Sheepdogs: Keeping the Wolves at Bay by Gordon Carroll (tools of titans ebook .TXT) 📗

I gave him the platz command and he instantly downed at the edge of the deck. Lying on his chest and stomach he stretched out his body and stared straight ahead silently. Only Max’s training saved Gauges from becoming Alpo.

As my friend Napoleon would so aptly say, “Luckyyyyy.”

Max stared into his prey’s eyes, seeing the terror shine in the creature’s soul. He didn’t like it, this finding of prey but not being allowed to attack and destroy it at the end of the hunt, but the Alpha’s orders must be obeyed.

His prey hid under the deck, its body excreting the smell of fear and alcohol. Another smell piggybacked the others. Something foul and sick. Similar to the narcotics he had been trained to find, but different, worse. As though the man’s body were rotting, his flesh combining with the drugs, stewing into an infectious brew. It was an abomination and the rancid obscenity of it affected his keen senses like a physical force driving him to greater frenzy.

Froth drool slid from his jaws. His nails dug into the grass and dirt beneath him, his body straining closer.

This creature was warped, polluted, unclean and for some reason its very presence was an affront to Max. Every fiber of his being urged him to charge and obliterate the atrocity hiding just a few feet away.

A slight change in the wind swirled the man’s spore straight into Max’s face; the fetid stench more than he could bear. Every muscle in Max’s body bunched and coiled, ready to launch as he gave way to his primal instincts.

“Fooey, nine!” It was the Alpha coming up behind him. Max held his ground, obeying the pack leader.

But just barely.

I saw Max start to break and stopped him just in time. He was more amped than usual and I didn’t know why. Fooey is the German word Pfui and its actual translation is something like yuck, but most American handlers use it as a milder form of the word no. Nein, pronounced nine in English is the harsher form of the word no and is used to strongly correct a dog’s actions when misbehaving. Ripping off Gauge’s arm would have been considered misbehaving, thus the need for the harsher correction.

Ideally a handler should use only a single correction when training, such as fooey or nine, but not both, otherwise the dog will learn to wait until the second command before actually obeying. Being a judge, instructor and trainer, I of course know this and would dock points off any handler I heard doing such a thing during competition or training. So dock me. Stress makes even the best of us screw up.

Besides, I really needed to see if I could get some information out of Gauges, and if he was isolated in an intensive care ward at a hospital that would be unlikely.

I foossed Max back to me and knelt down beside him. I had my .45 in my hand, not knowing if Gauges was armed or not. I could see nothing beneath the deck. It was completely black. But I didn’t doubt Max for a second.

“Hey there,” I said, “you, under the deck. You can either come out from under there and talk to me nicely, or I can send this fine Belgian piranha in to bring you out. You have five seconds to decide. Five — four — three…”

“I’m commin’ out, man. I’m commin’ out. Don’t let Cujo get me. I give up… I swear.”

“That’s good,” I said. “Come out with your hands in front and make sure they’re empty. If you try anything naughty it will go very bad for you. Besides the dog I’ve got a .45 caliber stainless steel bang-bang pointed at you and I’ll squeeze off a bunch of painful bullets, understand?”

“I ain’t tryin’ nothin’, man. I swear.”

He came out from under the deck, hands in front just like I’d asked.

Max trembled beneath my fingers. He was wired and ready for action. I was afraid he was a little too wired and might go for Gauges. I platzed him and went over to Gauges and patted him down. I found a two-inch pocketknife in his right, front pant’s pocket, but other than that he was unarmed. I holstered my weapon and told him to stand there while I moved Max closer to the fence. Max walked with me but his eyes never left Gauges. I gave Max the ouss command, which is designed to shut him down instantly. Max lay down and quieted, but his muscles still jumped and flexed as though he was fighting a losing battle with his will.

I went back to Gauges.

“You ain’t a cop,” he said.

“No, but I play one on TV, and I know what you’ve been up to. So unless you want me to have the real cops stop by so you can spend the night with your friends in lock up you’d better tell me what I want to know.”

“Wadda ya wanna know?”

“Where are Tom and Amber Franklin?”

“Who?”

I nodded. “The Denver cops got your stash and pipes from the house, but I happen to know where there’s some stuff they didn’t get. How about a trade?”

His eyes darted about. His pupils were the size of saucers. He licked his lips. “I wanna trade, man, but I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout those names you just said. I swear, man.”

“That’s not what Kevin told me,” I said, using Pimples’ first name.”

His eyes shifted back and forth. “What did Kev say?”

I smiled, then took it away. “Well that’s your problem my friend. Only I know what Kev told me. And since you don’t, you won’t know where you can and can’t lie to me. So let me tell you how this is going to work. You are going to tell me everything you know about good old Kev and his doper friend starting from the beginning and if you tell me the truth, the whole truth, I’ll let you have the rest of Kev’s