Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

spoil the mood? Yes, a pleasant evening—right up until the moment I got arrested. But it was V. D., not the LAPD, who had the last laugh.
    It happened like this: Supper was over. So was a somewhat censored account of my recent activities. So was my interested examination of Taffy’s rattle, which turned out to be a dirty, old, hollowed-out, carved animal foot with a series of holes drilled in it where once, I conjectured, there dangled rattley bits from long-gone lengths of thong or suchlike. Evonne’s theory was that originally the end of the hoof had been blocked up with something after a handful of, say, gravel had been inserted, and thus the holes were there to let the sound out. King’s theory was that whatever our theories might be, as it was, after all, a bone, it belonged to him.
    Anyhow, Evonne and I were entwined on her old sofa watching TV when she propounded another theory—wouldn’t it be smarter for me to plant the hoof before we went to bed instead of my having to set the alarm and wake everyone (meaning her) in the middle of the night? As everything in my little mall was shut up tight by ten-thirty or so, why not do it shortly thereafter?
    “Why not indeed, my blossom,” I said, rubbing the back of her sweet neck the way she liked, eliciting a purr of pleasure in response. “By the way, may I borrow your gorgeous new trowel?”
    And so it came to pass that, shortly after eleven, I let King and myself into my office, turned on the desk light only, locked the front door again, and armed with long-handled snips, poked my head out the back door and cased the alley. All was quiet. Five feet to my right the new and highly objectionable fence commenced. Snip-ping! snip-ping! six times in all, up the side of the post, snip-ping! four times along the bottom. All was still quiet. I ducked back inside; King was still in his corner where he’d been told to stay. I had a thought. I took the time to open up the massive safe in the bathroom and stick the cutters in; the safe door I left ajar.
    Back outside I snuck. I peeled back the corner of the fence and wormed my way through—only snagging myself once—this time armed with hoof, trowel, and one well-chewed tennis ball.
    About five yards in, I squatted down, dug a hole, dirtied up the hoof, laid it in the hole, filled the hole up again, then imbedded King’s ball halfway into the loose dirt on top. I took the umpteenth look around— still all quiet but for the traffic passing out the street.
    Then it was back out through the fence and back inside, where I stashed the trowel, closed the safe, then called my dog, once, softly. He came bounding toward me, more than ready for his first night game. He followed me eagerly through the hole in the fence. I then pretended to throw his ball, and whispered, “King! Fetch!”
    He fetched. It took him all of five seconds to sniff it out and dig it up, then he brought it back to me proudly and dropped it at my feet. What a good boy. I then hunkered my way over to the hole and dug up the hoof, with some help from the dog. As I was hefting it in one hand, I was suddenly hit by a blinding spotlight. A voice through a bullhorn told me in no uncertain terms to hold it right there, mac, I was under arrest. I held it right there. King started barking excitedly. I told him to hold it right there, too.
    A minute later a voice not coming through a bullhorn said, “OK, come on out, but slow.” I climbed out slowly, keeping hold of King’s collar, then straightened up slowly, the spotlight shifting to cover me.
    “Good evening, officer,” I said. “My name is Victor Daniel and I can explain everything.”
    “Patrolman O’Connor,” the cop said. “And I’ve heard that before. Turn around, please.” I turned around. He gave both my pockets and the small of my back a brief pat while King wagged his tail interestedly. Then he called to his buddy in the patrol car, “OK, shut ‘er off, Don.” Don cut the light; the cop who had frisked me holstered his weapon a touch reluctantly, I thought. “What ‘cha got there?” he then inquired. “I dunno,” I said. “A bit of old bone my dog dug up.”
    “Oh yeah?” he said. “So what were you doing in there, anyway, besides trespassing?”
    “It’s like this, sir,” I said. “My office is right here, right next door. I stopped by on my way home to pick up a few papers I’d forgotten, then the dog wanted out, so I took him out back here and darned if I didn’t