The Dog Who Knew Too Much by Spencer Quinn

Author:Spencer Quinn [Quinn, Spencer]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781439157091
Publisher: Atria Books
Published: 2011-09-06T07:00:00+00:00

EIGHTEEN

What had they done to him? Bernie lay on his back on a hard metal bench, one arm over his face. That was a way he sometimes slept—just another nice thing about Bernie—but he wasn’t sleeping. I knew that on account of the uncovered eye being open, although just barely. It was so swollen that just a tiny whitish sliver of wet gleam showed, the wet gleam of an eyeball. Around the eye was a big purple bruise, plus dried blood on his cheek and all over his torn shirt.

That poor eye wasn’t looking my way. I stuck my head through the bars and tried to push through, but the space was too narrow for my shoulders. A whimpering started up. How terrible that was! I’d never heard Bernie whimper before, or anything close. Oh, Bernie, please don’t—And then I realized the whimpering was coming from me. I put a stop to that pronto, changing to this low muffly bark I have for getting Bernie’s attention but keeping quiet at the same time.

Bernie moved. He got a hand on the metal bench, pushed himself up to a sitting position, real slow. His other eye was even worse, but he saw me. He licked his lips—bloody and split—and said my name in a way I’d never heard before, all cracked and faint like a radio station voice when we’re out in the desert and far away. Which was where I wanted to be at that moment, me and Bernie in the Porsche, free and easy.

“Chet.” And then, louder and stronger, “Good to see you. Real good.” He even gave me a little smile, his teeth so white in his bruised and bloody face. My tail started wagging. I was back with Bernie and that was the important thing.

He got off the bench, wincing hardly at all—but I caught it—and came to me. He gave me a nice pat between my ears. I pressed my head against his hand.

“You’re a good man,” he said.

My tail, still wagging, wagged more.

Bernie glanced down the corridor. “Did Anya bring you? Where is she?”

I kept wagging.

“Or was it Suzie?” His voice thickened. That happens some-times—I think when Bernie’s having deep feelings. At that moment I was having deep feelings myself. “You didn’t get here by yourself, did you?” He gave me a close look. I gave him a close look back. “No fair all these questions.” Bernie knelt in front of me. “Listen, Chet, this is important,” he said, and started talking about something, maybe keys. But my mind was elsewhere, on account of Bernie’s poor face, now within licking distance. I licked it, real, real gently.

Bernie laughed, just a tiny quiet laugh, but so nice to hear. “Okay, okay,” he said, giving me another pat, “but right now I need those keys.”

Keys? Right: he had been talking about keys. So maybe I hadn’t missed anything at all. Chet the Jet, on top of the situation and don’t you forget it.

“The keys, Chet. On the wall.

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