“I think Max was right and Brutus should see a shrink,” said Harriet. “A cat shrink.”
“Or a dog shrink,” said Dooley helpfully.
“Any shrink!” She sighed. “If this keeps up, I just might have to leave him.”
“That would do the trick,” I told her. “If you threaten to leave him, he just might snap out of this delusion, and come home.”
“Do you think the Pooles will take us back?”
“Oh, sure,” I said. “They’ll be very happy to welcome you back. No doubt about it.”
“He’s going for it, you guys,” said Fifi suddenly. “He’s going for number two!”
And as we watched, Brutus assumed the position and deposited a neat little pile of doo-doo on the ground, and in perfect canine fashion, too.
“Good boy!” said Ted, and with a flourish took a little plastic baggie from his pocket.
“Gee, thanks, Ted,” said Brutus, looking very pleased with himself. “I didn’t know I had it in me.”
“It’s happening,” said Dooley. “He’s turning into a dog, and he doesn’t even need surgery!”
“This is a nightmare,” said Harriet, shaking her head. “An absolute nightmare.”
“It could be worse,” I said. “He could be…”
Suddenly Brutus started gamboling around like a dog, yapping and jumping up and down.
“… prancing.”
“Don’t come over here,” Harriet murmured. “Please don’t come over here.”
But of course Brutus did come over here, and announced, as he kept practicing his prancing moves,“Hey, you guys. I just had a great idea. From now on I’m denouncing the name Brutus. From now on I want to be called… Rambo!”
“The fever is getting worse, Max,” Dooley whispered. “Soon he’ll be beyond salvage.”
“You can say that again,” I whispered back.
From the corner of my eye, I suddenly thought I detected movement. And when I turned in the direction of the movement, I saw a man, hiding behind a tree, holding up his smartphone, and filming us!
“Look!” I called out. “That guy is filming us!”
“What man?” asked Harriet, looking in the direction indicated. “Oh, you’re right, Max. That man is actually filming us.”
“Isn’t that an invasion of privacy, Max?” asked Dooley.
“You bet it is,” I said. “Hey, fella! You have to stop that!” I called out. But of course the man couldn’t understand a word I said, and just kept on filming. He was a bearded individual, with a round face, and looked to be in his early twenties. He was dressed in cargo pants and a Star Wars T-shirt.
“Maybe he’s a movie producer,” said Harriet hopefully. “Or a Hollywood scout?”
“Why would a Hollywood scout scout out a dog park?” I asked.
“Casting parts in a new movie or TV series?”
“Is that man bothering you, Max?” asked Rufus.
“Yes, he most certainly is,” I told my friend the sheepdog.
“Fifi, let’s get him,” said Rufus, and Fifi barked in excited agreement. Dogs always like to chase something, you see, whether it’s a ball or a Hollywood scout.
And so they set out to catch this man, or chase him away. The guy, when he saw that he’d been well and truly busted, chose to beat an urgent retreat, and took off.
“Hey!” Rufus called out. “Hey, you there!”
But the man was running at full tilt, and since Rufus is a big lumbering sheepdog, and Fifi is a very tiny Yorkie, they were no match for him, unfortunately, and even less so when he mounted a flashy mountain bike and pedaled off at a high rate of speed.
“Max!” said Harriet, as she gave me a slap on the arm. “You just chased away my talent scout! Now the world will never know what a formidableartiste I am!”
And a good thing, too, I would have said, though I merely thought these words, not actually spoke them out loud. Hey, I don’t have a death wish, thank you very much!
14
Odelia arrived at Carl’s mansion feeling hopeful. She didn’t know what had made the golfer change his mind but she was sure her efforts that afternoon had something to do with it. She’d pleaded Erica’s case with poise and grace and without getting on her high horse and calling the obstinate golfer all kinds of names when he refused to budge.
Oddly enough the front gate was open so she drove right in. She would have expected a man of Carl’s stature to have a small contingent of security people guarding him around the clock, but as she zoomed along the gravel drive and up to the house she encountered none of them. That afternoon at the golf course she’d spotted at least two or three of his security detail, keeping a discreet distance, but now she didn’t see any.
She parked in front of the house and got out. The front door was open, which was also a little bizarre, but then she figured he’d probably told his people that she was coming, and had asked them to leave the door ajar so she could step right in.
“Carl?” she called out as she entered the front hall. “Mr. Strauss?”
The lights were dimmed, but she could see that the place was very nicely decorated, with golfing memorabilia welcoming Carl’s guests. There were glass display cases holding his many trophies, and even one with what looked like a golden golf club.
She decided to walk right through, hoping Carl hadn’t forgotten about their appointment, or had had a change of heart at the last minute. A big sports celebrity like him probably had dozens of balls in the air, no pun intended, and plenty of people wanting to encroach upon his precious leisure time.
She walked through to what looked like a large living room, with comfortable white leather couches set in front of a very large TV screen bolted to the wall, where a greatest hits video was playing showcasing Carl’s golfing prowess. The man clearly loved watching himself in action.
“Mr. Strauss?” she called out again, then moved beyond the living room and into the next room, which was the library. And when that proved empty, she walked into the man’s office, dominated by a large mahogany desk and more golfing trophies. Also framed pictures of Carl with presidents and other sports heroes. And as she moved into the direction of the man’s desk, that’s when she saw him: on the floor between the desk and the window behind it, Carl was lying face down on the carpet, a large gash on his head, and a golf club lying nearby, blood on the business end of the makeshift weapon.
“Carl!” she called out, and knelt down next to the fallen golfer. She felt for a pulse, and was relieved to find one, though extremely weak. Immediately she took out her phone, but before she could dial 911, suddenly she heard a noise, and when she looked up she saw five dark figures spring up from behind a Chesterfield, and sprint for the door.
“Hold it!” she yelled, and went in pursuit of the figures, who were carrying bulky gym bags. They were quick off the mark, but she was no slouch either, and gave good pursuit. They were out and onto the patio in seconds, and then hauling ass in the direction of the fence lining the property. Odelia was giving it all she had, and as she gained on one of the figures, suddenly the person tripped over a root or a branch and did a face plant, and immediately she was on top of them and held the hooded figure down. The others, unfortunately, were scaling the fence as she watched and were out of sight in moments. She heard the noise of scooters’ engines gunning, and the noise disappeared into the night.
“Don’t move,” she told the person she caught. He or she was writhing and bucking, trying to shift Odelia’s weight and get away.
“Get off me!” said the figure, and when Odelia turned the person around, and yanked down the hood, she saw that it was a young girl, a teenager still, with purple hair, looking very upset at being caught.
“Did you do that?” Odelia demanded. “Did you hit Carl over the head just now?”
“No, I didn’t. Let me go!”
“Not a chance,” she said, and this time she did dial 911. “You’re the Hampton Heisters, aren’t you? You and your friends?”