Patricia Fry - Klepto Cat 03 - Sleight of Paw (2 page)

Michael hesitated. “I can’t say, Pete. I can do an autopsy to see if we can figure out what happened. No charge to you, of course.”

“Hell no! You ain’t doin’ no more cuttin’ on my dog.” He paused and then continued, “You better believe my customers will hear about this. I’ll ruin your business. Everyone needs to know what a…a…butcher shop you run over there, you moron.”

Michael grimaced. “Now Pete, please. I know you’re upset, and frankly, so are we here at the clinic. This is an awful waste of a good dog and a fine pet. But yelling won’t…”

“Don’t you tell me how to behave, you butcher. You killed my dog!”

Michael gritted his teeth and spat into the phone, “And anger won’t bring him back.”

There was silence and then Pete said, “I’m comin’ to get him.”

“I’ll have him ready,” Michael said quietly before noticing that Pete had hung up.

He looked down at his cell phone, pushed “end call” and shook his head slowly from side to side.

“Not taking it well, huh?” Savannah asked while closing the door to the pen where she’d been examining the Ralstons’ cat.

“You heard?”

“I could practically hear him shouting from his store two miles away.” She walked across the hall to the room where Michael sat and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, honey. I know how hard it is to lose a patient.”

“He’s so angry. He’s blaming me.” He stared ahead for a few seconds and then swiveled in the chair toward Savannah. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of emotions expressed when I’ve given a client bad news, but anger isn’t usually one of them.” He took her hands in his. “Savannah, this guy has me kind of scared. I don’t know what he might do.” He looked over at the dog. “He’s coming to get him.”

“Does he want you to do an autopsy? Does he want to know what happened as much as we do?”

“No. He said emphatically, no.” Michael leaned over and rested his head in his hands. “Gosh, this is awful—just awful.”

Savannah ran her fingers over his head and down the back of his neck. “I’ll go unlock the front door and then let’s get him ready for Mr. Gamble,” she said, patting his shoulder a couple of times.

***

“Where are you, you lousy vet?”

Savannah looked over at her husband. “Oh my gosh,” she said under her breath. “He sounds furious.” She grabbed at Michael’s lab coat as he moved toward the booming voice. “Don’t go in there, Michael,” she begged.

“I’ll be okay,” he said, and he continued walking down the hallway toward the front of the clinic. Savannah rushed after him. There, just inside the slightly ajar door, his face contorted with rage, stood Pete Gamble, a sturdy-built man of fifty-one wearing faded jeans and a dark blue polo shirt with his store logo above the pocket—
Gamble Pet Supply
. He held a small wooden baton in his right hand, which hung at his side.

When he saw Michael, he raised the bat and made a move toward him. Savannah rushed forward, putting herself between the two men. She tried to control her voice. “Mr. Gamble, be reasonable.”

“Get out of the way,” Pete hollered as he pushed Savannah aside. “I’m going to kill him.” She felt herself stumbling toward a small table. Before she could stop the forward motion, she slammed into the table, tipping it. A display of sample dog treats crashed to the floor along with a few magazines. Savannah landed hard on her left knee. She barely noticed the pain. She was too terrified for her husband. “NO!! NO!!!” she screamed, as she watched Pete rush toward Michael. The attacker held the baton over his head ready to strike.

Michael put his hands up in an effort to calm the distraught man. “Now, Pete, settle down,” he said. But the outraged man charged Michael, a menacing look on his face. Pete’s agility and speed proved to be detrimental, however, as he stepped on some of the kibbles that had spilled over the waxed linoleum and his feet went out from under him. Savannah looked over from where she still sat and watched as he landed hard on his back.

“Gawd damn it,” he growled, struggling to his feet. He glared over at Savannah, who had scurried up off the floor. She stood against a wall, frozen in place. “I oughta kill you, too!” he yelled. “You butchers…dog killers!!” He raised the bat and ran at Michael again. He swung at Michael’s head just as he ducked, grabbed Pete’s arm and twisted it behind his back. Pete shouted profanities.

Savannah thought she heard another voice. It was Michael’s. “Call the sheriff, Savannah!”

Stunned by the horrifying reality of the scuffle going on in front of her, and aware, now, that her knee was throbbing, it took her a moment to comply.
This just can’t be happening. I’m so scared for Michael. This maniac really does want to do damage,
she thought to herself. She pulled her cell phone out of her jeans pocket and began to dial. Suddenly, Pete freed himself from Michael’s grip. He rushed toward Savannah and knocked the phone out of her hands. She stood there helpless, watching it scoot across the floor to the other side of the room. Michael took the opportunity to grab the baton the attacker still gripped, and the two men struggled hard in an attempt to take control. Suddenly, Michael lost his footing and fell over a chair against the wall. Pete lifted the bat and began pounding it savagely against Michael’s back and head. Savannah couldn’t contain herself. She ran over to Pete, grabbed his shirt, and pulled on the fabric. “Stop it, stop it, now!” she screamed.

He reached behind him, slapping at her with the small bat. Just then, Michael spun around to face his opponent. “Out of the way, Savannah!” he shouted. He dove for the enraged man, hitting him hard in the stomach with his left shoulder and knocking him to the floor. He fell on top of Pete and the bat went flying. Pete broke loose from underneath Michael and scrambled to his feet. Michael promptly jumped to a standing position. However, before Michael had his balance, Pete swung at him with his fist, making contact against his cheek. Michael staggered backward, giving Pete time to reach over and pick up the baton.

“I’m going to kill you, you butcher!” Pete lunged again and Michael was fast enough to grab the man’s wrist. Remembering a move he’d learned while on the wrestling team in college, he hooked his right foot around the back of Pete’s legs and slammed him face down on the floor. Michael straddled him and grabbed his other wrist. As Pete thrashed around, Michael moved up and placed his knee in the middle of Pete’s back. Michael had him pinned to the floor; now he strained to twist one of Pete’s arms behind him, making sure to bend it back far enough so that it hurt, rendering him virtually helpless.

In the meantime, Savannah had made her way behind the reception desk and used the phone to call for help.

“Are you all right?” Savannah screamed.

“I think so,” Michael said, his chest heaving with each breath. “Did you call the sheriff?”

“Yes, they’re on the way. Wait, I think I hear them now—gosh, that was quick.”

“Dr. Ivey?”

Savannah and Michael looked toward the voice. There, peering wide-eyed through the open door was a pudgy teenager. “Steven, what are you doing here?” Savannah asked, her voice shaky.

“Just walking by with Princess.” Steven stared down at Michael and Pete in disbelief. “You know, we live just down the street. I heard yelling and got worried. I called 9-1-1.” He took a step inside and his little Aussie came into view.

“Thank you, Steven,” she said. And then she quickly added, “Don’t come in here. Stay out there, okay?”

Pete lifted his head and looked up at the boy, blood covering his nose and mouth. Noticing the dog, he yelled, “Don’t let these butchers operate on your dog, kid. They’ll kill it like they killed mine.” He began squirming and kicking his feet.

“Just be still, you lunatic,” Michael snarled.

“I’m gonna sue you two and drag your name through the mud. I’ll ruin you,” Pete said through gritted teeth.

Steven stared down at the angry man. Suddenly, he turned and moved aside. Michael and Savannah heard another voice. “Okay, what’s going on in here?” Deputy Jim asked as he pushed the door open and entered the room cautiously, his hand on his gun. Deputy Ben followed. Upon surveying the situation, Ben quickly walked over, put his foot on Pete’s right arm until he released the bat he still held in his hand. He then said, “We’ll take it from here, Dr. Ivey.”

Michael stood and walked slowly and stiffly toward a chair; Savannah rushed to his side. She took his arm and helped him sit down. “Are you all right, hon?” she asked.

“He got me a few good ones,” he said, lowering his head and patting it with one hand. Savannah examined the area and Michael cringed under the light pressure of her touch.

“No blood, but I do feel a knot.”

“Yeah, so do I.”

“And your pretty face, Michael…” Savannah said, holding back tears. She slid her fingers along his cheek ever so gently.

“He killed my dog, Sheriff,” Pete said. “And then he tried to beat me up—came at me with that weapon; I had to take it away from him. Look, he bloodied my nose with that thing.”

“Yeah, Michael bloodied his nose before Pete could kill him with that bat,” Savannah yelled sounding close to hysterics.

“Okay, everyone calm down. You’ll all get a chance to tell your story.”

“He killed my dog, man,” Pete bellowed as Ben cuffed him and helped him to his feet. Jim patted him down.

“Let’s go, Gamble,” Ben said, walking him out the front door.

“You’re arresting me?” Pete screamed.

“Just taking you outta here for questioning,” he said.

Jim looked over at Steven who had backed away from the door for a moment to let Ben through and then stepped back in. “Are you a witness?”

“Yes, sort of,” the teen said.

“Wait, I know you, don’t I? You’re Steven Byrd,” Deputy Jim said. “It was your dad…”

“Yes, my dad was murdered at Dr. Jordan’s house.”

“So what did you witness here today, son?”

“I was walking by with my dog and heard banging noises and loud yelling coming from inside here and screaming. Dr. Jordan screamed.”

“Yes, I did.” She smiled weakly at the boy. “It’s Dr. Ivey now, Steven.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.” He looked down at his hands as he fidgeted with the end of the dog leash for a few seconds. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I could see Dr. Ivey—um—the guy vet, and this dude fighting through the window.”

“Did you see who started the fight?”

“No.”

“Did you hear what they were saying?”

“Yes.” He pointed in the direction that Ben had taken Pete Gamble and said, “He was swearing at Dr. Ivey and accusing him of killing his dog.” Again, looking down, he ruffled the fur on Princess’s head while mumbling, “That’s about all I heard.”

“Did you hear either of these men threaten the other?”

Steven promptly raised his head, his eyes wide and riveted on the deputy’s. “Yeah,” he announced. “The other guy said he was going to kill Dr. Ivey. Um, I think he meant the guy Dr. Ivey.”

“Okay, Steven, thank you. Can I have your phone number in case we need to ask you any more questions?”

“Sure. And I’m the one who called you.”

“Yes, I guess we got two calls. You made the first call. Thank you for doing that.”

“Yes, thank you so much, Steven,” Savannah said as she limped over to the boy, giving him a hug and petting his energetic Aussie with affection. “How’s she doing?” she asked.

“Great!” Steven smiled. “She’s a super dog. Thanks for finding her for us.”

Savannah looked over at Steven. “Thank
you
for taking such good care of her.”

The boy’s round face brightened. “Wanna see a trick I taught her?”

“Sure do.” Savannah glanced back at Michael and Deputy Jim before hobbling after the boy and dog out into the parking lot. Once outside, she noticed that Pete Gamble was sitting in the back of a patrol car. She led Steven off to the other side of the large parking lot.

In the meantime, Jim pulled a chair around to face Michael, sat down, and asked, “So what happened, Dr. Mike?”

Michael looked up at him. “It was surreal. I performed surgery on his dog. Everything was going well. But something happened overnight—we don’t know what—and the dog died.” He took a deep breath and then coughed. He hugged his middle and bent over a little. “Dang, I guess I have a bruised rib cage.”

Jim winced. “The paramedics are on their way.” He looked down at his notes. “So the dog died…”

“Yes, and when I called to tell Pete the bad news, he came unglued…began swearing and making awful accusations. He wanted to come and pick up the dog, which was okay with me. I figured he’d calm down by the time he got here. But, no. He came in here bent on hurting someone—namely me.” Michael leaned forward a little in the chair, his left arm wrapped around his rib cage. Several strands of his straight dark-brown hair hung over one brow.

“What did he say to you?”

“He said he was going to kill me.” He choked up a little. “He also threatened Savannah.” Taking a ragged breath, he looked up at the deputy. “He said he would ruin our reputation in this town.”

“Who struck the first blow, Dr. Mike?” Jim asked, pen and pad poised.