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“It’s amazing how people can change when they are worried about their pets,” I told Dooley. “One minute he’s accusing Ted of all kinds of horrible things, and the next he’s weeping like a baby.”

“I think it’s cancer,” said Dooley. “I thought she looked very thin lately. Emaciated. It’s probably a tumor. Sometimes they hit you when you least expect it.”

Vena had examined the little doggie, and smiled a reassuring smile at Kurt.“She’ll be fine,” she said. “I’d say she was drugged. Did she eat something she shouldn’t have?”

“Kurt was burgled last night,” said Odelia. “And the burglars probably gave Fifi something to keep her quiet.”

Vena glanced around, then spotted a piece of meat lying a couple of feet away from where Fifi’s prostrate form lay. She picked up the piece of meat and sniffed then pulled a face. “This would have done the trick,” she said, then handed the meat to Chase. “I’m guessing you’ll need this as evidence, detective?”

Chase nodded, then automatically reached for a plastic evidence baggie, only to find that his lycra running outfit didn’t have pockets for such a contingency.

“Just put it back,” he said. “I’ll get something to take it into the lab.” He jogged off, and Vena worked on Fifi for a moment, and suddenly, like a miracle, the Yorkie opened her eyes, looked around a little groggily, then emitted a happy bark.

“Oh, Fifi!” said Kurt, picking up his doggie and pressing her to his bosom. “You’re alive!”

“Must have gone into remission,” Dooley said knowingly. “Happens all the time. She’ll have to watch out, though. Cancers this aggressive can come back when you least expect them to.”

“Oh, Dooley,” I said, and rolled my eyes.

Chapter 29

Johnny Carew had been brooding—thinking hard. And since thinking hard was not his usual line of work, he was feeling tired. Sweat droplets glistened on his noble brow, and he was frowning before him like he’d never frowned before. He usually wasn’t the kind of crook who believed in escaping from prison, but since this wasthe first time he’d been imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, he felt justified in putting his weight behind Jerry’s idea of getting out of there.

Unfortunately, try as he might, no plan of escape seemed forthcoming. Of course he readily admitted to not possessing his associate’s formidable brain, being more the brawn of the criminal twosome. Still, he’d hoped to at least make some contribution. The only thing he could come up with, though, was a simple plan, and he was sure that Jerry would dismiss it out of hand.

Nevertheless he felt it incumbent upon himself to enlighten his partner with the fruits of his intellectual labor, ridiculous as they might seem to a genius like Jer.

“All I can think of is to knock out the guards,” he said. “You pretend to be sick, foaming at the mouth, and I knock ‘em out cold and grab their keys. And then I knock out everyone that tries to stop us. Dumb plan, I know,” he added with an apologetic shrug.

But Jerry’s eyes lit up. “Don’t sell yourself short, Johnny. I think it’s brilliant. Knock out everyone that stands in our way. That’s the way to do it. And you’re the man for the job.”

“I am?” asked Johnny, well pleased with this rare compliment from one who rarely paid him any compliments at all.

“Sure, sure. I’ll froth at the mouth, and thrash around a bit, and you knock ‘em all out. Let’s do it. I’m sick and tired of this place—and the lousy food.”

Jerry was right. The least they could do was to feed them their proper three square meals a day. They might be crooks, but they were also human beings. And besides, they were innocent, though probably the chef and his kitchen crew didn’t know that.

“I’ll call the guard and you start foaming, Jer,” said Johnny, happy by this endorsement from his critical partner. “Heeeeelp!” he screamed. “Heeeeelp! Come and help us!”

Unfortunately, no matter how loud he yelled, no one came.

“What’s taking them so long?” grunted Jerry, lying on the cold floor and getting ready to do some serious frothing and thrashing.

“Maybe they’re on their break,” Johnny suggested. “I’ll give it another shot.” And so he repeated the procedure, this time adding some foot stomping to the mix.

A guard finally came shuffling up, looking bored and munching a chocolate sprinkle donut.“What’s all the fuss?” he asked.

“My partner is sick and dying!” Johnny cried, and gestured to Jerry, now properly thrashing and convincingly frothing. In fact he put so much heart into his performance that even Johnny was getting nervous. “Do something!” he told the guard. “Call a doctor!”

“We’re understaffed,” said the cop. “In fact I’m the only one here.”

Even better, thought Johnny. Even though he didn’t mind knocking out the odd cop here and there, in general he liked people, even cops, and preferred not having to knock them around too much if he could help it.

“Open the door, please, sir,” he said now. “I think he’s dying!”