Toby spent a lot of his free time with Indian. The great pink tongue washing over his face was the kiss of a beloved. He yearned for the animal as a young poet for an older woman of gentle beauty. He knew Indian could never be his, yet he dreamt of the dog, and his heart quickened as he approached its run. He became obsessed with Indian. He fretted, he brooded, he began to lose weight. One afternoon, working with some of Indian's pups, he was struck by the sudden revelation that Indian lived in his offspring, that while Indian himself was denied him, he could, if he were willing, possess one of Indian's sons for his own; and later in the day, while he was stroking Indian's wide head and telling him of the idea, the big dog sitting before him with eyes half closed in pleasure, Toby felt that Indian grasped and consented to this and that he would infuse his soul into one of his sons so that he could, in spirit, go off to live with Toby and be happy with him.
Karla von Hanckschloss was the dam Toby picked. She was a hard dog, she gave people trouble. But that was because she was more given to her own life than most, less willing to compromise, and not over-awed by humans.
She required a response of some complexity. Not many persons understood her, or could handle her well. But she was good, maybe even the best of the bitches, if you comprehended her as Toby did. She was a mate for Indian:
They were equals. And through their son, Toby would possess them both.
Theft was necessary, though Toby did not conceive of it as such. He was not a thief or a dishonest person. It was simply the how of acquisition.
Behavior Development did not sell dogs. It either maintained or euthanized its animals, there were no exceptions.
Toby picked a big boned and independent pup, a tough little bluffer who somehow sensed the weight of its heritage but was still months from achieving that weight, and so it playacted the role in a funny blustery way. Toby loved it. He hurt when the pup and two of its litter mates were marked for minimal socialization, which meant he could spend little time with it, but he endured, knowing it wouldn't be long.
He waited until the pup was nearly four months old, because he wanted it to have a leg toward maturity and because it was heavily involved in the stress program the first several weeks and he couldn't be sure someone wouldn't come at any moment to take it off somewhere. But from the time it was thirteen weeks he arrived at work each day prepared to take it and waiting for the opportunity, which wasn't long in coming.
Late one afternoon everyone was occupied somewhere else and the kennel area was empty of personnel. Only loose check was kept on the movements of animals. Handlers were supposed to sign for dogs in the kiosk at the end of the runs, where, nights, an attendant read or watched television and walked the runs every couple of hours to see there were no problems, but no one paid much attention to the regulation and handlers either skipped a couple of dogs or made entries to cover their day's activities before they clocked out.
It was simple. Toby opened the pup's run, snapped a leash to its collar, swung the gate back so that it would appear closed, and walked off across a training field into the woods. He took the pup through the forest to the edge of a backcountry road, the end of BDI's property. The treeline was posted:
PRIVATE PROPERTY
Behavior Development Incorporated
No Trespassing
WARNING
Attack-Trained Dogs Present
Only a handful of dogs were actually guard-trained, and they were kept tightly controlled. But the caution did help keep people out, and since the company enjoyed good relations with the community no one took offense.
Toby replaced the leash with a length of chain so the pup couldn't chew itself free, and secured it to a sapling. He patted the pup.
"Now you wait here," he said. "It's going to be all right. You just see.
You're going to have a home. I'll be back in a couple hours. You be a good boy."
The dog was unconcerned.
Toby went back to work, and two hours later, when he was driving out of the parking lot, his day over, the pup had not yet been discovered missing.
Toby was perspiring. He almost hit a stanchion as he turned onto the highway. He forced himself to breathe slowly and keep even pressure on the gas pedal. His hands were shaking as he entered the woods. The pup was lying down chewing on a stick. It looked up at Toby's approach, wagged its tail once and turned back to the stick. Toby loosed the chain and picked the pup up and hugged it. Tears came to his eyes. He carried it to the car and put it on the rear seat. It investigated, jumped down to the floor and sniffed, and climbed back up. Toby started the car and turned it around.
The pup didn't like the footing on the seat. It went down to the floor again and curled up, yawning.
Toby drove to the shopping center and parked. The pup lifted its head.
Toby said he'd be back in a little while. The pup rested its head back down and closed its eyes. In the supermarket Toby wheeled a cart to the pet section and spent several excited minutes deciding. He bought a water dish and food bowl, a smooth-linked slip collar imported from Germany, a latigo training leash, two hard rubber balls and some chew toys. He bought two dozen cans of good dog food and a fifty-pound bag of meal. Then he hurried through the small list Mrs. Harris had asked him to bring home.
He paid at the register and bounced up and down on the balls of his feet while the clerk packed the bags. He put them in the cart and wheeled them out to the parking lot.
He'd forgotten which lane he'd left the car in. He pushed the cart up and down, searching. He grew anxious. Here, right here, this is where it should be, he was sure. But instead, there was a red station wagon.
He went through the lot again, beginning to panic. A couple of people looked at him uncertainly.
The car wasn't there.
It was impossible, but he couldn't doubt it any longer. He bit his lip, he dug his nails into his palms and he pressed his fist against his cheeks. My puppy!
He left the cart and ran into the coffee shop to the pay phone. He dug in his pocket for a dime. He didn't feel his keys. He tried to remember. He'd set the hand brake he'd turned to tell the pup he'd be right back. He'd taken the keys from the ignition… No, he couldn't remember doing that, only getting out… Oh goddamn!
He dialed the operator, agonizing over the delay before she answered.
"Give me the police," he said. "Hurry."
Cheryl was fifteen but looked twenty, which was one of the problems; she'd been bedded first when she was twelve, and many times since. Her stepfather had caught her twice and beaten her so badly she'd had to stay home from school. He was a rotten bastard who hurt her for doing with boys what he wanted to do with her himself. He'd tried once, but when she'd told her mother, her mother had only slapped her and called her a lying slut. Her mother drank as much as her stepfather did.