“Man, no power windows!”
“Frank.”
“Yeah?”
“Never mind.”
Sparky looked back and waved a final time. He felt warm that he had finally met a good person to help him. It could not have come at a better time. The road ahead was still long, much too long to walk.
The two made their way down the backcountry road, taking a shortcut that Sherry had offered. The small, inconspicuous street ran directly through a National Park and would spit them back out on the highway. It was relatively free of other cars.
~~~~~~
As they merged with the early afternoon traffic on the freeway, Basil jumped out from the passenger seat of the sheriff’s car.
“Where is it? Where is it? It’s got to be here!”
“See’sums in he-yah,” he pointed directly in front of their car. Some bushes were knocked over, but the car was not there.
“Call the system, we must have just missed them.”
Jeb pulled a small receiver from his shoulder and pressed the call button. “Simsan,” he moved the device downward while licking at his teeth.
Basil walked over to the edge of the road, running his hand along the grass. Where are you? They couldn’t be far off.
“This is Simpson, what’s up doc?”
“Canza, youzall gitz dat lozo-jick dat-tat?”
“Right on it!”
Basil was stunned than anyone knew what the backwoods man was saying that fast. It had taken him some time to get used to getting anything from his gibberish. He shook the thought and took another step.
A gleam in the grass caught his eye. It was a piece of metal. As he moved he lost sight of it. He took another step, carefully putting his eyes on the spot where he had caught the reflection.
“Tiznarnatat!”
Basil didn’t steer away from his search. He lowered himself to the ground and put his hand out touching the grass, moving the blades aside as he checked. He caught another flash from the object and zoomed further in. As the man leaned over further, it became clear that the object was a paperclip.
What are you doing here? He stood holding the tiny metal object in between his thumb and forefinger. It alone was the key to the missing goat.
“Sheriff,” Simpson was back on the horn.
“Yupins.”
“The technician said there was no change, you two should be standing right on top of it.”
“What do you think of this?” Basil held the clip out before Jeb.
The sheriff grabbed the paperclip and gave it a quick once over. Jeb bounced as he let out a short breath of air through his nose. “Dizen mitez cum frem der, mae-beez.” He held out the paperclip pointing down into the ravine.
Basil turned and looked down upon the rear end of his car. He kicked the wet ground.
“Damn.”
Chapter 60
Frank was flapping his paws about the map. Every time they moved the paper crinkled. The sound prompted a shudder from Sparky each time. Frank had been jostling the map about for a few minutes and had yet to answer a single question on the subject.
“Do you know where we are?”
Frank looked up in time to catch a road sign, “Exit two thirty seven.”
“On the map, do you know where we are on the map?”
“It’s a graphical representation of the real world. It takes time to decipher these things,” Frank flipped the map sideways and then straight. “Besides, you know I have problems managing paper.”
“You know you’re looking at Texas, right.”
“Yeah, so?” he leaned a little further in, reading the heading on the page. Texas.
“We’re in Ontario, Canada.”
“Does this mean we can’t go see the World’s Greatest Rodeo Show?”
“I’m pulling over.”
“Why come on, now, I can figure this out. I just need some time.”
“We don’t have enough gas, I’d rather not get off course.”
Sparky took the next exit. The welcome sign was faint with age. Raith, Ontario Home of the Three-Legged Duck.
“Oh my, that’s much better than a rodeo,” Frank collided with the window, retreating in pain. He rubbed at his nose. “That’s why I need power windows, goat.”
“You’ll manage.”
Sparky navigated into the gas station. He checked his hat and coat, making sure the mask he had slid on was still tight. “We’ve only got a few dollars for gas. I’m going to put it in the tank now so we know how much we have. But we need to get some money.”
“You can hold up this gas station.”
Sparky climbed out of the car, “I will not rob a gas station!”
An older gentleman with thinning hair was staring at him. He caught the phony mask immediately.
“Isn’t it a little early to be dressed for Halloween? Not until tomorrow night, right?”
Sparky kept his head tucked down into his coat as he filled up the car. “Yeah.”
“You going to a party or something, aye?”
The attendant leaned up against the pump, right next to Sparky.
“Yeah.” He wasn’t wearing his gloves. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead.
The attendant stretched his neck left and right and then re-centered his gaze. “I bet you’re a wanted criminal, aye!” He chuckled slapping the goat on the back.
The mask jiggled on its elastic strap. Sparky almost dropped the gas nozzle as he secured it in place.
“That’s smooth criminal, dad!”
Another man emerged from the station. His hair was full and blonde and slicked back against his scalp. His features echoed his father’s.
“Forgive him, he doesn’t really follow the pop scene.”
The young man walked with a rhythm in his step. He strolled up behind the car and leaned against the pump in a similar way to his old man. Sparky was surrounded.
“You going to that party down towards Thunder Bay?”
“Yeah, sure.” Sparky wasn’t sure the best way to escape, but he was ready to fight back if they tried to capture him.
“Kind of retro idea. I would have gotten those white gloves to go with it, but the overcoat’s good. Does highlight the creepy thing. Like Thriller.”
Sparky nodded. He released the handle as the counter neared fifteen. It was all he had, and it hadn’t refilled the tank.
“Aye, ain’t there some prizes down there?” The father said over him, more to his son.
“Yeah, they got something for costumes. It’s a few hundred cash for first place.”
Sparky hung up the gas nozzle. “A few hundred in cash for first prize in a costume contest?”
“Yeah, down at the Zoo. It’s just this side of Thunder Bay. Just take the highway for another hour or so, you can’t miss it.”
“Watch out down there, those kids get wild at those parties, aye!”
“Dad, you don’t lecture customers. It’s bad business.”
“I just hate to see another good man fall in the eyes of God, aye. Lord knows I’ve suffered since I lost your sister.”
“Dad, she’s married and lives up the way. She’s twenty-seven!”
“And a dirty slut, too, aye. Don’t think you’re getting married until you're thirty,” he went back into the shop.
“Sorry about that, he’s a little old fashioned. I’ll take that for you,” he pulled the money free from Sparky’s hoof. The attendant took a second glimpse at the hoof sticking out from the coat.
“You know what? Don’t move.”
The man ran off and into the station. Sparky dove into the car. His hoof went to the ignition, but the keys were gone.
“Frank, where are the keys?”
“What keys?”
“The ones that were in here!” He slapped the steering column.
Sparky looked out the back window of the car, the attendant had not yet returned. “He knows who we are and is calling the cops. We need to leave!??
?
“Goat, I don’t have the keys.”
“Where are they?”
Sparky frantically tore at the seat. He dug through his pockets with no luck. He started checking the floorboard, under the mats, nothing.
He checked the mirror again; the young man was running back.
Sparky leaned over and lifted Frank from the seat.
“Hey, watch it!”
He dropped him back down. He checked the rear of the car, leaning over as the attendant tapped at his window.
“Are they in the back? Do you see them?”
The man knocked on the window again, Sparky looked over at him. “What do I do, Frank?”
“Sell him some crack.”
“What?”
“It’s what most people want when they knock on your window.”
Sparky saw the man’s hands rolling in a circle. He gripped the lever and gently rolled down the window. The attendant raised his hand. Sparky closed his eyes, preparing for death.
“Here, try these out!” he tossed some white gloves into Sparky’s lap. “They should work well with the mask!”
Sparky didn’t move a muscle.
“Oh,” the man bent over and picked up a set of keys from the ground. “These yours?”
“Yeah,” Sparky grabbed the keys quickly. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” he said slapping the car door.
Chapter 61
Basil was standing just behind his wrecked car. Jeb had called a tow truck earlier in the day that had been able to pull the car up for better study. The forensics team which consisted of one man, a Deputy Chris Mattel, was busy dusting the car for prints. His search was proving fruitless.
“I’m still not finding any finger prints, must have been wearing gloves. Tons of hair though.”
“He doesn’t need gloves, he’s a goat.”
“Goats don’t drive!”
This one does. “Why did he drop the car?”
“Probably changed rides, figured this one was hot.”
“But where did he get another car?” Basil rubbed at his chin. He needed to shave.
“D’jzm k’ant fell-oot der skie.”
Basil looked over at the sheriff.
“Wull der k’ant!”
Basil mulled it over. Who would a goat network with to get to Montreal? “Why did he leave it here?”
“Out of gas? Out of money?”
Basil nodded. “Where would you go if you were a goat?”
The tow truck driver, Carl, was sitting on the step of his large truck, smoking a filterless cigarette. Carl had raised a few animals before getting into his own wrecker company, including a handful of goats. He didn’t care too much for them, but he did feel that he had enough experience to handle the man’s inquiry.
“He needs himself a lady. Nice little ewe with tight hindquarters.”
Basil immediately questioned the man’s history with the explicitness of his remark. “What?”
“D’jzm gud ‘ole tang-a-lang,” Jeb made a spanking motion with his hand.
Basil turned away from them all and stared into the trees. He felt a connection with the ground at that point, if nothing other than a desperate desire to be buried six feet underneath it. Some place where his ears would not have to listen to the lurid nightlife of the men around him.
“That’s sick.”
“Don’t you figure me as some pervert!” Carl said. “You said if I was a goat. And if I was a goat, that’s where I’d be!”
“K’ant see-zum ain’tz notz t’unked it uv-er doh!”
The two men laughed. Basil closed his eyes. He tried to envision himself back in the city. It would be a blessing to just be picked on as the were-goat detective again.
“Little bugger’s bound to get horny!” Carl laughed at his statement first, and the sheriff followed. Deputy Mattel emerged from the car and looked at the detective. Basil was still staring away into the distance.
“They have a point, city boy. It’s the call of the wild out here!”
Basil felt very alone. All three men were taking turns making lewd motions with their hips while using one hand to make horns from their foreheads. At least the goat had left his gun in the car. He could shoot them, or himself. The semantics of mercy were debatable.
There was the one possibility mentioned earlier by the deputy. Out of gas, and money, he had chosen to park the car here. Not somewhere else. Why would he do it? What did he see?
Basil was staring straight at the barn of Sharon and Bartholomew Lingham. The were-goat had intended to hide. Where else was there to go? Basil thought over the situation again, his eyes were on the barn the entire time. He felt he was truly beginning to have a deep understanding of the were-goat’s mind.
The three men were now making goat noises along with their thrusting. As Basil watched, it reassured him that his understanding was healthy.
He started his way up the driveway, veering across the open hillside to the barn. He opened the door and stepped inside. Inside were a few sheep bouncing about. They were restless but at least they were staying warm on this crisp fall day.
“Have any of you seen a goat?”
Basil shifted through the hay casually with his foot, hoping to overturn a clue that would prove that the goat had been there. He kept his hand close to the firearm at his side, in case the animal still was.
Of the most recognizable sounds in the world the top three are as follows: the barking of a dog, the meowing of a cat, and the sound of someone cocking a pump-action shotgun. Basil stopped dead in his tracks; he knew the third all too well.
“Think about this Sparky, you don’t want me dead, now do you?”
“Who the hell are you?”
Basil was shocked to hear a young lady’s voice.
“I’m Special Agent Basil Lain, CBI. Drop the weapon.”
He faced her, staring her weapon down.
“Let me see some ID.”
Basil reached into his pocket and came up empty.
“Don’t have any, I had my wallet stolen,” he turned his head away and tried to laugh it off. “You’re not going to believe this, by a talking goat!”
“You’re right, I don’t believe it. Now get off my property before I call the real authorities.”
“You didn’t see him, did you?”
Sherry held the gun steady, and didn’t move.
“You see he stole my car too, among other things, and I really need to know where he is.” Basil had a gut feeling the girl was holding back, but her face was iron. He had to find the soft spot.
“We don’t talk to our goats too often around here, Basil. I suggest you come back with a real badge before I have to call an ambulance to come pick you up.”
“I’ll do that, me and a team. We’ll come back. Tear this place down, then we will find him the hard way, but by then…” he trailed off and started walking out, easing his arms loosely. “By then he’ll already have been shot down. No one cares about bringing an animal in alive. He’s just going to end up in a body bag.”
Sherry knew she couldn’t trust him, but there were a lot of cops and only one goat. She knew was he was alone, panhandling his way to Montreal. Frank would be no defense. If things got serious, it would be his end. If there was a chance that this sleaze of an agent could bring Sparky in alive, rather than him being shot down, she should help him.
“Detective!”
I’m definitely getting a bigger office when I get back.
Chapter 62
“I can’t believe you talked me into seeing this damn thing.” Sparky was trying on the new white gloves. They didn’t fit any better than the other gloves he had tried to use when he went shopping, but it was slightly less obvious than his stubby, clawed hooves.
Frank looked over from the passenger seat. “Goat, how many times do you get an adventure like this? Cross country. You and the open road?”
“I’m not out on vacation. This is a rescue, remember?”
>
“Fine, the Goat and his sidekick Dog Wonder can be back on the road in five minutes. Just give me a chance to see the national treasures.”
“I already said yes.”
Sparky wasn’t sure completely why he had. They needed to hit the road; they needed to get to Thunder Bay. How Frank had convinced him that seeing a three-legged foul was of any importance, he didn’t remember.
“Be back quickly,” Sparky ordered, reaching across to let the dog out.
“I can’t go alone, I’m a dog. Dogs that hang out near birds are shot. You have to act like my owner.”
“Does that mean I get to tell you what to do?”
“Hey, don’t push it. I’m still upset about that thing earlier,” Frank pawed at the door handle, not able to move it at all.
“What happened earlier?”
“It doesn’t matter, let’s go.”
“No, tell me what I did to you,” Sparky crossed his arms.
Frank settled in his chair, scratched at his head, then looked at the goat. He turned and saw the giant yellow sign for the three-legged duck and his tail started wagging.
“I didn’t do anything, did I?”
Frank eyes buttered up and his tongue fell out free. “No, now can we see the bird?”
“Five minutes!”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Sparky stepped out of the car and adjusted his hat. Frank spilled out behind him and ran to the entrance. He was bouncing and yipping at the sign, waiting for his so-called master. Sparky proceeded over, letting the canine lead.
He almost walked into a hulking stuffed bear just inside the room. The animal was posed in a threatening position lumbering over the doorway. It wasn’t something he appreciated. The rest of the building was littered with smaller although similar displays of animals posed in strained surprise. From each one dangled a gaudy orange price tag.
A very old man came out from a door in the back. He stood behind the counter and waved at them. “Well hello there! You here for the three-legged wonder?”
Frank barked excitedly, bouncing off the counter.
“Is it free?” Sparky was hoping that the cost would negate their visit.
“Of course! Make my monies off the merchandise these days.”
“Great.”
“Wanna buy a duck?”
The old man was a pretty good taxidermist specializing in water fowl since discovering his three-legged claim to fame. Originally he had tried to sell off the live chicks to people, but tourists were reluctant to take them home. Too much work, they would all say. Killed and stuffed they sold in much greater frequency.