The Goat

  The dog settled back down on his rear. “What if it could be, goat?”

  “It can’t. You know as well as I do, we can’t. If we even still have a chance of finding my family and getting them rescued. Then I am going to hide them. Far, far, away from people.”

  The canine turned away, looking through the narrow window blinds overlooking the empty motel parking lot. “You have a family, Sparky. When this is over, your whole family will be with you again. I’ll be back roaming on my own, hoping some yokel farmer offers me some steak scraps!”

  Sparky turned to the TV where they were still boasting their exclusive coverage of the goat sighting. The words he had just heard were not surprising. Sparky had neglected to think about it. Frank started alone and would end up alone. He was just along for the ride.

  “That’s not true, Frank. You’re not going to be on the road searching for scraps unless you want to. You have a place to go.”

  “Sparky, you’re great, but-” Frank’s voice trailed off as he jumped down from the bed.

  “I don’t want to, I’m not for-”

  Frank wandered into the bathroom. “Oh, who am I kidding?” He dunked his head down into the toilet, lapping ferociously at the crisp cool water.

  Sparky stood up and walked over to the bathroom door. “Is there something I should do?”

  Frank perked, finding the goat with soft eyes. The little black hairs meshed together on his chin a droplets of water fell one by one to the tile floor.

  “You know that you can stay with us, right Frank?”

  “Really?”

  “Of course.”

  Frank ran over and wrapped his paws around the goats midsection, squeezing his damp face into the goat’s chest. The toilet water sent a shiver through Sparky.

  “Hey now, wait ease down.” Sparky turned away and swatted the moisture on his stomach. A cold set of eyes met him face to face on the television screen.

  “Reilly!”

  “Frank! My name is Frank! We have to work on this communication if we’re going to be roommates.”

  Sparky ignored the dog and focused on the broadcaster’s voice.

  “Police have him in custody this evening as the only suspect in a murder case after an anonymous tip was called in to 9-1-1. Details are limited at this time, but officials say that he will not be released on bail,” the newscaster finished her statement before turning to her side. The camera switched to a new angle. “Coming up next we have the weather and Bill Stevens will tell you exactly how cold it’s going to get in the next few days.”

  “That’s right Cindy. The forecast is calling for an absolutely punishing night the way things are looking. Stay tuned as we’ll have all the details for you right after a few words from our sponsors.”

  Chapter 97

  Basil had gotten a hold of the local P.D from his cell and was able to get a ride into a local station. Linus, the officer that had been dispatched had been flapping his jaw since Basil had gotten into the car. By his count Basil had racked up ten words in the conversation over the past fifteen minutes, including his introduction. The detective wanted to tell the man to shut up, but had enough of being dumped on the roadside for his big mouth.

  Linus changed topics as he pulled up to a red light and spotted a sign for a local sandwich shop. “That reminds me, adults get real bitchy. You think it’s just kids, but adults whine ten times worse. I swear, I was sitting listening to my co-workers whine about a free sandwich the department bought for a picnic. ‘It’s got mayonnaise! It’s got mustard! Christ, is that an onion!’ Like it’s being poisoned by rat shit and pissed on by homeless people,” the officer coughed into his hand.

  He continued, “I’ve spent a lot of time with my kids and they do the same thing: 'Daddy I don't want to have mayonnaise on it.' Even though the little bastards like mayonnaise, I mean, who doesn’t like a little mayonnaise?”

  “I don’t like mayonnaise-” Basil was cut short and wasn’t heard.

  “I was raised by people that cared about me, gave me options. But they didn’t put up with crap. If I said 'Hey mom, I don’t like mayonnaise.' You know what she would have said?”

  Basil nodded along.

  “She would have said 'Linus, you’re a fucking pansy. You eat that mayonnaise or I will spoon it down your spoiled little throat.' And a good mother she would have been for it, too. If I didn’t clean my room? Wooden switch. If I didn’t say please? Wooden switch.”

  “Sounds rough.”

  “I was the luckiest kid alive. When we have work functions and Bob and the other men are bitching about mayonnaise, I’ve got my pride that I’m not a puss like that. I eat my free food, I don’t whine. And besides, like I was saying, who doesn’t like mayonnaise?”

  “I don’t; too slimy.”

  “You’re a god-damn wuss. I hope you choke to death at your next meal,” Linus pulled the squad car up outside the station. “Well this is it, welcome to Montreal and enjoy your stay.”

  Basil climbed out, refusing to make eye contact. “Thanks for the lift.”

  “No problem. I’d see you in, but I got a date with some ladies. I’m going to show them how romantic an evening can be,” he waved his hand level and then made some spanking motions with it.

  “Sounds fun,” Basil put his hand on the door.

  “A little dinner, some wine, a little squatter-bingin’, everybody wins,” Linus flashed a toothy grin as Basil slammed the door.

  Basil flipped up his collar to repel a sudden evening breeze. He marched up the stairs to the police station. The special agent still had much groveling to do but he was able to maintain his job for now. He had done so with the promise of a major arrest, all while avoiding discussing any details of the were-goat. He knew that captain had no interest in that anyway. The agency didn’t have any nearby resources to spare and referred him to the local authorities.

  Entering the office he provided his credentials to the lady behind the desk. She wordlessly handed the man a clipboard with some forms on them. The first page was a release of liability. Then the others were general information. Basil was hoping he could forgo procedure and get right down to business.

  “Do I need to fill these out? Can’t I just go in?”

  “Errr, je ne sais pas.”

  “Can I see your captain?” He cleared his throat. “Le capitaine?”

  She smiled and pointed to the clipboard in his hands.

  “I am here to see the captain, not fill out forms.”

  “Asseyez-vous et ferme-la!” Her voice was louder and firmer than before.

  Basil wasn’t sure what she said. He shied back from the counter and looked down at the first form, shaking his head.

  “Monsieur?” she extended a pen.

  Basil grabbed it and sat down in one of the chairs facing her desk.

  The secretary discretely picked up the phone and made a call. Basil couldn’t translate the muffled French any better than when she was speaking to him. When she completed the call she set the phone down and gave him a polite smile.

  “Vous sentez comme les oeufs méchants.”

  Basil smiled. “Merci.”

  He scratched out some quick answers on the provided paperwork and signed by the x’s, there wasn’t time to waste. After a minute, the rear door opened and a man hardly over five feet tall entered in a decorated uniform.

  “Thank you for your assistance, sir.” Basil was on his feet, clipboard to the wayside.

  “You are nasty dog, but we service you anyway!”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I’m sorry, Petra has been helping me with my English, it is good, no?” Captain Jean-Luc pointed to the lady at the desk.

  “She speaks English?” Basil suppressed his discontent.

  “Yes, but she feels bad to speaks it. I am Jean-Luc.”

  “Basil Lain,” he extended his hand, but the captain didn’t reach for it.

  “You will shower before we touch, yes?” The captain
briskly whipped around and motioned Basil to follow.

  Chapter 98

  “I have no reason to talk to any of you. I did nothing wrong.”

  Detective Finion Peters leaned in, giving a stern glare to the accused. Reilly didn’t care; he was above talking to these fools. He had sat in enough interrogation rooms that he was unphased by their approach. It was only a matter of time before his release.

  “We have your shirt that you were wearing. It’s covered in the victim’s blood. And there is no reason to talk to us?” Finion looked over his shoulder at Officer Gil Kent that was standing behind him. “I don’t buy it.”

  “He’s a lying hoser, aye.” Gil echoed.

  Finion held up a yellow legal pad with a few short notes. “You say you were at the coffee shop for what again?”

  “Coffee.”

  “And you just happened to be in the area of that coffee shop because?”

  “It’s along the way to work.”

  “And where do you work, mister?”

  “Reilly.”

  “I know that, but you haven’t given us a last name. I don’t have a work, no home. You’re not carrying one single piece of ID. As far as I know your name could be Mickey Mouse!” The detective turned to his companion. “What do you think, Gil?”

  “I still think he’s a lying hoser, aye.”

  “Watch him, while I get some coffee.”

  Officer Peters stood up from the table and opened the door to the interrogation room, white mug in hand. Reilly sat still. His cuffed hands on the table, his fingers interlaced. The second policeman, Officer Gil Kent, remained.

  “Aye, hoser, aye,” he whispered to Reilly.

  Reilly squinted as the man stuck his hand into his coat. Gil’s arm dug deeper into his coat and then into his pants. Reilly turned away in disgust.

  “Aye, you like peanut butter?” The officer pulled out a tiny plastic jar of crunchy peanut butter. “It’s fresh, aye.”

  “You’re sick.” Reilly scoffed.

  Gil dipped his bare hand in the jar. The brown sticky goo was wrapped around his index finger when it emerged. Gil jammed the wad into his mouth and slid it out clean.

  “Mmmmm,” his delight sounded erotic in nature.

  Reilly turned his gaze to the ceiling and started counting the tiles.

  The door opened. A man came in that Reilly didn’t recognize. Gil shoved the jar back into his pants. He put one hand on Gil’s shoulder and shoved him out of the room.

  “Aye, what!” Gil shouted as the door sealed.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Um, funny guy number three?” Reilly asked.

  He slammed his hand on the table. “No!” He straightened himself out, brushing his hair down with his hand. “Try again.”

  “You’re the bad cop, the other guy was the good cop, and that little guy with the peanut butter is your mutual boyfriend?”

  “Let me jog your memory,” he said. He was running his finger along the table without looking up at Reilly. “Chester Arrington.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Of course not. Why would you remember him? He didn’t die from the poison you tried to feed him.”

  “I didn’t poison anyone.”

  Basil had waited a long time for this. His cold stare had been trained for many years for moments like this. Retribution would be his. “I know. It’s those Beagle pups that ended up dead. Too bad for them, right?”

  Reilly eyes became a bloodshot pool of restrained tears.

  Basil sat down and put his hand on the table. He leaned back in the metal chair and put his feet up. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Who are you?” Reilly’s voice cracked as he spoke. He swallowed over the lump in his throat.

  “Special Agent Basil Lain. Tell me, why did someone go through so much trouble to protect you from a police investigation about puppies? I never got past your corporate attorney; completely stonewalled. And my office had bigger fish to fry than a puppy killer. I hated dropping that case.”

  “You don’t know nothing! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Basil had only seen the man for a few minutes at the crime scene, before the PR rep had replaced him, but he never forgot.

  “You were Reilly Graves back then. Of course the ID I pulled now says Reilly Thompson. I didn’t know it was you until another friend of yours showed me a picture. I assume neither of those are your real name. Moved up from murdering Beagles, I see.”

  “I don’t have any friends.” Reilly coughed.

  “What, you don’t know him? Standing I’d say he’s just shy of six feet tall, big brown horns, wild yellow eyes. Chews his lip when he gets nervous.”

  Reilly didn’t speak.

  “Where are the rest of them, Reilly? Where are the other goats?”

  Reilly gave his glare to the wall. He wouldn’t think about the puppies. He wouldn’t think about the goats. He changed his mental scenery back to a few hours ago. The fun he had shooting Valerie. Bang.

  Basil slammed his hand on the table. “Where are the goats?” The door cracked open behind.

  “Detective, your partner’s here.”

  Basil didn’t have a partner. Tony was a thousand kilometers away. The only person that would even dare to locate him here wouldn’t be crazy enough to get this close to a police station.

  Unless he knew about Reilly.

  Chapter 99

  The grey overcoat, slick fedora and suspiciously long shin hairs were staring Basil in the face. The nerve of finding him here, in this place, among Montreal’s finest. The whole thing could explode any moment. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “I saw Reilly on the news. I dropped your name out front, didn’t know you’d be here. I got nervous too. That lady at the desk has something against you; Frank said her whole odor changed to black licorice just mentioning it.”

  “Spare me. Sparky, you’re not a cop, or an agent. These guys mean serious business, you need to get out of here.” Despite Basil’s insistence, he could see that Sparky had no intention of surrendering the job to him.

  “I’m know what you think and I’m not trusting my family to your judgment. You can help me get in that room over there to find out where they are or I’ll happily plow right through you.” Sparky’s nostrils flared.

  “Sparky, I’m sorry about what happened before, but please, you need to settle down. If you stay you’ll be caught for sure. I am going to find them.”

  Sparky checked his hat. “No I won’t, I have this friend on the inside. Not worth a lot, but he’s greedy enough for me to be his slave that he’ll protect me.”

  Sparky brushed past Basil and started walking down the hall. Sparky would never find where he was going and would likely end up bursting into the women’s bathroom causing a large scene. The damned goat had come back at the worst time. Basil shrugged. Sparky was right about one thing: the inside friend would protect his identity, if he could.

  “You’re headed the wrong direction.” Basil came up from behind and put his hand on Sparky’s shoulder. “It’s this way.”

  They hurried down the hallway and around the corner. The interrogation room was not far. The hallway was vacant except for one guard sitting at a table reading the paper. He looked up and smiled at Basil and his partner.

  “Bonjour.”

  Basil returned the gesture, rushing Sparky past him and into the interrogation room. Both were ready to get their answers. Sparky pushed past Basil and grabbed the man by the collar. To his surprise, it wasn’t Reilly. It was another officer.

  He was face to face, knowing the man could see him. Sparky looked down and saw that the man had his finger wedged into his mouth. As the goat eased down on the man’s collar the man pulled his finger loose. The man smiled shyly and revealed that his teeth were coated in peanut butter.

  “I won’t say anything if you don’t, aye?”

  Sparky watched Officer Gil pu
ll an open plastic jar of peanut butter from his pants and lean it towards him. Sparky stepped back.

  “Where’s the suspect? Where’s Reilly?” Basil demanded.

  “He’s being moved, special orders, aye. Transferring Officer couldn’t wait.”

  “Where’s he being moved to?” Basil asked.

  Gil stuck his finger in the peanut butter and pulled it back out staring at the glob with delight. “Can you sign my shirt, aye?”

  “This is very important,” Sparky said.

  “Orders said central processing on the east side. But they do all the transfers down at the dock, aye. I am sure you can find them there.” Gil saw his chances to get the goat’s autograph slipping through his sticky fingers.

  “The dock?” Basil asked.

  “Basement level, where they load and unload prisoners for transport from here, aye. They should still be there. It takes a few minutes to check him out, aye,” the man jammed his finger into his cheek and slurped on a comforting wad of peanut butter.

  “Which way?”

  “Take a left at the guard post, but be careful Mr. The Goat. I bet that you wouldn’t get caught until November, aye, so you got to avoid the law for one more night, aye. Else I lose the pool, get me?”

  There was no time for an answer. Basil led the way out, Sparky followed.

  Gil jammed the tiny jar of peanut butter back into his pants. He closed the door behind himself and smiled contentedly, looking at his watch. Provided Sparky didn’t get arrested on his way out, he would win the pool. Three hundred dollars would buy a lot of peanut butter.

  Chapter 100

  Sparky and Basil burst out of the heavy door of the dock. There were no officers at the post. Someone on the inside had paid them off. A gold coupe eased out of the garage. In the back seat, the two caught a brief glimpse of the man they hunted.

  The gold car turned out onto the main thoroughfare. Reilly wiped his forehead. Of the numerous times he had been arrested, this had been the longest he had waited for rescue. He had worried that no one was coming. Reilly patted the driver on the shoulder to express his appreciation.

  “I know why it took so long, now that I know it was you and not someone less thorough.” Reilly’s accompanying laugh failed to mask his stress.