Frank was still shopping for a channel in the living room, finding nothing appealing. He barked something about breakfast to Sherry, but again she couldn’t hear him. She slid a plate of waffles onto the counter as the Sparky emerged from the stairs.
She looked at him nervously.
“Frank said you were vegan, I hope waffles are okay.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He had never eaten a waffle.
“Frank, breakfast!”
He slid into the room as she dumped the food on a plate in a giant heap. The dog looked up to the counter and then at the bar stool. Sherry quickly pulled the plate down and set it on the floor.
Sparky thoroughly enjoyed the waffles, especially when garnished with syrup. Over the course of his meal, he answered many of the Sherry’s questions about what she read, and filled in the spaces of their journey so far. She was not surprised to hear that much of the tabloid’s printing was exacerbated.
“And so we are out of cash, out of gas and found your barn a safe place to camp for the night,” he polished off the last bite.
Sherry was leaning on her hands across the counter.
“I’ve got some,” she said plainly. “But I don’t think driving in a stolen car is good, the police will be looking for it. We should take my car. I’ll drive!”
Chapter 56
The metal cuffs grated sharply into Basil’s wrists. He had been planted by the sheriff some time ago; left to sweat in a supply closet with two folding chairs and a card table in the middle. He read the names of the spray bottles on the bottom shelf for the sixth time. It occurred to him that he hadn’t cleaned his oven. He would need to get right on that, when he got back home.
The door opened. The officer that entered was dressed in a gray suit.
“Damn it, I’m a cop! You can’t hold me here! I know my rights! I want an attorney and my phone call and,” Basil strained, “and some coffee!”
The man turned to face him directly with a bewildered look on his face. Basil looked over the man’s suit and realized it was a one-piece jumpsuit. On his chest was a white name tag. On that name tag, written very neatly in cursive, was his name. Gene. In smaller straight text was stitched “Janitor.”
Gene smiled nervously. He reached over and grabbed a roll of work towels and a bottle of window cleaner. He spun about and walked out, the door sealing itself.
Basil struggled with his cuffs in the chair. The chair was flimsy and flopped over with him chained to it. The metal folded about his hands and pinched his skin. As he righted himself he fell against the wall. The blanket that he’d been covered with fell aside, exposing him to the cold chill of the room.
“Damn it, somebody help me!”
No one came.
He remained prone another minute before trying to correct his position a second time. At first he slid back, but the chair hit the wall and one if its legs jabbed the back of his thigh. Basil then tried sliding forward and lifting himself up, but lost his balance and fell against the shelves holding the cleaning supplies.
He had collided against a bottle of household bleach, it was teetering against his shoulder. Slowly he lifted himself and pushed the bottle back in on the shelf.
He sighed with relief.
Basil slid away from the cabinet and carefully tried to pull himself to his feet. Slowly he climbed to his knees. He steadied himself on them with pride and extended his left leg out, cautious not to fall. The wary man then lifted himself to his feet and if not for the attached chair would have jumped for joy.
In that moment the sheriff swung open the storage room door and the handle decisively struck the naked Basil in his exposed genitals. He went fetal on the floor.
“Fxn ta scape?, Lwlif zity poe-leece,” the man grumbled averting his eyes from the fallen naked man.
“Getzup! No firk’en pride.”
The sheriff unlocked the handcuffs, keeping his eyes glued to the ceiling.
Basil seized the blanket from the floor and wrapped it around himself. He proudly stood, happy to finally be off the floor. The sheriff raised an eyebrow at him.
“Youza ain’tz gettun fun-nee iz yaz?”
“I really am not in the mood.”
“Wellz, dun’t cum fer meez if ya iz!”
Jeb walked out, Basil followed.
In the main office of the police station, the face of the building was all glass, and conveniently placed in the center of the small town. Locals were looking in, gawking at Basil in only a blanket. A few chuckled. Basil returned their amusement with a harsh glare.
“We got word from Winnipeg. CBI office there says you're clear, but they advised us you are on orders to come back in,” Deputy Darrell informed him, handing over some clothes. “We tried to guess your size, but these are all donations.”
“Well, can we at least get my car back? I can’t get back to the city without it. Should be easy, it’s lo-jacked.”
The sheriff nodded. “Ray, getzum in tha harn an letzum knowz weza gettun beck da mens cah.”
The detective grumbled, looking over the faded pants and pink shirt with stains on it. He could hardly believe he was still being ordered to return home. It didn’t matter, he was getting his goat.
Chapter 57
“I realize the irony in this, but this is no place for a human to get involved. I appreciate the offer, but I’m not taking your car.”
“You have to let me come, I want to help you.”
“Sherry, your parents would want you home safe. As a father I can preach for the pain of not having your kids around.”
“I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
“I’m not letting you come with us.”
“She does have a point about the car, goat! Ours is rigged!” Frank yelled from the other room.
Sparky left his spot at the counter and walked into the living room. Frank was still stretched out on the leather sofa, watching an old black and white movie.
“You know I don’t feel colorblind when I watch these, do you know how liberating that is?”
“What do you mean about the car being rigged?”
“Oh, it’s got one of those anti-theft things. I don’t remember what they call them, but they make a terrible sound. It’s bothered me since we switched cars.”
“Why didn’t you say something before?”
“I did.”
“No you didn’t.”
Frank turned and looked at the goat, his eyes were glossed over. “You know what, you’re right, I didn’t. Sorry about that.”
“I’ve got to get that car cleaned out.”
“Let me help you, where is it?”
Sparky was trapped in thought about being captured by the police; two narrow escapes had been enough. “By the roadside. In the brush, near your driveway.”
“Let’s get it cleaned out.”
Frank rolled over and looked at Sherry, “Do you have any more of that meat? It was so good.”
“Not now Frank, we need to clean out the car.”
“We this, we that, I swear, we are still hungry.”
Sherry and Sparky headed outside, she handed him a coat at the door. The two quickly jogged down the hill to the stolen car.
“Where is it?” Sherry asked.
It was nowhere to be seen.
“I drove off over here, into this bank, see the bushes,” he pointed over. The two went to where he advised, but the car was not there. “Oh no.”
He took a few more steps. Over the edge of a small ravine he could see the back end of the car sticking out of the foliage.
“I think you forgot the parking brake.”
“The what?” Sparky put his face in his hoof. “They really should come with instruction manuals.”
“They do.”
“Oh.”
Sparky looked down the embankment. Although it was deep, it wasn’t too steep. He vigilantly climbed down the hill and marched over the brambles the car was stuck in.
“Need some help?”
Sherry called down.
“No, stay there, I can get it.”
He quickly raided the front of the car; collecting Basil’s bag and the scattered files. He tossed his disguise into the bag. He passed over the gun on the floor in the passenger’s seat, he despised it. With his coat over his shoulder he placed his new hat atop his horns.
When he emerged Sherry covered her face. Sparky knew she was laughing.
“Nice hat.”
“Thanks.”
As he reached the top, the young lady extended her arm and pulled him back up, level with herself.
“You don’t travel light do you?”
“Most of this isn’t mine. It belongs to the detective.”
She waved her finger disapprovingly, “Stealing a policeman’s car and personal belongings isn’t exactly low profile.”
“Well neither is having horns and a fluffy tail.”
“A goat’s gotta do, what a goat’s gotta do!”
“Why are you helping me?”
The girl swallowed over a lump in her throat from being put on the spot.
“I don’t know. I caught you two in the barn and at first I wasn’t sure what to do, but as I sat there watching you, I remembered all the times I wished my stuffed animals could talk.” Her voice trailed off, they were almost back up to the house. “This is ten times better.”
“I truly appreciate it.”
“It’s no trouble at all. I still insist you should take my car, even if you won’t take me.”
“I don’t want you to be put out. I can’t promise that I will be able to bring it back. I’m making this up as I go.”
“Well, you won’t make it to Montreal without a ride.”
The two walked into the living room. The TV was still playing the black and white film, but Frank was gone.
“Frank?”
“Frank?” Sherry echoed.
They both listened quietly, frozen in the doorway. A muffled sound crept over the counter in the kitchen. Sparky walked lightly on his hooves across the living room, stretching to see over the counter. Sherry stayed close behind.
“Frank? Is that you?”
Sherry looked around to find anything Sparky could use to defend himself and readily seized an umbrella from the coat rack. The goat looked at the contraption she offered, not sure why she had given it to him. Sherry made a striking gesture with her arm. He nodded and held the umbrella out before him, prepared for anything. Another step. He was waving the device menacingly in front of him.
“Frank?”
Sparky leaned over the counter to see Frank flat on his back, not moving. He bolted around the counter, stumbling over his own feet. One hoof caught the counter for balance, the other accidentally triggered the umbrella. The fabric and wire shot out, startling the dog.
Frank jumped upright, dropping the bottle that was in his hands. Red liquid spilled out over the floor.
“Frank!”
“You didn’t tell me you had wine!” Frank picked the bottle back up. “Good wine, too!”
Chapter 58
Basil was less than happy about trying to locate his were-goat with Sheriff Jeb “The Jibster” Jenkins, who was being nice enough to take the detective personally to his car.
Basil did feel gracious in a way. But it was the same graciousness that he used to have for his Aunt Edward. Eddie. Her father had chosen the name because she had been born a man. Aunt Eddie was always very sweet and always very loving, but she also had a five o’clock shadow. She would always stare at him when she came by, which fortunately for Basil wasn’t too often.
When Aunt Eddie did come by, she would always want so much attention from her little Bas. It made him strangely uncomfortable. Aunt Eddie would always conclude their conversations with “If only I could have my own children,” and then let him run off with a new toy.
Basil felt exactly the same about Sheriff Jeb as his Aunt, but even for a king’s ransom, he couldn’t have explained why.
“D’ju’on gizzle?”
Basil nodded silently.
Jeb adjusted himself in the seat. They had been on the road for some time; following the information from lo-jack they had learned the vehicle was only a couple of hours away. Basil was pleased that it was no longer moving.
“We’ll catch them sleeping.”
He was excited. He would finally have his glory. Sparky would not elude him this time. If it came down to it the he would fire on him. He was a crack shot, the goat would live.
“Gr’s kn’wowly ex-hima?”
Basil leaned back in his seat a little further. He closed his eyes in exhaustion. Flashes of his Aunt Eddie came to him and he raised his lids. He looked over at the sheriff who was pursing his lips into the rear view mirror.
“Is the weather always like this?”
Jeb again resettled himself in the seat. He looked over and smiled at the detective. “Yupins.”
“How long till we get there?” Asking questions was keeping Jeb from doing the same. He was far more comfortable with it than the unintelligible questions the local man was throwing at him, which left him nodding in ignorance.
“Sis too-in lik a bon, chuit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sis te-in dor twoon-tee mensuts.”
“Oh.”
Jeb steered off the highway onto a side exit. Basil didn’t catch the sign. The small roadway was paved but in much need of repair. The broken asphalt was being pushed apart by creeping grass. It was a rough ride.
“Ses a moo-dar rek-in lik a bon yis-yago,” the man coughed clearing his throat. “Poo lille gwirl boot swevwen. Sham-on, sim-sham-on.”
“Very interesting,” he thought he made out enough of the man’s short story. Little girl, murder. Something like that. Jeb didn’t sound all that interested either.
“Ses-bro-deer, wez-inly te-welb.”
Brother, age twelve. Basil was starting to get the hang of this. It was like a game of some kind. It wasn’t all that much fun but it would pass the time.
“Ching-a ding, uze-en dat sis-a-gworl fer squatter-bingin.”
The man’s dialect was one thing to decipher, but when the statement ended in his backcountry slang it was like a train wreck. Basil rubbed his forehead. It was starting to ache.
“Squatter-bingin?”
Jeb licked at his teeth. “Yupins.”
“I don’t follow.”
Jeb again moved himself in his seat. Basil was starting to worry that at any juncture the man might pull his gun, or try and get his way with him. Basil thought it may be better if he didn’t ask any further questions.
“Squatter,” the man stuck his tongue out and slapped it back and forth between his lips. “Bing-” he stretched the word. “-en.”
Basil turned away in disgust.
Jeb sighed, realizing the man had misinterpreted what he was trying to say once again. He grunted to get Basil’s attention again.
Basil turned back and the man had his hands extended in front of him grasping at the air. Basil squinted his eyes. He didn’t like how this stranger was playing more upon the torture of the little girl with his hand gestures.
“I’m not sure how you are around here but we speak with dignity where I am from.”
Jeb slammed on the brakes and halted the car. He climbed out, leaving the keys in the ignition.
Basil watched as Jeb walked around the front of the vehicle and opened his door. He reached in to pull him free from the car, but Basil struggled. Jeb unclamped his pistol and Basil gave in. He slid out of his seat with his back against the car.
Normally he would be above begging for his life, but this was his second time at gunpoint while unarmed in just a few hours. He started to think of good reasons why he should not be executed.
Jeb turned away from him. Basil watched closely, shivering in the chill of the outside air. Jeb waved his arm over his head, pointing to a tree. Basil leaned in to catch a glimpse of what the man was looking at, seeing only leave
s.
A small rodent galloped across the branch.
“Squatter.”
Basil looked intently as the little brown squirrel jumped to another branch. The small creature sat down, holding a nut between its paws. He began to settle down, sensing the sheriff meant no harm after all.
His peace was shattered by a gunshot. Basil’s calm expression turned to sadness as the little animal succumbed to gravity. The little rodent collided with a branch and then hit the ground.
Jeb turned around, still waving his gun. “Bingin.”
Basil didn’t make eye contact with the man. He climbed back into the car and closed the door. Jeb climbed into the driver’s seat and started up his car again. He looked over with a very tight glare.
“Squatter-bingin.”
“I get it.”
Chapter 59
“Thank you so much for breakfast,” Sparky felt that he had truly overstayed his welcome the moment Frank had raided the wine cellar.
“You’re more than welcome, I wish I had more to give you, but at least you can get a few hundred kilometers, I’m sure you’ll figure something out by then.”
“I hope so,” Sparky turned to the dog that waddled into the room with a backpack saddled loosely at his back. Glass bottles clacked together as he walked. “No Frank, bad dog.”
“You’re not my dad, goat. I can take what I want.”
“I’ll take that, I might need that for school,” she patted Frank on the head. “You wouldn’t want me to fail, would you?”
“Don’t play on sympathy, that’s my job,” he walked through the open door, turning when he had almost reached the car. “Thanks for the meat.”
“You’re more than welcome here any time. Preferably sober though, okay?”
“You’re just as bad as the sheep.”
Frank climbed into the car and out of sight.
“You sure it’s okay that I take your car?”
Sherry bent forward and wrapped her arms around Sparky. “I would have done it for my Teddy.”
“I’ll bring it back.”
“I know you will, maybe that’s why I’m giving it to you. I wouldn’t mind seeing you again.”
Sparky would always enjoy some benefits as a goat. Not needing clothing to be warm, bathrooms were always available no matter who was watching and at that moment no matter how much he blushed, his fuzzy face would never reveal it.
“Thanks Sherry.”
Sparky opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat.