The Squirrel on the Train Page 8
Oberon, what are you doing? Atticus sounded horrified.
Brock Slater made grunting noises and swore a lot and demanded Gabby do something because I had a half liter or gallon or whatever to unload on him and it was taking a while.
“I’d love to help, but I’m fully occupied just keeping you restrained. I’ll tell him he’s a bad dog, though.” She grinned at me, which Slater couldn’t see. “Bad dog, Oberon.”
She is totally going to buy me some tacos later, I can tell.
Chapter 9:
Gone
Squirrel
I thought for the longest time that chicken-fried steak was steak that had been fried by specially trained chickens, and as such was one of the rarest delicacies on the planet. You can imagine my epic disappointment when I learned that chickens weren’t involved in the preparation at all—not even as part of the ingredients! Humans just fried up steak the same way they fried chicken, using a batter with secret herbs and spices. I felt sure that one of the secret herbs had to be ground-up chicken bits because why else would they be advertising that it’s chicken-fried, but no, Atticus said, it was just another example of the English language being stupid sometimes, and chicken bits wouldn’t count as an herb in any case. When I asked him about the bottles of spices called Poultry Seasoning he had in his pantry, he explained that it was seasoning for poultry, not seasoning made of poultry. That was a sad day of shattered illusions and disappointment with language, let me tell you, and Orlaith suffered almost the same heartbreak when she got her reward for fighting crime, because she thought chicken-fried steak meant the steak would be fried inside a chicken. Gravy on top made it better, of course, but I also tried to soothe her with a weird English thing that was a pleasant surprise.
We were feeling pretty smug and Atticus said that was okay because we’d earned it. “Brock Slater had thought of everything but hounds. We never would have found him if it weren’t for your noses. And that squirrel on the train.”
“I only meant we wouldn’t have run into that stairwell and gotten involved if it weren’t for that squirrel. I’m not saying the squirrel did anything helpful. I know you did all the work.”
We calmed down after that, and I admitted that the detective had done quite a bit as well, especially after handcuffing Slater. Once she got a warrant to search his home, they found a 3D printer, two plastic crossbows and plenty of bolts. There was also a bag of cash and a dossier on Hudson Keane in his kitchen, plus clothing that matched the outfit the killer wore. His car make and model matched the surveillance video of Keane’s apartment complex even if the license plate did not. Atticus said it was a circumstantial case but about as strong a one as you could hope for. Strong enough that Brock Slater was willing to confess and give what information he could about who paid him for some kind of leniency on his sentence. He wasn’t a professional ex-military hit man who’d die before he talked; he was “more of a punk-ass nihilist,” Atticus said, who thought he’d never get caught as long as he kept his face off the cameras, and he had no code of honor or sense of loyalty to whoever hired him. I am not sure how punk asses differ from regular asses and I don’t have a clue what a nihilist is either. I confess I didn’t ask Atticus to explain because sometimes his explanations are short and sometimes they are college lectures. Maybe a nihilist is someone who thinks “the end is nigh” so it’s okay to kill people for money. And it’s okay to rat out your buddies afterward, too: Slater gave up the names of the two guys who killed Ignacio Medina in Eugene and who also came after Suluk Black. I guess they were nihilists too.
Detective Ibarra reported that Slater said, “They were supposed to find the woman who saw me do Keane, but I haven’t heard back.” He never would, and we couldn’t help the police find those two guys without getting in trouble ourselves.
The confession made the detective very happy because she didn’t need to worry about things like who the Marmot was or reveal that there was a crooked cop involved in the investigation. She was going to make him donate all the money to charity and tell him to keep his nose clean—which only reinforced my belief that clean noses are truly an obsession with humans.
And since we’d helped her clean another murder off her books, Detective Ibarra was quite happy with us in general and decided maybe that Atticus was a guy she could trust to do the right thing. She told Atticus next time the tacos were on her, and I knew we were solid then. I was so excited about future tacos I almost missed out on some of the unfinished business.
Slater didn’t have the name of his client but he shared every detail of how contact was made and how the money was delivered. He also gave up information on a whole bunch of other stuff he’d done since his position as a pizza delivery guy allowed him to go anywhere without suspicion. He did the occasional drug run or money drop for shady guys while delivering pies. The detective would follow up on that because it wasn’t something we could really help with, and Atticus said we’d done enough by solving the murders. He and Suluk could start Stable Solar and Battery now, and he was so pleased with us that he was going to take us to Portland again to smell all the things since we never got to do it properly the first time. He also promised to take us to a place that had oxtail poutine on the menu, and we were ready to get on board for that. Except for the fact that the squirrel got away at the start, I thought the proverbial biscuits had landed once again on the side of justice and gravy. And I knew that one day, that squirrel would get his justice too.
Epilogue
A couple of days later, we arrived in the Eugene train station to begin our Portland Smelling Expedition and there was a squirrel on top of the train again! It might have even been the same squirrel as before! What if he was a commuter?
All right, all right. I’ll admit that it’s unusual. If you want to find out what’s happening, I’ll help this time. But you have to behave strangely too if this is going to work.
If we get to Portland and he hasn’t been destroyed by physics, we’ll follow him. But you can’t bark at him and tip him off that he’s being tailed. We have to be sneaky about it. Think you can do that?
I agreed with Orlaith and said so.
It’s the squirrel who’s crossed the line, he argued. And if you want to get to the bottom of this, you’re going to have to cross a line too. I’ll tap into his noggin and keep tabs on him so even if he ducks around a corner we won’t lose him, okay?
Orlaith and I weren’t too sure about the plan but decided to try it in the end. Barking sure felt good—it felt right—but it hadn’t worked up to that point, so maybe it was time to try a new strategy.
You’ll be stealth hounds, Atticus said, and that made us feel a little better about not barking. It was stealth technology.
We got onto the train camouflaged as before and were quiet like before, and Atticus didn’t have any trouble with the train staff. But once we got to Portland and stepped out on the platform, we looked u
p at the roof of the train and saw that squirrel, smug as a frat boy who got a deal on a keg of cheap beer.
I see him and I’m binding to him now, Atticus said. Even if he dips out of sight I won’t lose him. Let’s just follow at a safe distance.
The little poufy rat scrambled along the top of the train and jumped to the roof of the platform canopy before shimmying down the post just like he had before. But he took a different route after that, leading us out of the station, slipping out a door behind someone who was unconscious of him being there.
Huh. I’m starting to think something’s up, Atticus said.
This isn’t a random search for food. The squirrel has a destination in mind. He’s moving with purpose.
Orlaith said,
Well, a purpose and a sinister purpose are very different things. Let’s wait and see.
Not without alerting him that I’m around. He’ll know something weird is going on in his head. All I’m picking up from his surface emotions is an eagerness to get to where he’s going.
We tried so hard to keep our chill. The squirrel used a combination of trees and rooftops to travel above the street wherever he could—wait.
Yes.
Squirrels don’t have names that translate well into English. I mean, you’re not going to find a Bob or a Jacob or a Zachariah. They use a gender pronoun followed by an accomplishment or an embarrassment, and sometimes they change. Right now this one is called He-Who-Knows-How-To-Travel-On-Loud-Shiny-Human-Tube-Things. Trains, in other words.
We kept after him and gradually realized that we were in familiar territory: he was leading us to Washington Park.
We’re headed in that general direction. But Washington Park is pretty big.
It’s probably completely innocent, Oberon. There’s an arboretum in there, remember? That means it will have some nuts and seeds a squirrel can’t find anywhere else in Oregon. He’s probably interested in gourmet nuts and is willing to travel for them.
It turned out not to be, as Atticus insisted, completely innocent. It wasn’t even a little bit innocent. The squirrel didn’t lead us to the Japanese Gardens or the arboretum, but rather to what I can only call a Dread Assemblage. I can count to twenty just fine, and there were more than twenty trees in a wooded area of the park that had more than twenty squirrels each in them! He-Who-Knows-How-To-Travel-On-Loud-Shiny-Human-Tube-Things scrambled up one of the trees and Atticus said this was where he wanted to go, so we could go ahead and bark all we wanted. The thing is, we were too stunned to let rip more than a confused woof or two. We’d never seen so many squirrels in once place before and didn’t know what to do. They were chattering away but not fighting over anything. They were obviously there to cooperate on something, a conspiracy right under our noses—or above our noses, since they were all sticking to the branches out of our reach. That’s when I counted them.
Four hundred.
No, it’s far less.
I don’t feel particularly endangered.
Starbuck must have felt encouraged by that somehow because he started barking in earnest, leaping up to scare the squirrels if he could. They chattered back at him, probably making fun, but didn’t move around or seem very worried.
Orlaith said,
Oh, sure, I’ve never seen this before. It’s pretty cool.
I spluttered,
I like it whenever I see something new. Gaia always finds a way to surprise me somehow, and I think it’s wonderful.
Okay, I will. There was a pause and Atticus had this tiny little grin on his face like everything was so amusing and there was nothing to worry about. But I kept watching his face and when the grin fell away and turned into a frown, I asked him what he found out. Uh, well. It’s pretty disturbing.
They’re here to discuss how to deal with you. Well, not you specifically, but dogs in general. They think you’re annoying.
It gets worse. They think the best way to get rid of dogs is to get rid of humans, which they think will be easier for some reason.
That’s what they’re here to talk about. But uh, Starbuck is kind of making their point right now. Starbuck?
My little Boston buddy was still barking at the Dread Assemblage and they’d all stopped chattering except for one. He was in the tree above Starbuck, and he pointed one of his little paws straight at Atticus. As one, four hundred squirrels all turned to look at my Druid, and I knew what they were thinking: Get rid of one human and you get rid of all his dogs.
Starbuck, stop. I think we should go. Really. Oberon, Orlaith, let’s go get that poutine. Atticus started backing away, and I was just about to argue with him when that one squirrel screeched and then all the squirrels started scampering down their trees. It’s a mighty creepy thing, hearing all those claws scrabbling on tree bark, seeing all those fluffy tails twitching, all those dead black eyes coming right at you.
Let’s take a strategic lunch break right now, Atticus said. Fast. Come on, run!
I had to run through the streets of Cairo once with Atticus while all the cats of that city chased us right into the Nile river, and I remember feeling humiliated by it, hoping nobody was filming it to put on YouTube later. This was worse. But different, too: Once we got to the boundary of the park, the squirrels stopped chasing us. And it was also different because Atticus was laughing about it, clutching his stomach because he could hardly breathe.
Are you kidding? That was the most fun I’ve had in ages! Whoo! What a trip! Running for my life from four hundred squirrels! Know how many times I’ve done that in two thousand years? Just this once. That’s a rare day for you.
Nah, I understand, Oberon. I get it now. Squirrels are dangerous.
I’m going to be smiling for days and you’ll just have to deal with my joy. But I also know we must be vigilant—and we will! But the squirrels are just talking. They won’t start anything today. It’s safe to go get lunch and enjoy the rest of the city. Who’s hungry?
I didn’t trust the expression on Atticus’s face. He was trying to change the subject to food and I’ve been with him long enough n
ow to know that when he does that he’s trying to hide something. He probably didn’t share everything he found out from the super tiny mind of He-Who-Knows-How-To-Travel-On-Loud-Shiny-Human-Tube-Things. Orlaith and Starbuck weren’t used to such shenanigans, though.
Well, I couldn’t argue with her reasoning there. She’s a super smart hound, and I’m a super lucky one.