Happy Mardi Gras! I've been puttering around on my Bobby Lee Bond story and managed to finish Chapter 2. Enjoy!
“Oh, my perfect little brute, let’s get a soft towel to wrap you in, shall we?” said Basil in the gentle tone he reserved for Cat. He stood up and walked over to the linen cabinet and pulled out one of the better bath towels while Bobby packed both of their suitcases.
Cat had always liked Basil’s voice. It had a calm, even quality that made the world feel properly arranged. Now that Cat understood everything Basil was saying, he liked Basil’s voice even better.
Basil came back with the towel and arranged it near Cat, touching him, but placed so Cat could easily paw it into whatever shape seemed best. Basil knelt next to him.
“Now, I want you to listen to your Uncle Basil. This time, let’s see if we can restrain ourselves a bit and not tear the veterinary staff limb from limb as is your custom. We need them operating at tip-top efficiency, you see, and we can’t have them calling ambulances because you severed someone’s artery.”
Cat gave him a look.
“Yes, yes, I know. No one deserves your righteous fury more than veterinary staff. Nevertheless, let us attempt to be civilized this morning.”
Cat briefly rearranged the towel with one paw and gingerly lay on it. He looked up at Basil and blinked slowly.
“Now, just between you and me, you ferocious creature, I promise you this,” Basil said in a stage whisper. “Whoever did this to you will be set on fire, drawn and quartered, beheaded and then forced to listen to German operas for an entire day.”
Bobby Lee was nearly done. He was packing quickly now, shirts and boots going into the cases with more force than care. There would be time to sort them out when they got home to the river house in Alabama.
“And how about you, old boy?” Basil said to General Beauregard in a noticeably more cheerful voice. Basil had always felt Cat required seriousness and the dog required warmth. He had no idea why this was so. It simply seemed correct.
Basil saw the General’s shoulder was too badly injured for his harness so he attached the leash to the General’s collar and left it at that. Normally, the General was best led with a harness that provided support across the front of his chest instead of strangling him with the collar when dragging him along was necessary, but it wouldn’t do to have the harness press upon the General’s wounds.
“We’ll just attach the leash here and hope you consent to going in the direction we want to go. Let’s try not to be the obstinate basset hound this time, shall we?”
Like Cat, General Beauregard now understood what was being said, but unlike Cat, he was shamed by it. He had always assumed that the leash existed to force him to go places he’d rather not go. Now he understood it was there to keep the pack together. Beauregard ruminated on this rather stunning revelation. It changed everything and not for the better.
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By the time the sun was clear of the trees, the SUV was already moving down the causeway towards Lafayette.
The tires hummed. Neither man spoke until they were at the main road.
“None of this makes sense,” Bobby finally said. “If they wanted to kill us, why not just go into our rooms and do the job quickly? It’s not like we hadn’t made the job easy for them.”
“Frankly, I’m embarrassed by it all. I’m glad I didn’t have to meet my ancestors under those circumstances. I could just imagine telling Great-Uncle Reginald who died at Omdurman saving the battalion that I died because I had too many gin and tonics.”
Bobby smiled and then continued his musings. “So what happened last night? Someone came to our fish camp and injected something into the General and Cat, but didn’t escape alive. That much is clear. Also, the animals put up one hell of a fight. What was that all about?”
“No one would have bothered to come all that way through the swamps to inject something into Beauregard and Cat for no purpose. It had to have been directed at us. But why? We’ve been effectively retired for years. Sure, we take on the odd job now and then, but we’re clearly way past our prime. Why us? Why there?”
Bobby turned on to the main road that led to Lafayette. “I can’t make heads or tails of it. Still, we’ve got the ID of the skiff. I’ll be able to track down who rented it.”
They were silent for a while as they drove, but the truth of the matter was that they were professionally embarrassed.
“We should have wired the place when we bought it,” said Bobby.
“Quite right, old man. An appalling lack of foresight on our part. We’re getting lazy in our dotage."
“We’ll need to get it fully prepped and equipped before we use it again. Did you leave anything behind you wanted to keep? We can turn around and go back right now if you did.”
“I appreciate the offer, Robert, but I was thinking along the same lines. The only thing I wanted was the small picture of my great Uncle Captain Edward Lionel Fitzalan at Ypres. I had it on my nightstand. It’s right here in my pocket. No need to backtrack.”
Uncle Captain Edward Lionel Fitzalan at Ypres.
Bobby smiled and shook his head. Basil could produce photos of ancestral war heroes the way American boys produced baseball cards. There was always another uncle in dress uniform or another cousin who had died nobly somewhere cold and muddy.
Bobby had nothing like that. Not from his own house, anyway. Daddy’s farm near Dothan had failed before Bobby was born, so he packed up Momma and the babies and headed west to help a cousin run cattle in Montana. That was the family story in their branch — not tragic, not heroic. Just what you did when the land wouldn’t carry you anymore.
The Bonds were Southern clear back into the 1840s, scattered now through Alabama, Mississippi and Georgia. The South was in his blood although Montana had raised him.
Time went by silently as they drove. The puzzle wouldn’t let Bobby rest. It sat in his chest like a stone.
“Who could possibly have done that?” he finally said. “We haven’t worked since the pharmaceutical company sent us to Brazil to find that researcher. As far as I could tell, no one else even cared about that.”
Basil had no answer. He only shook his head with self-reproach.
They kept driving in silence.
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“Cat?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been a bad dog. A very bad dog.”
“What are you talking about? No one could fault you for anything that I’ve seen.”
“The leash.”
“The leash?”
“I resisted it.”
“Who wouldn’t? It’s a dreadful thing. I wouldn’t tolerate such an indignity,” replied Cat.
“It wasn’t an indignity. That’s the problem. It was love. It was only there to make sure I was with them. They used it so they knew we were all together. It wasn’t forced positioning, it was pack loyalty. I misread it all along and resisted. I resisted the pack.”
Cat didn’t truly understand, nor did he care beyond the fact that his dearest friend was unhappy. What did all this nonsense mean? He’d been a bad dog? Whatever. Cat got dinner and treats and petting day after day. Things remained properly ordered. Wasn’t that enough for everyone?
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After driving in silence a while longer, Bobby shrugged and smiled, looking over at Basil, who seemed to be silently arguing his case before several centuries of disapproving Fitzalans.
“Maybe MI6 is trying to tell you to come back home,” Bobby said with a smile.
“You know, if MI6 wanted me back all they had to do was wave a million pounds under my nose.”
“Basil, you wouldn't go back for a million pounds. Besides, you already have a million pounds several times over.”
“Yes, well, I know that. But still, it does make one’s blood run swiftly to think of some shrew in Human Resources being forced to call me up and offer me a million pounds to return to work.”
Bobby just laughed.
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As they neared the vet, Bobby said, “I’ll drop you off with the animals. I’m going to go check on that skiff.”
“Try to be charming.”
“Aren’t I always?” Bobby replied with a wink and a smile.
Basil just smiled and got ready to bring the animals in to the vet.
