The Sound and the Furry (15 page)

“I know, I know—he’s a loner, kind of eccentric, goes off on his own. Everybody around
here’s in a big hurry to mention all that. But I’ve been doing this for a long time.
Ralph Boutette is missing.”

“What do you—” the vet began, but at that moment two kids came in, one after the other
and each of them holding a bird covered in gloop.

“Doctor Ory?” said the bigger kid. “We were fishin’ and we found these.”

“Are they dead?” the smaller kid said.

The bigger kid turned on her. “Can’t be dead. Their eyes are open.”

I love kids, but maybe there are things they don’t know. For example, I’m pretty sure
from some of the cases we’ve worked that you can be dead with your eyes open; and
these two birds were. The smell starts up right away and I could sniff it out, even
with all that gloopiness in the air.

Dr. Ory rose, holding out her bird toward Bernie.

“Um,” said Bernie. “I’m not . . .” But he took the black skimmer in his cupped hands,
real careful, like it was one of those Christmas tree ornaments that break so easily,
even just from getting brushed by your tail on a run around the tree. Around and around
and around and . . . Meanwhile, Dr. Ory had gone over to the kids and given their
birds a quick look. She took a couple of baggies from her pocket and put a bird in
each, sealing up the baggies tight.

“But their eyes are open,” the bigger kid said.

The smaller kid started to cry. I went over and sat beside her, and was still way
taller. I crouched down a bit: it was all I could think of to do. She turned my way
and her eyes got big. The crying stopped, at least the sound part, if not the tears.

“Where did you find them?” Dr. Ory said.

The bigger kid’s lower lip trembled. “At the place where we go fishin’.”

“By the old tour dock?”

The kid nodded, getting his lower lip under control.

“You did good, kids,” she said. “Wash up over at the sink and go on home.”

The kids did what she’d told them. After they’d gone, she turned to Bernie, hands
out for the black skimmer. Bernie shook his head; his eyes had that hard look now.
When I see that I get my paws under me, all set for just about anything.

Doctor Ory put the black skimmer in a baggie. “Afraid I’ll have to cut this short,”
she said.

“Heading over to the old tour dock?” Bernie said.

Doctor Ory glanced at Bernie in a new kind of way. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“We’re coming,” Bernie said. There was a pause. When humans don’t like an idea, they
get a look on their faces like they’ve just tasted something not too good. Dr. Ory
got that look now. “Unless you’ve got some objection,” Bernie added.

“Suit yourself,” said Doctor Ory.

D
r. Ory drove a very small but new-looking car that made hardly any sound at all. A
car with no
vroom vroom
? Not my kind of ride, baby. We followed her down the street that bordered the bayou,
around a bend and out of town. The clouds got darker and so did the bayou. It disappeared
behind a wall of growing things—so much green around here, not so easy to get used
to—and then slipped back into view again, kind of like a very long and wide silvery
snake; a thought I wished I hadn’t had. Dr. Ory pulled up to an old falling-down shack.
We parked beside her.

“They used to take swamp tours out of here,” she said over her shoulder, walking down
toward the bayou. “Business went under a few hurricanes ago.”

“A Boutette-owned business, by any chance?” Bernie said.

Dr. Ory paused, then kept going. “Their timing could be better.”

“Was Ralph involved in the business?”

“I doubt it—Ralph’s an inventor.”

“So I’ve heard,” Bernie said as we came to the remains of a dock, just a few rotting
planks hanging over the water. “I haven’t been able to get a line on what he actually
invents.”

Dr. Ory gazed down into the water. It wasn’t as still as it had looked from a distance
but lapped at the bayou bank in tiny waves and made sucking sounds at whatever was
holding things up down under us. “This is the farthest upland point reached by the
tide,” she said. “A good place to find things washing in from the Gulf.”

“Like dead birds,” Bernie said.

Dr. Ory nodded. We all scanned the water, except for me, since I already knew there
were no dead things out there at the moment. I smelled rot to beat the band, whatever
that might mean—would I ever forget that night at Blackheart’s Desert Roadhouse where
the fans beat up some way-past-it old band because they refused to play their one
hit? And in the fight it turned out the singer’s long hair was actually a wig and
he was bald underneath? That was when we took off, and took off fast. But where was
I? Rot? Yes, I smelled rot and . . . and also there was that strange scent again,
froggy, toady, snaky, with the peppery poopiness mixed in.

“Don’t see anything,” Dr. Ory said.

“I’ve got binoculars in the car,” Bernie said, and went to fetch them.

That left me alone with Dr. Ory on the dock. Why hadn’t I gone with Bernie, like I
normally would—especially when there was fetching involved? I had no idea. There was
of course the fact that she had a biscuit in the front pocket of her jeans, but aside
from that, I had no idea.

Dr. Ory turned to me. “Hey, Chet,” she said. “One hell of a looker, aren’t you?”

Dr. Ory: a gem. And if not a gem—not in Suzie’s class, for example—I liked her just
fine.

She smiled, the strange sort of wavery smile you see from humans who don’t do a lot
of it. “That’s some tail wag you’ve got there.”

My tail was—? Yes, no doubt about it. I tried to tame it down a bit, but my tail sort
of has a mind of its own, as I’d learned in the past and was now learning again in
the now, where I actually don’t end up doing my best learning. When did I do my best
learning? I tried to think.

“A real champ, I can see that,” Dr. Ory. How nice of her! Any chance that a real champ
would be getting a biscuit any time soon? She stopped smiling. “It’s your buddy I’m
iffy about.”

What was this? She was iffy about Bernie? How could that be? My tail went still, actually
began to droop before I took command.

Bernie returned with the binoculars. He held them to his eyes, scanned the bayou.
“Nope,” he said. “No birds.” Then he went still. “But there’s a boat coming out of
the swamp up there.”

“Let me see,” said Dr. Ory.

Bernie handed her the binoculars. She peered down the bayou. Me, too. I saw a bright
green boat in the distance, with a single small figure standing in the—what was the
word Bernie had taught me? Bow? Kind of like—bow wow! I knew I would never forget
again.

“What the hell’s he doing out there?” Dr. Ory said.

“Who?” said Bernie.

“Somebody from Green Oil. That’s their shade of green—it’s on all their crap.” She
started jumping up and down, calling and waving. No way anyone on the boat could hear
her—I could barely pick up the sound of the green boat’s engine myself—but the small
figure seemed to turn our way. Then the green boat started moving in our direction.

“Do they have platforms out in the Gulf?” Bernie said.

Dr. Ory nodded. “The newest one’s not twenty miles from here.”

The green boat—a bigger boat than I’d thought, with a steering wheel console set up
in the middle and a covered sort of cabin in the bow—slowed down as it approached,
came to a stop, gently rocking, about one long leap from the dock. The driver was
one of those dudes with gray hair—cut real short in his case—who otherwise didn’t
look old at all. He wore a bright green T-shirt with short sleeves that made it easy
to see his big arm muscles, and also a pair of wraparound shades, the kind where you
see yourself in them. I saw myself, plus Bernie and Dr. Ory. I don’t like shades to
begin with, and those mirrored ones are the worst.

“What were you doing out there?” Dr. Ory said, her face set in a hard look.

“Hey, you’re the vet,” the man said, no hardness at all in his voice. “I came by and
introduced myself a few months back. Wes Derrick, VP Environmental Security.”

“I remember,” said Dr. Ory.

Wes Derrick turned to Bernie and smiled in a good-pally way. Bernie didn’t say anything.

“This is Bernie,” Dr. Ory said.

“Nice meeting you, Bernie,” said Wes. “That your dog?”

“We’re more like partners,” Bernie said. Wes seemed to give Bernie an extra-long look.
Hard to tell, what with those shades, and why would he be doing that? Bernie had told
him the truth, pure and simple. Dr. Ory was also watching Bernie, but in a different
way.

“Good-looking pooch,” Wes said at last. “What’s his name?”

“Chet.”

Wes smiled. “Nice name.”

He was right about that. Chet: It was me and I was it! Wow. What a thought! And now
we were all getting along
great. Was a ride in this bright-green boat a possibility? I didn’t see why not.

“Sometimes I wish I had a dog,” Wes said.

Kind of strange: didn’t he already have one? It sure smelled that way. In fact, I
came very close to thinking it was a dog I knew, impossible since I was new here,
had no buddies yet.

“Probably doable,” Bernie was saying. “What’s environmental security?”

“Job one, far as I’m concerned,” Wes said. “It’s all about making one hundred and
ten percent sure that Green Oil is the very best global citizen around. Which is how
come I’m out here now, matter of fact, in answer to your question, ma’am. We got a
report of a possible AAW, and I check each and every one of those suckers out.”

“What’s AAW?” Bernie said.

“Adversely affected wildlife. In this case, we had an incoming about kids maybe finding
a bird of some sort in not the best shape.”

“Two bridled terns, both female,” said Dr. Ory. “Dead from exposure to toxic oils
and tars. Plus I found another bird myself—black skimmer, male—now also dead.”

“Can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that,” Wes said. “And the fact that it appears
to be an isolated incident with no underlying company involvement doesn’t make it
any easier.”

“What are you talking about?” Dr. Ory said.

“Break it down for you,” Wes said. “Isolated incident means just the three AAWs.”
He motioned down the bayou. “I’ve checked the whole stretch from Point Grief on up
to right here and found zip. No more AAWs, no slicks, no tar balls, zip. No underlying
company involvement means our monitoring systems out on the platforms are reporting
negative across the board. Not one single solitary pumped ounce has gotten away from
us.”

“What about that new platform?” Dr. Ory said.

“Number nine?” said Wes. “Same as all the others, reporting negative.” The bright
green boat rose a bit, then settled back down. Ripples appeared on the surface and
slowly vanished. Wes seemed to be watching them, although I couldn’t be sure on account
of his shades. “Any reason you’re asking about number nine in particular? It’s not
even operational yet.”

“Why is it so close?” Dr. Ory said.

Wes took off his shades, just like I’d been wanting him to. He had soft brown eyes.
I’d been expecting something else, not sure why. Funny how the mind works.

“Don’t know what to tell you, ma’am. That’s where the oil is. But the fact of number
nine being the newest also makes it state of the art in terms of safety and all those
good things.” He glanced at his watch. “Anything else I can help you with? I’m a touch
overdue.”

“What do you think happened to the three birds?” Bernie said.

“Can’t say for sure,” Wes said. “But it’s the kind of thing that probably happened
routinely long before there was an oil business, and will long after we’re getting
all our power from cold fusion or whatever’s around the corner.”

“Not following you,” Bernie said.

Wes turned his soft brown gaze on Bernie. “Not local, are you?”

“True.”

“From out west somewhere?”

“Right again.”

“I’m pretty good with accents, comes from a life spent in the oil patch. If you were
from these parts, Bernie, you might know we get natural oil seeps out in the swamp
sometimes. Not much of a stretch to imagine a bird or two diving down for a fish and
getting all mucked up.”

“So this was a natural event?” Bernie said.

“Sums it up,” said Wes. “But, ma’am, you turn up anymore victims, you give me a call,
anytime, night or day.” He pressed a button and the engine started up, rumbling real
low. The bright green boat slid up to the dock. “Here’s my card,” Wes said, handing
it to Dr. Ory. He backed the boat away and started to turn it down the bayou. “Enjoy
your visit, Bernie.” Wes waved and drove off, not real fast but with nice and steady
power. I couldn’t take my eyes off the waves the boat made, spreading so evenly across
the bayou. Boats: I was loving everything about them.

Bernie and Dr. Ory seemed to be watching the waves, too, both of them real quiet.
It was beautiful on the bayou. Maybe I could even get used to the air, so thick and
heavy.