High Stakes

        Chapter 30

          Three bellies hit the pavement simultaneously with a soft thud.

          “Do you think they saw us?” Samantha whispered.

          “Shhh,” I hissed.  I crept under the Jaguar for a better view.  I could only see the paws of the new arrivals as they paced back and forth under a street lamp.  I could only wonder why.  “I’m going to try to get a better view,” I whispered as quietly as I could manage.  “Stay out of sight.”  I crept to the front of the car and peeked around the bumper.  I felt exposed, but at least from this vantage point I could see their faces.  They were clearly engaged in an animated conversation, but I couldn’t hear anything.  Frustrated, I crawled back to the girls.

          “I don’t know what they’re up to,” I admitted.  “I can’t hear them.”

          Sinty looked at me shyly and said, “Maybe I can.”

          Now, I’ve always been a dropped-ear dog, myself, but I was beginning to appreciate the beauty of Sinty’s perky auricles.    Her sense of hearing was remarkable.  I’m a sight/scent hound, so I was understandably impressed.  At that particular moment, however, none of us could hear anything over the roar of a truck passing so close we could feel the Jaguar sway in its wake.  Even I could hear the truck as it slowed to an idle in the Miss Steak parking lot.  I chanced another quick look over the hood, and so did Samantha. 

          “An armored truck?” she asked, sounding mystified.  “But nobody ever picks up our receipts.  We always drop them off ourselves, in pairs.”

          I smiled paternally at her.  She couldn’t possibly be expected to notice all of the details my trained detective’s eye could pick up in one quick scan, but I still admired her attempts at deduction.  “Not just any armored truck,” I explained, “a refrigerated armored truck.” 

Samantha stared, unblinking, at the vehicle.  “It says something on the side, doesn’t it?”

I squinted into the darkness.  She was right.  Barely perceptible in the dim light were the words “Furio’s Fine Meats:  Specializing in the Rare and Unexpected.”

Chapter 31

I spent a delicious moment imagining the plethora of delights which could be contained in such a marvelous vehicle.  I reluctantly steered my thoughts back to the stakeout and realized that during my reverie, the beagle and black lab (surely they must be Basil and Quincy) had disappeared.  I could only see the driver of the meat truck as he stepped into the parking lot, stretched his legs and glanced around.  I thought he looked as though he was expecting someone.  The question was, who?  Surely someone in the honorable profession of purveying fine meat wouldn’t be dealing with shady characters like Basil and Quincy. 

At least a half dozen possible answers to my question rattled around in my head, but none of them rang true.  I turned to Samantha.  “Does the restaurant normally get deliveries after hours?” I asked.

“Not as far as I know,” she replied.  “Miss Seva usually locks up the place herself, but she should have left hours ago.”

I couldn’t keep my tail from wagging at the thought of the lovely Miss Seva.  Surely if she had stayed for this special delivery, everything was copacetic.  I could wait here a while, perhaps, just to make sure she was safe, bark a quick hello, maybe offer her some of Samantha’s cocktail weenies and a lick of water.  In my mind Seva and I were softly singing “Until there was you” together on the karaoke machine but the second verse was interrupted by Samantha, who stomped on my toes and hissed, “Are you even listening to me?”

I blinked once, slowly, and glanced over her shoulder at Sinty, hoping she might offer me some context clues for the conversation I missed but she was staring intently in the direction of the meat truck.

“They’re back,” Sinty whispered.

“Who’s back?” I asked.

“That beagle, and the lab.  Only now, they’re dressed like chefs.”

Samantha and I turned to see for ourselves.  Sure enough, Quincy and Basil were wearing white chef’s coats and hats and approaching the truck driver.  Their tails were high and the meeting appeared to be friendly.

“Can you hear them, Sinty?” I inquired, hopeful.  I watched her lovely and talented ears swivel back and forth as she zeroed in on the conversation.  Her face was a study of concentration.

“Yes,” she replied, “at least most of it.  The driver is apparently Furio himself, because this is a special delivery.  He’s taking extra precautions, he says.  The beagle and the lab introduced themselves as Bullet and Beau Chien.  Samantha, did I really lose my memory?  That’s not Bullet, is it?”

Samantha patted her friend’s shoulder solicitously.  “No, sweetie, that’s not Bullet.  I’m sure you’ll get your memory back soon.”

Sinty looked relieved and refocused her attention on the faux chefs and Furio.  “Furio wants to handle the delivery himself but the chefs are insisting that they can take whatever it is themselves.  Apparently the merchandise is to be delivered into a locked refrigerator and Furio wants to lock it in himself.  The other two are getting upset, I think,” she added.

I could see for myself that the tone of the conversation had taken a turn.  Quincy and Basil were approaching Furio from either side, tails low and menacing.  Furio was clearly nervous, but stood his ground.  Suddenly Quincy jumped him and in an instant he was trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey.  He let out a howl before they wrapped a length of rope around his muzzle and shoved him rudely into the back of his truck.  The three of us stood watching, transfixed with horror.

Chapter 32

Before we could begin to think of what to do next, we were tossed to the pavement in the wake of a red Ferrari tearing recklessly up the street.  The car careened into the Miss Steak parking lot with a squeal of tires.  I cautiously raised my head, hoping to catch a glimpse of the driver. 

There was no mistaking her.  Seva stepped out of the roadster, tossing her scarf with a flourish.  Even I could hear the conversation that ensued.

“Where is it?” she demanded, approaching Quincy and Basil without hesitation.

“It’s still in the truck,” replied Quincy, looking nowhere near as menacing as he had just a few seconds earlier.  His partner also appeared to be somewhat unnerved.  “He wouldn’t let us have it.” He jerked a dewclaw in the direction of the truck.

Seva turned her gaze to follow his paw.  She stared into the cargo hold of the truck, then her body stiffened and she snarled, “No one was supposed to get hurt!”

“He’ll be fine,” Basil said, but his voice lacked the reassuring tone his words were attempting to convey.  The beagle was beginning to pace anxiously between the service doors of the restaurant and the truck.  It seemed to me that he was ready for this mission to be completed.  I could sympathize.  “Let’s just take it and get out of here,” he suggested.

“What a mess,” Seva groaned, rubbing her forehead with a dainty paw.  “Just let me take it.  Load it in the back of my car.”
          Quincy and Basil exchanged a look that sent a shiver down my spine.  Whatever Seva had intended to happen here had clearly gone amiss, and the thugs seemed to have hatched their own plan along the way.  I had a sinking feeling that Seva was going to be written out of the script.

“I have to do something,” I whispered to Sinty and Samantha.  “But what?  I don’t know if I could take them both in a fight.”

Samantha raised a brow but said nothing. 

“We could create a diversion,” Sinty suggested.  “If Samantha and I distract them, you could sneak in and steal the truck and drive Furio to safety.  Once they see you driving off, she and I will be able to get away because they’ll be focused on you.”

Her plan was brilliant.  I licked her face appreciatively, and she smiled sheepishly and blushed a little.  I rubbed my paws together and wished I had time for a quick rawhide, but time was one thing we didn’t have.

“I think I know how we can get their attention,” Samantha declared.