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"IF
I SHOULD DISCOVER THAT YOU OR ONE OF YOUR MEN IS RESPONSIBLE FOR
THIS–" Senator Eric Wheiner had to take a deep breath
before he could continue shouting at Walsh, "YOU CAN BE SURE
AS HELL THAT YOUR HEAD WILL ROLL!" The dark grey poodle
under his arm wriggled, and a cloud of tar-colored dust swirled
up.
"Senator. I assure you
for the third time now that none of my people is
responsible for what happened to your spouse's darling."
The
poodle yapped. Something darkbrown and slimy slipped off his
jewel setted collar and splatted to the floor. A piece of
banana skin? Walsh decided not to look too closely at it –
the Senator was already furious enough. The commander leaned back
in his seat. Lady Wheiner's darling Fluffy was more than a little
smelly at the moment.
The
Senator seemed to notice, too, he dropped the dog and headed for
the door. Pulling it on its leash behind him, he almost ran down
Walsh's adjutance Sheela McIntyre as she entered the
room.
"Watch where you're
going!" he snapped, and the door slid shut behind him.
"Lady
Wheiner feels better now, Sir," Sheela informed her boss.
"She stopped having hysterics the moment we could tell her
that her poodle was found." She sighed slightly and excused
herself, "Sorry, Sir. ViViD's
are exhausting."
"Especially
when the Senator, his spouse, and her noisy little critter are
pissing around," Walsh commented drily.
His
adjutance smirked. "Literally in the last case." She
frowned, "But Sir, from what Lady Wheiner told me I thought
she owns a white poodle."
"It
is a white poodle after a trip through waste shaft A."
Walsh grinned. "And now call Gooseman and tell him to spirit
away his cat for the rest of the day. From the claw marks on the
yelper's nose I've got a very clear idea who made it jump
into that shaft."
"Yes,
Sir." His adjutance suppressed a laugh. "I guess the
cleaning crews are going to spend their next month's pay on cat
food for that."
"Likely,
Sheela." Walsh's grin deepened. "Likely."
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