The Goat

  Sherry’s mouth draped open. “You hung up, again?”

  “He’s yelling and not listening to me at all. What am I supposed to do?”

  There was hardly a moment before, again, the phone rang. Sparky picked up. He didn’t say a word.

  Basil started after a long silence. “Hello?”

  “This is Sparky.”

  “Why are you yelling at me? I have the hostage!” Frustration had Basil ready to strangle the phone.

  “Why are you yelling at me?”

  “Because I’m angry!” Sparky should suffer. It was only fair. The ridicule at the office, the shame of being left naked in the woods, the torment of Jeb Jenkins talking about, well, every damn thing the man said was torment. Basil was through with it all. Sparky would submit, Sparky would...he stopped his line of thought. The line was again silent.

  “Did you hang up again?" Basil could hear breathing, "Hello?”

  Sparky sighed into the phone. “You talk to me without yelling or I’m hanging up.”

  “I have the hostage!” Basil adamantly refused to hear one word of it.

  Sparky closed the phone.

  Sherry tilted her head, confused by Sparky's willful disobedience. “Aren’t you worried about Frank?”

  “Nah, he won’t hurt him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You said it yourself, he wants us both, for money. He needs us alive. He can’t even think about catching me holding a dead Frank.”

  “But Basil might torture him,” she replied.

  “He’s a tough dog. He won’t put up with...” The phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Don’t hang up!” Basil screamed with all of his lungs.

  Sparky flipped the phone shut, this time shaking his head at the device. “He’s not very nice, is he?”

  Sparky started humming.

  Sherry hoped Sparky was right. She remembered riding with the detective, and admitted to herself that he didn’t seem like a cold-blooded killer. The goat and the girl sat for another minute in silence. The detective didn’t call back. She worried more with each moment that Sparky had been wrong.

  “Are you sure he won’t hurt him?”

  “Well, mostly sure. People tend to surprise me more often than I would like.”

  Sparky was willing to admit that he had limited experience in these matters and could be making matters worse, but before he could, the phone rang. Sparky let it ring a few times.

  “Are you calm now?” Sparky answered.

  “Who is this?” the voice on the other end of the line was not Basil’s.

  “Who is this?”

  “This is Tony,” the man paused. “Basil?”

  Sparky closed the phone.

  Sherry turned to him, “Who was that?”

  “It wasn’t Basil.”

  The phone rang again. “Hee-loo?”

  Basil kept his tone as level as possible. Once he had Sparky, the rules of engagement would change. “If you want to see your dog again, you’ll do exactly what I say.”

  Chapter 73

  Reilly flexed his left arm. He was in the elevator going down to the bottom floor. He needed to make a stop at the storeroom. There was one item of particular necessity for his next assignment. The doctor would be there shortly and had been very specific about what needed to be done beforehand.

  Reilly was very pleased to have been put back in charge of the goat operations. He had gotten concerned that he was on the edge of being let go and it was his very direct experience that people weren’t fired from his division, they were simply executed. The doctor rationalized it to Reilly by the company saving tons on unemployment. It wasn't Reilly's call, he just did as assigned. Reilly didn’t like getting involved with the politics of running a corporation. He preferred to simply take orders from someone and only be responsible for the execution of plans and coworkers.

  The elevator dinged. Reilly strolled out into the hallway dancing. There was no one else on the bottom floor. He and the doctor were the only ones with access. Besides, everyone else was getting the goats ready for the first wave of tests.

  Reilly wanted to murder the goats. He was tired of their smell and attitudes, particularly the one large goat that had yelled at him. It was the same goat that had pounded him when they had tried to water the goats on the road.

  “Sorry boss,” he would say. “He broke out and tried to eat all the donuts, you know how my men love their donuts. We can’t have chaos, can we?”

  The doctor would smile and give him some more money. “Go on vacation, Reilly, you work too hard,” he would say.

  As of yet he had not really been given any time off. He accepted that it came with the territory of being an important person. Reilly was continually in demand. Do this, drive here, kill this, drag it there. It was in many ways his dream job.

  He continued his dance down the hall, one arm raised as if he had a partner. Alone, in the security lights, spinning wildly.

  Reilly started humming a little tune to go with his dance.

  “Oh, oh, oh, oh.”

  Twirling in front of the security door, he swiped his key card and the terminal lit up yellow. He continued his rhythm as he punched the numbers on the keypad. It returned a terrible screech and the indicator went red.

  Reilly stopped his song momentarily. The large man retrieved his key card again. He swiped the card and typed in his numeric code more carefully. The indicator turned red again. The large man leaned against the wall and stared at the panel, trying the process again. Again the pad responded with its red light and rough buzzing.

  “Hmmm.”

  His foot tapped with the music he had been humming, but he wasn’t humming. The sound echoed off the empty hallway. “Aha!” he said, at once tapping his card musically at the top of the reader. He swiped it again, mimicking cymbals being tapped lightly with that metal fan thing; he couldn’t remember what it was called. They used it instead of the drumsticks.

  The light went green. He pushed into the door. He reached inside, again humming as he clicked the light on. The fluorescent illumination brought to life the sterile rows of metal shelving. This room had been sealed for some time. He didn’t know how long really, but the shelves were caked in dust bunnies.

  “The back of the room,” he sang with his little ditty. Reilly tapped his way back beyond the shelves to a small metal lockbox sitting on a narrow table, just where he had been promised it would be. He reached into his left pocket and pulled out a small brass key. He inserted it into the box and popped the lock. The lid sprang open.

  The contents glowed. He reached in and pulled out a small latex glove and frowned. His massive hands would not be accommodated. He turned around the storage room and the archives of medical supplies. He surveyed the shelves persistently, tapping the lid of the tin box melodiously.

  “Oh, oh, oh, oh.”

  He took a few steps back, faking a moonwalk. He bent down and read the label carefully on the box he had spotted. “Surgical gloves, extra large.”

  He secured a pair and pulled them carefully over his hands, snapping the fingers in place. “Looks like a good fit, la, la, la, la.” He stood and turned, taking massive strides forward and then pulling his feet back; truly taking pleasure in composing his symphony.

  He pulled free the contents of the box and held it up high above his head; vocalizing a crescendo. He retreated from the room and headed back to the elevator; holding the prize tightly in his right hand. The doors opened. Reilly stepped in and then jumped back, then stepped in again and turned to the door, swinging his arms dramatically.

  He observed the panel, looking over each of the buttons. He tapped at the side of his face with his left hand, still in harmony. “Mmmm.”

  “Doo-wahh!”

  He extended his finger to the button for the fourth level. The elevator started its ascent. The contraption dinged as he reached the first floor. He slid his hands into his pockets and continued humming. One of the lab technic
ians strolled in. The two men shared casual nods.

  The white-coated technician pressed the button for the third floor. Reilly smiled cordially as the doors closed. Together they rose up two floors to where the doors reopened. The technician departed without a final nod.

  As the doors resealed, Reilly pulled his hands from his pocket, still holding the retrieved prize from the storage room downstairs. The doors opened.

  Much to his delight, Valerie Goldman was standing waiting.

  “Damn it. I can’t go anywhere without running into you!”

  Reilly raised the gun.

  “Bang, Bang!”

  Thump-bum-bump.

  Chapter 74

  Sparky had listened carefully to Basil’s instructions, but the dark of night mixed with heavy fog were not helping his already limited experience with navigation. The atlas that he had purchased didn’t help with local roads and Sherry knew nothing about the dark streets of Thunder Bay. Sparky was fairly certain that they were lost, but regardless he continued driving, trying his best to remember the route Basil had laid out for him.

  Leaving the club he had turned back up the highway and took the next right. He followed that road around a bend and then over a bridge. He didn’t remember if Basil had mentioned a bridge, but he went on anyway. He continued into a small neighborhood that appeared to be still under construction. He thought that was right. But on arrival there was no sign of the Special Agent. Basil had said that Sparky would find him somewhere in the neighborhood, but Sparky could not remember exactly where the man had said.

  Immediately in front of them, a pair of headlights came to life, signaling them through the fog.

  Sparky pulled the car to the curb.

  “Wait here.”

  Sherry’s lower lip fell out at Sparky’s orders. He stepped out of the car and wrapped himself in his overcoat, mostly to protect against the chill in the air. He closed the door while giving a reassuring smile. He tossed up his collar and started over to the Basil’s car.

  “That’s far enough.” Basil emerged as a smoky outline as he stepped into the headlights.

  “Where’s Frank?”

  “He’s nearby. Look, Sparky, I want you to come with me. I don’t need the dog. He’s a lost cause. You... You, Sparky are the real gem.”

  Sparky took another step; Basil raised his gun.

  “Not another step, I’m not taking any more chances.”

  “Do you realize why I’m out here, why I’ve come so far? I have a family that needs me.”

  “Goat, you don’t seem to realize just how much you are worth. You know that back in the eighties, some guy put eyes and lips on a bunch of rocks and made millions?”

  “I didn’t know that,” Sparky was a little confused about what rocks and goats had in common. Most rocks couldn’t care less what was done to them.

  “They couldn’t even talk. You are a true marvel of the modern world. Something made you special enough that you could communicate with humans, the rulers of the planet. No more mahhing and bahhing.”

  Sparky was all but impressed with the people he had met so far, whether they were the rulers of the planet or not. If not for Oliver Simms and Sherry Lingham, he would call no humans friends and would not consider it a gift to speak to them at all. He was staring down the barrel of a gun, it occurred to him that this may be an opportunity he couldn't miss.

  “I’ll give you what you want. You can show me to everyone for who I am.” Sparky could hardly believe his own words.

  “Really? I knew you would have to see it my way.”

  “Not so fast, you’re going to win my friendship.”

  “I am?” Basil would do no such thing. He had the hostage. He had the gun. “No, I don’t think so. You have nothing to offer me that I can’t take from you. That’s how negotiations work.”

  “I didn’t say negotiate. I said win my friendship.”

  “I don’t need your friendship! You’re a fucking goat! I can brand your ass and make you mine if I want! Where they hell do you get off thinking I need your friendship!”

  “If that’s how you see it.” Sparky started back toward the car.

  “You’re just going to think you can turn and walk away? You’re not going to even attempt to rescue your friend?”

  Sparky didn’t slow down.

  Basil aimed the gun and prepared to fire a round at Sparky’s feet, but the goat kept on, and Basil couldn't fire. Basil's mind was a flurry, trying to think what to say, sorting through how once more the tables appeared to be turned against him. Sparky reached the car.

  “Wait.” Basil lowered the weapon and ran after him. “What do you want?”

  “You are going to let Frank go.”

  “Okay, fine, I already said I would do that.”

  “And Sherry needs to get home, and you’re not going to bother her about me again.”

  “Sure, whatever, I don’t need her anyway.”

  “And you’re going to take me to Montreal to rescue my family.”

  “No way.”

  “And we are getting them home, and you can’t mess with them either.” Despite that he hated committing to being the man’s golden ticket he knew the detective would not give up until he got what he wanted.

  “How do I know you’ll go through with this? Once you have your family back, how do I know that you won’t just shoot me? Or double cross me?”

  “If I wanted to shoot you, I would have done it yesterday.”

  Basil knew that was true, but he didn’t want to negotiate or win any friendship from the goat. Sparky should come with him now, or the dog gets it. At least that’s how this whole thing started. He wasn’t sure now what he wanted to get from all this. He looked to the girl in the passenger seat, considering putting the gun to her head.

  He knew that the girl had high regards for the animal. Despite his lack of a moral human upbringing, this goat _came off as a fairly honest character so far. Basil knew that if there was a chance that Sparky would willingly give in to him it would make exploiting his uniqueness that much easier.

  “If you turn on me, I’ll shoot you.”

  “Okay.”

  “I could exploit everyone, all of your family, your friends. Make myself filthy rich.”

  “No, because then I would shoot you.” Sparky was very matter of fact on the issue. With as far as the goat had traveled, the detective believed the animal would add murder to the charges if it meant the protection of his family. As honorable as that was, it seriously cramped his plans.

  “Anything else you want me to do? Shine your shoes or something?”

  “I don’t have any shoes.”

  Basil turned away, his back to the goat.

  “I let the mutt go, send the girl home, and then drive you to Montreal to rescue a giant herd of talking goats. Once they are delivered home to Asquith,” he started waving his hands in the air, “I’m assuming that’s where you’re from,” he turned over his shoulder expectantly.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you will come with me to Hollywood or wherever so that I can be rich.”

  “Yes.”

  Basil wanted his money now, his fame now. But it would be sweeter to milk it for all that its worth with Sparky going along. It was either that or shooting the creature dead and hoping that he could turn it over to science for his due rewards. It wasn’t the same appeal.

  “Alright goat, you’re on.”

  Chapter 75

  Sherry was sobbing behind the wheel of her car. “I can’t believe you made this deal with him. Let me come along, please! He’s going to betray you.”

  “He might, but you don’t need to be any part of this anymore.”

  She looked up to him, her eyes red. “I don’t think you’re doing the right thing, Sparky. You need to ditch him as soon as possible.”

  “I can’t do that. He’s as determined about me as I am to protect my family. At least this way I can protect the ones I care about, after that…” Sp
arky put his arm on her shoulder through the window. She rubbed her cheek against his fur. It was softer than she had expected.

  “So I guess this is goodbye.”

  Basil put his arm around Sparky. “Don’t worry, sugar, you’ll be seeing him every Saturday night.” He stretched his hands out to symbolize the gala event. “The Goat Show! With your host, Sir Basil Lain!”

  “You’re sick.”

  “You’re not getting an invite to my palace with that attitude!” He pointed to her with one hand like a gun. “Bang!”

  “You can kill him too you know, it’s not murder if you eat him afterwards.” she spoke loud enough that the detective could overhear her as he returned to his car.

  “Nah, he won’t taste good. I’ll let Frank eat him.” Sparky said.

  Sherry laughed.

  “Come on, goat, time to hit the road. I want to be hitting up the national news by Monday morning,” Basil jumped into his car and slammed the door.

  “Do you have enough for gas?”

  “Yeah, thanks Sparky.”

  “Thank you, Sherry. I wouldn’t be this far without you.” He looked over at Basil’s Ford Escort and then back to Sherry. “Will you be okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m a big girl. Will you be okay?”

  “Of course,” he said, turning around toward the detective’s car. “I’m a big goat.”

  Sherry chuckled at his attempt to break the tension. She started the car and watched as he climbed in with Basil. He gave a final wave and she returned it.

  As they drove off, she looked down at the clock and realized it was almost two in the morning. She would have time to get back before her parents, but not a lot of time to sleep before they got in. She adjusted her mirrors, cracking a smile at the fur-covered passenger seat.

  ~~~~~~

  Frank's limp body laid past out in the back seat. A pool of drool sloshed about on the vinyl seat cover around his mouth. Sparky was glad to see him, but wished he were awake to share the burden of the detective's company.

  Basil pulled to a stop at the highway. After checking the traffic, he started to pull out and make a right. Sparky grabbed the wheel. Basil screeched the car to a stop.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Montreal is that way,” Sparky pointed left.

  “Oh, um, I must have gotten reversed. It is late,” he made a pretend yawn.