Tonight! Pills pop and gunsels drop, as our rerun favorite, The Maltese Chew Toy, continues. (Photo by J.M. Hilton) To read our story from the beginning, click on 03/06/2007 in our archives.
posted by LuLu @ 11:10 PM
LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)
LuLu's Desperate House Dogs is a blog about an eccentric little Beagle named LuLu, who, along with her sister Sadie (a Whippet/Terrier/Beagle blend), writes the lurid Puppies in Lust series, and absorbs local color in an idyllic, off-the-leash, canine-centered village known as Lincoln Park~
Friday, October 12, 2007
Tonight! Pills pop and gunsels drop, as our rerun favorite, The Maltese Chew Toy, continues. (Photo by J.M. Hilton) To read our story from the beginning, click on 03/06/2007 in our archives.
LuLu's Desperate House Dogs (formerly the Bow Wow Blog)
LuLu's Desperate House Dogs is a blog about an eccentric little Beagle named LuLu, who, along with her sister Sadie (a Whippet/Terrier/Beagle blend), writes the lurid Puppies in Lust series, and absorbs local color in an idyllic, off-the-leash, canine-centered village known as Lincoln Park~
About Me
- Name: LuLu
I am a single five-year-old female Beagle, shown here by myself, while my mix-up of a sister sings the praises of mutts on my blog. Well, let her. I have a most intriguing (one might even say lascivious) past, at least according to my autobiography. In a former lifetime I was Queen Elizabeth the Ist of England, and later on (among others) I was Nell Gwynn, Pauline Borghese, Louise Brooks, and eventually just lovable, neurotic, adorable ME. I have a perfectly charming, albeit very annoying, sister named Sadie. She's rarely plagued by conscience, possibly because she's a Sagittarius. To date she has attempted to steal most of my boyfriends, meaning we're quite used to fighting over bones. Sadie and I are the same age, although she's the adopted one. We do have a fair amount of things in common. For example, she was once Mary Queen of Scots, and later on both Barbara Villiers and Marlene Dietrich. Amazingly we get along -- at least when we're before the public~
Previous Posts
- "Who reads these days? That idea sucks! For a howl...
- "Vartag? It's Zarex. I believe I've located Genera...
- "Unfortunately, Zarex, you've just met the cat who...
- "Of course they're implants! At heart, I'm a sap-s...
- "I'm so glad I'm not a retriever." (Photo by J.M. ...
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- "Uh-ho. My person's been buying those plastic Chin...
- "I can get you that stuff wholesale." (Photo by J....
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- Tonight! Sam Spencer gets a visit from his guard d...
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The Maltese Chew Toy (continued)
Last week Sam learned from Murray that his neighbor, Sophie Caruthers (mistress of Iva), just shot Florinda Gatthamer -- and even more ear-perking news: Bugsy Gatthamer never had a son....
"Wait a Jack Russell minute!" barked Sam, sitting up and staring down at Murray. "My late partner told me Gatthamer used to be married to some purebred dame from back east. They had a son. You telling me our gunsel is not this two-footer?"
Murray thumped his tail. "Most decidedly not, and while I do not in the least doubt the probability of the first Mrs. Gatthamer having a son, old son, I'm telling you Bugsy wasn't the father."
Sam gave a short arf. "Two-footers are as bad as cats!" he allowed, conveniently forgetting the fact he currently had two pregnant bitches on his paws, and all the pups were likely to be his own.
"Let me guess," ventured Sam. "If there is a son, he was sired by Gatthamer's late business partner. Bugsy murdered his partner, and it's a safe bet he also murdered his first wife. Am I getting warm?"
Murray shook his head. "As cold as a Borzoi's nose in a blizzard. Son, are you ever going to let me finish my story?"
Sam stretched out beside the big police dog again. "Every dog must have his day. Go on."
Murray snorted but continued. "As your neighbor, the trigger-happy Miss Caruthers, was leaving, Mr. Webley-Fosbery reached behind the escritoire in the hallway and pulled out a gun of his own."
"Did he shoot her with it?"
"No, our gunsel walked in, saw Mrs. G. lying, dying, on the floor, covered his face with his beefy mitts and dropped to one knee," Murray told him.
"Wait a minute -- what is this, HAMLET?"
Murray shrugged. "He kept saying 'Florie, Florie,' and finally she opened her eyes and murmured, 'The Diamond Dogs.'"
Sam looked baffled. "'The Diamond Dogs'? Sounds like a good name for a book title or something. Kind of catchy."
"Then she died," said Murray, "and our butler told the gunsel that his other girlfriend did it."
"So what did the gunsel say?"
Murray stretched. "Ugly things, Sam. Foul and ugly things. When he was done with his ranting, Mr. Webley-Fosbery told him to get up and get out. 'You are no true son of mine,' he said."
"What?"
"'You are no true son of mine...'"
"I got that part," Sam barked. "So that was it. The first Mrs. G. and the butler got it on. They had a kid. This is starting to make a weird kind of sense...."
Murray nodded. "Want to hear the rest, Sam?"
"Go on, go on."
"Then the gunsel said, 'Of course, I'm not your son, you senile old fool -- although he was a good deal less grammatical..."
"Murray..."
"Sorry, son," and Murray grinned.
(Story continued below...)
Story cont'd...
"Get on with the story," Sam barked. "Truth is, it's just getting interesting."
"Mr. Webley-Fosbery drew his gun, and then he said, 'Lefty..' If you'll recall, the gunsel's name was Lefty."
"I recall," Sam told him.
"He said, 'Lefty, I let you help a miserable rat escape from The Rock, and I let you kill him. I'm not sorry for doing so, but I'm disgusted with myself for letting two other people die."
"Two other people and a nice old dog named Archer," Sam added.
"'What are you gonna do about it?' Lefty asked him. 'You gonna shoot me, Pops? You gonna try to put my lights out with that pea shooter of yours?'"
"Did the butler put his lights out?" Sam asked, looking expectant.
Murray shook his head. "Mr. Webley-Fosbery took aim and prepared to fire, and at that very moment the front door opened again, and another two-footer came in."
"WHAT?"
Murray nodded. "This was a man about the same age as our gunsel, only slimmer and more polished -- with an ascot and all."
"Well, who was he?" asked Sam. "Was he some guy selling flea combs?"
"'I'm Alexander Webley-Fosbery!' he announced, and I've come here to find my parents.'"
"You're making this up," said Sam.
But Murray shook his head. "I swear on my Daddy's dog tags, son, it's the truth."
"Was the butler overjoyed?"
"He was confused," Murray told him. "The gunsel dodged behind the other two-footer just as Mr. Webley-Fosbery pulled the trigger."
"You don't mean to tell me the butler plugged his own son with a pill?"
Murray nodded. "Shot him where he stood -- and Lefty got away."
Story continued below...
Story cont'd...
A screech of tires in the alleyway caused a sudden lull in the conversation.
"Sounds like the action's come home, Sam," arfed Murray a moment later. "You think we'll be safe here in this tool shed?"
"I notice you're not thinking like a guard dog anymore," Sam commented. "You seem to have bought into the Sam Spencer school of thought with few guilt feelings over the conversion."
"I'm a dog, which means I'm loyal," Murray told him, "but I'm also not stupid, and I'm much too fine a police dog to work for anyone associated with Bugsy Gatthamer."
Sam heard hear a car door slam, followed by the click of high heels. He smelled Sophie Caruther's perfume, along with the faint scent of fear.
He heard a second car roar into the alleyway. A door slammed. Sam smelled the gunsel, who called out Sophie's name. He did not sound like a guy in a romantic mood.
She ran up the backstairs and into her apartment. The gunsel fired a pill into the outside door. Sam and Murray hunkered down, waited.
Sam hoped that Mrs. Petoma wouldn't show up with Effie and Iva about now. He hoped it with everything within him.
"I had to do it!" he heard Sophie shout. "You would have gone with her! I know you would!"
"Where are the dogs?" the gunsel, Lefty, bellowed. "Florie said 'Diamond DOGS'!"
"She was delirious!" cried Sophie.
"It's only the one dog! And I went to where I thought she was -- I went there, and she was gone."
"You're lying!"
"I'm not!"
"You got me to kill your uncle so you could inherit his property! Next you cooked up this two-penny scheme! But you didn't have to kill Florie. You didn't have to do it!"
Sam and Murray heard a shot, and then another.
Mrs. Petoma stepped out the back door of 891, trailed by Effie and Iva. "I hope those boys who live across the alleyway aren't playing with firecrackers again," she said.
Sophie Caruthers staggered out the back door of 893. "I've been shot," she pointed out unnecessarily -- before dropping like a safe tossed out of a window. Just before she hit the ground, she struck her head on Archer's old doghouse.
Poetic justice, thought Sam Spencer.
Story continued next week...
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