came back. “It’s a blonde with a tiny gun in her hand,” she said. “I think you’d like her.”

“What’s she driving?” Bernie said.

“Audi,” said Suzie. “Tomato red.”

Bernie grabbed the door handle,  jerked the door open, and there was Portia Peters, ex-wife of Kelo, our missing client. The next moment I had her wrist in my mouth and the tiny gun was on the ground. We were a good team, me and Bernie.

“Ow, he’s biting me.”

“I wouldn’t say biting,” Bernie said. “It’s more a clamping thing he does. Chet?”

I let go even though I didn’t really want to. I don’t say no to Bernie.

He pulled Portia inside and closed the door. She took in the sights, namely Freddie Dancer and Trimmer, cuffed and lying on the floor. “You stupid jerks,” she said.

Trimmer raised his head. “Aw, Sis, don’t be that way.”

“Sis?” said Bernie.


A Good Team

1 Comment »

August 24th, 2009 Posted 8:58 am

Another light knock on the front door. At the same time, I smelled the burgers cooking on the patio – maybe cooking a bit too much, but I’m not fussy about things like that. Leda – Bernie’s ex-wife – was a fussy eater. Wow! So interesting to watch her pushing food around her plate, hardly eating any. Later in the kitchen I always made sure none of that food went to waste. Once she saw me eating off her plate and threw it in the trash. A perfectly good plate, and I had it just about clean, so what was that about?

Something to think about later. Right now there was another soft knock at the door. Bernie glanced down at Freddie Dancer and Trimmer, cuffed on the floor. His face got the way it does when he’s having an important thought. Love that look, and it always mean things will work out.

“Suzie?” he said. “Mind popping into the dining room for a second?” We have this dining room – have I mentioned it already? – where no one ever goes. “You should be able to see our visitor form the little window over the sideboard.”

Suzie nodded and left the room. Freddie Dancer and Trimmer twisted their heads around to look. Bernie put his finger across his lips – that human signal meaning not a peep. He also put his foot lightly on on Freddie Dancer’s back. I liked the sight of that, and put one of my paws on Trimmer’s back. We were a good team, me and Bernie.


By The Pant Leg


August 21st, 2009 Posted 9:32 am

Just as Trimmer yanked the broom closet door open, I noticed something I might have missed before, or maybe had forgotten. Funny how forgetting happens, and then all of a sudden you remember! Does that ever happen to you? For example, I’m not supposed to snap up bacon strips sitting on the kitchen counter, but I forget pretty much every time.

But that’s not the point. The point is Trimmer had a gun – now held at his side as he yanked the door open with his other hand. And then? And then the same thing happened that always happens when the broom closet door opens: stuff came flying out. The iron, for example, which hit Trimmer in the head; and the ironing board, which fell forward and knocked the gun from Freddie Dancer’s hand; and lots of other stuff – baseball bats, tennis racquets, skis – and we don’t even ski, me and Bernie, the only snow I’ve ever seen being on TV – and beach balls, lawn chairs, the broken TV – all too much to take in at the moment, what with how we were getting down to business, me and Bernie, with these perps. Was that screaming coming from Trimmer? I wasn’t even hurting him, had him by the pant leg, that was all. He must have been the type who’s deep-down afraid of me and my kind; the type that makes my job easy.


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