Hounded

single wolfhound owner in the valley. If you heard I still had a wolfhound from my neighbor across the street, he’s not exactly a reliable witness. Last night he was cited by Officer Benton of the Tempe PD for making a false 911 call. «
    The two detectives exchanged a glance, and I knew that was it. Mr. Semerdjian was at it again. I’d have to ask Oberon to leave him a present on his front doorstep. He’d do it camouflaged too, so that even if Mr. Semerdjian was watching—and he probably would be—it would appear to be undeniable, physical evidence that, sometimes, shit just happens.
    » Have you checked the animal shelter for your lost dog, Mr. O’Sullivan? « Jimenez asked. Fagles went back to glaring at me from behind his sunglasses.
    » Not yet, « I said.
    » Aren’t you concerned about his welfare? «
    » Of course I am. He’s properly licensed and has my phone number on a tag around his neck. I’m expecting a call any minute. «
    They stared at me stone-faced for a few moments to let me know that the sarcasm wasn’t appreciated. I stared back to let them know I wasn’t intimidated. Your move, youngsters.
    I could tell they didn’t quite know what to make of me. Seeing the world through a perp filter as they did, I must look to them like a sullen stoner punk pretending to attend college, but I wasn’t behaving like one. I was too alert, too sharp. Maybe that made me a dealer. Perhaps they assumed I wasn’t letting them in because they’d find my hydroponic weed operation and psychedelic mushrooms in the closet, or maybe a three-foot-tall bong made of blown glass in Day-Glo hippie colors sitting on the coffee table.
    Finally Jimenez broke the silence. He gave me a business card and said, » We’d like you to call us if you find your dog. «
    I took the card and slipped it into my pocket without looking at it. » Good day, gentlemen, « I said, giving them a broad hint to get the hell off my porch. Jimenez took the hint, but Fagles remained. Apparently he wanted to have a staring contest or mutter a threat to me. What an idiot. I knew how to be patient. I put my hands in my pockets and flashed him a fake smile. That got a reaction.
    He uncrossed his arms, pointed a finger at me, and said, » We’ll be watching. «
    Please. Whatever. I kept on smiling and said nothing.
    Jimenez paused in the street and turned around, that being the point where he was supposed to realize Fagles hadn’t followed him off the porch.
    » Detective Fagles, we have other people to talk to, « he called.
    What a lovely straight line. Keeping his voice pitched for my ears only, Fagles said, » Yeah, like the judge. « Gods Below, did this routine work on anyone? With one last aggressive clenching of his jaw, Fagles turned and stepped off the porch. As he did, he turned his head toward the east side of the lawn, where all the pink grass was. Just looking around. No reaction. The grass probably didn’t look pink through those tinted sunglasses of his. Good job, Detective! Jimenez was oblivious as well. He was watching me to see if my body language screamed » GUILTY! « Then he strolled unhurriedly to their unmarked Crown Victoria once Fagles had caught up.
    I returned inside once they had driven off, and Oberon nuzzled my hand at once.
    › I was quiet, ‹ he said, very pleased with himself.
    I chuckled and scratched him behind the ears. » Yes, you were. Genghis Khan would have admired your craftiness. «
    I lifted the camouflage off him so that he would feel comfortable, and then I sat back down to a half-eaten lukewarm omelet and a cup of coffee I had to warm up to make palatable. After cleaning up, I set about looking for anything the cops would find incriminating should they come in here with a warrant. They would be supposedly searching for a dog, but that wouldn’t stop them from snooping around either, unless I had a lawyer here. Even then, they might stumble across something or damage something in the process of their search that I didn’t want them to—mostly my books. I had some pretty arcane titles behind glass in my study, with paper so old it was ready to crumble. Cops wouldn’t be gentle with those if they wanted to rifle through them; I’d need to pay Hal $350 an hour to camp here and make sure they didn’t look for Oberon inside my books. What a pain in the ass. Well, they should owe me some time after all that blood I gave Leif last night. That battle had taken much less than an hour, and the