Chet The Dog

Posts Tagged ‘Ray’

Chez Nous

What I wanted to do, and pretty badly, was grab Foster by the pant leg. It was pretty clear to me by now that he had to be a perp, but if he was an FBI dude, then how was that possible? One idea was to just grab him by the pant leg anyway and let things get sorted out later. I couldn’t think of another idea. But sometimes all it takes is one idea, or not even. This is all happening at our place on Mesquite Road, in case anybody needs reminding. I know I would.

“You’re saying all that about you having worked for Albie for years was just a lot of blowing smoke?” Bernie said.

“Albie was a hooked fish,” Foster said. “He said what he was told to say.”

“And what did you hook him for?” Bernie said.

“That’s a long story,” Foster said. He turned to Ray. “Which maybe the kid shouldn’t hear. Not unless I take him in, and this may not be the time.

Ray started backing toward the door.

Ellipsis Raises Its Ugly Head

We entered our place at Mesquite Road, me, Bernie, and Ray.

“Looks like there’s no one here,” Bernie said, sounding surprised.

I was surprised that he was surprised, on account of fresh human scent being all over the place. Actually not human scent, but the scent some humans – men in this case – spray on themselves in order to … I’m not sure what. But forget all that, or at least some of it. The point was I’d smelled that spray-on scent on two men, meaning one or both of them were here. The two men were Ratko and Foster. But wasn’t Ratko out of the parade? So that meant …

Homing In

“So where are we headed?” Bernie said. We were in Ray’s car, Ray driving, Bernie beside him, me in back.

Ray glanced at the note Bernie had written on the cocktail napkin. He licked his lips. “How about if that’s a surprise?”

Bernie smiled a little smile. But I didn’t get the surprise part because just before we made any move, like getting off the freeway or turning onto a street, Bernie pointed out the direction. So Bernie was in control, right? Well, why not? When Bernie was in control everything worked out. This urge I was having to kind of sink my teeth into the back of Ray’s neck gradually subsided.

And soon, guess what? We turned onto our own street, Mesquite Road. We were going home? Home is the hunter, Bernie says. Don’t know why that popped into my mind. The mind: a subject for another time.

The Fun Party

Ray read what Bernie had written on the cocktail napkin. Then, kind of mumbly, he said, “I want you to come with me.”

Bernie glanced at Ray’s chest where the wire was concealed behind his shirt. “Didn’t quite hear you,” he said. “Can you speak up a bit?” Bernie had a look on his face like he was having fun. Was this a time for that? Not that I’m against fun. I’m for it, big-time. Once we had an election for mayor of the Valley, and a dude we knew ran on the Fun Party ticket. He got Bernie’s vote, and maybe one or two more.

Ray spoke louder. “I want you to come with me.”

“Yeah?” said Bernie. “Where?”

“My dad wants to see you.”

“I figured that,” said Bernie. “But where?”

Ray glanced around the bar. We were at Dry Gulch, in case I forgot to point that out. He looked scared. “Maybe better if I just guide you to the place.”

“Better for who?” said Bernie.