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A police dog appeared from out of nowhere, caught D.C.‘s scent, and started in his direction. Zeke hurried to intercept the dog, having visions of D.C. being too maimed to continue his nightly round. Zeke and the dog almost collided. Zeke booted the dog with his foot, and the dog, taken by surprise, backed away in amazement, and then remembered to growl. Zeke said, “Get out of here,” and raised his hand as if to strike him. The dog cowered in terror.

Out of the darkness came a middle-aged woman, that ro­bust, healthy type who takes long walks to keep in shape. Her stride quickened at the sight of the raised hand, which Zeke dropped instantly, but not in time. “You monster, you,” she screamed. “I ought to call the police.” She turned toward the dog, who was engaged in a strategic retreat. “Hey, Pete

Pete.”

Zeke slinked into the darkness, walking rapidly. At the same moment D.C. shot across Greg’s front yard and raced down the driveway, his collar bell tinkling. Zeke caught merely a flash of black under a street light. He hurried after him, and halfway down the driveway fell over a child’s bicycle. Even in falling he never took his eyes from the white tail whisking itself ahead of him, a luminous tail that seemed disembodied. He rose quickly, fearful he would lose the in­formant and be censured by the Bureau, maybe even draw a cut in salary. An agent could expect serious repercussions if he lost a surveillance in an important case.

The tail stopped under a shrub and once more began de­scribing pale arcs in the blackness. Zeke had an uneasy feel­ing that those quick eyes had spotted him. He stood as mo­tionless as a cigar store Indian and waited for the cat’s next move. While waiting, he picked pieces of embedded gravel from the palm of his hand, and wondered if Operations Center had heard him fall. The thought flashed in and out that children who parked their vehicles any old place should draw a police ticket the same as adults, and if the little violators couldn’t pay the fine, go to jail.

The tail steadied and a head emerged with the ears flattened down. The head drew the body after it, and everything – the head, the body, and tail – once more arranged themselves in proper juxtaposition. Slowly D.C. treaded pantherlike across Greg’s back yard. He came to a pause by a tuberous begonia and sniffed it. He scanned all of the shadows in the yard, and brought his inspection to rest finally on the back door, which had been flung open wildly on several occasions in the past by a party completely deranged.

All of this time Zeke remained stationary by the corner of the house, hidden in a shadow cast by a eucalyptus. The night continued quiet, and in the stillness be recognized both enemy and friend. Nothing could move without creating sound, including himself.

He watched engrossed as D.C. began an excavation job by the tuberous begonia. He began slowly, and then warmed up to his work with enthusiasm until his feet were kicking out the dirt with machine-like strokes.

Zeke said into the mike, “Informant under bush, digging in Balter back yard.”

In the police car two miles away Officer Tracy shook his head incredulously. “Digging? What goes on, Al?” “Must be digging up a body in a homicide.” “With a midget?”

Running half doubled up, Zeke slipped to the cover of a shrub across the way from D.C. He had barely gained the shrub when a shotgun blast roared through the night, so close by that the explosion deadened his hearing. As he fell flat to the ground, he saw the cat shoot ten feet straight into the air, as if riding a missile. Zeke swung in the direction of the shot as he struck the ground, and in the same instant his hand drew the thirty-eight Colt. His finger went homing to the trigger as his eyes darted around the yard searching for the party manning the shotgun. He was so keyed up that he jumped when a door slammed hard, as if the door were violently angry. At once he pegged it as the back one to the Balter house. He waited a long, dragged-out second, continu­ing to watch the door, fearful it might open a crack to per­mit the shotgun to take aim. Only once did his eyes leave it, and that time to sweep the yard for the cat, who was no­where in sight.

He heard the growing, excited babble of voices as neigh­bors opened windows and doors and others streamed out of their homes. He whispered rapidly into the mike, “Unknown party fired one shotgun blast from back of Greg Balter house, then apparently fled. No sign of informant. Come in ten, twelve.”

“Twelve in. Lost informant. Went completely off scope.”

“Ten in. No informant on sound pattern. Continuing to scan.”

Zeke continued, “All units. Attempt pick up trace of in­formant. Neighbors closing in here. Am returning to opera­tion base. That’s all. Out.”

18

Patti was pressing a dress in the kitchen when Zeke came through the back door. He was too discombobulated, as her Uncle Bob would say, to knock.

“Hello,” he said, and brushed by her on his way to her bedroom.