The Basel Incident

The place in Boca was just as I had remembered it. Lush plants sealed in a tiny tropical lagoon. Many times I strolled through the gardens contemplating a case. Pippa was my partner back then, and she knew all the wrong mutts.

I dug in right away and took one of my people out for a spin. It was an old Cooper. A little beat up but still gets along alright. I pulled on that leash and we heeled it into the evening streets. The palm trees hung up there in the sunset and as I went down Fan Palm Road for the first time in years, the memories slipped through the twilight. I was excited to find Pippa and get to the bottom of this.

I pulled along a series of mailboxes to get my messages. What my nose told me froze me solid. The collar came up and smashed my face into a grimace as everything came to a halt.

Pippa was dead.

~

I pulled through the streets checking each of the mailboxes, but everything smelled the same. The coconuts smelled rotten, the luxurious lawns smelled fake, the whole damn town smelled bad. I had to confirm it. I’d go see the Maltese. He lived in the jungle behind my place, on the other side of some bars. A clever one, that Maltese. He had his paws in every hole from West Palm to Miami. He’d give me the dirt on what happened to Pippa.

Back at my place I had a bowl of tap, then another. Angrily gnawed one stick after another. I’d see the Maltese tomorrow. Damnit, Pippa. Damnit.

~

I woke up in the morning as the sun moved over the tall bamboo and warmed my fur. I had slept next to the pool. A shadow broke my early sunning. I glanced up at the edge of the pool, and there I saw the silhouette of the Nun.

She stared at me with those yellow eyes. Like two bulbs in the dark in the midst of that jet black fur. It was all you could see when you looked at her. That and the white patch on her breast from which she derived the moniker of ‘Nun’. It most definitely did not come from her comportment. She moved when she noticed that I saw her and sleekly stretched. Her long feline body balanced precariously along the edge of the deep end.

“Hector, Hector, Hector,” she tsked.

“Nun,” I grumbled back while rolling onto my side.

“By what auspicious stars do we have the pleasure of Hector who hails from New York?”

“You’re in my light,” I grumbled again.

She arched her back in a long stretch and slid across the edge of the pool.

“It’s been a long time, hound dog. Things have changed. Why are you here?”

“You know why I’m here,” I stood up and looked at her. She moved to my left on the pool’s edge.

“I’ve got enough lapdogs, thank you very much.” She skirted to my right as I moved to the left.

“I know you do. What do you know about Pippa?” I moved right and she left.

“Look at that cute fuzzy face,” she meowed.

“Ah, knock it off.”

“I changed my mind. I could always use another lapdog.”

“I know that you know what happened. Look, if you wanna dish the Fancy Feast then go ahead. If not, then skimp off over that wall. Quit wasting my time and let me sleep.”

“Fine,” she said, tiptoeing to the wall and springing atop. “Hector, the iguanas in the park. I hear they see loads up there in the trees. But you didn’t hear that I heard.” She disappeared over the wall and into the neighborhood.

~

After I sloughed off the morning dew and had a little kibble, I trotted toward the bars in the jungle to see Maltese. The sun came down strong and sliced through the palm ceiling. It was already balmy and hotter than the vet’s. A layer of heat pressed on my thick fur. I was never made for this climate. A couple barks later and I wasn’t the only one panting. The Maltese came out from his place all in white just as I remembered him.

“Nice to see some things never change,” I said.

“Hector, old boy! How’s things? How you been eating?”

“You know us northerners. All steak and gristle.”

“Good to hear it. Yes, good to hear,” he said quickly, and looked around with his big dark eyes.

“How about you? How’s the Royal Palm been, Maltese?”

He lifted up his white fluff and spun around a second before getting more comfortable.

“Well, the Palms are the Palms, you know? There’s no more frogs in the streets and a lot more outsiders. And outsiders, they bring outside issues. Things have changed since you left, Hector. And not all of it’s jerky,” he snorted quickly.

“Yea, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I heard about Pippa. I’m really sorry, Hector old boy. Damned shame. Damned shame.”

“So, it’s true then. Pippa is really dead. How’d it happen, Maltese?”

“I’m sorry, old boy. I don’t know. They said she was found down in Miami. She was working a case down there, but I’m not sure what it was. Could be anything down that way. I’m truly sorry I don’t know more. It’s been a long time since Pippa’s been around this way. Since, well, you were here last. Sorry old boy.”

“Who’s Pippa been walking with? Where was her bowl?” I asked.

“She was bayside, I believe. Like I said, it’s been a while. She’d been talking to a lad named Linguini who lives near here. Another Maltese like me. He might be able to dish a bit. What you thinking of doing?”

“I gotta find out what happened to her, Maltese. She would’ve done it for me.”

“She was playing ball with some big cats down there in Miami, old boy. It could get messy. I wouldn’t be a friend if I didn’t say.”

“Ah, big cats are just easier to catch.” I thought briefly of the fat Dude and how that wasn’t necessarily true. “Either way, keep your ears tuned this way. I might bark for you. And stay low. I don’t even trust the geckos around here anymore.”

“Don’t have to tell me. Two barks and a howl after dark, alright? Don’t want to get caught out here with my tail between my legs if you’re stirring stuff up at the park.”

“Thanks, Maltese. Have a stick. I’ll bark you up later.”

~

Miami. There were some big dirty hydrants down there. The air’s so thick with the wiseguys that you can hardly breathe through your nose. I wasn’t looking forward to that scene. New York has its fair share of wiseguys that I have to deal with regular as dinner, but that’s the dinner you know. Who knows what sort of slop gets dished out down here?

Miami would thankfully have to wait. First I had to find out who Pippa was working for, and I had a feeling it started in Boca. Boca Raton means rat’s mouth. Some say it means thieves’ inlet. I think both are accurate.

~

The iguanas in the park weren’t hard to find. They were sun-drunk and slow, draped like green garlands across the banyans. I caught one blinking lazily on a branch like he owned the sky.

“Hey, Scaletail,” I barked. “Get down here.”

He didn’t move.

I growled low, the kind of growl that makes birds scatter and squirrels forget their zip code.

The iguana blinked again. “You must be Hector,” he rasped finally. “The one nosing around about Pippa.”

“So you do know something.”

He shifted his claws, letting one side of his belly bake. “Word gets around. She was here a week ago. Came sniffing about the water bowls, asking questions about the imports.”

“What imports?”

He gave a lazy nod. “Crates coming up from the Keys. Said it was high-grade kibble. Designer stuff. But it wasn’t for the bowls.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Then what was it?”

“Cats, Hector. Jungle cats. Not from around here. Not from anywhere around here. They were being brought in—quiet-like. Trained for… something.” He let the word hang like stale meat.

My ears twitched. “Miami?”

“Where else?”

I didn’t like it. Smelled like trouble soaked in tuna juice.

~

I found Linguini behind the tiki bar near the canal. He was chewing through a beach chair like it owed him money. Another puffed-up Maltese with more bark than bite, but those types always think they’re the main dish.

“You Linguini?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

“The guy who knows you talked to Pippa. And the guy who just stepped in something I hope was from a duck.”

His ears twitched. “Alright, alright. We talked. She was on a case. Something to do with the zoo. She said the stripes didn’t add up. Said one of the big cats went missing but nobody was meowing about it.”

“A tiger?”

He nodded. “Or something like it. She said there was a trainer—Rico. Old poodle with too many secrets. He used to run the show before the shutdown. She thought he was moving the big cats out the back and getting paid in salmon steaks.”

I grunted. Rico. That name had fleas.

~

It took some sniffing, but I found Rico’s place near the edge of the Everglades. The old poodle came to the door with a limp and eyes that had seen too many shadows.

“Pippa was here,” I said.

His jaw tightened. “She asked too many questions. Said she had evidence. She was gonna go public. Said the Maltese boys would back her.”

“She never got the chance.”

He looked down. “I didn’t touch her. But I knew the ones who did.”

My hackles rose. “Names, Rico.”

He sighed. “A tabby called Momo. Works for the Miami crowd. Cuban-Peruvian mix. Real slick. Got claws dipped in gold. She didn’t like Pippa sniffing around. Said she’d ‘clip her whiskers.’ Next day, Pippa’s gone.”

“Where’s Momo now?”

He looked toward the coast. “Last I heard—she’s shipping out tonight. Private dock, Collins Inlet.”

~

The air in Miami reeked of heat, lies, and sea salt. I found the inlet just before moonrise. Momo was there, lounging on a crate like Cleopatra with a tail. Gold-tipped claws, diamond collar, and a smugness that could flatten a corgi.

“You must be Hector,” she said without turning.

“You’ve got one chance to make this easy,” I growled.

She laughed, a high, haughty sound. “Oh, darling. Pippa was a fool. She poked her nose into business that didn’t concern her.”

“She was my partner.”

She finally turned, eyes narrow. “Then maybe you should’ve kept her on a shorter leash.”

I leapt. She was fast, but I had teeth and years of sidewalk brawls behind me. We went rolling across the dock like laundry in a dryer. At the end, I had her by the scruff.

“She was going to expose your little zoo ring. And you couldn’t have that, could you?”

She hissed. “You’ve got nothing.”

I dropped her, hard, into an open crate of confiscated collars. “I’ve got you.”

The Coastguard rolled in just as I’d planned. Maltese had done good. Two barks and a howl. They cuffed Momo and her goons, uncovered half a dozen sedated jungle cats bound for offshore buyers. Rico turned state’s sniffing dog.

~

Back in Boca, I sat by the pool again. The Nun watched me from the garden wall.

“So,” she said, “you solved it.”

“Pippa solved it. I just closed the loop.”

“You’re staying?”

I didn’t answer. I looked at the water, at the ripples the wind made. Maybe I’d stay a while. The fake grass still smelled bad, but the palms looked a little better.

“Just don’t get too comfortable,” the Nun purred.

I gave her a grin. “You know me. Never do.”

And I didn’t.

But for the first time in a long time, I let the sun warm my back.