

The Goat

Robert Taylor

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Robert Taylor

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Preface

The first light of sun pierced the window. The warmth radiated deep inside his wrinkled skin and sparked his awakening dance. His arms slapped against his sides and then sprang above his head. His withered toes curled down reluctantly, then retracted. The man's eyelids fluttered. The sandman's dust flew away into his loose mountain of sheets.

Oliver Simms accepted the morning, but with no great pleasure.

The ancient man stood and strained his arms to the ceiling, abruptly canceling the motion as a giant popping sound echoed in his ear. The pain crept up soon after. His good hand traveled to his wounded left shoulder, offering its sympathy. Oliver's arms fell back to his side. A sigh crawled through his narrow throat, emerging free from his lungs. He muttered choice words under his breath before he set off for the kitchen.

Oliver's old age had stolen much. Naturally, his tolerance for malarkey had gone first. Not long after his ears had taken a turn south. The old man was as comfortable with the idea of a hearing aide as he would be the idea of a girdle. When his eyes decided to go, he left that issue untreated as well. Surgery was too risky. Those damn glasses, conspiracy. No two ways about it.

Even with a full battery of senses to wield, he could not have digested the scene in his kitchen all at once. Like the other pieces of him, Oliver's mind had slowed over the years. Large pictures were like large meals, they took a long time to digest and if not properly chewed came out as gook in the end.

There at his feet lay a cereal box, next to it the box of bran, further over, his jar of wheat germ. The duck statuette his mother had given him was on the floor. Its head was a few inches from its body. Scattered porcelain bits made a trail between. The trash was toppled, the counters in complete disarray. Oliver's toothless mouth dangled over the linoleum floor. He had been robbed.

Another object came in to focus. Vandals! Oliver treaded the mounds of debris. He bent down, his body creaking as he retrieved the tattered dark brown box. Graham crackers. It was too much.

Oliver stumbled toward the phone. A distant audible crunch rose to his ears as he crossed the sea of crumbs and waste. A tear came to his eye.

A flushness rushed through his face that reminisced of his days in the war, not that he was involved mind you, but all that horrible fighting really ticked him off. He jettisoned the cracker box into the trash, and took a deep breath.

Feverishly, his finger raced through the numbers. In the middle of the second ring, a young man answered the line, his voice foggy with exhaustion.

"Mist-, Mister Simms?"

"Well, damn it boy are you still sleeping? I'm going to need you to get up to the store and get me some more groceries, cereals, and what not. Seems some punks, likely stoner Americans, broke into my house to satisfy their animal cravings for sweets, and well I can't never seen a mess like this."

Oliver paused and surveyed the room again, straining his eyes.

"And don't be slow getting over here! I'm likely to starve if you waste one God-damned minute."

The old man slammed the phone down on the cradle. Before he could repair the damage or even assess it in total, he would have to eat.

No villain would spoil a perfectly good meal like breakfast.

Chapter 1

Sparky's beard had become so unkempt. Now that he thought about it, he never tended it. Now that he thought? Staring at his reflection, he took a step closer, examining more thoroughly his lower lip. It looked so swollen. The sight was both strange and funny. A smile crept over his face. Shreds of grass were nestled in the cracks of his teeth.

Smiling was harder than he expected. His muscles were slow to respond, never having been used in such a way. The crinkle in his cheeks was funny.

He dropped to the ground, scared.

What was that sound? Did I laugh?

Sparky shook his head. Climbing back to his feet, he stretched his neck high. He pressed another smile out of his stale face. His tiny beard curled upward.

In the reflection, he caught sight of the man. Oliver.

"God-damn narcissistic bastard."

Oliver's words were clear. A response formed in Sparky's mind, but he kept it tightly sealed behind his lips. He quickly realized things were different for him.

Memories flowed through him. There were visions of bouncing across the rolling green hills as a kid; running in the fields with his mother. When he was older he rode in the little red wagon. Oliver pulled him everywhere. Older still, Oliver chased the goat around the yard. The spry old coot tackled him in the field and they wrestled for what seemed like hours, Sparky's children watching from the shade of the tall pine tree on the hilltop.

I've got kids.

Oliver busied himself with a barrel of sweet grain. Sparky returned to his reflection. The goat's racing mind felt like an empty flask being filled to the brim. For the first time in his life, he could reason.

Sparky took a step back from the wash basin. The goat watched from a distance as Oliver lumbered about. The ancient human's fingers had grown spindly and etched with wear over his many years. The man had a light covering of white hair and a gentle growth across his cheeks that by tomorrow would be a proper five o'clock shadow.

For the second time, Sparky resisted the urge to speak to him. With his awakening thoughts, a new concept settled over him. Fear.

Sparky strolled out of the barn. A small gust of wind flowed over the green grass of the pasture. The aroma of the blossoming wildflowers climbed through his nostrils and rested in the pit of his stomach. It was late summer, and the salad of the season was tempting.

His lips went to the ground and wrapped around a sweet dandelion. The herd was scattered across the field. Sparky trotted up the hillside. His eyes shot to the brown spotted goat lying in the grass next to his daughter. Samantha is too young to be lying that close to a boy.

Sparky charged. He thwacked the young buck in the side precisely in the sweet spot. Darren whined as he cantered away. Sparky strained his face forming a harsh glare at the young goat.

"Watch yourself!"

Holy shit.

Sparky covered his mouth. He collapsed on his rear. As Sparky pulled his foreleg away from his mouth, he flexed his hoof into a pincer grasp.

What has happened to me?

Sparky turned, feeling a nudge in his back side. The soft white face of his lady goat eased his worry. It comforted him. Princess. Sparky hopped up onto his feet. He brushed his head gently into the nanny-goat's side. She would make things okay, she would support him no matter how he had changed.

"Be easy on the boy, Sparky," she said.

What has happened to...us?

Chapter 2

A dozen yellow trucks lined the roadside. They had arrived from the city two weeks ago and had established a ritual of parking their terrible, noisy caravan along the roadway in front of Oliver's house. Oliver had spent the first few days questioning members of the work crew, establishing their objective and credentials.

"Scheduled maintenance," one said. "Road conditioning," responded another.

All the noise from the machines had thrown off his nap schedule.

Oliver's skepticism peaked at the end of the first week. The elderly man contacted the local constable, only to be advised his concerns were unfounded and all was in order. Oliver did what he could to ignore them, but they stayed, day after day. After two weeks he was forced to protect his domain.

Exploding through the front door, Oliver hollered and swore at the top of his rugged voice. He extended his finger slowly in the direction of one large individual in a bright orange jumpsuit. Oliver's wanton rant continued as the man faced him.

His smooth face told Oliver all he wanted to know - city boy. Oliver marched forward. He demanded the complete and total removal of their damned racket. And he ordered it now. Without so much as a word, the wide framed man approached within striking distance. Oliver cocked his right arm back, raring to go.

The man's left hand dove into the pocket on the front of his suit. A single white sheet of folded paper was drawn out. He held it out for Oliver as he explained the Saskatchewan Provincial Government had hired them for road maintenance.

The old man couldn't see a single word clearly on the page before him. The city boy's even tone and the shimmer of the official gold seal on the paper would have to suffice. Like every inconvenience Oliver currently suffered, the work had been decreed by the government. There was no use in fighting. He returned inside, defeated and tired.

~~~~~~

Three little kids' heads stuck out through the farm fence. Each with their forelegs propped on the middle rung of round wooden rails. Their little mouths ground grass as they watched the flashing yellow lights, large trucks, and the men in silly suits with all manner of picks, poles, scanners and detectors.

"Hey, you three!"

The startled young goats spun about and were met with Sparky's glinting yellow glare. "What are you doing?"

"We, were, we—"

"Down the hill, now."

Montana, reluctant to accept his father's authoritative tone, rolled up his lip. "But, Dad!"

Sparky waived his head, motioning toward the roadside crew, the little goats watched as directed.

Standing close by were two men. They both stood in yellow hazmat suits watching the three youngsters. The man in the larger suit extended a finger out directly at the kids leaning on the fence.

"Joe, something doesn't look right about those goats, they've been sitting like that for a while."

"Don't be so paranoid." Joe put a hand on Brett's shoulder. The yellow plastic suit crinkled under it. Brett redirected his gaze from the goats to Joe. It was then Joe realized he was letting his hand linger too long. He retracted it. The two men stood in awkward silence.

"Doesn't seem right to me." Brett narrowed his eyes at the animals focusing in on the kid's blank, chewing faces from where he stood. As he leaned in closer he swore one extended its tongue at him, taunting him. "Did you see that?"

Joe hadn't been watching. "Look, we're here to make sure all this gunk gets cleaned up, and quick. We're lucky that no news teams have showed up, especially this close to those damned Americans. They'll likely blame us for all the toxic dumping they do, too."

"Well, don't expect me to turn my back on them." Brett said. He caught sight of the larger goat and stared at him. The goat didn't make any eye contact with the man.

"Let's go," Sparky whispered as he set off.

Montana and the other kids followed. The four goats trotted away from the fence. They crested the hill and the rest of the herd came into view. Older kids reclined on the hillside, sunning their coats. Summer was coming to a close. There would be little chance to shine up their coats once the fall rains set in.

Sparky tilted his head, getting a good eye on his oldest daughter, Sam. She was next to Darren. They were always together. He sighed, relieved some that she was keeping a respectable amount of personal space. That boy was a troublemaker.

The younger kids practiced soccer at the bottom of the hill. The little ones hadn't put any rules into their sport. They were just having a little carefree fun. They still lacked the rear hoof coordination keeping them from standing like adults during their play.

Over his shoulder, Sparky noticed the three kids continued to tail him. "Run off now, and stay away from the front fence or you'll spend the rest of the day in the barn."

Montana and the other two bounded away to join the ball game. Sparky's eyes trailed to the old barn, the homestead of his herd. Red cracked panels were worn from many cold winters. The rusted tin roof sagged down on the southern side. During the fair weather, the goats would rest against the sun baked sidewall. There, Groucho was dealing a game of poker.

"Sparky!" Groucho waived his foreleg calling over to him. "Come, sit in on a hand."

Over his shoulder, he watched as Sam inched closer to Darren. Sparky would leave it for her mother to handle. He watched while Montana debated whether putting the ball between his front hoofs was fair on his older sister, Mythias. Sparky, Jr., his oldest, was sitting under a tree near the back fence, book in hoof. Sparky sharpened his gaze but could just barely make out the red cover. Animal Farm. He had heard that a copy circulated around the herd. Sparky had yet to read it, but rumor had it that it was a total riot. Pigs in charge, ha!

Sparky let loose a sigh as he traipsed over to the game by the barn. Groucho, Mudbubble, and Oreo gathered around the dealt cards.

"I see the Mrs. is not pulling the reigns in so tightly today," Mudbubble said. The goat was aptly named by Oliver for the single dark round spot on his coat.

"Easy now, Muddy, don't knock it until you try it," Sparky settled in to the circle of stags.

"Four legged goat is the game," the cards bounced between Groucho's hooves. He like the rest of the heard had split hooves on their forelegs that had three jointed finger like segments. Cards, like many human devices could be a challenge to manage, but Groucho's love of the games had pushed him to hone his talents with shuffling and dealing. Most of his fur was light, but he was marked with a dark line across his forehead reminding Oliver so much of the famous Marx brother that he couldn't have found a better name.

Groucho threw out four cards in a box formation to deal Sparky in. Sparky made the first play by flipping his top right card, a jack.

"Oh, ho, ho!" Mudbubble laughed. "Not starting so well on that one ole boy."

Sparky didn't look his direction. The others played, flipping one card each. It came back to Sparky. He looked down at his three unturned cards.

"Getting nervous there, Sparkster?" Mudbubble asked.

Sparky flashed his teeth at the comment. Mudbubble pretended not to notice. Sparky flipped his lower left card revealing the two of hearts.

"Woohooohooo!"

In Mudbubble's outburst, he threw his arms up and lost his balance. The goat's horns collided with the sheet metal walls of the old barn. Sound echoed across the pasture. All of goats sprang to their feet.

"Damn fool!" Sparky turned to the hillside. The little ones had already dispersed. Sam frolicked on the hill; Montana and Mythias were lying in the grass, their ball out of sight. Where was Junior?

The other stags gathered the cards and tossed them under a nearby hay bail. Sparky scurried toward the tree, it was completely abandoned. The book was there, peeking out from under loose straw.

"MAAH!" Sparky cried. Where the hell is that boy?

Sparky reminded each of his kids daily about the dangers of being discovered. Their neighbor, Mrs. Kettle, was reason enough to worry about it. The only neighbor for miles, and she was as bored and as nosey as they came. Time and again she found reason to drop in on the goats; a suspicious disturbance was more than enough. They had to be careful.

Princess popped out of the barn followed by a stream of ladies. She counted her children. Her eyes locked on Sparky after counting all but one.

"MAAH!" The lady called.

"MAAH!" Sparky said.

Sparky searched frantically. The goat strained his neck trying to see the main house. He scuttled up a nearby tree to the first branch, and then higher. Further and further he climbed, scanning the pasture for his son.

"MAAH!" Princess now had two of her men to worry about.

Sparky scaled to the top of the tree. Cresting the hill was Oliver, led by nosey Mrs. Kettle wearing her favorite yellow hat. She briskly guided Oliver along, hurrying him to see what trouble his goats could be causing. Sparky froze in his perch.

Balanced on the narrow limb, he finally caught sight of Junior trotting behind Oliver and Mrs. Kettle as carefree as the spring. The youth galloped past them and down the hill where he rejoined the rest of the flock.

The tree waived in the wind. Sparky remained still. A small fly landed on the point of his nose. Sparky tried to shake it off but the fly held its ground. It pranced along his nostrils and threatened to trigger a sneeze. Sparky tried to sniff the devil away, but it was no use. The goat held his body straight. He watched Oliver and Mrs. Kettle as they inspected the herd.

"Well damn it all to hell if I wasn't right about them goats! I told you everything was fine." The goats were a kaleidoscope of white, brown and grey to Oliver.

"I think you're half blindness is lending to your feeblemindedness. I swear not one week ago, I saw one of them goats running away from my house! Now I cannot find my copy of Animal Farm." Mrs. Kettle bunched up her cheeks and stuck out her lips. Her left hand crept its way to her hips. She raised a finger over the herd.

"Maah!" They erupted into a unanimous cry, busying themselves as goats do.

"These little love-balls are as normal as normal gets. How dare you? Calling an old man feeble then accusing his goats of being book thieves! I'd reckon to wager that them damn hippies that raided my bran, raided your book self. They were probably desperate for some wholesome education. Poor godless souls."

"Oliver, I swear to you, there is something wrong with these monsters!"

Oliver's vision strayed. His checks went flush. Sparky could see the old man's pupils affix directly on him. The goat couldn't help but twitch as the fly climbed toward his left eye. His muscles began betraying his need for stealth, any moment they would fully rebel, and he would be at the bottom of the tree, at best breathless, at worst...

"What is that?" Mrs. Kettle asked.

She extended her aged finger, pointing at the subject in question.

"Oliver, what the hell is it doing there?"

"What?" He put a finger in his ear. It seemed he was always fighting with wax. "What now?" Oliver followed the line from her extended hand down the slope of the hill.

"Is that a soccer ball?" Francis asked.

Oliver saw nothing. "Well gee damn, you're insistent. It's lunch time."

"What are goats doing with a soccer ball?" She waded through the animals waiving her arms to spread them. The thought of one of the vile monsters nipping at her dress disgusted her.

Oliver bent forward, straining, but nothing came into focus. He darted down the hill after the bright yellow blob on Francis's head. Mrs. Kettle raised the ball high when she reached it. Showing it like a trophy.

"Are these, hoof scuffs? Your goats were playing soccer!"

"You're not all too familiar with a goat's lifestyle are you? They don't play soccer, and they damn sure don't read!" Oliver yanked the ball away from her. He studied it carefully not seeing any such marks.

"Your goats are up to no good."

"Mrs. Kettle, I think you are up to no good! From here further, I think it best you not come by!"

Francis started her ascent with a disgusted harrumph. Oliver lobbed the ball. It flew at the barn, striking the same aluminum that Mudbubble toppled into earlier. The metal roared ferociously in response to the attack. The startled animals charged up the hill away from the barn.

"I'm sorry, damn you, I'm sorry, damn it, be still! I didn't mean to scare you all!" Mudbubble led the herd directly to Mrs. Kettle. The creatures converged, bouncing in and out of her path. Nipping and snapping. They wasted no time in playing up the scene.

Mrs. Kettle shrieked. The lady bolted forward, climbing through the rambunctious pack. She hurried around the house and escaped through the gate.

The goats stopped shy of the fence. The herd flowed back like a river and split around their owner like a delta. The animals gathered around him and settled in the light grass.

Oliver gave a chuckle. Under their breath so did the goats.

Chapter 3

The next morning, Sparky watched as the young goats danced about the meadow in the dawn light. The goat waded through the morning fog down to the trough. The goat let out a yawn then stretched his lips to the water.

His pretty nanny was still enjoying a warm hay bed inside the barn. Mythias was nibbling on some sweet flowers near the top of the hill. A strange man in a black overcoat was measuring her with a yardstick. A STRANGE MAN IN A BLACK OVERCOAT WAS MEASURING HER WITH A YARDSTICK!

Sparky charged. His broad horns slammed into the stranger's side. The stranger fell with a yelp. The man kicked at the goat from the ground, but the agile goat leapt onto the man pinning him down. Sparky slammed his horns into the man's face. He screamed.

The man rolled. Sparky fell against the hill as the stranger broke loose. As quickly as Sparky was on his feet, the man was in a full run. Sparky gave chase. The stranger jumped the fence without slowing. Sparky leapt after.

The man rushed into a small tan car as the goat came up behind. Sparky head butted the fender and bounced off. He collapsed in the yard as the car tore off down the barren road.

Sparky's anxious rage settled. He rushed back to his daughter.

"Are you okay, baby girl?"

"Yeah, daddy, I didn't even see him."

"You're okay now, baby. You're okay." In the back of his mind, Sparky knew that something wasn't right.

And it wasn't.

Sixteen hours earlier, an event occurred that changed the destiny of the goats on Simms's farm. Mrs. Francis Kettle placed a simple call to the County Animal Control Center. The CACC was commonly called about strange animal activity, but never too strange. Ernest, who worked the phone, did remember being called about a dog that got its head stuck in a fence and bit old man Jasper's hand, but that was quite some time ago. Most of the calls Ernest received were about strays, and rightfully so.

"Yup," Ernest always answered the phone this way after lunch. Before lunch there was a myriad of greetings: what, dang and yeah being the three most common. After a filling bowl of Cheerios with two-day expired milk, 'Yup' was all he could manage.

"Ernest, is that you?"

"Yup."

"This is Francis, Francis Kettle"

"Yeah-up"

"Ernest, the goats over at Simm's place are creating a nuisance," Mrs. Kettle quite irate, spent a great deal of time providing the CACC agent her eyewitness account. She included every detail of the hideous experience of being routed off of Oliver's farm.

"So they were playing soccer, and then they nipped you? And this happened before or after they were done wrestling?"

"Before. No, you're right, after. Not to mention it's been weeks since I saw my copy of Animal Farm. And yesterday, I caught them talking to each other, they were making fun of my hat!"

"Your, hat?" Sometimes he would write down details so he wouldn't forget. He didn't reach for his pad or a pen this time. Mrs. Kettle had been on the edge of screaming and her voice tore at the very fiber of his eardrums. He worried for a moment that were he holding the pen, he would use it to end his own life.

"Your hat?" He repeated in the lady's silence.

"It's my yellow hat. It keeps the sun from my tender skin!"

There was nothing, he imagined, that could be tender about the woman. "Big yellow hat?" He couldn't help but chuckle. He was thinking of the goats ridiculing a lady in a hat, and as he pictured it, a very funny hat.

"Ernest, I feel like I am being mocked!" -

"No, ma'm, just want to get everything straight."

"I want something done today."

"Well ma'm, I'll alert the man on patrol today and have him go check it out," Ernest put the phone down for a moment to spit. The wad flew straight at the window and crashed into a fly that was resting in the sill. The whole scene triggered a hearty laugh.

"Are you still there? I am serious, if this doesn't get taken care of today, I'll have your job!" Mrs. Kettle crashed the phone down on its cradle.

Ernest stood proudly. He looked over at the fly on the window sill and gave a last chuckle. If nothing else Oliver had those good taters he could take back home with him for the evening.

The lanky middle-aged man pulled the yellow ball cap reading "CACC" from his head and hung the hat back on the wall where a single bent nail was reserved for it. He then bypassed the blue "CACC Manager" hat and went straight to the red "CACC Field Agent" cap on the last nail. He groaned at the responsibility of keeping such things in order.

The official stretched his fingers, then his back, and then his neck from side to side. He tossed the cap over his salty dark hair and fumbled his way out the door.

Ernest didn't have a care in the world. He loved his wife, he loved his three big drooly dogs, and he loved his neighbor's food. The thrill of Oliver's taters was all he could think about as he headed down the two-lane road past the Big Ol' Gas 'n Gulp. He swung a left at Mrs. Fanny's Flowers and headed out highway six seventy-three. All the while thinking about the taters he would receive. Ernest was so distracted he almost didn't stop when confronted by the yellow trucks that were driving the opposite way. His tires squealed as his pickup shuddered to a halt.

Six seventy-three was well maintained in its prime, some forty years ago. The decay and wear on the asphalt left a few places as a one-lane passage. The local rule of the road was to yield to the elder driver. The trucks blocked the road, idling in a line. In the first yellow vehicle two men sat patiently, refusing to budge. The CACC agent narrowed his eyes at the opposing driver. Who was this slowing him down from his taters?

"The hell you going?" Ernest was half out the window.

"Passing through. Watch your driving next time," the other driver was a larger, younger man, and obviously knew little about etiquette.

Ernest jumped out from the cab, waving his arms. The van driver was told to avoid a scene. Reluctantly, he climbed down from his van to meet with the CACC's finest. He was an awkward sight for Ernest because the man was in a orange hazmat suit.

"Look buddy, I'm just out doing some surveying and need to get these vans back to the city."

"Oh, well you were out near the old Simms place up the way then," Ernest took the time to size up the brute. "Didn't happen to see them goats playing soccer did ya?"

"Not that I recall."

"I knew that old lady was a coot, talking goats, thieving goats. Just another whacked out farmer's wife, like I don't have ten's worth at home."

"Talking goats?" The younger man scratched his head.

"I can't put it all on her; she's not been the same without her hubby. He's been gone a while now. At some point the old bird was bound to break down, right?"

The man in the orange suit nodded.

"Now look, around here there is two rules, respect your elders, and yield to your elders, now given that you all are city folk I'll forgive you all. And now you're going to have to yield the way to me, that's the way it goes," Ernest spit. It hit some loose asphalt on the side of the road. He snickered. Perfect aim.

"Sorry about that, buddy."

The driver returned to his vehicle. Without further hesitation he pulled his van off the side of the road and waived the others in line to do the same. Ernest put his hands to his hips with a feeling of contentment.

"Like Moses."

After Ernest drove through, the lead caravan driver sat and stewed on the conversation.

"What is it?" The passenger's concern arose when they hadn't immediately started off. The road was clear. He too, was dressed in a stuffy hazmat suit and even more eager to get out of it.

"You didn't see anything funny with those goats back at that shabby farmhouse did you?"

"Now that you mention it they were playing poker."

The driver's face tightened as he pictured the scene. "Really?"

"No, wait, that was them dogs that did that one, the goats play bocce right?" He chuckled.

The driver scoffed. "I hate being made fun of."

"Don't make yourself a target with strange questions."

The driver's eyes shot a silencing look to the other man. The jokester's smile faded at once. After another moment of digesting the local man's statements, he started up the truck and headed off.

Chapter 4

At midmorning the goats had scattered across the pasture. Oliver emerged from the house proud and achy. As was the norm, several of the herd traveled to meet him. It was then that Princess" noted her mate's absence from the hillside. She found him sitting alone in the hay on the barn floor.

"What is it, Sparky?" Princess knew that when Sparky chewed his upper lip it was a sure sign of trouble.

"Don't worry, sweetie. It wasn't anything."

"Don't worry? Sparks I am a mother to four kids. Your four beautiful kids I might add. All I do is worry! Now you need to level with me," her nostrils were flaring. Sparky knew when she stayed worked up she'd start shedding. As if it wasn't hard enough to stay relaxed next to a huffing female, it was harder still, to do it while sneezing.

"I caught a strange man in the field. It looked like he was...measuring Mythias."

The nanny's face and heart hit the floor. "Measuring how?"

"Look, baby, it was nothing serious, I chased him off."

"Nothing serious? A herd of talking goats is everything most humans would need to make this place into theme park! 'Come see the talking goats! Come one, come all! Look this way! Center stage we have an amazing duet it's Princess and Sparky dancing to your favorite dance hits.'" She was on her hind legs faking her best rumba.

"Calm down," Sparky put his hooves on her shoulders.

"Oh baby, I'm getting prepared. If Disney's going stamp their name on my ass, I'm getting an act together now, god forbid they throw us in a cottage with those terrible little singing men. Lord knows what they'll do to us," she carried on her act.

"Princess, baby," Sparky nipped at her ear. "Settle down."

She put her front paws down. They were side by side. She felt his warmth. She brushed against him lightly. Sparky had gotten her mind off the subject. It was better if he could keep her mind off of it. Besides, there was nothing to worry about.

"Is that door closed, babe?"

Meanwhile, Oliver played with the rest of his flock. They were dancing around him atop the hill as he tossed out alfalfa snacks.

"You are the cutest little bastards god ever puked upon the earth. I love every one of you as if I dropped you from my own filthy loins." Oliver got lost in thought around the dilapidated barn. "I should really get you guys a better home. But I'm just stock broke all the damned time."

The goats huddled closer, brushing against their master.

"The old guy is nuts," Darren whispered to Sam.

"Shh, he might hear you."

"Are you kidding, he's as deaf as he is blind," Darren jumped up in Oliver's lap. Oliver almost toppled over from the young buck's force.

"Aren't you the loving one? And by god, do you ever smell like the rot of six year old alley cat skewered and cooked in a dead horse's bladder."

Darren jumped down. Sam giggled at him as he rejoined the pack.

"Maybe you should bathe, alley cat," she said.

"Shut up."

Darren drifted up to the front fence away from the herd.

Sam circled around with the others near Oliver watching Darren as he left. As much as she did like him, he was trouble. Sam knew the young buck's ego was in need of a good check.

Darren peered blankly into the distance beyond the fences. He sat back on his rear and started to whistle a lonesome tune.

"Hey there little guy, what are you doing?"

A strange man hovered by the fence. Darren backed away. The stranger was at least twice the size of Oliver. The large man extended his arms. The goat fell over himself. He darted away to the herd, searching out Sam, not looking back.

Darren found her resting her head in Oliver's lap. slapping her lips. Oliver continued handing over the little grass squares of alfalfa.

Darren nipped her tail.

"MAAH!"

Her glare was met with his fearful look. She followed him away from the others.

"What are you doing?"

"Over by the front fence, this guy, was there, he heard me whistling."

"What?"

"He started talking to me. I ran away, I wasn't sure what to do," Darren was panting.

"Are you playing another game with me? This is another one of your jokes, isn't it?"

"Sam, I swear to you, this man is real, he talked to me!"

"I'm not buying it Darren. Last time it was all about that talking bear that kept bringing you candy. You promised me that if I waited by the fence he would come and bring me a piece too!"

"No this isn't like that-"

"Three cold nights, Darren. Three cold and lonely nights. No bear. No candy."

"I swear Sam. This guy was real!"

She shook her head, unwilling to speak.

"Please, you have to believe me! He was right over there." Darren pointed to where he had seen the man. No strangers.

"Let me guess, he'll be back at midnight to give you a recording contract? You are so desperate sometimes it makes me sick," as Sam turned away her tail slapped him in the face. The lady stormed off without another word.

Darren stood alone. He tried to furrow his brow. The yearling buck wasn't sure how his father did it. Darren was just as upset that Sam hadn't believed him as he was that the man had tried to grab him. As he thought it over he caught himself laughing about the three times he tricked her into coming to see that bear. Darren paused, and settled again on being upset.

The confused youth was certain the man was real; mostly certain. Had he really seen him? Something had frightened him. Had he spoken? Was he caught whistling? He couldn't remember. It would be best not to risk any more trouble. If Sam took it poorly, he could expect his father to be much worse.

Darren bounced down the hill to get himself a drink. Whether it was real or not, the fright had gotten him thirsty.

Chapter 5

"This has all been happening since the accident you say?" The man placed a cigarette in his lips and inhaled. The exhale broke across the receiver on the other end of the line.

"Yes sir." Reilly tucked his free arm into his coat. He hated payphones.

"What about the old man...this Oliver Simms?"

"I don't see he would be much trouble to get around, poor old man wouldn't miss them at all." Reilly pulled his overcoat tighter. He looked up to the streetlight across the way then back to the half lit Big Ol' Gas n' Gulp sign. The establishment had been closed for several hours.

"Well, I would like to know more before I make any decisions. I am going to send someone to assist."

"I think I can cover this one," Reilly let a short cough, his stomach tightened.

"I would prefer that you have a partner."

"Does this have anything to do with the exploding puppies?"

"Nonsense, I had totally forgotten about that."

~~~~~~

It was the hottest summer day on record in over thirty years. Planet Global Corporation, Inc. was doing its yearly good-deed. The members of the board unanimously decided to open an animal shelter in a rural community of western B.C. The shelter was state of the art, and spacious enough to hold a generous amount of stray animals, primarily dogs and cats.

As part of the opening celebration they invested in a litter of six of the most adorable beagle pups in the western half of the world for a raffle.

One of the benefits to those who adopted animals that day were free samples of Perfect Puss and Doggie Style pet foods. Both of these are products of Happy Pets, LLC, which is of course a subsidiary of the Planet Global Corporation, Incorporated. Everyone in town was pleased by the charity of the corporation, everyone but Chester Arrington.

Chester chained himself to any good cause. When he heard that PGC, Inc. was in town to open a new shelter, he put on his "hug the world" shirt, twisted his long dreads into his Jamaican inspired hemp hat, and grabbed the keys to his VW Rabbit. His mission had never been so clear.

Chester Arrington arrived just after noon. A hotdog lunch was catered compliments of Happy Pets, LLC. Best Taste Meats, a smaller company under the same umbrella, provided the hotdogs. To Chester's delight, the local media was covering the event.

The activist was not interested in the puppies. He was especially not interested in hotdogs. Chester Arrington was there as a citizen of humanity. The young man distributed colorful fliers on eighty-percent recycled paper and shouted his mind to the patrons of the event.

The fliers recounted the number of animals that were killed by the Planet Global Corporation and it many numerous subsidiaries each year. It also recounted their terrible history or never meeting any level of emissions quality on their factories. The flyer wrapped up with a strong recount of the rumored dumping of radioactive waste near and in natural water supplies all over Canada.

The company spokesperson for Planet Global was there to deny everything.

Reilly Winters was also at this gathering. Reilly was still just a young hatchet man for PGC. He worked his way up in the corporate ladder at a fairly young age.

By twenty, it was Reilly who oversaw collection efforts of stray animals. Animals later returned to laboratories for rigorous testing of "product safety." It was Reilly who carried the briefcase of unmarked bills directly to the head of the Canadian Environmental Assessment Agency. It was Reilly who found the land, routes, and trucks to remove the excess waste from some of the more questionable facilities under the PGC conglomerate.

Reilly hated protesters.

The corporate goon patiently encouraged Chester to leave the event. Chester would not hear of it. Reilly couldn't risk making a scene. The day pressed on. Reilly hadn't seen the scrawny man eat anything so Reilly got the idea to play on Chester's hunger. His offering was one of the delicious Best Taste Meat hotdogs.

Reilly did his math carefully. The roughly one hundred and forty pound Chester Arrington was just the right size for that hotdog, and preciously right for the four and one quarter ounces of poison that Reilly injected into the hot dog.

Within twenty minutes Chester would be sick and leave. The stomach ache would not return for one to sixteen days, at which point Chester's heart would accelerate rapidly until it seized. Chester would be laid to rest. His mother would cry. His father would be waiting for him in heaven. His little sister would sue to get his house.

As smart of a plan as it was, Reilly had overlooked the obvious ingredients to his recipe. If he placed this laced hotdog in another of the attendee's hands he would have produced a smile.

Chester, a staunch vegan, threw it into the sky in disgust. The four and one-quarter ounces of poison, lost. No big deal. Reilly could find another way to remove this antagonist, as soon as he cleaned up the evidence. The evidence...now where did that go?

~~~~~~

"Those poor puppies," Reilly wiped his nose both from the cold and his tears.

"Now, now we mustn't dwell on the past," the dark man pulled the spent cigarette from his lips and grinded it into the ashtray. He extended his hand over warm fire in the fireplace, closing his eyes as the heat soaked into his palm.

"Yes sir." Reilly shook away his congestion and wiped his teary eyes.

"This is a very delicate opportunity, my friend. We must keep our heads together and use every avenue we can to avoid this secret being exposed," the man seized a tall champagne flute, sipping generously. "So you understand, Reilly, what would happen if more people found out about this?"

"Yes."

"Valerie will be on her way in the morning. Wait for her arrival before doing anything else."

"Yes, sir," Reilly pulled the phone away from his ear. Valerie made him retch. He had a nagging concern that his employer was losing faith in him.

"And Reilly?"

"Yes, sir?"

"No mistakes."

Reilly hung up the payphone. He cupped his hands over his mouth and blew a strong breath into them. Standing on the sinister corner his position was at once illuminated by the streetlamp overhead. A wicked little smile flew across his cheeks.

He jumped into his rented tan Peugeot and started her up.

Chapter 6

Sam hunted high and low for Darren. The boy was not in the barn or by the fence line. Sam braved checking the house. The old man was sleeping, but it was always a risk. Darren wasn't there, either. Sparky Jr. was known to run off like this and she hadn't seen him today. Sam weighed the possibility that the young goats were causing mischief together, yet her stomach turned with discomfort.

Asking around was little help.

"He went to the store with the bear. They are getting some more candy," Billy was Darren's younger brother, but spent little time keeping tabs on him.

The way Darren had talked about the man at the fence the night before began to haunt her more and more. What if he had been really scared? Sam feared she may have discounted his story too quickly.

She checked by the water trough again, no Darren or Junior anywhere in sight. The kids nestled up by the big tree hadn't seen them either. Sam took her concern to her father.

Sparky didn't have a lot of support. The spry adult goat was busy playing ball with Mythias and Montana.

"You know that young punk, this is just another prank."

"But Dad, I," she hadn't told her dad the story about the previous night.

"Honey, just relax. The boy will pop up in due time, with a wild story to go along with it," he stood and kicked the ball straight past his children. The two scrambled to chase it down.

"I..."

"Is there something you want to say?" His eyes went from the ball to his daughter.

Sam looked to her siblings who were wrestling over the ball. She turned back to her dad. His golden eyes were always so warm.

"No."

She walked back up the hill. Behind her she heard Sparky jumping in with the two kids and engaging in the struggle. A mix of laughter arose from the three of them. Billy was now lying quietly on the hill. The young goat's eyes then drifted to the sky, where the morning sun was soon to be shrouded in clouds.

Darren couldn't stay out long.

~~~~~~

The rain started sometime in the middle of the day. Everyone crowded into the barn. Sparky began telling stories to the youngest kids, illustrating with his arms. Princess was in the loft with the other ladies.

Sam sat by the door, staring into the downpour. The door burst open and Sparky junior hurried inside. The child was soaked horn to hoof.

"Have you seen Darren?" Sam asked.

"No, hi bro? No, can I get you a place to lie down and get warm?"

"I'm serious! He's been gone since this morning," she tugged at his coat with her teeth.

Junior butted her stomach.

"Hey!" she head-butted his side in return.

"He's not coming back."

"What? How do you know?"

"Well," he looked to see if anyone was listening. "I saw the man who got him."

"What? He was kidnapped?"

"Shhh, you don't want to cause a panic do you?" Sparky Junior looked around again confirming his sister's outburst had not been overheard. "He was out by the front fence, it was late. I don't know what he was doing. Next thing I know, he's flat on the ground. I saw a man jump the fence, scoop him up and carry him off."

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"It's no big deal. He's been goat-knapped. Before long, we'll get a ransom note, we pay out the demands and things will be normal by the weekend."

"Where would you get that kind of idea?"

"Sam, I am probably the most well read of the pack if I say so myself. I know human customs. This is what they do."

"Sparky," she gave her stomach a moment to settle. "I'm going to tell dad."

"Sam, I wouldn't do that. Without a ransom note, no one will believe you." Junior put his hoof on her shoulder.

The young lady weighed her options. Create a total panic by bringing attention to the fact that one of her peers had been taken; or leave it until some note from a human gave concrete information of the crime...and created total panic. Sam didn't know that anyone would believe her. Darren was always playing tricks. So was Junior. She would be alone in this matter. As she deliberated the door flew open.

All at once, the goats were silent. Oliver Simms was in his bright orange slicker and glistening yellow hat. The rain streaked down the glossy sides. In his outstretched arms lay a sullen, quiet mass of fur.

"What the hell is wrong with all of you's?" The old man looked about the blurry insides of the old barn, none of the goats moved.

Sparky was the first to notice the awkwardness of the silence.

"MAAH!"

No one responded.

"MAAH!" The room remained silent. Sparky kicked to the side and caught Muddy in the gut.

"MAAH!" Mudbubble joined in. The noise erupted as every goat in the room belted their proudest and finest maahs to their owner.

"That's more like it," Oliver was duly satisfied that everything was as it should be. He set the withered goat down on the ground. "Old lady Kettle called me excited out as a pedophile in a toy store. Saying get over here this or I'll kill it that. Don't know how he got out, but he's home now."

"I'll get you filthy little monsters some more hay," Oliver disappeared into the rain.

Darren's mother and father rushed to his side. The two perused their son and groomed at his still form.

Oliver returned with a hay bail. "God damn, heavy ass, hay," and was gone again.

"Are you okay, baby?" Blossom, his mother, nudged his neck. The boy's legs gave the tiniest stretch.

Oliver came back with another bail. "You little bastards should be happy for a while. And you," he pointed at Darren, "don't run off, 'cause I love you and I'll never forgive myself."

Oliver slammed the door shut.

The room was hushed. Darren accepted little bites of hay from his mother, although he adamantly refused to go out for a drink. It was a long while before he finally steadied himself on his feet. Darren met the concerned gaze of his father.

Oreo could wait no more. "What happened son?"

Chapter 7

The sunset had finished hours ago. Like most nights there was nothing but quiet. Darren was on his hind legs leaning over the front fence. A week ago he had seen a few trucks pass through. He hoped against hope that he would see more.

The boy had always wanted to escape the doldrums of the farm, head out to the city. He didn't know why everyone was so scared of what was out there. All he could see was opportunity. He wanted to seize it, but he loved his mom and dad and couldn't just abandon them, at least, not yet.

In the meantime he contented himself watching for cars. Sometimes he would pretend to know where they were going. The goat would make up fabulous destinations that he would someday visit. Still no one had driven by. It was more evidence to him that the middle of nowhere wasn't far from home.

Late in the night his ears perked up. Through the still of the night he heard a distant yet familiar sound: the hum of an engine. His heart started racing.

The driver was of average height and weight and he was single, with long flowing blonde hair. This man was on his way to the ocean. When he reached the ocean, he would throw away his car and he would swim the rest of his life.

Darren became so caught up in his fantasy that he didn't notice that the engine had ceased. His mind's eye busy focusing on the wind whipping through the golden locks of hair on the open road, and he didn't hear the car door close. Darren never saw the glint of the gun barrel in the moonlight.

~~~~~~

The boy awoke. Darren eyes were wrapped with a blindfold. His legs bound with cords. He struggled, but the bindings were too tight and only cut deeper into his legs. The goat had no means to move the blindfold from his eyes.

"Coming around?" the man's voice was quiet. Darren could hear the muffled sounds of rain.

"What's that old man been feeding you, huh?"

Darren didn't move. The young goat mind raced through his parent's stories about the evils of mankind. By them, if humans knew that the goats were no longer dumb animals, their lives would be over. They would be taken away from their home, separated, and tortured in the name of science. Darren had never before believed it was true.

"I know you can talk."

The goat pushed the ropes slowly. His limbs stretched carefully, only to surrender once more to the securely tied rope. A faint tinge of rot twisted in his nose irritating him to the brink of a sneeze.

"I'm going to say this to you as nice as I can, goats that talk, are worth a lot to me. They are the kind I keep alive. The other goats, the ones that aren't so talkative, they don't live long."

"MAAH!" Darren could feel an aggravation in the pit of his stomach; his heart raced faster. He saw the tear filled face of his mother and father upon learning of his death.

The boy goat took a deep breath, trying to think of something else. The first thing that came to him was the man in the car with blond hair, driving to the beach. A blow to the chest knocked his thoughts from him.

"MAAH! MAAH!"

"You think you're going to outsmart me huh? I've got your mom and dad right here and I'm going to shoot them dead! Dead! Dead! Dead!"

"MAAH!"

"You little brat, you want them to die! Bang! Bang!"

"MAAH! MAAH!"

There was a muffled knock on the door.

"What's going on in there?"

It was a woman's voice.

"Valerie?" Reilly threw a sheet over the tied goat. "Hold still, you little prick."

"Open the damn door, Reilly." Valerie tossed her black hair. It had just been styled. She kept it shoulder length and it would normally stay very bouncy. Not today though. She was thinking about changing conditioners. The long car ride hadn't helped either. "Now!"

Reilly opened the door to 6A. Valerie barged into the room surveying the area disapprovingly. Beer bottles and pizza boxes were scattered like modern art. Popcorn was littered about. The bed was unmade and squirming. The sight made her do a double take; under the sheet she could see the edge of a hoof.

"You're here early." Reilly quickly adjusted the bed covers to conceal the limb.

"Reilly, for the love of God, tell me you didn't kidnap a goat?" Valerie walked toward the bed.

"No, no," Reilly blocked her path. "Just borrowed it. But we mustn't talk here, it can understand us."

"Oh can it? Well pray it can't dial a phone and report you."

Valerie pushed past the brute and stripped away the blanket. The goat's front and rear legs were tied together. A black bandana had been secured over his eyes. Valerie erupted in laughter.

"You put a blindfold on it!"

"You don't know how smart this thing is!"

"I was sent to check on abhorrent behavior. No one said anything about cognitive reasoning and vocal development." Valerie untied the blindfold. Darren didn't move. "Relatively calm for a trapped animal."

"You need to see them operate. I caught this one whistling and singing and all other sorts of mischief."

"All other sorts of mischief? What was it opening a lemonade stand and not charging tax? Jesus, Reilly, come on!" She struck at him with the bandana.

"I'm serious Val, these things are highly unpredictable."

"Reilly, you took an initiative that I was not prepared to take. You have already jeopardized the most important part of this endeavor: secrecy." The woman tossed her hair, definitely changing conditioners. No one should ever be berated by a powerful woman with flat hair. She reenacted the scene in her mind with her hair bounding as she spoke. "Idiot."

"Well, I can't just put him back, he'll warn the others!"

"Good, let them panic. If they are as smart as you say they are, they won't want commotion either."

Chapter 8

"They left me at that mean lady's house. I hate Mrs. Kettle. She yelled at me for a long time to leave, but my legs hurt so bad I couldn't get up."

"What do you think Sparky?" Muddy asked.

Sparky didn't know what to make of it. The child's past history of pranks was of no concern. It was obvious from the marks on Darren's legs that this wasn't an elaborate story. The goat flashed back to the other day when he ran off the man measuring his daughter. These things were leading him to a conclusion he didn't want to share.

"Well, honey?" Princess wore her concern in her eyes.

There had never been a vote to elect a leader of the herd. Sparky was never nominated nor had he volunteered. Still, all of the goats turned to him with their full trust and expected his direction in any matter of weight.

Blossom looked up from her son. "Someone knows about us, Sparky."

"You are right, Blossom," Sparky looked over the room full of goats. Their eyes were split between himself and Darren. Outside the rain was still falling heavily. Sparky let loose a sigh.

"I scared off a man the other day." He swallowed his pride. "He was measuring Mythias."

The room went silent save the rain. Sparky choked up, had Darren not come back...

"I'm sorry-"

"Why didn't you say something?" Oreo's face burned with rage. He was on all fours and charging head down in an instant.

Sparky didn't move out of his way. Oreo sprang up and threw a left hook. The curled hoof struck Sparky hard, knocking him onto the ground. Sparky regained himself making no move to return a strike. Oreo raised his foreleg threatening to punch again. Other males rushed in, subduing the crazed goat.

"What the hell were you thinking? You should have told us, Sparky!" Oreo screamed from beneath the pile. "My son could have been killed!"

Blossom sobbed. Darren's head hung low where he sat. Heads shook side to side to indicate their silent shame. A few at first became many, disapproving, shaking goat heads. Princess moved to Sparky's side; she brushed his wounded eye. Sparky didn't falter; he held stoic refusing to budge.

"I didn't know what to think, Oreo." Sparky stared down his attacker with a soft look. His eyes were red with tears.

Oreo recognized his look was not out of pain. The goat's aggression faded. The other males let him loose.

"What will we do?" Blossom asked.

"We aren't safe here, we have to leave." Sparky didn't like his answer, but it was the clearest course in his mind.

"Where?" Princess asked.

"I don't know."

Conversation grew within the room. The barn became a forum for each goat's opinion and fears. The chatter broke out into smaller sects, debating their options, as few as there were: Stay or go.

Sparky settled his head on Princess's shoulder. The stinging from his cheek caught up with him and he winced. Among the pain and the discussions, it was hard to settle his thoughts. No one was safe.

~~~~~~

Black rain clouds draped like curtains over the setting sun. A dense humidity had rolled in underneath the storm and sharpened the chill of fall that was hanging in the air. The gentle rain pattered down on the tin barn roof.

Oliver came down from the house to check on his goats. The animals were very settled when he appeared. Not one of the goats bounced up on his legs. The old man wished them a pleasant night in his own twisted way, something about the wrath of god and vinyl, but none of the goats were really listening. Oliver returned to the warmth of the farmhouse after only a short stay.

All the while, two shadows leaned in close to a peephole into the barn. Reilly Winters and Valerie Goldman had been spying for the better of the afternoon. Hidden in their rain slickers out of sight of the main house they had learned much.

Valerie was thrilled. The two were staring at the key to riches beyond her wildest dreams. They would have to act quickly in case the goats made the decision to run.

The thought occurred to her that she could contact her employer and advise him that Reilly had been mistaken and attempt to keep the spoils as her own. She knew that disposing of Reilly would have been little trouble. But her boss would not be so easy.

As the last of the light faded, the two silently stalked away from the barn. This stage of their mission was over. Valerie was very hard at work conjuring the next part of the plan.

~~~~~~

That night, the goats established a watch. Everyone slept within the confines of the barn, which given the rain would have been likely anyway, but it was not the same feeling. Humans, they feared, would come at any time. They assigned sentries to guard the pasture fences first thing in the morning.

A little past nine, three kids darted over the hilltop away from the main house, screaming. The goats all went into action. The nannies and kids rushed into the barn. The males of the herd huddled together in front of the doors. The hoard waited for the intruder. Sparky and Oreo stood together at front of the pack.

Oliver Simms's head crested over the hilltop. First one little goat had run, then all of them. His beloved pets had fled all the way to the bottom of the hill. This wasn't right. They always greeted him warmly. Were they becoming unhappy with him?

Oliver spent the next few hours frolicking with his animals. The goats laughed and played, but not with the same luster the old man was used to. Their keeper pulled out a fresh bag of alfalfa cubes for them to enjoy. Oliver chased those goats and wrestled with them in the damp pasture grass. Afterwards, he brought out his banjo, which was sorely out of tune, and sang to them.

The children whinnied playfully and the older goats nuzzled him with their noses. In the old man's presence there was a feeling of security. It was even harder to think of leaving knowing the way he loved them all.

Oliver headed back up to the house just after noon for his nap. Some of the goats walked him to his door. "I love you stinky bastards, but you're not getting the chance to whiz my carpets."

Sparky stood at the hilltop. The view of the pasture warmed his tummy. It was the only home he knew. He would miss this place. They group had decided that the herd must leave.

Chapter 9

"Who's shooting? God-damn-it all! Get the long rifles!" Oliver's feet hit the floor and he scurried to the closet. He swung the doors open and narrowed his eyes to focus. His arm reached into his vast selection of dated apparel and grabbed one of the shirts, tossing it over his head. The withered old man dropped to the ground and extended his wrinkled arm under the bed. Oliver's fingers scratched around the wooden floor: magazine, magazine, magazine, magazine, magazine...shotgun!

Oliver sprang back to his feet weapon in hand. He scrambled to the window and peered through the blinds.

The coast was clear. Oliver tiptoed out of the bedroom door and peered into the hallway. The wooden floor creaked beneath his withered toes.

"Not even in my damned knickers yet." A draft circled under his shirt and chilled his bottom. The comforts of sleeping in the buff had been too hard for him to pass up, but then again, Oliver had never expected to be attacked in his sleep.

There was a loud wrapping on the front door.

Oliver squinted. The hallway before him appeared as an indiscernible mess. The small front window was shadowed by a dark blot. Oliver refused to take any chances.

It could be Nazis. Or worse, it could be those American stoner kids. The man considered making a stop in the kitchen, maybe if he gave them the bran and graham crackers they would leave. I'm no weakling.

He was not afraid. Having lived in this home all his life, no one would scare him away. No one would make him the victim.

Another knock, this one harder than before.

"Godless hippies." Oliver kept the gun high. Using his left hand he tried to pull his shirt further down to protect his modesty, but the cotton would stretch no further. He kept his steps light. Oliver looked to the side as he passed the living room, he could see a small tan blob in the driveway through the front window.

"Hello?"

A woman?

"Godless hippies, sending their damn women first." Oliver was almost to the door. His shaky arm extended to the brass handle. The chilled metal sent a shiver through him. His eyes stayed tightly focused on the blur before him through the window. Oliver was prepared for anything. He twisted the knob and threw open the door.

"You got ten seconds before I turn you into fertilizer for my front lawn!"

Valerie Goldman's mouth would have hit the cement walkway had her mother's genes not given her such a strong jawbone.

Before her stood a man no less than eighty years old, squinting at her from behind the barrel of a shotgun. His skin was wrinkled and pale. His thinning white hair was a mess. The only thing he had on was a blue T-Shirt with the words "#1 Fisherman" on it.

The professional couldn't appear rude. Valerie had to make this casual. She strained to keep her eyes locked into his, but they kept straying downward, distracted by the loose member dangling below his shirt.

"Mister, Simms?"

The old man didn't move or speak. She strained to keep her vision level.

"I'm Valerie Thompson, with the Montreal Organization of Family and Kid's Entertainment and Recreation."

"Yeah?" Oliver refused to lower the gun. His suspicions about the stranger only grew with her identification. Moreover, he was paralyzed. The old coot got so worked up from the sudden disturbance and had dismissed the immediate call of nature. Oliver feared that the moment he moved, the flow would begin.

"I wanted to come by in person to make an offer you simply couldn't refuse."

"What would that be?"

A burning sensation was building in his urethra. The crisp outside air chipped at his resolve. A lone tear formed in his left eye. Pain. This woman, what was her name, Veronica? She would have to go. Oliver was out of time.

"I am here with an offer to purchase your fine animals. Rumor is there are some of Canada's finest."

"Is that so?" Oliver's knees were shaking. The lower half of his body was numb. He was feeling the weight of the heavy shotgun in his arms and readily losing control of it.

"Could you hang on a sec?"

With a jerk of his leg he tapped the door closed. His arms surrendered the gun as he darted to the bathroom.

Valerie heard the firearm discharge. She dove from the walkway into the muddy ground. The woman lifted herself up and scowled at her earth stained suit. Her eyes rolled back to the closed door.

She returned to her feet. Wiping away the grass and soil she stumbled back to the doorway. Valerie waited for the old man adorning a cold frown.

Oliver returned to the door with his charming, although mostly toothless, smile. Valerie was relieved to see he had put on some pants. He waived her inside. She minded herself as she stepped past the shotgun, noting the hole in the wall.

The living room was just off the entrance. The end tables and chairs were covered with cobwebs and scattered dust. Upon the floor were scattered bodies of dead insects. The sofa suffered tears in its stitching, exposing tufts of orange fluff beneath the green fabric. Valerie continued to frown.

Oliver offered some tea. The lady accepted on courtesy alone and he was off to the kitchen.

Valerie wandered the room, eyeing the old furniture and a shelf littered with ancient books. She didn't care to wipe the dust from them to read the titles. On the back wall behind the couch were various black and white photos. Ladies and gentlemen who must have been all leaves of the Simms's family tree. All of the photos seemed very plain.

The disgruntled woman strolled over to the hallway wall. There was a picture of a little boy holding a baby goat. The boy's face was complete joy. Her eyes darted to the next picture. Same boy, new goat. From frame to frame the theme remained. The boy had been photographed with every disgusting quadruped since his birth. It was a timeline of his life extending to his more recent years. The later pictures showing the squinting, toothless old man she had greeted at the door holding kids with the same cheerful luster of his youth.

The lady caught sight of herself in one of the cleaner frames, mud stains and all. She borrowed a loose throw blanket and scrubbed the cake d dirt on her lower half. She flipped her hair. Finally she felt a tinge of delight. The hair settled neatly in place, curved at the bottom, the tips glimmering brightly.

"I love them so much." Oliver returned with a teacup.

Valerie grabbed the cup and sipped at it. Her mouth instantly turned sour. Oliver had put pepper into her tea. She forced it down with a gulp.

"I bet you do." Valerie held her breath, fighting down a cough. "That's why I have come, Mr. Simms."

"Because of my love of goats?"

"Yes, Mr. Simms your love of goats. We want to share it with children."

"Who are you again?" Oliver's mind was distracted before, and he hardly remembered letting this woman in. Why was his gun on the floor?

"Valerie, Valerie Thompson with the Montreal Organization of Family and Kid's Entertainment and Recreation." Oliver's expression was totally blank. The woman raised her voice, "we want to buy your goats."

"Well isn't that nice. How much?"

"Well we hadn't totally agreed on a price to offer, we are a non-profit agency and couldn't spare much. We we're thinking about one hundred dollars."

"Are you alright? You not got that damn cholera or nothing?"

Valerie repeated the question in her mind. "No."

"One hundred dollars. That sure isn't a lot of money."

"We are talking a per head price."

"You're sick. What kinds of disgusting, evil bastards buy goat heads for children?"

"I think you misunderstood. We will pay you one hundred dollars for each whole goat, not their heads." She should have let Reilly handle this. The blundering idiot deserved the torture of speaking with the old nutcase.

"Oh, I see, I see." Oliver looked over the pictures on the hallway wall. It was hard for him to see until he got very close. The first portrait was himself with Mr. Tonto. Mr. Tonto had been traded away for two chickens when Oliver was just a boy. His mother hadn't wanted to break the young one's heart, but back then times were tight.

"Children, you say?" His face zoomed in to another picture. Lady Guinevere. The majestic nanny would pull him around in his red wagon. Oliver couldn't have been more than seven years old. She had passed away when Oliver turned eighteen. It was because of this he decided not to leave for college and instead he stayed around to help with the farm.

"Yes sir, all of the children would love to see your goats."

"Hmmm," Oliver brooded over another snapshot; this one more recent. He scowled at his own wrinkles. A little black and white goat, barely any horns on him. Sparky. His favorite. Something about that goat made him feel more at home than anything. Oliver couldn't bear to lose that one. His eyes darted about the other scenes on the wall. His heart started to pound, his throat became an arid dessert.

"No, I'm keeping the little bastards."

"But sir, we are offering you a fine sum, and think of the children." Valerie would not take 'no' for answer, she already had the truck reserved for today.

"If I wanted to share them with kids, I would have got married. Now get!"

Oliver shooed her with his arms.

"I said get!"

Valerie jumped back. She kept trying to speak, but every time she opened her mouth Oliver would scream.

"Get! Get! Get!"

The lady was so ruffled when he slammed the door she could hardly contain it. Valerie pounded on the door. "Mr. Simms I insist you hear me out!" This old coot didn't know what was good for him.

The door swung open. Valerie once again stared down the barrel of his shotgun. At its rear Oliver's ruffled face left no doubts about his decision.

"Now get!"

Chapter 10

With the sun almost gone, the rest of the herd trickled back into the barn. Sparky would soon enter the old man's house. The goat planned to use one of Oliver's map books to shepherd his flock to safety. They would find a place far away from these humans, they would seek another farm. Somewhere they could blend in.

"I hope I don't stumble across Oliver when I go in there."

Oreo was standing with him at the hilltop, watching the herd trail into the barn. "He'll be asleep, and you know how deaf he is."

Sparky's looked to his friend. "If he's still alive."

Their eyes connected. No one had been certain about the explosive sound earlier. It sounded like the old man's gun. Much speculation followed, but not one goat dared to investigate.

"Sparks, if Oliver had been shot, do you think we would still be here?"

"I don't know."

"We're going to be okay." Oreo stood and shook out his neck. "You'll check the maps tonight and find a new place for us. We'll start a brand new life. No more fears."

~~~~~~

Since leaving Oliver's house the only thought on Valerie's mind had been putting a round in the filthy old bastard. Now, she had a plan, a plan that revolved around shooting Oliver. It wouldn't be fatal, but it would be wholly satisfying.

"Are you ready for this?" Valerie asked. Her gang of seven had gathered outside of town, just a short drive from Simm's farm.

"Yes, ma'm," Reilly's sarcastic response got him no extra favor from Valerie. "I'll cover the loading team so all you have to do is take care of the old man." It was his preference to work as far away from her as possible. The remaining six masked men standing with them checked over their weapons.

"Once you have all the goats loaded, just drive out. Take it as quietly as you can. The three of you that are riding in the rental, there are some shovels in the trunk, make sure you cover those tire tracks!" She clapped her hands together to move them out. Her black gloves muffled the impact.

The phone at Valerie's side rang.

Reilly spoke for her. "You men, load up."

~~~~~~

"Aren't you going to miss him, Oreo?"

If not for his occasional shave and prohibitive language, Oliver would be indistinguishable from the rest of them. Oliver was one of the herd. But there was no way to tell him, and no way to bring him.

"We have to think for ourselves on this one. We're lucky that they haven't done more already."

The sun was almost gone now. The stars emerged in the darkening sky. Sparky looked over the meadow in the last light of day. Tomorrow it would be empty.

~~~~~~

"I trust things are going well," his voice was breaking up. The phone's reception was poor this far from a real city.

"He didn't fall for the sale," Valerie said.

"I am not surprised. When shall I expect my package to be delivered?"

"In a few of days. I've put Reilly in charge of the truck. I'll be flying back in the morning to get preparations started."

"Excellent, I will expect to see you when you get in," the man covered the phone; Valerie could not make out his muffled words.

"And Valerie?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"No mistakes."

She exhaled through her pursed lips. His final words must have been directed at her cohort, nothing in her mind led her to believe that he had any lack of trust for her.

Or did he? He was a strange man, and his mind could change at any time. Was he getting concerned for her loyalty? Was it about her dedication to him? She glanced over at her partner in crime.

Reilly watched as his men loaded into the tractor-trailer and the Peugeot. He was focused on the night ahead. In his plan the old man would have been out of the way already. This whole situation would have been handled with surgical precision. He had known Valerie would take over this operation the moment she arrived, but he wasn't worried.

Reilly had also been in contact with their mutual employer. He had given Reilly specific instructions to follow her lead, no matter what. Reilly had grumbled at first, but once his employer had told him why he should listen to Valerie, he had settled. Reilly was content with his contempt for her, waiting patiently for her next order.

"Reilly," Valerie unholstered her sidearm and ran her finger along the barrel, "no mistakes."

Chapter 11

Sparky insisted on going into the house alone. Normally it would not be uncommon for a goat or two to borrow from Oliver during the night, he was a heavy sleeper and it was easy to work around him. But with the plan moving forward tonight, they couldn't risk alarming him. The lights had been off for some time when Sparky readied to leave the barn.

"I'll be right back, baby."

"I'm just worried, Sparks," Princess nudged his cheek. It was still swollen from the punch the night before. Sparky winced. She pulled back with an apologetic look.

"Just relax, I'll be back in two shakes of your tail," he dashed out the door.

"I love you, please, please, please, be careful!"

"I love you," Sparky trotted up the hill. "Two shakes."

Sparky wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Not once had Oliver caught a goat in the house, and it would be far worse if he did tonight. The terror that Oliver would go through seeing his pet perusing his books could kill him.

Sparky crept up to the main house. He put his back to the wall and scooted to the sliding glass door. He went for the handle and pressed upon it lightly. The handle didn't budge. Oliver locked the door!

Sparky filled with panic. It wasn't like Oliver to lock the house. There would have to be another way in. They couldn't hold off on the escape. First, Sparky went to the kitchen window, no luck. Then he snaked around to the living room window, tight as a drum. He tested the front door, locked.

Damn.

Sparky moved around the house to the window to Oliver's room. He heard the faint sounds of the Oliver's snoring. The bedroom window was open.

Sparky peered inside. Oliver was nestled in his sheets. His nostrils flared and shook as the wind worked its way in and out. The bed was just below the window, it would be nearly impossible for Sparky to get in without disturbing him.

Sparky firmly put his hooves under the wooden frame and gave a little push to raise it further. The window didn't budge. He pressed a little harder, this time putting his shoulders into it. The window refused to move.

Sparky backed away a moment. There were no other windows on the tiny farmhouse. He steadied himself and pushed more firmly. The wood started to slide. Sparky pushed harder. The window broke loose and slammed into the top of the frame. The eruption of sound echoed through the house.

Sparky stood perfectly still. His yellow eyes focused on the man in his bed. Oliver didn't stir. Sparky held his breath. Slowly he retracted his arms one at a time. The window held in place. The goat exhaled.

Scaling into the open portal, he eased his first hoof to the bed. It sank readily into the mattress. Oliver's body started to roll. He gently rested his other hoof on the bed. Oliver's body shifted further toward him, but held steady in its blanket cocoon.

"Who's there?" Oliver said.

Sparky froze in place..

"No, no, I wanted you in purple garters, get it right." Oliver still hadn't moved. Sparky stepped down from the bed. His hoof clacked against the wooden floor.

"No, no! What the hell are you doing?"

Sparky stopped mid step. Balanced on one hoof.

"Oh purple, yeah and get the pudding."

Sparky held back his own laughter. He treaded lightly out of the room. The living room's dusty interior had been left to manage on its own for some time. Sparky stepped up to the books on the shelf and blew a solid breath, spreading the dust from their spines. He read through the titles one by one. A long hardbound book on the bottom shelf caught his attention, the cover was a dull red and the gold etched title was hard to make out. Sparky extracted the volume from the shelf and laid it on the floor. He flipped open the cover, more dust flew up into the air. Pete's Atlas 1977.

The goat had little time to study the geography of the world in his past study. The information mesmerized him. Sparky darted from page to page. Finding Saskatchewan, he hunted over the map. Asquith. He folded the manual and tucked it under his arm.

A car pulled up in the driveway. He knew at once, that the stranger must be in the car. Oliver never had visitors. The stranger would be returning for another goat to steal, or worse.

Sparky stood up. Through the lace curtains he could see the shadowy forms of people fanning out of the car. The stranger was not alone. He slid down the hall to the Oliver's room. Oliver's snoring had ceased and the goat could make out his withered leg sticking out from beneath the sheets. Sparky saw a shadow outside the window.

Sparky wasn't sure what to do, he stood in the door, deliberating.

"Freeze."

It was a woman.

"Don't move, old man."

The goat was standing. The woman had confused him for his owner in the darkness. Sparky was alarmed. He held still. He wanted to flee, but couldn't find the strength to move.

A piercing pain gripped his chest. His heart jumped. The room began to spin and the window in front of him faded. Sparky was overcome with fear. Fear for his family, his friends. He couldn't hold on. His vision blurred further into obscurity, his legs gave out beneath him.

~~~~~~

Valerie couldn't help but laugh. The satisfaction of watching the old man's silhouette crumble had been all she had hoped it would be. The tractor-trailer growled up the roadway. Reilly pulled it in against the fence. The remaining men jumped free of the truck, armed and ready.

Valerie gave thumbs up and the team jumped the fence. She tilted her head back over the window, again laughing at the sight crumpled body on the floor. She tossed her hair again. Shooting him was good. She wished that it could have been a lethal round. Her employer's insistence on keeping a low profile was almost too much to bear.

Maybe the fall killed him?

Valerie studied the body a moment and could see his dark form rising and falling with his breath. She studied the mass on the floor. She hadn't remembered Oliver being quite so thin in the legs, but then, she had tried not to look at them at all before.

"Psst," Reilly called to her from the side of the house.

Valerie snapped her fingers and scowled. She marched over to her accomplice.

"We've got them all, trapped in the barn. They are too panicked to fight back. We'll get the truck down and it should be no problem loading them up."

"Excellent," she cursed him under her breath. Thankful only that Reilly's incompetence had not hindered them tonight.

"How's the old guy?"

"He's taken care of. Get the animals loaded up, I have a plane to catch."

"No problem."

"And Reilly?"

"I know already. No mistakes!"

Reilly pulled his gun free. He waived it about with a smug grin. Most of his figure wrapped in dark camouflage, his pale face alone stood out in the moonlight. He hurried down the hill, joining his band of hired kidnappers in front of the barn.

"If any run out, bag 'em. If one, even one of these goats escapes, it will be your heads."

He should have been a soldier. He would have made a great soldier. He loved guns, and war. Reilly didn't need politics, just objectives. He threw his leg into the door; it shook violently but didn't give.

"Pull," whispered one of the men behind him.

Reilly sighed, grabbed the handle to the door and flung it wide open. Flashlights beamed into the open barn. Before him the room full of goats looked up with a genuine stun. Except for Oreo standing in the back of the room chewing, all the goats stood perfectly still.

"All of you are to load yourselves onto the truck out front. Nothing funny, or I'll shoot you," Reilly took his time pointing the gun at several of the goats. "Nothing funny."

The men outside were all in stitches. They had been prepared. After all, these were the smartest, most cunning animals alive. Reilly had even warned them that the goats would fight back. For everything he had said, they were not expecting the picture before them.

"Don't move, goats!"

The goat's eyes trailed the weapon he brandished. Most had never seen a real gun before.

Reilly waived up one of the men behind him. One of his men came up and stood next to him. The man drew his weapon and pointed it outward at the goats, his arm somewhat limp. A chuckle escaped his lips.

Reilly shot him a steep glare. "What's so damned funny?"

Reilly's cohort couldn't contain himself, he continued to giggle. And for what it was worth, he tried not to laugh. Standing in a room full of goats and holding them at gunpoint, it was all he could do not to roll on the floor. Reilly was not amused.

"Get out," Reilly ordered, the man didn't question him. His chuckle followed outside.

Reilly looked over his shoulder to select another man for a guard. He moved his finger back and forth, uncertain who to choose.

The goats were frozen. Throughout the day rumors and fears of what would happen when people came had haunted them. Now they waited at the mercy of those fears.

They saw the men. They had come in their dark suits. They saw the pistols. The goats were going to be stolen. They could just as easily be killed. Not one of them knew what to do. Behind the crowd, stepping quietly across the hay was Darren. He crept toward his father.

Above, in the loft, some of the ladies were holding their breath, trying to think quickly of a way to escape.

"You," Reilly selected. The new candidate stepped forward. "Keep an eye on them while we get the truck down here."

The man nodded and did as ordered.

Reilly looked over the four men as he returned outside. They all were biting back their amusement. The man he had sent out was doubled over, holding his stomach against the rough pains of laughter. "Cut that out, you're going to get them all worked up."

"Sorry." The man again tried to hold back his laughter, a tear formed in his eye.

"Go help Barney bring the truck down," Reilly waived him off, shaking his head. Unprofessional. Valerie had hired the help. A detail he would bring it to the attention of his employer upon his return.

"Hey," called the man inside.

"What is it?" Reilly entered the barn once more. The goats all seemed to be standing as they were.

"Did you see the ones on the loft up there?"

Reilly hadn't noticed. "Of course." He faked a cough. "We'll, um, just carry them. It's just a few."

"That ladder doesn't look too sturdy."

"Well, maybe there's a lift?" Reilly would have slapped himself had the man not been staring straight at him when he said it.

"Yeah, uh, let me get the concierge."

"What's your name?" Reilly leaned into him.

"Bob."

"Well Bob, shut up!"

"You want me to do that before or after I find the elevator?"

It was this same time that Darren finally moved in right beside his father. Neither of the arguing men had noticed.

"Dad."

Oreo prodded his son's side. If he was overheard...

"That's the guy who hurt me."

Oreo's eyes flared. His hooves braced against the ground. He stretched his neck out and set his horns.

Oreo met his mark at top speed. Reilly screamed and tumbled over. His grip on the pistol failed. It slid beneath the scattered hay. The man beside and the men outside were unable to help, they had fallen victim to the laughter from the scene.

Oreo bucked into the man again, keeping him grounded.

"Help me! For the love of man!" Reilly struggled to lift himself. Oreo was unrelenting. He swung and kicked at Reilly over and over. He tore at the large man's side with his strong horns. Reilly reeled away again on the floor, he pulled his hand from the wound to see his fingers washed with blood.

Reilly hunted through the hay. The moment he felt the gun his grip was solid. He spun and fired point blank. Oreo was standing on his legs, arms raised like a professional pugilist. The goat looked down and saw the small puncture wound. He dove at the man, hooves spinning. Oreo's wild swing connected with Reilly's cheek.

The shot's tonic took hold, and the goat collapsed. Oreo hit with a thud. The buck was motionless on the ground. The other goats looked on in horror.

The sounds of the truck echoed as the driver backed up to the open doors. Reilly came to his feet and began scolding the men for his wounds.

In the back corner of the loft Blossom had her head buried in the straw. Her sniffling was muffled by the engine of the truck outside. She rose up giving a scornful glare at the truck below. Princess came in next to her offering her sympathy. Her eyes fixed on the empty hillcrest leading to Oliver's house.

Chapter 12

Sparky woke. He looked to the bed. Oliver was not there. His eyes darted around the room. No lights. He sprang to his feet and clambered out of the window. The front yard was empty, completely empty. Even the grass was gone.

The goat made his way around the house. He bounced over the fence and into the pasture. The night was silent. Cresting the hill, he saw the herd gathered together in a circle in front of the barn. It was too dark to see the whole scene but Sparky felt unnerved, something wasn't right. He hurried down.

At the bottom of the hill, all of the goats were jabbering. Sparky leaned in to better overhear the conversations but couldn't make out a single word. He pushed his way through the mob and almost stumbled over Princess.

"Baby, what is going on?"

"We got the man. We captured him," her face was blank.

"Where?"

Her eyes rolled and settled directly ahead. Sparky pushed forward toward the center of the goats. Everyone was standing so close and no one would make way.

"Watch it!" Mudbubble knocked Sparky aside as he tried to push through.

"Sorry," Sparky couldn't make room. He stood up, and as he did so did everyone else. Their voices rose. The chatter bordered on earsplitting, and still all of the words folded together into an audible mud that Sparky could not understand.

"It's going to be okay now daddy," Montana looked up at his father.

"We can stay here. It's safe now," Sam said.

They both stared beyond into the distance. Sparky's heart began to race. Over the heads in front of him he could see the flicker of flame.

A unanimous cheer came from the herd.

"Maah, Maah, Maah."

Louder and louder they chanted.

"It's the right thing to do," Blossom said. Her words almost buried beneath the droning cries of the heard.

"What? What is the right thing?"

Sparky threw himself forward, knocking over the blockade of bodies. He waded through a sea of outstretched arms before arriving at the front of the line.

The goats were circled around a stack of wood. In the center was a man bound by ropes, struggling. Sparky recognized the dark coat from his encounter with the man in the field.

The man was grunting, his voice was tired and strained. Sparky circled cautiously around to see his face. It had been something he had not been able to catch that morning on the hill.

"It's better this way," Oreo said. He was holding a torch. "You'll see."

At the moment his eyes connected with the man's face Sparky went flush.

"Oliver? No!"

Their owner lay gagged and tied atop the woodpile. Sparky stepped away. He looked from face to face, hoping for a sign of hesitation he could appeal to. Sparky know the large villain he saw could never have been the spindly Oliver.

"He betrayed us, Sparky," said Princess.

"He was out to ruin us," said Darren. "He took me away! He tortured me!"

"No! It wasn't him!" Sparky stared into Oliver's sullen face. He was haggard and beaten. His eyes were barely open. "What did you do to him?"

"The same thing he did to my son."

Oreo waived the torch above the woodpile. The sight of the flames ignited Sparky's senses. The crackling of the torch tickled his ears. His nose twitched as he caught wind of a strong scent. Gasoline!

"Better step back, partner," Mudbubble pushed Sparky away from the woodpile.

"No, this can't be!" Several other goats grabbed onto Sparky's arms and restrained him. The goat wriggled and tossed, but he was well outnumbered.

Oreo stepped up to the fuel soaked timber, the shadows on his face dancing in the torchlight. His yellow eyes burned.

"For our pain!" He lobbed the torch onto the pile.

Oliver's scream echoed over the meadow.

Sparky collapsed under the weight of his peers.

"This, this, this can't be right."

Oreo waived for the other goats to hold Sparky up.

Sparky's head hung loose. Inside his chest he felt the tear in his heart grow. Why would it have come to this?

"Are you with us Sparky?" Oreo stood over him. The fire roared at his back. "Are you on our side?"

"What?"

"Do you not see? This is only way to deal with the humans." Princess stroked his face.

"No," Sparky's eyes filled with tears. "No!"

Oreo stepped back, the raging flames filled Sparky's view. His cloudy eyes focused on the bonfire. Oliver's body had now been consumed by the flames. Embers shot free of the fire before dancing away into the night sky.

"I am sorry, Sparky."

"Maah! Maah! Maah!"

The goats restraining Sparky marched him toward the blaze. The heat became intense. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Sparky's adrenaline rushed as he struggled.

"Maah! Maah! Maah!"

Despite the heat of the roaring flames Sparky felt a cold chill deep inside.

"Maah! Maah! Maah!"

"You don't know what you're doing," Sparky could feel the grip on his arms tighten. "Let me go."

"Maah! Maah! Maah!"

"When you see the old man, tell him his delicious bastards are slaves no more!"

"No!"

Sparky's body was launched into the air. He drifted forever. The heat of the fire reached out to grip him. His mind was freed from thought and turned only to pain.

"Maah! Maah! Maah!"

Chapter 13

Sparky's eyes resisted the daylight. He strained to move his legs. A grating sound invaded his ears. As he came to, the sound became clearer and softer. It was Oliver, crying.

"Why, why, why..." Oliver sat on the bed. The rivers of tears pouring down his cheeks fought their way through his wrinkles then dropped off into his lap. Oliver wiped clear the streams and sniffled.

"I knew you were unhappy, but why would you leave?"

What? Who? Leave?

"My beloved pets! You delicious little bastards! Why?"

Sparky's leg collided with the bed frame. Oliver's eyes went wide. The old man dove from the bed and wrapped his withered body around the goat.

"You're not dead!"

Sparky was victim to his snot and tears, unable to move.

"I prayed for you to come back to me! You righteous monster!"

Oliver's crying continued, revitalized by Sparky's awakening. Sparky felt bits of warmth at the ends of his legs. The muscles lacked the power to lift him free of Oliver.

"I'm gonna make you some cereal," the old man said before he scurried away.

Sparky pulled his front up, his limp bottom nailed to the floor. His front legs wobbled beneath him as the scene of Oliver's bedroom set in. Before him was the open window. With a little effort, he propped himself up onto the sill. Outside the lawn was grassy and the wildflowers bloomed.

Oliver called him from the kitchen. Sparky moseyed his way through the hall. Oliver divvied out a mound of bran flakes into a bowl. The cereal pounded against the ceramic and the sound provoked a terrible pain in Sparky's neck. As his strength returned a deep soreness awoke in his other muscles.

Oliver was smiling from ear to ear. It gave his wrinkled skin a look akin to paper mache. His eyes glued to Sparky as the goat wobbled closer. He set the bowl down and rubbed Sparky's head.

"Thank God, your damned soul is safe!"

Wasn't he crying? Between the aches in his arms and neck Sparky found it difficult to focus. What happened? He remembered he was supposed to get into the house. Then what? Sparky dropped his head to the bowl of bran and scooped up a tongue full.

"I bet you're starving." Oliver stroked his own face. The little hairs caught his fingers. They reminded him of his precious herd of goats. His eyes filled with tears.

Sparky looked up at Oliver. His head was too clouded to comfort the man. Sparky leaned his head down into the dish and secured another bite. What is going on?

"What have I done?" Oliver's words exploded through his tears, rattling Sparky.

Sparky opened his mouth to ask Oliver for an answer but stopped. They had to escape the strange man.

Oliver buried his head in his hands, bawling.

The map! Sparky crept out to the living room. The atlas was still spread over the floor. Sparky raced to the back door. The pasture was still and green without a single goat frolicking through it.

Maybe they were at the barn? Had they waited there when he never returned? What had Oliver said before? "I knew you were unhappy," the words returned to him "you delicious bastards. Why?"

Sparky's fur stood on end. The old man came out from the kitchen. "What are you doing here? You god-damned fool," he was still sobbing. "Those terrors all left Sparky, it's just your sorry rat infested ass and me."

The goat's heart dropped to the floor.

"They ran away in the middle of the night. They trampled the fence. Dirty bastards."

Oliver collapsed to the floor wrapping his arms around Sparky. The goat had the strength to resist, but he was too shaken to care. Sparky stared blankly at the empty field as the old man's tears poured over his coat.

Chapter 14

Oliver and Sparky nestled together on the couch. Sparky nibbled at the excess of alfalfa hay the old man had poured out over the chair. Oliver snacked on his bran. He had been telling stories all morning rambling on about Sparky's herd and the goats of his life. His tears came and went like the tide.

Sparky hardly listened. He had come beyond worry, anger, and fear. Now it was simply sadness. He was alone.

"If I'd known they was unhappy, I would have sold them all to that lady when I had the chance," Oliver said.

Sparky had the words circle through his mind a few times before it struck him. His head perked up.

"Oh why, why didn't I?" The wave of tears rolled in.

Who wanted to buy them? Sparky was shocked to hear the words. His memories became electric and illuminated the woman in the window. He hadn't remembered until just now. Sparky headed to the back door. He tapped against the glass. Oliver waddled down the hallway, squinting at the goat, his eyes swollen.

"Do you need to get some fresh air?" Oliver opened the door.

Sparky galloped away over the hill.

Oliver screamed after him in panic, realizing his mistake only too late. "Don't you dare run away, God damn it! I'll break your legs!"

The muddy earth in from of the barn wore huge scars extending up much of the hillside. The gashes contained puddles of dark water and stopped just shy of the dilapidated shelter. Sparky burst through the barn door. The straw was thick across the floor, spread unusually evenly. He heard a rustle in the loft above. Sparky climbed the ladder. Two vultures were sitting on the window's ledge. Just past them through the window he could see Oliver hobbling down the hill, screaming obscenities.

Sparky couldn't let himself be wrangled and thrown back in the house. Sparky hid there in the loft. There from the window his eyes followed the tracks across the pasture.

"God damn it all! I saw you come in here, where in the name of the bloody cross did you get to?" Oliver was rage and sadness when he entered the barn. The old man kicked away loose hay, vainly checking everywhere but the loft.

Sparky laid low. Crouched by the window he wished he could comfort his owner. Oliver did circles around the barn floor calling, sometimes screaming and sometimes crying. Sparky looked longingly out the window, hoping they were all safe.

It was clear to Sparky now. Oliver's weak senses could not detect what he could plainly see. This was no disturbance a herd of goats could have made.

The dark man.

"You dirty bastard, I'm giving you to the count of ten and then I'm going to, I'm gonna... I'll..." Oliver buckled. He was on his knees in tears. "You filthy disgusting vomit piles!"

Sparky's mind was constructing the conspiracy. The woman last night had been working with the stranger. They had failed to buy the goats, so they had been left with no choice but to steal them. Where did they come from? They had a big truck. They had weapons, tranquilizers...he stopped himself.

He couldn't call the police.

He couldn't tell his owner.

"God damn it all! God damn you all to the bowels of hell," Oliver was thrashing the hay on the floor. "I love you so much, so much."

Sparky could hear him trying to clear his sinuses in his wild state. The goat didn't have a complete answer, but it was becoming a larger picture.

"All of you better be back to me! I can't live without you." Oliver stepped slowly from the barn, his feet dragging along the ground. His head stayed against his chest as he climbed the hill and disappeared.

It would be no use getting Oliver's help. Sparky could do nothing from here, the villains wouldn't likely return even if they knew one goat had been left behind.

His family needed him. He would have to go out there and find them.

Alone.

Chapter 15

Save a small bright crack in the doors, the back of the truck was pitch black. None of the humans had opened them since the goats had been loaded in. No food or water had been offered to them. In the few hours they had been mobile, the smell of sixty one goats had accumulated.

Many were quiet, but a few actively grumbled about their plight. Sam had chosen to play games with some of the younger kids. She had learned how to present tales and riddles with sweeping gestures from her father. The pictures he would draw in the air with his hooves always made the children laugh. Now the kids in the near dark were finding comfort in the sound of her voice.

"It was the third day of the week, and that would make it..." Sam trailed off urging the little ones to answer.

"Wednesday," Montana said.

"Very good little brother!" Sam wished her father was with them now. She hoped that their captors hadn't hurt him. "And the little kid with the bright orange spot on his coat woke to the morning sun, and what was his name?"

"Butt-head," Sparky Jr. responded from the rear of the group.

"Knock it off!" Sam turned and saw her mother lying on the floor; she too, was stricken with grief.

Princess's thoughts, like her daughter's, were on Sparky. Was he still alive?

"Mythias!" Shelly called sitting next to Sparky's youngest daughter. The two were the very best of friends.

"Very good choice, Shelly!"

Blossom sat quietly with her mate Oreo, nearby. Oreo started to come around from his wound. It was far from fatal. The captors had only wanted to subdue him. It was very clear to the herd that the villains had taken great care to capture them all alive.

"He's gonna be okay," Mudbubble spoke out from the darkness.

"What?" Blossom had barely heard him. "Oh yes, I know, he's doing better."

"He's a fighter!" Muddy stepped through the maze and came up to Oreo.

Oreo lay on his side, his chest rising and falling in labored measures. Mudbubble hovered over him. Oreo's eyelids flickered in the shadow, adjusting to the new silhouette in view. Oreo forced a small smile. "Next time they won't be so lucky."

"Don't I know it," Muddy's eyes caught Princess. Her head was buried in her arms. Mudbubble made his way past the children to her. "Sparky's not one to give up. He's probably on his way to rescue us already," his tone both confident and innocent.

"This truck could be going anywhere. How would he find us?"

"Well," he licked his lips. "I haven't thought that far, but I'm sure he has," he continued.

Princess imagined her partner, riding to the rescue in a fast car, struggling with the wheel. She giggled. He would be wearing dark sunglasses. He would jump on the back of the tractor trailer and bust the locks, setting them all free. He would fight off the men in dark suits. Together they would all return to the safety and comfort of the farm. Oliver would smile and be happy. Peace would be restored.

Chapter 16

Sparky waited for nightfall before he left the barn. The goat snuck over the poorly reconstructed fence and made his way around the tiny house. As he passed near the open window he heard Oliver snoring. Sparky paused.

"I'll be back, old man."

Sparky reached the road and looked both ways along the deserted pavement. A breeze was the only traveler on the highway. Fall had finally come. The chill wind brushed across him as he stepped onto the asphalt.

In all the time he had been on the farm, Sparky had never once crossed this road. It was a testament to the care he received from Oliver. He had never had a single unmet need and no desire to roam. He would miss the farm.

Once on the other side of the highway, Sparky stared at the well-maintained yard of Francis Kettle. He bent over and took a bite of her tulips. A bit over-ripened. The goat crept up her walkway, sampling more of her lovely plants. He stood up on two legs at her doorway, brooding over the door, his mouth full of yellow rose petals.

The driveway was vacant. Sparky had heard her peddle off in her little round car earlier that day, and she had never returned. His thoughts churned as he chewed patiently on the doorstep. Without another hesitation, Sparky proceeded with his plan.

He sucked in a deep breath and rang the bell.

Francis Kettle had been asleep for a long time. The cruel fall air only made her grumble. When the sun set she had mummified herself in her nightgown and three blankets, one of them electric, and read until she fell asleep. Tonight she had selected to read from an old Reader's Digest. She had gotten a subscription some time ago, and rather enjoyed the uplifting stories.

The last tale she had read before she went to sleep was about a young boy named Daniel. Daniel was only eleven and had been fighting for his life against cancer. His mother and father had been by his side the entire time and the boy was improving. Although the article alluded to the marvel of prayer, it also showed that a splendid new treatment involving microwaves was being used.

Daniel was also receiving a lot of attention from his Belgian Groenendael, Chopin. Chopin never left Daniel's side even for a minute. His parents had gotten special permission for the dog to be allowed into Daniel's outpatient visits. One of the pictures showed the boy holding his pup sitting on a metal examination table with a weary smile.

The heartfelt monologue at the end from Daniel had lifted the lady's spirits and carried her into a sweet dream. She was petting the sweet black sheepdog in her back yard, serving lemonade to the young boy when the terrible sound of her bell awoke her.

Francis shot up in bed. She scowled at the cold room. The layers of blankets fell from her. An uncontrollable shiver shook the length of her spine. She hated the cold. Despised it.

In short order she recognized that she had been awoken from her sleep, but for the life of her she didn't know why. It took her a moment to do anything besides detest the situation. Not hearing any further disturbances, she wrapped herself up and placed her head on her pillow.

Sparky, still on the doorstep, was fully satisfied that the lady was still not home. He took another bite of the yellow tulips and turned the handle on the door. It swung inward without a sound. The moonlight cast long shadows down the entry. Sparky's hooves tapped as he moved along the parquet entrance. His mouth gnawing on the last bits of fresh petals.

He flipped on the lights and got to work. Sparky turned his attention to a closet on the left hand side. Inside was exactly what he had hoped for, a generous selection of coats. One in particular, a long gray overcoat, caught his eye. Sparky pulled the coat down and slipped it over his arms. A perfect fit.

He wandered down a short hallway into the kitchen. Sitting plainly on the counter was a thin yellow phone book. His venture was going better than expected. He pried open the directory and danced his hooves through to the business listings. Having thought over the details of Darren' story, Sparky had a hunch. Reviewing the information under his animal appendage, there were only two motels in Asquith where the villains could have held up with the kidnapped youth: the Sleep Hut and the Asquith Motel.

Sparky lifted the receiver and dialed the Asquith Motel. After numerous rings and no answer he set the phone back down. Sparky rechecked the page in the phone book, lifted the receiver again and dialed the Sleep Hut. There was no answer there either. Sparky caught the clock on the stove: eight-thirty. He ripped the page from the book and tucked it into his coat pocket. Sparky has no other leads. He had no choice but to go there to investigate.

He turned to leave, stopping when a basket of fresh bananas caught his eye.

Francis Kettle watched from the top of the stairway. Her hand clamped on the banister. She eased her foot down the first stair. When she had tried to call the police, the line had just rung. Forcing back her terror, Francis took matters into her own hands, and she had grabbed her late husband's cane from under the bed.

Down the stairs she could see the intruder. In her husband's overcoat! That fiend! Francis choked up on her grip of the cane, and took another step. The stair creaked as she set her foot on it.

The figure below turned its gaze up the stairs.

The stranger stood frozen, masked partly by shadow. Even obscured, Francis knew it was no human. The creature she looked upon had blazoned horns. Dark fur covered his elongated face. His piercing yellow eyes left no mystery. Francis Kettle was being robbed by the devil.

Sparky clearly saw the woman through the shadows. Her eyes were wide behind her muffled, hanging hair. Sparky knew he should run before she could identify him, but he remained in place. Something struck him about the look on her face, the way she had turned completely white. Francis collapsed against the stairs.

"Mrs. Kettle?" The voice called to her as in a dream, her eyes couldn't focus. Deep inside she felt a sharp pain, but she was too clouded to identify it.

"I'm going to lay you in bed, you'll be okay," she struggled, but with little force. Thoughts of Rosemary's baby bounced in her loosely conscious mind.

Sparky carried her to her room and placed her on the mess of blankets. He realized the possibility that tomorrow he may be more than a missing goat and now he could be a wanted criminal.

"No Mr. Devil!" she screamed from her bed. "You will not have my body tonight!" Her eyes opened to the devil face just above her. Francis became powerless and weak. The room spun faster. She collapsed again, against her pillow this time, and was silent.

Sparky flew down the stairs. Ransacking the closet by the front door and found an old fedora that fit snug over his horns. He burst out the front door.

Knowing it would be a long walk to town, he snatched the brightest remaining flowers along her walkway. Sparky tucked them into his coat pocket. It was the first article of clothing that Sparky had ever worn, already he loved it immensely.

Chapter 17

The streets of Asquith were empty. Sparky found himself by the payphone in front of the Big Ol' Gas N' Gulp. He pulled the crumpled paper from his pocket and read the information again. Asquith Motel, Four-Two-Two Cory Street. The receiver was sitting on top of the phone. It struck him as odd. Sparky grabbed it and dialed the phone. An automated voice came to the line and requested a toll. The goat dropped the receiver.

Standing in the cold, Sparky thought of the barn. He wished that he could just snuggle up with Princess and his children. He would give anything to have that back. Sparky pulled the coat tight and marched on.

The city of Asquith is by no means a large one. It was not long before Sparky was standing in front of the Asquith Motel. The place was now a pile of rubble. It had been destroyed in a fire, and from the looks of it, quite some time ago. The sign, however, still stood in pristine beauty. Sparky pulled a few loose flowers from his pocket to munch. The sweet petals lessened his aggravation.

Sparky checked the other address from the paper in his pocket. It was on Main Street.

Main Street was easy enough to find. When he reached the corner, Sparky could easily see the sign with several of the neon letters burnt out. Lining the road between he and the motel were two small offices and a house. On the front porch of the house was an older man, rocking back and forth. It was the first person he had seen since leaving Mrs. Kettle's house some hours earlier.

Sparky checked over his disguise. The coat and the hat did well to conceal his inhuman form. He hoped between his clothes and the darkness the man wouldn't identify him.

Sparky eyed the other side of the street, he could cross, but that might make the man more suspicious. He was fairly sure that small towns usually don't have a lot of strangers walking the streets this time of night. Across the way was a clock on the First Canadian Farmer's Savings and Loan sign.

10:25.

The man rocked back and forth in a wooden chair. He reached down and grabbed a bottle from his side. The man hoisted it up and took a hearty swig before placing it neatly again on the porch. He waived hello.

Sparky looked around for anyone else, he was absolutely alone. The man continued rocking.

Sparky kept his coat tightly closed. He walked as casually as he could. The goat's eyes fixed solely on the half lit sign ahead. Sparky was directly in front of the house and halfway to his destination. There was no reason to be worried.

"Getting cold early this year."

Sparky wasn't sure what to do. He ignored the words and stepped on. The neon grail was a little over a block away.

"Don't get a lot of strangers around these parts. Not until recent like."

"I reckon, filthy bastards," Oliver's words from Sparky's mouth.

The man on the porch disregarded the roughness of the statement and continued his back and forth rhythm in the chair.

"You like this chair? You know it's quite old." His rocking chair was over a hundred years old. More than a family heirloom, it was actually registered as a historical landmark in the local histories. John Barton, its seated owner, dedicated his time to displaying it to the tourists. Tourists weren't exactly common in Asquith, at least until a couple of weeks ago. Some provincial construction activity had brought more than one convoy into town the last few weeks. The excitement had prompted John to show off his pride around the clock.

"It is a very nice chair, dag-no-mighty," Sparky coughed with discomfort. He wasn't sure if he should disguise his voice.

"You want to take a picture of me with it?"

"I don't have a camera," Sparky kept his head turned away.

"Well that's just dandy. I got this Polaroid here and just put in some new film. Be gentle with the flash though."

"The flash?"

"Yeah, had my corneas torched a few years back to make my eyes more cosmetic like, now I can't take strobes head on without getting flashbacks of the Dead."

Sparky stayed back, the man would certainly see him in the porch light. The man would never forget his face, but Sparky desperately wanted to know if the man had more information on anyone else that had come through town. Sparky took three measured steps forward.

"It'll be great; you can show it off to the family back home. The oldest chair in over two hundred square miles," the man completed his statement and set the camera in his lap. At the same time John Barton wrapped his hand around the top of a solid glass bottle. His head fell back as his lips clasped tightly over the mouth of the container. He swung back in a wide arc. His pursed his lips and closed his eyes.

"Ahh!"

Sparky walked another step. Although he could not read the bottle's label he was now sure John was drunk. It was a sight that the goat had witnessed with his owner enough that there was no question.

"Well, damn, if you take all night," the man dropped the bottle in a huff. "Must be from the city."

"Lived most of my life in the country."

"Really?" John leaned forward in his chair. "Where aboot?"

"On a farm."

The man raised a drunken eyebrow. "Well then," John dropped back into his rocking routine. "Let me welcome you to As-, As-, As-" He abruptly leaned over his chair and vomited.

Sparky looked away. The smell rose up and assailed his nasal passages even at the fair distance he had maintained.

"Asquith. Cleanest place on God's green earth," John wiped his face with his sleeve. "Now how-s-boot that photo?"

Chapter 18

"Well boy, you sure are full of questions," the two were inside John Barton's house. Sparky had insisted on going inside. John was trying to sell him on taking another roll of photos for the grandkids' grandkids' grandkids. Sparky could take no more.

John had commented when Sparky first came in about the quality of the furs under his coat. He wanted to make mention to his guest that it was not all that cold, but became distracted showing off the pictures on his entry wall.

"These nuns came through about seven years ago, couple of them even sat in the chair, they wanted to test its rock-ability," the man laughed with a sly regard. "Hard women to talk into the sack-a-roo believe you me," he threw up a friendly elbow at the goat, catching him in the side.

"I bet."

"And this man right here," John paused; he felt a pressure rising in his throat and thought it best to excuse himself.

John covered his mouth mid sentence. He bolted to the bathroom. As he hovered over the white porcelain bowl indulging his sickness, he couldn't help but feel that he was alienating his guest. As his throat pains eased, he hurriedly swept clean his face and returned to his entry. The room seemed different but he could not place how.

"Did you turn out the light?"

"No."

John scratched at his head.

"So any more recent visitors to this chair?"

"What? Oh, of course! I almost forgot what we were talking about. That chair is over a hundred years old. It came down from-"

"I heard about that."

"Oh."

He placed his fingers under his chin, partly from habit, but mostly to try and keep his head level.

"You have some pictures of the people that came recently?"

"Yeah, come to think of it, I haven't framed the pictures."

"I would love to see them."

"Oh, well, it may take me a minute to find them. Um, here," he shoved the bottle out for Sparky to grab onto. His acute smell picked up the spice of liquor in the bottle. John held it out expectantly to his guest. Sparky made no move to take it. After giving Sparky a moment, John twirled away tucking the bottle neatly under his arm.

John disappeared into another room. Sparky looked over at the broken light bulb. His intent was to disable it only for his visit, he was fortunate that his host had not noticed the damage. Sparky looked over the myriad of pictures on display, all of John's prized wooden rocker. Several pictures even had heads and arms cut off, displaying just the chair and torsos of those in it.

"Here you go!" John handed a short stack of pictures to the goat; they slid through his hooves to the floor. Silence followed.

"Want me to, uh," John started to offer, but wasn't sure it was appropriate. He thought back to the two months he had spent incarcerated. John was still rather uncomfortable bending over for a stranger.

"Please," Sparky backed away allowing the man room to work.

John retrieved the photos, keeping his eyes on the hands of the stranger rather than the feet. They stayed neatly in his pockets. The man's nerves eased as he rose up. John held the photographs out for Sparky to see.

"This little beauty came by the other day. Her pants were tighter than a condom on a polar bear!"

John flipped to the next photo. Sparky smiled underneath the brim of his hat. It was the same black coat. There was no longer a question in his mind about the plot at work.

"Who's this guy?"

"Oh him? I don't remember what he said his name was, but he was from the East. Montreal, I want to say."

"Montreal?"

"Yeah, he said he was out doing some agricultural surveying." John's head was starting to ache. He felt strong pains vibrating into his back.

"Do you know his name?"

"Nah, Hooty over at the Sleep Hut probably knows, he stayed there for a few days. Just left the other day if I remember myself," he rubbed his skull between his fingers with his free hand. "I hate to be rude and all, but I think I have to lie down."

"Right here?"

"Well no, I've got a bed, of course."

"Of course."

"So, it was nice meeting you."

Sparky stood staring at John as he massaged his sore brain. The man was bearing all of his teeth in a smile.

"It's time for you to go."

"Oh, yes. I'd better be on my way," Sparky was ready to make his escape. He was far more than content with how his night was shaping up. He watched as John rubbed at his neck and sides and realized that he too was a little sore, and a little tired.

"I take it you can see yourself out?"

Sparky nodded.

John escaped to the bathroom.

Sparky scooped up the pile of photos and stashed them in his pocket.

He emerged back onto the porch. His eyes drifted past the rocking chair and to the bank across the street.

11:12.

Eight degrees.

11:13.

Chapter 19

The motel was all but deserted. The few parking spots were empty, and there were no lights on. The building had been built into a long U shape with the office on one end and rooms speckled along the inside. The room numbers only went up to ten.

Sparky snooped from window to window, but his eyes were no match for the darkness inside. What few telling details there might be were lost in obscurity. The only way to get more information would be to engage another person. Sparky came to the office window, his vision was occluded by a soft pink curtain. Deep in the back of the room he saw a faint light.

"What?" A woman's voice called out from within.

The suddenness of her response startled him.

"Hello? Hi, I'm looking for someone and I was hoping you could help me out."

"Who the hell are you?"

He didn't waver. Over his shoulder he peered back at the bank. 11:19. "I just need to ask some questions."

His ears focused on the buzzing from the neon that should have read "Sleep Hut." His eyes strayed down to a straw mat at his feet. Wipe your hooves.

There was a rustling inside proceeded by a melody of clicks and jingles. The door sprang open. The sound of clinging bells reverberated throughout the small office space. Sparky stood waiting for a person to appear, but no one did. He waited another long moment and still saw no one. He took the plunge and stepped inside.

"Watch out!"

Sparky looked down. The short girl who had opened the door was clearly flustered. Despite her adult voice she couldn't have been taller than a seven year old.

"I didn't see you. I'm sorry."

"I bet. Can I have my foot back?"

Sparky removed his hoof from her foot taking an extra step to stay out of the office light. The little one already had a great vantage to thwart his disguise.

Hooty, being a dedicated owner and manager, could tolerate being woken up and stepped on at eleven o'clock at night. She kicked a wedge under the door then trotted back to the counter.

"So you need a room, I take it?"

She was on a stool buzzing over the large board covered with many nails and keys as Sparky dared to enter.

"I wanted to ask some questions."

Hooty Roberts was a woman of limited tolerance. She had raised four of the loudest most immature brats turned success stories north of the border. She had cooked, cleaned, read, pottied, primped, prepped and empowered them every day of their lives lovingly without so much as a dime for it. No stranger was going to wake her up this late expecting her time and no profit.

"What in the hell do you..."

Hooty stopped. She felt foolish, overlooking the obvious details. His black shoes glimmered, they were well shined. His dusky gray coat and low hanging hat were all standard. And no one came to Asquith in the middle of the night unless they meant serious business. Even the dark hairs on his face seemed to give him away. "Are you a cop?"

The goat nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"I'm sorry I was so rude before," She scuffled up onto a stool directly behind the counter. As he crossed the room, she noticed something odd about the way he walked. Almost as if he was limping, she wondered if he had been wounded in the line of duty. She watched as his black-gloved hand flickered out from inside his sleeve. A picture slid out onto the countertop. Her eyes focused on the image.

"Have you seen this man?"

Hooty recognized him right away, Reilly something. He had been very rude. He had however paid in cash, which was always nice. That was also why she had overlooked that last morning with all the banging and grunting sounds like a wild animal. She knew he had wrangled himself a hooker, probably that Watson girl from the way she sounded.

"Yeah, he stayed here." The man before her looked rather rugged to be a city cop. "Not too long, just a week maybe, left yesterday. Didn't really talk a whole lot," she continued surveying him.

Sparky was uncomfortable already and he was positive that the young child was suspicious of his secret. Her face was covered with many sharp lines like the old man, but hers would straighten as she leaned in, her eyes growing in turn. She must be able to see his face. He backed away. His feet ready to gallop.

"I knew he was up to no good when he paid in cash," she leaned in a little more. Was he backing up? She couldn't tell. What was that look on his face? Was he disgusted at her size?

"His secretary showed up the day before yesterday and they were gone yesterday. What's this all about anyway?"

Sparky produced another picture, the woman with the tight pants that John Barton had been all over.

"Yup, that's the hussy. Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"They're thieves."

"What did they steal?"

He stepped further back from the counter. She kept leaning over further and further. Sparky turned around completely and took a few steps away toward the middle of the room.

"Did he say where he was from?"

"No he didn't."

The cop was avoiding having to look at her and Hooty couldn't stand it. She turned up her nose, no longer interested in being a help.

Sparky's lip was between his teeth. The child was clearly getting more aggravated as she spoke. Her voice was on the brink of hostile. Every step he made away she would counter and move in. He knew he should leave but he had no lead where to go.

"Did he leave anything behind?"

Lousy police. She could deny him, but if he came back with a warrant he would certainly bring more of his dwarf-hating coworkers.

"I haven't cleaned it out yet, so you're in luck." She fetched the key on the nail marked six.

"Great." He spoke more emphatically than before. Children, at least his kids, seemed to like it.

Hooty scowled. Now he was talking to her like a child. How much was she supposed to take? She could kick him in the shins. If only he wasn't a cop.

Hooty led him out the front door, Sparky kept a fair distance. She led him past several numbered doors. She didn't walk very fast at all. In fact she seemed to be hobbling. Hooty appeared very strange for a child, and Sparky was wondering if the other human children walked and looked this way. He had never seen one up close.

"Here it is." She put her shoulder to the door and pushed it free of the jamb; groaning. The room was completely dark. Hooty ambled in. She switched on one of the wall lights above the bed.

"Messy devil, wasn't he?"

Several empty beer bottles were littered about the room. The bed sheets lay in a pile on the floor. A pizza box dangled from the top of the television, two slices still inside. A lone fly gorged on the feast.

Sparky drifted toward the bathroom, taking measure of the mess. He never fully put his back to the little girl. The lights of the room surely gave away more of his animal nature than the dark office. He flipped the sheets on the floor, candy wrappers and bottle caps fell to the floor.

The girl had her hands on her hips. This late at night she would likely be in bed, just like his own kids. Sparky then realized her parents could walk in at any moment.

"So, where are your parents?"

"What do you mean by that?" Hooty bit her tongue for the last time.

Sparky thought a moment before he asked another way, "I mean your mommy and daddy?"

"Are you playing a game with me, son?"

Sparky scrutinized the bathroom while his mind raced for a good answer. If her parents were half as unreasonable he was in trouble. He was desperate for a clue, anything. White towels had been thrown into the corner. The trash can had been stuffed with more bottles and snack wrappers. He dipped down and sorted through it.

"No. I just wanted to know why you were up so late, without parents."

"You sick son of a bitch you get back here right now, you've got to the count of ten to apologize, before I kick your ass!" Hooty was hotter than the devil himself. "Get out here!"

There was nothing here to help him and now Hooty was seething. Sparky needed to make an escape.

"No good racist too probably. Are you out here to string up all our colored folks, too? The hell is wrong with you? Can't you speak?"

Sparky couldn't hide in the restroom forever. He sensed the impending explosion but was without tools to defuse her. He should have left, gone away with just a name. If only there had been something here. Sparky needed a way out.

"I'm sorry kid. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Kid? You are a real piece of work. This man you're chasing, is he a priest? A charity worker? Is he too tall for your tastes, you sick bastard?"

"I think we misunderstood one another."

"You're damn right we misunderstood one another, I'm getting ready to kick your ass, and you're still talking!"

Sparky exited the bathroom, avoiding her glare. Hooty was between him and the exit door. She stood arms down, and her brows furrowed. Her face was beet red.

"Little girl, please, I'm not trying to hurt your feelings."

"For one second I thought you were going to have something decent to say, but you know what? I should have known better. I smelled something funny about you when you first got here!"

Did he smell? "It's my smell? Is there something in the air down there that you smell?"

"You god-damn inconsiderate bigot!"

Hooty would have no more, cop or not, she charged the goat.

Sparky instinctively lowered his horns. Hooty collided with a respectable human force. Sparky raised back up to loosen the tension in his neck. The girl was lying quietly on the floor. He realized that he may have misunderstood her actions, but she had charged first.

Sparky went to the floor and listened at her mouth, she was still breathing. He couldn't remember from the medical book he read if he was supposed to do CPR for this, or maybe the Heimlich. Last week when he had knocked Mudbubble down during this same game, Muddy had been back on his feet in minutes.

Sparky resumed his search. Under the bed was bare. He stood up panning the room in full. On the side table lay a pack of cigarettes. Sparky lifted the pack and its contents spilled out. There was a half smoked cigarette and a folded orange paper card. A man's smiling face was posted on the paper. Sparky unfolded it, and found it was an actually an empty matchbook.

"Larry's," he spoke the printed words aloud, "for all your moving and transit needs." At the bottom was an address. "Saskatoon."

Sparky rejoiced.

Saskatoon. He recollected Oliver having to go there once or twice for things he couldn't get at the local stores. He had fumed over the problems with traffic and about the large number of people there. There was little choice, buzzing metropolis or not, Sparky was on route.

His ears perked with concern, the girl from the floor awoke with a mumble.

"You," her voice was faint, "you son of a bitch."

The hotel manager climbed to her knees then sprang to her feet. "You may have a head made of iron, but I know Judo." She wavered in place, barely keeping on her feet. Sparky knew she wouldn't let him run, if he made it out, she might call the police, even if she thought he was the police.

"I'm going to break your legs!"

The girl charged him. Was this Judo?

He didn't want to injure the woman, but he couldn't think of another way to escape. Sparky took his stance.

Chapter 20

Sparky shivered on the corner. He wasn't the slightest bit cold. He would not go back to that motel, not with that monster child there. Not for all the alfalfa in the world. He chomped on more of the petals from his coat pocket.

Saskatoon.

The captors had a full day on him. Provided they were still on the road that would be a measurable distance. Even with the matches in hand pointing him to Saskatoon there were the words from John Barton about Montreal. In either case, he had to try. Starting along the highway, Sparking walked the narrow edge of the road.

A few minutes had passed when a low rumbling coming from behind broke the silence. A gleam of light appeared in the distance. The light grew brighter, and then separated. A long yellow station wagon pulled up beside him.

The vehicle sputtered in place. The outside was weathered with the yellow paint torn off completely in spots leaving behind metal that had rusted with time. The window creaked as it rolled down. A tuft of smoke escaped, the smell evocative of fresh farm grass.

"You looking for a ride man?"

"A ride?"

"I'm heading to Saskatoon."

Saskatoon. "Sure."

"My bud is up there waiting for me to get back. Jump in, man."

The goat walked behind the car. He thought hard about the commitment he was about to make. It was a small space and the human within it was unpredictable. Between the motel keeper and the drunk with the chair he didn't have a lot of faith. However, Sparky needed a ride, and it looked dark enough inside. The goat climbed in to the back seat.

"Free spot in the commander's chair, man." The driver pointed at the vacant front seat.

"That's okay."

"Suit yourself," the man extended his hand over the seat. A formality Sparky avoided. "I'm Lord Neptune."

"Hi." The car started along.

Lord Neptune's head bobbed slowly as he spoke. "Is it pretty cold out there?"

"Yes it is." Sparky got the immediate impression that his present company appeared far more relaxed than the other humans he had encountered that evening, but he still wasn't keen on talking more than he had to.

"Where you from?"

Sparky ignored the question. He would wait for them to get to Saskatoon. Sparky eased back in to the seat being careful not to scrunch his tail. Humans had it easy; soft chairs, nice cars, two entire rows of shiny white teeth.

"Not a talker, eh? Long night?"

"Yeah." Sparky said.

Lord Neptune never looked his way. He slumped behind the wheel, one arm out against it so that would roll as the road curved. There was a clock in the front console. The clock read one-thirty. He didn't know if they would reach the city before the sun came up.

If Sparky had his way, there would be no more conversation. Without any formal education in sociology, Sparky didn't know that human nature does not provide for uncomfortable silences. Lord Neptune started singing.

"I feel a little bit, little bit, hazy, darling..." he was not talented by any means, nor was he shy. "I feel a little bit hazy."

The driver was fiddling with something in his lap. Sparky leaned a little further forward but couldn't get a vantage on what. He saw his own face in the rear view mirror and retracted. It appeared that Lord Neptune had not seen him. As the trees passed by at a steady clip, the man's hands continued their fumbling, and he kept rattling on his song. "I feel a little bit, little bit, crazy, uh huh yeah. I'll feel a little bit crazy baby when I'm with you."

The young man's hands surfaced holding a simple cigarette. Sparky lay back in his seat, once again at ease with his company. Sparky watched curiously as Lord Neptune lit the hand rolled cigarette. The fumes elicited a cough from Sparky.

"Sorry dude, me and Shelia, you know?"

"Shelia?" The goat managed between coughs. The smell wasn't good for him.

"Yeah, totally," the boy turned his eyes from the road and blew the smoke in his Sparky's face.

Sparky was forced to hold his chest as his coughs erupted with the fury of Krakatau. His lungs squeezed and jerked against the poisonous air. It seemed like hours when the coughs abated. Lord Neptune had reverted to a more casual position behind the wheel, still smoking his cigarette. Sparky's eyes filled with water. He could no longer focus.

"Shelia." Lord Neptune said. "That's what I call my lady friend."

"I see, well actually I can't see, my eyes are all messed up."

"Try this."

Sparky felt a pressure in his lap. The man had tossed a small bottle to him.

"What is it?" The sounds from the road grew louder. The wind whipped at his face. He looked up at the open driver's window. "That is so cold, man."

"What? Oh, it's for your eyes man, helps clear up the redness."

"Oh," The goat had trouble getting the top off, but managed. He squirted the bottle straight into his eye. Again he was blinded.

"Whoa man, slow down, like two drops."

"Oh," Sparky treated his other eye. He was able to see better, but he was still visually impaired.

"You never did say where you were from man."

"Asquith."

"Oh, really, wow. Why you heading out my way?"

"I, I think somebody stole my family." Had he really just told this stranger that?

"That sucks," Lord Neptune had lost a puppy when he was twelve. It was a beagle. He had cried for a while, put up posters, and run the gamut on the emotional roller coaster. He felt he had recovered, but still considered peer counseling once in a while.

"Yeah," Sparky was staring out the window. The flora blurred together. He became hypnotized. His thoughts took him on a personal journey. He hadn't slept well, or eaten a full meal. His stomach churned.

"You going to get 'em back?"

"Get who back?" Was someone lost? Was he lost? No wait, he was in the car, with Lord Neptune. Wasn't he? Lord Neptune was still driving along looking back at him in the mirror.

"Your family?"

"What about them?"

"Are you going to get them back?"

"Hell yeah," Sparky reached into his pocket and found there were no more petals. He was sad and hungry. Was the man still talking to him, or singing? "Did you say something?"

"Nah, radio," Lord Neptune reached over and twisted a knob. The music became very clear.

Sparky hadn't listened to a lot of music, he had heard the radio from Oliver's house sometimes but it was always muffled. Oliver's music didn't sound like this though. There were drums banging, guitars whizzing and whirring, and some man screaming words that Sparky couldn't understand. It would have driven the old man nuts.

Chapter 21

"Mommy, is everything okay?" Mythias asked.

"Shhh, darling. It's going to be just fine." Princess's children gathered against wall. The truck engine had ceased.

"Why are we stopping, what's going on?"

"I don't know sweetheart."

This was the first stop in a long time. The previous stops had been uneventful for the goats. The doors of the truck had remained closed. The goats were very hungry and thirsty now. There was immediate speculation that they might finally be offered food. The herd waited. Several goats put their heads against the wall, listening for human conversation.

"Over here," Mudbubble caught words from a heated discussion outside.

Oreo rushed over, Darren and Sparky Jr. followed with Sam in close tow. The five goats huddled against the metal wall.

"What's he saying?" Darren asked.

"Shh."

Their faces were strained, pressed as close as they could to the side wall. Only a few words traipsed past the aluminum barricade.

"Milky Way? Isn't that part of the solar system?" Mudbubble looked over at the others listening. None of them took their ears from the wall.

"What's Snicker's?" Sam asked.

"Shh," Oreo issued a harsh glare.

"I'm scared mommy," Montana joined Mythias at Princess's side. She coddled them closely.

"It's okay babies. Mommy's here."

One of the men outside struck the truck with a heavy object. The eavesdropping goats jumped away from the wall.

"You think they can hear us?" Darren asked.

"If you don't shut up!" Oreo gave his son another harsh glare before sticking his ear back to the wall. There was only silence to be heard. Oreo waited, but still there was nothing. He stood down from the wall. "Keep an ear on it Muddy, in case they start up again."

"Sure," Mudbubble stood his proudest. Muddy in his excited haste slammed his head against the wall. The sound echoed. All of the goats froze. Mudbubble smiled. "Sorry."

Oreo's distress was in his furrowed brows. He addressed the famished herd. "Okay, now, don't panic or anything, but it sounds like that we are going to be eaten."

The group inhaled at once stirring the day and a half worth of dander into the air.

"I couldn't understand everything, but they were talking about using us for food. They are using codes so it's hard to be completely sure."

"This is terrible!"

"Just stay calm, please." The herd bustled about. Woeful cries exploded from the children.

"Mommy! Mommy!" Mythias's eyes wide with terror. "I don't want to be eaten!"

"Mom," Sam spoke discretely to her mother. "I think Oreo's wrong."

"Hey big horns," Sparky Jr. yelled loud enough to silence the pack.

Oreo turned to him with his frown already well prepared and on display. "Yes?"

Sparky, Jr. having heard his sister's statement, moved his way through the crowd and stopped next to Oreo. "You've got it all wrong."

"What?" Oreo took a step into the youngster. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"No, I said you've got it all wrong!"

"What is it, Sparks?" Darren asked.

Oreo's frown dipped lower.

"Sam will tell you! Right, Sam?" Sparky, Jr. pointed to his sister. Once he had overhead her discontent with the defacto leader's translation, he wouldn't miss the opportunity to put her on the spot.

Sam glanced at her brother. Sparky, Jr. stood ear to ear with delight. If every eye in the room wasn't on her, she would have charged him. Sam looked at her mother who wore a different smile. Princess's encouraging grin and soft eyes told Sam all she needed to know.

Sam lifted her head. "Well, I, I think they are going to feed us."

"Are you sure?" Blossom asked. Their parched throats and empty bellies made them all lean in anticipation of her confirmation.

"Yes." Her veins pounded in her shaky legs. "Well, I think."

"You think?" Oreo stamped his right foreleg. "You think?"

"Shh," Mudbubble signaled. "The doors!"

The goats rushed away from the doors. They could only clear away a few feet before they were packed too tightly to move any further. The bucks stood ahead of the kids. They formed a good line for the strength they could muster.

"We'll fight to the death," Oreo ordered.

"It's okay babies," Princess pulled in her children.

Mudbubble pulled away from the wall and looked to Snowball, she had been laying down in the corner. Her eyes met his, and he smiled.

The large truck doors rattled. The goats heard the voices of several men just on the other side. A hatch opened halfway up the rear left door. A rain of projectiles pelted the animals. The bucks at the front of the pack took the brunt of the assault. They bucked and whinnied, aiming to dodge or escape, but there was nowhere to go. The window was closed as quickly as it had opened. Littering the bottom of the truck were shimmering paper packages of food. Precious food.

It was an array of candy bars and donuts, sugary snacks foreign to the goats until this moment. They learned the names of many heavenly flavors that day. Tastes more enjoyable than anything they had ever raided from Oliver's cabinets. There was limited relief that came with the abatement of sore, empty tummies. The spoils were divvied up with the children first. It was a light meal, but all ate well enough.

Sam looked around the room with a contented smile. Chewing on a white powdered doughnut, her eyes drifted to Oreo. He caught her gaze and returned a look capturing his complete disapproval. Sam swallowed her bite and lowered her head.

Blossom caught sight of his display and nipped at his side. Oreo's face responded slowly to his better half's demands. It took Sam a moment to recognize the little grin and return the gesture.

Chapter 22

Sparky stretched his legs. His body was deep in a cradle of softness. It was the comforts of home he had missed. The hay beneath him was so soft to the touch it was like a pillow, and the warmth of his mate pressed deeply against his side was heaven. He rolled a little and pulled the blanket closer.

Blanket? Sparky didn't own a blanket.

His eyes spilled open.

Lord Neptune sat on the floor. He wasn't paying any attention to the goat. His eyes were fixed on a television screen. Sparky stared in momentary awe at the sight of the montage of video. Lifting the blanket, Sparky discovered that his coat and hat were no longer on him.

"Chip?" Lord Neptune held the bag over his shoulder to the goat without turning around.

"No. Thank you." Sparky clung to the blanket. "Have you seen my coat?"

"It may be upstairs, or in the bathroom. Things got wild man. Wild."

"Things?"

"Last night, you ate that whole pizza by yourself. It was totally cool."

The proof of Lord Neptune's tale bubbled in his stomach. Sparky's eyes picked through the mess upon the floor, discovering his coat. It was in a pile next to his hat.

"What time is it?"

"Couldn't tell you man, it's starting to get dark though," Lord Neptune jammed his hand into the bag. He shoved the handful of potato chips into his mouth. Loose crumbs spilled over his bare chest.

Sparky kept himself carefully wrapped in his blanket, keeping it over his head as well. The goat crossed the room and seized his clothes. It took Sparky a moment to find them as Lord Neptune kept many of his cloths on the floor in this very spot. Sparky picked out his coat from the mound of shirts and pants causing a small avalanche of cotton.

"If you need a shirt you can borrow one of mine." Lord Neptune said.

Sparky presumed that the more disguise he wore the better off he would be, especially when he reached the city. Saskatoon. He sorted through the loose clothing. Any one of them appeared to be suitable. He lifted a black tee-shirt. The goat spun it around he read the words in plain white text. EHGK OFE IUCR UPP. Gibberish.

"Totally, man."

With Lord Neptune's vote he threw the shirt over his head. Sparky wrapped in his overcoat. He placed his hat on his head just as the young man looked over.

"Totally, man," this time his words were accompanied by a thumbs up.

Sparky didn't know what to make of the gesture. He pulled his coat closer.

"You hungry at all?"

"I don't think so."

Sparky's stomach grumbled at his memory. Through the fog of his thoughts he searched for what had transpired.

It all started with a car ride. Lord Neptune kept singing that little song, and talking about Sheila, whoever she was. They talked about the weather and his family. There was something about the seat vinyl. There was music, a lot of music in fact. Lord Neptune had fed him the pizza. Oh, the delicious pizza. The ride had been so long.

"Where are we?"

"Dude, you crashed hard! This is my bro's house."

"Oh. Where is that?"

"Um, 42 something, I don't remember."

"Are we in Saskatoon?"

"Yeah, seriously man, whoa. You went out, didn't you?"

"Where did I go?"

"To sleep, man. You small town folk are dying for some culture," Lord Neptune stuffed another handful of chips into his mouth, but didn't hesitate to continue. "You-f can-f stay if-f you want," he swallowed. "I've got to work in a bit though."

"I need to get somewhere. Do you know where..." Sparky pulled the matches from his pocket and read the address, "1401 Colony Street is?"

"It's across the river, maybe three or four k. You can hoof it."

"What?" Lord Neptune wasn't looking his way, did he already know?

"Hoof it, walk, stroll, cruise, mosey. Heh, mosey."

"Oh," Sparky sighed.

"Or you can take the bus. It's pretty cheap."

Sparky knew enough about human interactions to know that many things had a cost. Cheap was outside of his price range. "I don't have any money."

"I'll spot you the cash, just this once though. Did you want some food or anything?"

The goat didn't know what spotting entailed completely, but it sounded like that the money for the trip would be covered. "I'm not hungry."

Lord Neptune rose slowly from the ground, his eyes only half open. His new acquaintance had been a little awkward, but not too much out of the norm for the crowd he had run with back in high school. "Alright bud. I'll get you pointed off the right way."

"Thank you."

"Oh, totally. Just don't forget to bring back the shirt."

Lord Neptune walked Sparky to the front door. He pointed the goat east from the entryway. According to him, the bus stop was only a few blocks away. Lord Neptune provided the goat a handful of exact change for the bus and wished him farewell. The door sealed and Sparky rotated to face the world.

Sparky's mouth gaped. Standing on the front steps of the house, he never once in his life had he imagined that buildings could be built upward to such scale. The city was enormous. Oliver had been right to be upset, if not downright terrified. Houses were side by side by side, and people strolled about everywhere.

Sparky wanted to head down the road. After all he was only blocks away from the bus. The bus that Lord Neptune had assured him came every few minutes and would take him all the way to his destination. This bus that would even be conveniently labeled "Colony Street."

The goat remained frozen on the doorstep, watching pedestrians pass. The adult people wore coats and hats. In some ways it appeared he would fit right in. Sparky saw several children. Sparky shuddered as memories of his previous experience with the human child flashed through his mind. Most of the human kids appeared to be restrained by adults with hand holding. This must be how they kept them in control.

Still, he would avoid the children.

Sparky forced his legs to move. The goat took his first difficult step from the porch. Then one leg in front of the other, Sparky meandered along the sidewalk. The people passing by didn't take an interest in him, or any of the other people on the street. People would pass by within inches and not even so much as greet each other. He drew in a deep breath and inflated his chest.

Chapter 23

Outside the confines of the tractor trailer one of their captors screamed about the terrible luck of a flat tire. The sun was setting down, and the last light from the crack in the doors would fade soon. The rumbling of bellies was underway once more. The candy had been gone as soon as they had started off. And the rest of the day had passed without a further offering of food. They were all desperately thirsty. To make matters worse, the compartment swelled with stench. The goats had no meaningful place to sanction for a toilet. Traveling in confinement with an unknown destination, there was nothing they could do but wait.

There was a little hope.

Earlier, Groucho had overheard a conversation where one of the men was being berated about the goat's treatment by phone. Whoever was in charge wasn't just expecting them alive, but in good health. They remained hopeful this would include another meal, although a good block of time had passed with no change.

In one corner of the prison three bucks sat with their heads close. Oreo, Dipper and Juan Diego. The three had a plan. They would break out, next chance they got. It would take skillful execution. When the next meal came they would have to be prepared. They whispered and plotted as the truck sailed along the highway.

~~~~~~

The sun was all but lost on the horizon. The obscurity of dusk light reassured the nervous goat. Sparky stood with his back to the wall. Two people were there at the bus stop with him. He had taken his place opposite them, but still near the sign designated by Lord Neptune. The male had on a skintight suit of slick black vinyl. His jet black hair was smoothed down across his head. His face was decorated with jewels and rings and a small chain linking two rings together between his nose and left ear. His face was painted white, expect for dark circles around his eyes.

On her hands and knees beside him was, Sparky assumed, his pet human. She was also wearing vinyl but much less jewelry. Around her neck was a spiked collar. Attached to that was a leash which the man was holding.

The two were talking discretely to one another. Twice they had leaned together and whispered, and followed it up with guarded glances at Sparky.

"I just have to say, I think it's totally heinous what you're doing," the man said.

Sparky took a few steps back, sliding further away along the bricks, while keeping a good proximity to the sign.

The man pointed at Sparky as he spoke. "How would you feel if we took a kid and made a pair of pants for you out of his skin?"

It was easily the heaviest question Sparky had ever been asked. The idea of pants made from a child wasn't all that appealing to Sparky. Foremost, it simply wasn't practical. People didn't have think fur. His natural coat would do much more to protect him from the elements. On second thought, if the man was referring to the style it might be a different issue. The man was wearing a very different get up than other humans Sparky had seen so far and was likely trying to get an honest opinion.

"Well," Sparky hesitated, "I think they wouldn't be very warm."

"What?"

"Well there isn't a lot of fur on the children to keep you warm, but it might look nice."

"You're twisted!" the girl said.

The goat inspected his outerwear, although it was tightly wrapped his coat appeared straight. The man's lower lip extended out and his eyes were wide.

"I think you need to understand what it means to destroy life," the man said.

"What does that have to do with pants made of children?" Sparky asked.

"Jesus Christ, are you just an insensitive dick?" The girl crossed her arms and looked away from the goat.

Sparky didn't know what to say.

"Fur is murder," the gold chain across the man's face waived as he spoke. "People that kill for sport are sick, it's wrong. And people like you disgust me even more, walking around in fur leggings trying to pass it off as if it's okay. Well, it's not okay."

Sparky could completely agree that killing for sport was a bad thing, but it would be hard to explain that this fur belonged to him without surrendering his identity. He leaned outward to the street. There was no sign of a bus.

"Go out with your big wallet and pick up some dead creature, drape it over yourself. If I came to your house and skinned your family, what would you say?"

Another scenario Sparky had never thought of. He went back to how he had felt when he caught the man measuring his daughter. "I'd be really angry. I would probably not even think twice about impaling you. I would track you down and break your legs and arms. I wouldn't be satisfied until I knew you couldn't hurt me or my family again."

Sparky looked to the man and his pet. Both were staring at him with mouths draped open.

"Jesus!" The girl threw her head back.

Sparky imagined head butting and impaling his family's kidnappers with his horns. When the thought it over again, breaking the arms and legs might be a little much.

"Are you laughing? You're truly disturbed, do you realize that?"

"I think it's very appropriate. If someone came to your house and measured your kids for a coat or some pants, you would do the same," their faces didn't change. "Right?"

"No, I'd call the police. You don't break people's arms and legs."

"Unless you are insane," the girl said.

"Well, I can see that, too."

"Which is why I don't understand why you are wearing furs. It's detestable, especially knowing that you're a wacko that would bust up someone for trying that on your family. Why would you treat animals as lesser creatures?"

"I-"

"They deserve to be treated with total respect. Everyone and everything deserves to be treated like a brother. I would do anything for another person, or an animal. It's totally right." The man was twisting his tongue preparing to further flay him, when the sound of an air brake interrupted.

Sparky looked up to the bus: Colony Street.

Chapter 24

The goat stood at the vacant stop as the bus drove away. Along the roadway ahead a large orange sign towered above a small commercial building. It was lit from behind and with black text and a familiar head logo. "Larry's." In all of twenty-four hours Sparky had not been so contented. It was a moment he would be proud to share with his friends, but was regrettably alone.

"Hey, buddy, over here."

Sparky continued on, ignoring the call from the shadows.

"Hey, you, pssst." Sparky checked over his shoulder. There he identified a tall male figure following him. The goat continued, hoping the man would lose interest.

"Stop, or I'll shoot."

Sparky froze in place. Echoing footsteps closed in from behind.

"Are you going to shoot me?" Sparky spoke calmly.

"Shh, be still." The goat felt a hand on his coat. The man's right arm reached around and into the overcoat. The thieves' hand glided toward Sparky's pockets. The photos! Sparky sprang forward, and spun to face the assailant. He put his forelegs up to block.

"Don't move!"

The man had his hand wrapped within his overcoat. Underneath it, pointed at Sparky, was some manor of unseen pistol.

"Where's your money?" The man had a rugged face, unshaven for days.

"I don't have any."

"Christ, what the hell is wrong with my life," the man slammed his foot on the ground. His coat fell open revealing the plastic toy gun he was using to scare the goat. "Oh crap." He began sobbing. "Look, please don't turn me in."

Sparky stood toe-to-toe with the weeping man. The goat was not amused at the presumed attempt on his life. Yet something in the man's demeanor tugged at his heartstrings. "Who are you?"

"Gus." The man's arms fell loose and his body slumped. His head fell backwards. "Why god?" his voice echoed in the narrow street. His head crashed on Sparky's shoulder. His sobbing gave way to the full waterworks. His arms wrapped around the goat for the second time, but now for a different reason.

"Now, now, calm yourself down." Sparky withdrew from the embrace.

Gus's nose ran profusely. Gus's eyes flooded with tears and his breathing became short and irregular.

"You'll be fine," Sparky said.

"You know, that's what the last person I tried to rob said, then out of nowhere, BAM!" The man threw his knee up narrowly missing Sparky's midsection. "Right in the jewels. All I want is to make enough money to, to turn away from crime."

"That doesn't sound hard."

"Oh, well, let me tell you something. I've been all over this city for two months. No one will let me rob them, no one will buy drugs from me, and you don't even want to know the luck I've had as a gigolo."

Sparky could feel the call of the bright orange sign behind him. Sparky wanted nothing more from this man, and figured it best leave. The man was clearly harmless and likely only to cause more trouble for him. As he turned to walk, Gus's hand landed on his shoulder.

"You can't leave, I need you," Gus pleaded. Sparky could hear the valves in the man's eyes switching on.

"Look, Gus, I'm in a hurry."

"You know what? If you want to overlook my problems for your own, be that way!"

Gus kicked at a puddle of water directly in front of him. The water fell short of the goat. When his heel came back down, it slammed the puddle and soaked his own pants. "If I don't wake up tomorrow, it's on your head!"

Sparky was already well on his way down the street.

Chapter 25

"Can I help you?" The young man behind the counter was curt, but not very attentive. He didn't look up at Sparky standing directly in front of him, The young man spoke up to him affixed to his LCD screen.

"I am looking for someone that rented a truck here. I need you to give me names and an address."

"Oh."

The young man in front of him sported an orange jumpsuit with Larry's head logo on it. It was the same as the matches and the sign outside. The shirts, however, missed out on the word "Larry's", featuring only the logo. The employee still never looked up from his terminal.

"So, can you help me?"

"What? Oh sure, what do you need?"

"I was looking for someone that rented a truck."

"Right. Could you be a little more specific?"

Sparky produced the picture of Reilly, laying it out on the counter.

"Yeah, I've seen him." The man's eyes had never strayed from his screen to the picture.

"This man right here? When, where did he go?"

"Nope."

"Nope? Nope what?"

"I haven't seen him."

"But I thought you said..."

"Hang on, I've got to check in back."

"Check in back?" Sparky hadn't finished the words before the man escaped out the rear door.

Sparky picked up the picture and moved down to the next attendant. Like her counterpart she was busy staring at a computer screen. She had a phone propped up between her head and shoulder.

"Excuse me."

The girl's hand sprang up immediately. Her eyes only bounced up to him for a moment and then were once again on the digital display.

"Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh, uh huh, uh huh, uh huh."

At the end of the counter lingered the last jumpsuit-wearing employee. This man was not staring at a screen. He was sitting on a stool. In his hand was a cigarette. It wasn't lit.

"I needed," Sparky stopped as again the young lady's hand sprang into his face.

"Can you help me?" Sparky called to the man at the end of the counter.

"I don't know," he said, "I'm on a break."

Sparky headed toward the man with his picture, "I was looking for someone who came in here a few days ago."

"God-damn, are you deaf? I said I'm on break," the man turned and disappeared out the rear door, after he did the first employee returned.

"I'm sorry, we're all out!"

"All out of what?"

"What you were asking for. Try our other store, east side."

The young man resumed his typing at his workstation. Sparky observed the girl nodding on the phone and settled back on the young man. On closer inspection he spotted a name tag.

"Look, John, I really need to know about this man," Sparky put the picture down.

"Um yeah, he doesn't work today."

"He works here?"

"No." John slammed the enter key in frustration.

"What?"

"Would you like me to get you directions to the east side store?"

His beady little eyes. Sparky held back. He wanted to jump the counter, to ram this John and the woman. The desperate goat needed their attention. He was on a mission. A mission they were impeding.

He extended his hoof out and waived it in the man's face. No response. Sparky carefully guided his hoof over John's head and knocked once on his skull.

"Ow, what the hell?" the man looked up at him. John registered the dark figure for the first time. The man's face was shadowed by his old brown hat. And there was a smell that John didn't recognize.

"I'm trying to find this man. Please have you seen him?"

John picked up the picture rubbing his head.

"This guy?" He tossed the picture back onto the counter. "I don't know him."

"He rented a truck from this place a two or three days ago. He may have already brought it back."

"I don't work weekends, Christ," John eye's fell back against his computer screen.

Sparky extended his arm and held it over the man's head once again. He didn't look up. "John?"

"Yeah?" the man noticed the hovering arm and ducked away. "Look freak, what the hell do you need so badly?"

"I told you, I'm looking for this man, right here," he slammed his coat wrapped arm on the counter.

"I told you I don't work weekends, I wasn't here when he came in two or three days ago. Saturday or Sunday, get it?!" John stormed out the rear door.

Sparky rolled his attention to the girl on the phone.

The lady bore a deer-in-headlights look from witnessing the cloaked stranger's interaction with her coworker. The phone was attached to her ear still, but her lips were frozen. Sally's knees buckled, she could barely stand, and she couldn't run. Her insides flooded terror as his heavy steps clacked across the cement floor.

"I don't remember his name." The words blurted out of her trembling mouth. She had caught a glimpse of the picture before.

"What's your name?" Sparky readily identified her trepidation.

"Sally."

"Sally, did you see this man?"

"I think so, he came in Saturday, I think."

"Please Sally, please, help me out. I need to know who he is, or at least where he's might be going."

"I, I can't give anything out about other customers, it's against company policy."

"Listen, Sally, this man, has my children, he has my family. I need to know where he went." Buried in his pleading tone Sally felt his pain. It called to her sympathetic nature. Sally bit her tongue.

"Please he's going to hurt them unless I find them," Sparky stood vulnerable in the light, desperate for her answer.

"I'll see."

Sally danced her fingers over on the keyboard. She tried not to look directly at him. The fear inside led her to avoid any more eye contact for fear of retribution.

"We rented quite a bit on Saturday. Do you know what size truck he rented?"

"It would have been a big one."

Her fingers struggled to manage through her nervousness. Beads of sweat formed over her brows. She kept mistyping and having to go back.

"Here; there was a rental on Saturday mid-afternoon, the name was Reilly Thompson."

Reilly! Just like the crazy little girl at the motel had said. Sparky celebrated silently his momentary gain. It would just be a matter of time. "Where is he going?"

"He rented the unit for a one way-haul."

"But where is he going!"

"I'm trying okay, please don't hurt me!" Sally was sniffling, the tears weren't far off.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I just need to know Sally. Please." Sparky eased his approach.

"He's scheduled to drop it off in Montreal at the end of the week."

"Where?" The goat yelled.

Sally's ducked and put her arms over her face. The faint whimpering triggered Sparky to step back. Sparky realized only now he had screamed at her. He lowered his voice. "I'm sorry. I'm not going to hurt you. I need to know where he went."

"Call the police, why don't you?"

"I can't. It's complicated."

Sally's eyes opened slowly. Her breathing settled. In his voice she could hear sincerity. Something in the way he stumbled over his response had swayed her. She moved her hand to the mouse and wriggled the arrow down to the 'print' button. The printer started grinding away at the loaded roll of paper.

The two stood quietly as the machine worked it's magic. Sally was still far too nervous to look at her attacker straight on and kept her eyes down. The printer stopped. Sally tore the paper free, handing it to him. Sparky seized the paper, bumping her hand with his hoof. She looked down at the stumpy mass, restraining a startled scream.

"What, what happened to your hand?"

Sparky pulled the paper away. After a quick review he placed it in his pocket, leaving his hoof there to hide.

"Was it an accident?"

"Thank you for your help."

He turned away from the young girl, the light shone over his profile. Sally couldn't help but look now. The shape of his face defied everything she had ever believed possible. Sally watched speechless while the strange being walked out the door.

She didn't know whether or not she could believe her eyes.

"Sally!"

A cry came from the dangling phone.

"Cindy?" Sally lifted the receiver to her ear.

"What happened, are you okay? Did he hurt you, what's going on?" Sally's friend had hung on the line the whole time.

Sally raced to catch her up, "You're not going to believe this."

Chapter 26

Sparky's eyes slakes in the printout, scanning it over and over: Montreal. His stomach growled. Hopelessness and hunger swirled inside him. Small memories of the pizza seeped into his mind. His eyes searched around for anything he could snack on. There was a tree by the bus stop, hardly a feast, but it would have to do. He stowed the paper and sauntered along the dark street.

"Hey buddy," Gus called out from the ally. The goat had expected the man to have run off after their last encounter.

"Don't turn around, I'll shoot you!"

Sparky stopped. "Gus, not now."

Gus put on a warm smile. "Who's that? Oh hey! What are you doing here? Long time no see!"

"I just saw you. It has not been a long time." Sparky's stomach reminded him that it wanted attention.

"Are you working my street now or something?"

Gus laughed. Sparky did not.

"Hey, I'm serious! You're not trying to run my game, right?"

"I'm not trying to rob anyone up if that's what you mean. I'm trying to find my way out to Montreal."

"Oh, a vagrant, and here I thought you were a gentleman thief," the man mustered another laugh, this one more reserved. "Look, I know that I seem like a kook at first sight, but maybe I can help you out."

Sparky had no further desire to deal with people. He wanted to run through the countryside leaving behind the nasty human world. But it was just that, a human world. Any human no matter how disreputable had the upper hand on him.

"You can help me?"

"I have a friend that runs errands east of the city, he doesn't get out too far, but it's a start for you."

Sparky perused the man visually. Gus wore a dirty mismatch of stained cloths and a ragged outer coat. Unshaven and likely unwashed the man maintained an aroma that displeased the nose. Sparky thought the idea that between Gus's lifestyle and attitude he had maintained anyone that considered him a friend was a miracle; especially knowing that Gus was a criminal.

"A friend?"

"Yeah, we go back a little ways, he's good people."

Sparky looked past the man, the orange sign glowed overhead. Montreal. "Any chance we can get something to eat?" Sparky asked.

"I robbed a little old lady earlier; she had some candy on her." Gus extended his hand filled with peppermints. "If we hurry we can get you out tonight!"

Gus led Sparky away down the street. "Hey come on! What was your name again?"

"Sparky."

~~~~~~

The truck stopped late in the day. The goats shared parched throats and dry lips. Water had not been given to them once since they had been stolen from the farm. Much of the herd, already weak with exhaustion, lay on the ground. Hope was fleeting from them as each remaining ounce of their hydration evaporated away. A few remained hopeful and strong. The three bucks Oreo, Dipper, and Juan Diego, had reserved their strength as best they could for this moment.

Light outside streaked through the crack in the trailer doors. Outside the goats heard the humans jostling about. It would just be a matter of time before they opened the door. Mudbubble kept his ear to the wall and signaled Oreo with his hooves. The three large bucks prepared to spring the moment the doors opened. Oreo would lead the charge.

The lock on the door creaked. The small window above swung open. Oreo pounced at the sound, his head slammed directly into the still closed door.

"So, you little monsters need water?"

Reilly harnessed a hose in his massive arms. The overwhelming stench from the truck tore at his nose.

"Nasty buggers!" He called back to his men. "Turn it on!"

Oreo came to his feet. He felt the small trickle of water. He viewed up the door to the opening he saw the hose in Reilly's hands. "Get me up there."

Reilly again shouted to the men behind him, "Come on, I said crank it!"

The water came on. Reilly attacked the goats with the gushing stream, laughing as he sprayed.

"Come and get it!"

The animals rushed to drink their fill. The water cleared away the floor. Clean, cool water collected in little pools on the trailer floor. Reilly pestered the herd with the hose like an angry bully after ants with a magnifying glass. He enjoyed aggravating the goats. He chuckled as he beleaguered a kid with the water jet; forcing the little one to topple over.

Dipper and Juan Diego hoisted Oreo onto their shoulders. In one great heave they pushed him to the hole. Oreo caught Reilly with a left hook knocking the man clean off the ladder and onto the ground. Reilly lay momentarily paralyzed from the shock of the impact. He put out his arms as a shield waiting for the hose to follow after. Reilly eased his arms down as the hose remained stuck inside of the window. The water poured into the truck. The goats inside rejoiced.

Reilly curled his body in the mud, unable to pull free. The other men laughed at his folly.

"Help," Reilly strained. Oreo pulled through the window and jumped through. The goat landed squarely on Reilly's chest, his hooves pressing deep into the man. Reilly would have screamed if the air in his lungs hadn't ejected. The scene shook the three men nearby from their laughter.

"Get him Cyrus!" one man yelled.

"I'm not going to get him, you get him!" Cyrus passed the charged to the next man.

Oreo charged at the closest human, bowling him over. The firm head butt smartly aimed at the man's stomach. The goat turned his head and stuck again, slicing with his horn, desperate to cause damage.

The man exploded in agony from the deep jab of the goat's horns. He collapsed into the wet sand clutching his side. Two men standing beside him scattered away from the fighting goat.

Oreo sprang back to the truck. The goat sized up the rear latch and started to work. His clumsy claws impeded his progress. Oreo tilted his head in and tried to undo the latch with his horns. He could feel it begin give. The latch separated from the lock and the mechanism released. The doors let loose.

Several great arms surrounded the goat and pulled him free of the truck. One of the men struck him over the head with a two by four. The goat collapsed down into the mud forming with the runoff water from the truck. Reilly loomed over Oreo dressed head to toe in slick dirty muck. The man wiped his muddy brow with his sleeve, his face unrecognizable under the caked earth.

Collectively the four men dragged the struggling goat through the mud. Three men held him tight while Reilly sealed and locked the main door of the truck.

"You think you can escape? I own you now!" Reilly scaled the ladder and pulled the hose out of the truck. "No more water!" He slammed the hatch closed.

The rejuvenated herd struggled against the sealed doors. They all feared now for the single buck that remained outside.

Reilly's flared eyes locked onto Oreo. He took his time coming down the ladder. The buck was struggling against the grip of Reilly's goons, standing on his hind legs.

"You want some of me? You think you have a chance? Your whole sick little group of freaks is mine." Reilly said rolled up his sleeves.

"Hold on to him," the sludge-covered Reilly flashed his white teeth at the restrained animal, "tight."

Chapter 27

Sparky pulled the brown fedora over his head. The room was very small, but luckily very dim. In the room's center was a card table and chairs. The table had a punchbowl on top. Its contents were rancid. Green fuzz grew out of the top and grew around the lips of the bowl. It gave off a dank musty smell. Sparky licked his lips.

The goat had been parked for twenty minutes in a chair covered with a white sheet. He had been the first to sit in it for some time. When he had first settled in the firm the seat, as Gus had instructed, a large billow of dust engulfed him. The chair was growing on Sparky though. He had not spent much time enjoying human comforts on the farm and sitting on the hard ground this way always pinched his tail. This supple chair he could get used to.

Across from him was a small shelf with a few forgotten bottles and a single book. The cover was too worn to read completely. The only words legible on the faded yellow cover were "moonshine" and "idiot's."

The cheap hollow door next to the bookshelf swung open. Gus emerged trailed by a slender, older man wearing a red baseball cap.

"Gus tells me you need a ride?" Fat Jack had little round glasses and spoke with a clean Brooklyn accent.

"Yes," Sparky nodded his head low with his response.

"Headed to, Montreal?"

"Yes."

"He says, you're clean?"

Sparky thought hard for a response. The goat flashed back to the motel. The girl there had been offended by his smell. He couldn't risk it. "Yes, very." He would attempt to stay downwind.

"Well good, provided you can help me drop off some packages, I can take you as far as Plunkett."

"Plunkett, packages?" Sparky asked.

Gus waived his hands and stepped up to him. "It's better off if you don't ask a lot of questions," Gus said.

Fat Jack couldn't get a clean look at the man. Tilting his head side to side he only caught a different shadow. It wasn't his place to question images on the street; he'd at least wait until there was cause to question this new hustler's discretion. Fat Jack extended his hand. "And say, I'll throw in a hundred bucks for the trouble."

"Okay, sure." Sparky's answer was firm yet quiet.

"Good, good. Gus I don't see any more reason for you to stay, why don't you get back to work?"

Gus nodded to the two in turn and disappeared out the rear door.

"So, Sparky, Gus was telling me that you were just passing through," Jack tilted back in his chair. His left arm lay across the table.

"Yes."

"Where from?" he leaned forward in his seat, the light revealed his unshaven face and sharp chin. Fat Jack's green eyes sat deep behind his glasses and highlighted his narrow face. He put his hand to the back of his head, adjusting the cap.

"Asquith."

"Ahh, I used to know a man from Asquith. John Barton, used to be real big name around here, then he retired."

"Yeah, he's quite a drinker."

"That he is," the man chuckled, his glasses bounced down his nose. He pushed them back up with his index finger. "So, where are you headed, Montreal was it?"

"Yes."

The man slammed his hand violently on the table. "Are you a cop?"

"No."

"Good, good."

He produced a pack of cigarettes from his coat. Sparky winced. The man pulled out a smoke and then tilted the pack across the table.

"No."

"Healthy choice," he said lighting the cigarette. "I'm Fat Jack."

"Fat Jack?" Jack was likely the thinnest man Sparky had come across. His frame was built around narrow shoulders and boney arms.

"I was twelve when I got started working and was a bit on the chubby side. My Daddy stuck me with the title. Said it would ring through the alleyways someday," he pointed at a picture on the wall.

A young, round boy in suspenders and next to him a tall gentleman with a handlebar mustache; both had their arm around the other. The two in the photo didn't look all that alike, but as Sparky glanced back between the picture and the man at the table, he could see the resemblance.

"Now it serves me well. I want the big life, people know that about me before I ever meet them. I want to be fat. Rich off the people. Rich on the women and the money. Isn't that a good dream?"

"I guess so."

"Wouldn't you want to be fat like that?"

"I don't know, I..." There was no room for Sparky to answer.

"I see big things for you. You should come by again if you head this way, I always have a need for a helping hand."

"Great."

Out the rear door they went. Fat Jack led Sparky down a flight of stairs. They passed through a dank, foul hallway. On past a half dozen boarded doorways to the very end of the hall. Through the door, emerging into a garage.

At the far side were two large workbenches covered with cobwebs and scattered with discarded tools. Papers and bottles were strewn about the expansive room. There were seven large wooden and glass garage doors. In each of the bays trails of spilled liquids tattooed the floor. A single pickup truck sat parked at the far end of the garage.

"My father use to have this place full of trucks, all that's gone."

"Where'd they go?"

"The economy is a killer stress, even as an illegitimate business."

"I see."

"Yeah, of course by economy I mean Big Man Tony Venti."

"Huh?"

"They made a mess out of the place with a few hundred rounds of ammunition. We firebombed them. They sabotaged some of our trucks. Then Venti was found with three ice-picks in his head, of course not until after my dad took two in the chest. Doc said that another inch over and there would have been a chance. We're getting it back, though."

"Oh. That sounds-"

"Clean, very clean," he clapped the goat on the shoulder. "Just like you!"

Sparky clambered into the truck keeping his head against the window. He was as much disguising himself as detesting the driver.

"Hey, I always keep a spare in the glove box."

"Spare?"

"Err, a spare deposit slip. These deliveries can get messy."

Chapter 28

It was great to be out of the city. Sparky felt refreshed in the open countryside. Only a few sparse lights interrupted the still night. The road was devoid of traffic. The entire scene was softly washed in the white light of the half moon. It was a tranquil view.

Even in the silent night, the ride itself had been far from quiet. Story after demented story poured from the driver. Fat Jack had some impressive credentials in the snaky Canadian underworld. Murder, extortion, bootlegging, kidnapping, plagiarism, some Sparky had heard of, many he had not. The last few minutes Fat Jack had been embellishing on his exploits in car thievery. His boisterous pride purportedly came from an insurmountable number of successful lifts.

Jack's voice went low when the Plunkett City Limit sign came into view. "When we pull in to the driveway, just sit tight. If anything funny happens, get the insurance from the glove box and cover me."

"Don't you mean the deposit slip?"

"Yeah, yeah whatever, it's all just a figure of speech, kid," the man wiped his nose with his left hand and then tucked it into his jacket pocket.

Fat Jack checked the safety on his concealed pistol with his thumb. Jack spun the steering wheel with his right hand and veered onto the narrow rural highway. The two passengers leaned with the truck as the vehicle banked around a long curve. Sparky drew in his coat and hat. He reviewed the driver's face, which was now blank. Jack never looked off the road.

After another minute of driving, Jack nodded his chin over to the right. He started speaking with his head still raised. "There it is."

Sparky was almost shaken loose from his seat as they drove onto the gravel driveway. Ahead his eyes focused on the flat aluminum wall of a warehouse. The front door was illuminated by a single blue light that hung over it. The building sat on a clear lot in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere in the small hamlet. There were no other structures in sight.

The truck squealed to a stop. Jack slid the column shift to park.

"Wait here."

Fat jack hopped out of the truck. He walked up the drive turning to give Sparky a dubious smile. Sparky watched from his seat as the man knocked on the door. The door sprung open. Fat Jack slipped away into the darkness.

Sparky turned the truck handle, but it didn't budge. He put his shoulder into the door and tried again. Stuck! Sparky looked to the warehouse, chewing at his lip. He positioned himself to ram the door a third time and accidentally triggered the release on the glove box. His eyes went wide.

Sparky had seen a gun only once before, and it was not like this. Oliver's rifle was large and clunky. This was small, menacing. The goat held in his panic. Slamming the door again it dislodged. Sparky sprang out and his hooves clopped down onto the gravel. His eyes went back to the truck. The moonlight glinted off the gun. It could bring no good at the hands of Fat Jack. He seized the weapon. The warehouse door flew open. Fat Jack stumbled out grumbling. Sparky covertly shoved the pistol into his pocket. The narrow man called over to him. He could have got away. He should have run.

"Look, kid, we have a situation. I need you for a few more minutes."

"I really should be.."

"It's no biggie. I just need you to help me carry in this box," Jack leaned into him.

Sparky could see little detail of the man's face in the moonlight. "Well I have to..."

"You're not thinking about turning me in, right?"

"For what?"

"That's right." Jack peeked over his shoulder at the warehouse door. "Look, here's the cash. There's an extra two hundred," he pulled a roll of bills from his pocket and counted off three of them.

"That's three-hundred."

Sparky tucked the money into his coat without hesitation. One last errand to complete and he would be on his way. It was better than risking the man's wrath, which from the tales he had heard was rather painful.

Sparky followed Jack to the rear of the pickup. The truck carried only one crate. The large wooden box took up half of the truck bed. The two lifted the package by its built-in handles and headed to the warehouse.

"Easy with this through the door." Jack called out as they reached the warehouse. "Don't bang it."

A shadowy figure held the door open as they passed through.

"On the table," Jack's voice strained. The two eased the sturdy box onto a slate metal table along the wall. The door to the outside slammed closed. A small halogen lamp switched on. Two men emerged from the shadows and looked over the delivery. The three men were plainly dressed in dirty cloths.

Midas was dressed in a white leather cowboy hat with a silver buckle on the front. "You two want to see the operation?"

Jack hesitated, he looked at the box and then to the Midas. "Sure."

The three warehouse caretakers went through another door with Midas in the lead. Jack followed, with Sparky at the rear. Sparky was momentarily blind as he entered the brightly lit room. The sounds and smell overwhelmed the goat; it was the sweet aroma of home. He could hear his companions chattering along the hillside. It was a moment of unexpected ecstasy.

"This is the front for our operation," Midas's proud tone shattered the goat's daydream.

Ahead of him, a least fifty cages were situated on the warehouse floor. They were packed with goats. The tiny crates held two and three goats each. The cages were unkempt. The goats were emaciated. The animals were too weak to stir. Once in a while a weak cry erupted, breaking their silence.

Sparky's eyes darted from prison to prison. A pain grew in his chest. If one single old man could care for so many goats so well how could these men not? Sparky's gaze fell upon a fragile nanny goat. The mother lifted her weak frame on her legs only to collapse to the ground in front of her still children.

"We have been operating as an organic milk plant. We even got some milking machinery on a discount. You'd be shocked at what you can get out here with a few threats."

Sparky wasn't listening to them. His mind was on his tortured kin.

"These look pretty mangy for goats, have you ever been inspected?" Fat Jack asked.

"Yeah, once or twice. When they come through asking why they all look this way, we just respond, what do you want? They're organically fed!" Midas slapped one of his cohorts on the back.

The group chuckled.

Sparky hunted from one sad set of eyes to the next. His body trembled underneath his coat. His instincts called to him. His rear hooves set against the dusty floor for the charge. His thoughts boiled. His forelegs dropped to his sides as he prepared to attack. His hoof clicked against his pocket. The gun. Sparky gripped the pistol awkwardly and withdrew the weapon. None of the men noticed.

"You're going to open those cages," his voice was shaky, but his tone firm.

Blank stares greeted the cold muzzle. Fat Jack responded; deep from his stomach he started laughing. The other men started laughing with him. Their amusement only strengthened Sparky's resolve.

"I'm not kidding, open those cages!"

Sparky fired. Shrieks erupted from the imprisoned animals.

Chapter 29

"Look, buddy, you don't have a chance. There is four of us and only one of you," Paul, to Midas's right, spoke to Sparky with an even tone. The wild shot had done nothing to intimidate him.

"I don't see those cages being opened." Sparky waived the gun at them, staring at each man in turn. None of the men moved.

"Look, Sparky, I think you need to calm down." Jack said. He took a step toward the goat.

Sparky jumped back. He pointed the gun at Fat Jack. His hands leveled and the gun steadied. "Don't take another step. I won't shoot as long as you listen."

The three strangers held their feet. Fat Jack took a step back and nodded at Sparky. "Hey, Midas, you got a key, right?"

"What key?"

"The key to open these cages up?" Fat Jack's voice wavered as he spoke.

Midas kept his eyes on Sparky, then slowly he nodded. "Yeah, yeah sure."

Midas hand fumbled across his chest and into his jacket. "I got it," he reached around to his backside. "I got it right here!"

As Midas drew, Sparky saw the barrel of the man's pistol gleam. The goat squeezed the trigger, but the gun slipped out of his slick hoof. Sparky hit all fours and charged Midas. Midas fired. The other men watched the wild man in the coat whip past as Sparky charged Midas. Sparky bowled over the large man. Midas fell to the ground. Sparky dashed into the maze of cages. The other men drew and fired round after round. Shots echoed off the metal cages and splintered the thick beams, but missed their target. Terrified cries spilled out from the caged animals. Sparky had managed to drop out of sight.

Fat Jack and Paul both scanned the warehouse from where they stood. The bright overhead lights were obscured by the heavy beams, casting trenches of shadow through the cages. The animals stirred restlessly.

"On my mother's grave!" Paul said. "Nobody is that fast!"

Louis, Midas's other henchman, helped him up from the floor. Behind them lay Sparky's fedora hat. Through the center was a small round bullet hole.

Sparky panted with his back to a cage. This spot was far from the men's view. He clung to the metal, buried in shadow. The goat slipped off his coat and his shirt and threw them under the hay. Through the bars he watched.

He could see the men scanning the room from nearby the door in. Sparky looked up at the large panels of lights across the ceiling. The room was too bright for him to simply rush in and fight them all. His clumsy hooves could not wield a gun. His eyes prowled the open warehouse.

A small brown and white goat hopped up and propped her forelegs against her cage. The young female stared at him with dim copper eyes. Her ears drooped down and her white powder puff tail swayed slowly.

"It's going to be okay."

"Sparky, where'd you go?" Midas's call brought the goat's attention away from the kid.

Sparky bolted farther down the line of cages away from the men. He came to the rear of the warehouse. On the back wall he could see a series of switches. He hoped they were for the lights. Without thinking it through, he darted to the wall and flipped each of them, one by one. The grinding of metal echoed in the chamber. The cage doors swung open in groups as he triggered the releases.

The emancipated goats evacuated their cells. They poured out into the warehouse floor and started mingling and chowing down on the hay that lined it. Delighted chatter filled the air. Sparky put all four hooves on the ground and mingled over.

All the while the men had fanned out to search, but had not seen the clandestine goat's maneuver. Midas pushed through the herd towards the releases, but the man was already gone. "He's not here!"

"Over here! He stripped his clothes?" Louis turned over the loose garments he had found, nothing else of interest.

"Why the hell would he do that?" Sparky could barely hear Fat Jack's question above the cacophony of goat chewing.

"I don't see him. We need to get these animals put away!" Paul kicked his way through the herd as he walked toward the main release panel on the back wall. "Damn, stupid goats!"

Sparky was waiting. When Paul passed by him he pounced as soon as he saw the man's backside. Sparky hammered the man's head with his clinched hoof. The hard knock made an audible clack. Paul fell to the cement floor face first, his nose impacted the ground. Paul's injured cry hardly escaped the throng of busy goat legs around him. Sparky threw a second punch. Paul's head slammed into the solid stone floor. The man went limp, breathing lightly.

"Paul!" Midas called out to him. "Paul, where'd you go?"

No one had seen Sparky's attack. Paul's unconscious body was obscured by the swarm of goats.

Jack was nearest the door having stayed out of the goat throng. Dirty creatures. "Careful, he could be anywhere!"

The floor had become a sea of goats complete with its own tides and currents. Midas and Louis struggled to keep on their feet. The hungry goats nipped at Midas's cloths as he pushed through down a line of cages.

In another row, Louis twirled around and around looking for the escaped man. His eyes bounced with each moving goat. The man pointed the gun at one of the animals as it raised up. The creature settled back on all fours. Louis took a deep breath.

"I don't see him. Where could he go?" Louis asked.

Sparky shuffled his way close behind the man. Fat Jack was watching from a distance as Sparky stood. Unlike the other animals the motions were eerily balanced. As he watched, Sparky delivered a clean one-two punch to the back of Louis' Skull.

Fat Jack held his weapon out to fire. "Look out!" He couldn't shoot, Louis was in the way.

Sparky's third punch launched his target to the floor. Sparky dropped down into the herd. Louis had fallen to his hands, his head ached. Louis rolled over looking for the man who had attacked him.

"Very funny! Throwing animals!" He pulled up to a sit. Goats surrounded him everywhere he turned.

"Who's throwing animals?" Sparky was face to face with Louis. Louis's heart skipped a beat having watched the creature's lips form the words. Sparky butted, Louis was out cold.

"Louis!" Fat Jack couldn't see Sparky now. The goat's black and white coat had no clear markings to tell him apart from the others. And now he had dissolved into the flow of quadrupeds. Jack struggled to yell, his shock thick and intense. "Hey, it's a goat. The god damned thing's a goat!"

"What?" The two men were separated by the width of the room and a chattering racket of goats, Midas simply couldn't hear Jack's words.

"It is one of the goats!" Fat Jack screamed.

Midas was not amused. Somehow this Sparky had taken down both of his men and now that he and Fat Jack were the only two still standing Jack was making jokes.

"One of the goats is trying to kill us!"

Fat Jack still stood by the entrance. Midas struggled to make his way through the goats. He was coming straight up the central row of cages towards Jack.

Sparky hovered over his second victim. He raised his head above the goats and watched the two men regroup near the entrance. Keeping all four legs on the ground Sparky started toward the front doors. Before he got close, the two men split up. Each man took a side and was rounding the outside of the open room. Sparky would have to leave the anonymity provided by the other goats to reach them.

"Anything?" Midas called.

Jack shook his head, watching the herd closely for the goat to emerge.

Sparky went after Midas. The man was too far away to risk charging. Sparky slid over to the wall and crept in the shadow as Midas made his way along ahead of him. Sparky's hard feet tapped gently across the straw covered slab floor, closing in.

Jack's eyes were moving everywhere. Through the cages he saw the shadow creeping along the far wall. He fired. His bullet ricocheted in the distance. Jack dashed forward to get a clear shot on that goat.

Midas wheeled around. Bastard! He didn't see the goat along the wall and presumed that Jack was shooting at him. Midas realized it must all have been a play to make off with the money and the drugs. Fat Jack had double crossed him. He steadied his aim on the rushing man.

"What are you doing?" Jack was almost around the last row of cages. "He's there! He's there!" Jack extended his pointer finger at the animal as he ran.

Midas turned around and saw the goat was standing on all fours rolling straw in his mouth. Midas maintained his bead on Fat Jack, having had his fill of the man's treachery.

Jack edged around the cages, clearing a shot. Midas squeezed the trigger and fired on him.

Jack dropped back behind the metal cage. "What are you doing? You idiot!"

"You're not taking us out. I knew you were dirty Jack!" Midas stood and angled the gun, targeting Jack through the bars.

"What?"

Midas fired again. Fat Jack went prone, falling below the goats around him. He tilted up, eye to eye with a runt goat.

"Mahh," Sparky snickered behind Midas.

"Mahh," Midas barked back at him with a mock tone.

"It's not what you think! That's the goat! He's not normal!" Jack called from his cover.

Midas extended his hand and petted the creature's head. "You've got to be kidding me." He kept the gun held out towards Fat Jack. "Why don't you come over here and we'll check together?"

"Mahh" Sparky said looking up to the man; Midas's eyes honing in on his target down the way.

"I watched him get Louis, he'll get you too!"

"Sure, Jack." Midas didn't even look at Sparky. "You got to the count of three to show yourself before I kill your boss!"

Sparky reared up and slapped the gun from the man's hand. On his hind legs Sparky matched the man for height. Midas drew away looking for his handgun. Midas's mind couldn't keep pace with the scene as the goat glared at him. Sparky seized the man's shoulders and butted his head.

Fat Jack climbed to his feet. Weapon in hand, he rounded the line of cages. He fired as he walked, unloading three rounds. Sparky ducked to the side behind the dazed Midas.

Midas reached for this chest, feeling a deep burning pain cinching his torso. "Jesus! You shot me!"

Jack's gun clicked. Empty. Midas collapsed on the floor. Sparky shot off. He darted into the herd of goats that were scattering away from the gun fire.

Jack kept his eye on the animals as he stepped up to the fallen man. Midas shook on the floor. He was grasping at his wound, breathing lightly. A second wound had passed clean through the meat of his shoulder. Midas tried to lift his piece but his arm collapsed, the gun spilled out of his hand. His head went limp against the floor.

The goats moved apart revealing the other men's bodies. Fat Jack saw Louis and Paul, still unconscious or dead on the floor. He couldn't be sure. Fat Jack loaded in his spare clip. Studying the goats, he couldn't discern one from the next, and he didn't have enough bullets for all of them.

Jack hustled for the door. The mass of goats separated him from the entrance, but he wouldn't wait. He waded through the flock, kicking at the stubborn goats, finding it more of a struggle to keep his feet than he expected.

Jack broke free. He ran for the exit. A kid darted across his path. He crashed to the ground. Jack dropped the gun to use his hands catch himself as he fell. The gun slid across the cement into the dark entry room. He tilted his head up, keeping his body prone. The goats circled around him. He fought to keep the panic from his face. Jack leaned up further to see over them. The door was only a few feet away.

Sparky was face to face with Fat Jack. His lips were busy working some straw he had picked up.

"What's up, Jack?"

Fat Jack scrambled back along the floor on his hands and knees. Animals were hopping on top of him, nipping at the loose ends of his shirt. Their chatter grew. Moans and hums bellowed out at random.

"Where are you?" Jack swung out, the goats receded.

"Show yourself," Fat Jack stood. He puffed his chest and straightened his posture. His eyes strayed to the dark entry room. His pistol hidden away, as good as lost, in the darkness.

"Don't come back here again."

"You can't scare me! No one messes with Fat Jack!"

Sparky hovered right behind him. Still on all fours he knocked into the man's leg. Fat Jack let out a panicked scream. He spun about and looked down meeting the goat eye to eye; Sparky thought for a moment the man would recognize him.

"Maah."

Fat Jack scurried through the door. In the distance Sparky heard the truck start up and tear out of the dusty lot.

Sparky returned to his belongings. A small group of goats had made short work of his shirt and were working down his coat. Sparky shooed them. The jacket was in tatters, but the contents of the pockets had been spared, leaving him the money and pictures. He looked over the three downed thugs. After a quick size up, he waltzed over to Louis who looked to be the smallest.

Sparky slipped on the man's shirt, which was loose, and his pants, which were very loose. After a few attempts at getting them to stay up, despite his lack of waistline, the goat was able to secure them with help of some loose rope. In the pocket he found the man's wallet. There was no cash inside, just a few pictures, numbered cards and other human documents.

The goat lifted his fallen hat from the ground and covered his head, taking note the bullet hole. He set it back on the floor. He took the lead of the herd and marched them out of the warehouse. Two by two they emerged into the moonlight. They scattered over the front lot foraging the grasses and weeds.

Sparky walked through them, wearing a smile. It wasn't the same as being home, but he was far less alone. His family was waiting for him to rescue them now, and he had to hurry on.

"Take it in guys."

The dim moon combined with the blue warehouse light to give the grounds a silver glow. As Sparky looked over the flat expanse his eyes were drawn up the roadway. A beautiful spectacle of red, blue and white lights approached. It was time to leave.

Chapter 30

Sparky peeked out from a roadside bush. A small car puttered in the driveway of the house across the road. The engine ceased. A young woman emerged and strolled up the house. Sparky chewed patiently on leaves. The woman turned the handle and slipped inside.

The clothed goat climbed out of the bush onto the road walking on his hind legs. He had a general sense of the highway's direction but he wasn't sure how far it would be. He passed another house. Through the front window he saw a family sitting on the couch, two children bundled with their parents. On the floor a dog lay at their feet. All of them were staring at the television.

The next house had the lights on, too. A man was sitting by the window making music on a piano. Sparky paused to listen. It was gentle and light, he liked the sound, but could not spare the time.

The animal walked on. Sparky pulled his shirt tight as a gust of fall wind chilled him to the bone.

The street ended at a T intersection of a larger thoroughfare. Sparky pointed his path towards the direction of the highway lights now in view. He passed through an array of human businesses and shops. The storefronts were dim and empty in the late night hour. Chiropractor. Attorney. Tanning salon. Butcher.

The next sign pictured a brown leaf with a number sixteen in the center. Beneath the sign was an arrow pointing forward. Illuminated by the overhead streetlight, the sign was a refreshing omen. Sparky picked up his pace as the on ramp to the freeway came into view.

At the base of the on ramp set a small gas station with the lights on. Sparky froze. Two older men, each with a thick beard, sat on a bench in front of the station sharing a pipe. They had not yet seen Sparky, looking instead at the deserted pumps. There were no other attendants.

At the pump was a rugged looking pickup. The original paint had all fallen away leaving only rust and primer. The door sat open. From the roadside Sparky could see the keys to the truck hanging from the steering column. It was a tempting proposition. Fat Jack's words were hauntingly clear in his memory about the ease of stealing cars.

Sparky looked at the two men. The truck would make it possible to close the distance to his family. He would have no one to answer to. Jack had made it clear that the police never did anything about it anyway. And even if they did, who would arrest him? He was a goat!

"Hey, Huestis?" Norbert said to his pipe-smoking friend.

"What is it, aye?" Huestis was half asleep.

"Looks like a goat got loose," Norbert strained to see the animal as it emerged from the darkness. "Looks like somebody dressed this one up."

"Who dresses up a goat, aye?"

"That's a good question, Huestis, but he's wearing pants."

Norbert sucked in on the pipe. Blowing the smoke out it mixed into the brisk fall air. Norbert observed the goat as it walked toward the truck.

"Aye, what's he doing, aye?" Huestis leaned into the scene, keeping his rear firmly against the bench. Sparky reached the cab of the truck.

"Didn't leave that sandwich in there from lunch, did ya?"

"No way, aye. I tossed that out."

Huestis wrapped his lips around the pipe but didn't inhale. The goat climbed into the driver's seat, something neither man had seen a goat do. Huestis in particular prided himself on being familiar with the curious nature of goats and didn't think it beyond the clever creatures to explore. Sparky's actions triggered a tiny chuckle from him.

"Maybe he's gonna steal your car, aye?"

Huestis spit a laugh. It was the funniest notion he had heard that night. It was even more of a riot than when they had discussed dressing up like little girls and selling cookies. "You're a funny guy, Norbie."

"Aye, looks like he's grabbing the keys, aye."

"Well, gee, aye, how can he do that Norbie? He's a goat. They don't have thumbs, aye."

"Well, I'm no scien-tolo-gister, but I'd say that goat's got your keys."

"Norbert, in all the years we've been friends, how many goats have we known?"

"A bundle, aye."

"Yup, a bundle, and how many of them drove cars?"

"Aye, um, zero?"

"So, aye, why are you saying this one's going to take my car, aye?"

"Well," Norbert continued to study the oddity. The goat was now positioned squarely behind the steering wheel. Sparky adjusted the seat and the wheel to better suit his shape. "We've never seen a goat do that either."

"Do what? What is he doing now, flying in circles?"

"No, he just moved the seat."

"Do you know what, aye? Goats can't drive-"

"But-"

"Now hang on, aye. Goat's don't adjust seats, or steering wheels, and they sure as hell don't hold keys."

"But-"

"Drop it, aye?"

Norbert sat quietly. His friend's reluctance to accept the obvious influenced him very little. Norbert was actually having a fine time watching the spectacle. The goat strapped his body in with the seat belt. Norbert turned to Huestis.

"Can you see that, aye?"

"God almighty, Norbie! God almighty! Goats do not wear seat belts, aye!" Huestis watched without concern drawing in on his pipe. The goat sealed the door. If he didn't know better, he might have thought the creature had flashed him a smile. "I know what you're going to say, just bite your tongue Norbie! Goat's don't know how to close doors, and they don't smile, aye!"

"I know Huestis."

Sparky had ridden with Lord Neptune and Fat Jack. He was confident that he could drive. He studied the wheel, gripping it firmly. His hooves reached the pedals with ease; he tested them one at a time. "One to go, one to stop, simple," he reassured himself. He turned the key.

"Sounds like the goat started your truck, aye."

"I know what it sounds like, but god-tarnit, goats can't start trucks!"

Sparky was halfway there. He looked at the lever off of the steering column and tried to pull it down, nothing. He restudied the console. Just above the wheel he found the key to his dilemma. A small sticker was posted. Apply brake to shift from park. Simple enough.

"I think he's leaving, aye."

"Now for the love of all God's creatures if you aren't the stupidest of fools! Goats don't drive!" Huestis hurled the pipe on the ground. Burning embers scattered over the cement before fizzling out.

Sparky adjusted the lever into drive and eased off the brake. The vehicle idled forward. He rotated the wheel and tested the motions. It was surprisingly easy to handle. He depressed the gas and the truck burst forward. He slammed the brake. The truck screeched and halted short of a pump.

"Not a very good driver, aye?" Norbert prodded his companion in the leg with his finger.

"I don't know what you're even talking about anymore. If you aren't careful they'll lock you up, aye."

Sparky backed the truck away using small motions on the pedals. He cleared more room in front. He sighed with relief. The truck jarred to a halt. He had backed into the heavy steel support for the roof. He returned the car to drive and floored the gas.

"Hope you got insurance still Huestis. Looks like you need that acts of goat clause in it."

"You are a bloody fool, Norbie, when are you going to accept that goats don't drive any more than they talk?"

Sparky fumbled the window's control lever, rotating it around. He looked over to the two men, guilt ridden that he had to steal, but he knew no other way.

"Sorry about this, it's an emergency."

Norbert looked at Huestis. Huestis was taking his time relighting the pipe. He took two big puffs. The truck sped off. It took a sharp corner around the on ramp and then off down the highway. The roar of the engine soon faded and the still of night set in around the two men.

Norbert chewed on his cheek for a moment. "He took your truck, aye."

Huestis leaned toward the highway. The truck was long out of sight. He handed the pipe to Norbert without a look.

"You, Norbert, are a damn fool, aye."

Chapter 31

The highway poured out of the darkness ahead. There were no other cars, no other lights. It was a relief in some ways to be far away from people again. But it made the world ahead that much more daunting with no idea what lay ahead.

What sleep Sparky had managed earlier that day was overshadowed by his long evening. His brawl with the criminals had taken its toll. His weary thoughts rolled to his family, to Princess. Would they be in a hellish warehouse like the one he had just left? Were they being taken somewhere worse? Loneliness gripped him. He could hear their voices faintly calling to him. His teeth clinched against his upper lip. His head dropped down.

Then he did something he had never done before. Sparky hummed.

The voices he heard were not his memories, they were coming from the truck. It was with much pleasure he turned his eyes to the radio. The sounds of music had been filling the cab for some time; it had been so soft that he had not realized it. He raised the volume, flooding the chamber with melody. Sparky didn't know what it was called or who was singing but he was comforted at once.

The radio blared as the road stretched on.

Time and miles passed. His eyelids got heavier. His thoughts strayed back to his loneliness. A tear formed on the corner of his eye. I miss you so much. "Hold on, I'm coming."

Almost as soon as he had mouthed the words a small four-legged shadow came into view. It was trotting parallel the roadway right alongside the truck. Sparky slammed the brakes as he passed. Sparky looked back through the rear window; the creature was stopped.

Sparky stepped down from the truck cab. In the red light from the truck, he made out a canine silhouette. It had been miles since he left the city, and there were no other signs of life. How the animal had wondered this far was a mystery, but the dog was definitely alone.

"Dog! Dog!" Sparky yelled.

The dog didn't move. Sparky walked closer. The canine seemed to be calm in nature. Sparky extended a hoof and stroked through the dog's fur. Its tongue unrolled and started wagging. Drool dripped off to the asphalt.

"Need a ride, puppy?" The dog rose from its haunches and galloped to the truck. With one bounce he was in the cab. Sparky returned to the truck to see the dog gnawing and snarling at the seat. The dog circled the seat three times and plopped down.

They started off. It was a different feeling again having a companion. It was much nicer than when he had been riding with people. People talked incessantly.

Sparky leaned into the window. The night and his tiredness combined once again, encouraging him to sleep. His family could wait for nothing. The heavy beats of rock music carried on as he drove along, maintaining what little will he had.

The music abruptly changed from the upbeat tunes that Sparky had been enjoying to something that didn't have words at all. It was soft and gentle and seemed to give him even more reason to sleep.

Sparky pressed the buttons on the radio, at last finding his loud music. He settled back into the ride, sliding his tail back and forth with the beat against the seat.

It wasn't even another minute before the station changed again. This time Sparky was sure he saw the dog reach over press the button.

"Knock it off. I need the music to stay awake," Sparky stroked the mongrel's head. The dog eyed Sparky before his tongue again fell from his mouth.

Sparky reset his music. He kept watch on the furry beast from the corner of his eye. Sure enough, the mutt reached out again for the stereo. The goat seized his paw.

"Ah hah!"

"Ow, Jesus that hurts," Frank didn't like the thought of being touched by a farm critter, let alone abused by one.

Sparky went silent. He immediately rejected that the dog had spoken to him. His grip went loose. The dog shook out his paw.

"What did you just say?"

"I said your taste in music sucks." Frank lifted his head and turned toward the window, refusing to look at Sparky.

"You can talk?"

"Is that really a question to you at this point? Obviously, you're not the smartest sheep in the world."

"I'm a goat."

"I'm a goat! I'm a goat! You got a name goat?"

"Yeah."

"Well?"

"Sparky."

"Frank, nice to meet you," the dog extended his paw.

A dog that talks. Sparky studied the creature for other changes. Nothing caught his eye. Sparky looked down at Frank's outstretched paw and then back to the road.

"What happened to you?" Frank withdrew his handshake.

"What do you mean?"

"Well unless your mama's an ewe and your daddy's a farmer, most sheep don't talk."

"Goat."

"Whatever. So what was it? Mad scientist, did he suck your brain out and replace it with a computer?"

"No."

"Oh, well, did you get abducted by aliens? Did they use their crazy technology to advance your evolution by a million years?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Well? What happened?"

"I don't know."

"Nothing? Come on anything is better than nothing. Jazz that story up, add some flare. How about Martians abducted a mad scientist who formulated a giant vat of goop to transform you into a super-sheep!"

"But, I don't know what happened."

"Well fine. Have it your way." Frank turned back to the window with a blank stare. His breathing was heavy.

"What happened to you?"

Frank turned with wide eyes to Sparky, "Microwaves!"

"Huh?"

"Cancer, young boy, lots of treatments, mutations, yada, yada," the dog meshed his statements together, in between there may have been more information, but Sparky's ears were not fast enough to catch it.

"How did you end up on the highway?"

"I had to dodge the draft. Never can be too safe."

"The draft?" Sparky yawned.

"It's this thing in the states. They suck your life out in the army. Happens to everyone eventually, figured it best to be one of the first ones to Canada, just in case they ran out of room. Where are you headed? I haven't seen any other barn critters driving this stretch."

"I'm looking for my family, they were kidnapped."

"Conspiracy!"

Chapter 32

The sun rose at last.

"You might need to stop for gas," Frank said.

"Excuse me?"

"Stop at a gas station and get some gas, for the truck, you know," Frank leaned in toward the fuel gauge extending one nail from his paw.

"Oh, of course," Sparky recollected where he had requisitioned the vehicle: the gas station in Plunkett. Sparky reviewed his shirt and oversized pants. No hat, no coat. "I can't go anywhere like this."

"You said you were able to pass as a man, how've you've been doing it so far?"

"It's been dark and I had more cover. This isn't enough," Sparky felt the dry edge of his upper lip scraping across his teeth.

"Take the next exit. Pull off somewhere quiet. Better to hide the truck than run out of gas." Frank's paw rubbed back and forth under his chin. "You said you had money?"

"Yeah."

"I bet I can rustle up something for you to wear."

Sparky steered the truck off the highway at the Shoal Lake exit. The truck coasted down the off-ramp. Frank informed Sparky of the proper handling of the red traffic light, and the goat pulled to a gentle but firm stop. Sparky urged it to change as he waited to turn right. Sitting exposed in the daylight.

A silver minivan pulled up beside them. Sparky leaned back, but there was nothing to occlude him from the man's view. The driver of the van looked over and casually waved. Sparky waved back as the man turned his head back to the light. The man's jaw dropped and his head spun back. Eye to yellow eye with Sparky.

Frank jumped up. "It's green! Go! Go!"

The engine roared as they tore away. The minivan didn't move.

Sparky turned off on a secluded side road behind an out of business supermarket. He pulled out of sight, parking behind a short row of trees. He popped open the cab door and hopped down from the truck. He stretched out on all fours as his hooves sank in the sand.

"I didn't realize how uncomfortable driving was."

"I don't think they had you in mind for this car," Frank plopped down, his nose dropped level to the ground. "Smells like a make out spot."

"What makes you say that?"

"Smells like teenagers and cheap beer," Frank wandered the grounds with his nose in the dirt. "Hey, you tried beer? We could get some."

"I don't think so. We need to get gas, remember?"

"Party pooper," Frank sat up narrating with his paws, "I could lure some people this way and you can beat them. Once they're down and out, we take their clothes. Then you'll be able to pass as a normal guy."

"I'd rather not hurt anyone," Sparky stroked at his chin with his hoof. The exhaustion of the nightlong drive was strong. His eyes teared up in the glare of the rising sun. "It might be best to wait for dark. I'd feel more confident using a disguise in the dark. You can't drive can you Frank?"

"Unfortunately, no. Damned fleas!" he jammed his snout in between his legs, chewing and gnawing.

Sparky looked back up the side road. They were parked well out of sight. Sparky could see nothing of the small town that surrounded them.

"Can you scout around, see what our options are?"

"Sure, yeah, whatever. I'm expendable."

Frank trotted up the road, waving his backside as he walked. Sparky didn't catch the meaning. He was smiling innocently at Frank as the dog headed away.

Frank waltzed out onto the sidewalk and looked at the surrounding businesses. No more than a handful, including the gas station at the end of the line. No coat and hat stores.

"Drat." Frank had failed to notice the young girl walking nearby with a small bag of popcorn.

"Mommy, that dog can talk!"

Her mother stared down the mutt, wrinkling her brows. Frank paused and then scratched his ear with his hind leg. He bounded over and dropped to his rear. His paws shot up, begging. The woman waived her hand to shoo him off. Frank didn't flinch.

"Throw some popcorn over there, maybe he'll leave."

The little girl tossed a handful of popcorn on the ground and Frank gobbled it down. She giggled as he drew in each piece with his silly-looking tongue. Frank thanked her with a lick on the hand.

"Ew, God, honey that dog likely has some form of disease, don't touch it." The girl's mother made a motion to kick him and Frank jumped away. He released a limp bark. The lady ushered her daughter along, furthermore ignoring the scruffy mutt.

Frank walked on and caught sight of a small roadside stand. They sold authentic Canadian souvenirs, including ridiculously oversized cowboy hats and slickers. Frank grinned. It appeared the vender had yet to open shop. The proprietor was still setting out her merchandise. He knew she was distracted.

He crept up to the booth, keeping a sharp eye on the woman. His back slid across the outer edge of the booth. With only another few steps to go, the lady turned her head. Frank dropped to all fours as her eyes settled in on him.

Frank knew her expression well.

"Shoo! Get!"

Frank rolled out his tongue, panting at her, unwavering. He gave his little whine and then proceeded directly into his full pout. Frank backed down laying flat on the ground, his eyes as wide as melons.

The woman's lower lip shot out. "Oh, you poor little thing," she bent down and petted Frank; he in turn nuzzled her legs. "Aww, aren't you adorable," she was using the baby voice. Frank wagged his tail. This game was so easy for him.

"Are you hungry boy?" Frank was always ready to treat his stomach. He bounced up and put his paws on her thighs, his tongue swinging back and forth.

The lady returned to her booth and pulled out a little brown bag. Frank sniffed but caught nothing through the paper. He ran back and forth in front of her stand.

"Whoa, boy!" she patted him gently as he trotted by.

Frank sat. The lady opened the bag and pulled free a glistening apple. She set it on the ground in front of Frank. The mutt appealed with a whine. If he were taller he would have slapped her face. What was she thinking? Giving him an apple?

The lady looked down at him puzzled. "Not hungry?" She reached for the apple. Frank barked and lunged for her hand with his mouth flaring. The woman withdrew as a look of terror flashed across her face.

"Down boy!" A man called out.

Frank halted. The male voice was familiar, but the smell was different.

"Is this your dog?" The woman asked as the stranger approached her. The glare of the sun was behind him, silhouetting his figure to the lady.

"Yes ma'am, I'm sorry. He doesn't have a lick of sense sometimes."

"He just about ripped my hand off! You need to put that thing on a leash, and get a muzzle."

"I'll do that right away."

Frank looked up. Sparky's face remained shadowed by a mangled straw hat. The goat kept his head tilted at a down angle. The trench coat Sparky sported was long and silver. It was that moment that the dog new that something in the silver coat was the source of the very sweet smell. Frank huddle up by Sparky, sniffing at the scrumptious spot in the jacket.

"I'm very sorry," Sparky said.

"You should be. Keep that mongrel in check." The lady caught a whiff of a smell she couldn't recognize. It was foul. She instinctively turned her nose up.

"Come on Frank!"

The two headed back to the truck.

"Where'd you get the food?" Frank whispered as they walked.

"What food? I don't have any food."

"Sure you do, don't hold out on me, I'm your natural predator you know." Frank looked up at the goat's makeshift disguise. Noticing the silver coat was blotched with faded white stains. The hat made of straw appeared to have had a bite taken out of the front of the rim.

"I'm telling you I don't have any food."

"What's that smell, then?" Frank prodded the goat's leg with his snout.

"It's this coat. I found it in a plastic bag where we parked the truck. Lucky find," Sparky wasn't fond of the smell, but the new coat did a great job of concealing all of him, even his legs. The hat managed to do its part to conceal him, although it was nearly in shreds.

"Smells like protein. You might as well be wearing a steak."

"Can't you forage for something to eat?"

"I don't see much around here that looks tasty besides you, unless you want to spring for beer."

"I'm not food, I am twice your size. I'm going to have to insist that you not talk to me like that."

"I'm joking goat. You're too serious all the time. Let's pick up some cheap burgers and some beers after we get gas," the goat sprung the door to the truck and Frank hopped into the passenger seat.

"Burgers are a food?"

"You'll love them. They soak them in this red and yellow stuff. It's heaven."

"I'll try a burger, but no beer."

"Take all the fun out of my day. Don't bite people. Don't eat your friends. No beer before noon."

"No beer at all."

"Just like my mother."

Chapter 33

"How many burgers did you want?" Sparky scanned the menu board of the fast food joint. Side to side he hunted for the dog's selection on it, but it was nowhere to be seen.

"Seven." Frank chirped.

"Is that a lot?"

"Jesus, if you're going to make a big deal out of it just get me the nuggets," Frank threw his paws in the air.

Sparky leaned toward the speaker. "Can I get seven hamburgers?"

"Please hold," a young man's voice erupted from the speaker.

"Oh, okay, I'll wait until you-"

"I said hold!"

Sparky settled down in his seat and looked over at the dog. "Is everyone like this?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Works pretty well for me though, you know what those suckers call dogs?"

"What?"

"Man's best friend."

"What do they call goats?"

"Goats."

"That's no good. Why aren't we...man's other best friend?" Sparky flashed back to his farm home, romping in his youth around the pastures with Oliver.

"That doesn't have the same ring to it."

The man's voice returned, masked by a web of static; Sparky leaned into the speaker again to hear more clearly. "I'm sorry what did you say?"

"Can I take your order?"

"Yeah, sure," the goat reviewed the menu again briefly. "What's a Caesar salad?"

"It's a salad with Caesar dressing."

"What is Caesar dressing?"

"Um, salad dressing, it's named after some Greek guy."

Sparky looked to his companion, "Is it any good?"

Frank looked back bewildered. "How should I know, I always get the burgers. You should get one of those."

"I'm not into eating meat."

"Meat?" The speaker cackled. "Could you be more specific?"

"Just a minute. What's the difference between the Garden salad, and the Caesar salad?"

"One has your choice of dressing, one has Caesar dressing."

"Why is that? I mean, why have two salads that are the same except for the dressing? Why not sell one salad and then offer a choice of dressing?"

There was a moment of silence.

"Bubby, I don't know, I just take the orders. Do you want something or not?"

"Yeah, let me have seven burgers and a salad."

"Sorry, all we're serving right now is breakfast. Do you want breakfast?"

"Oh." Sparky looked over to Frank. "Well then, what do you want?"

"I don't know what they have, other than burgers."

Sparky read the headings, "Breakfast platters, biscuits-"

"Oh, oh, oh get me the one with all the meat, seven of them," Frank's drool hit the seat between his words.

"Which one?"

"Are you still there, sir? Can you complete your order, there is a line."

Sparky looked in his mirror. Behind him there was no one. He tilted his head out the window, confirming that this was indeed true.

"What line?"

"It's a figure of speech, meaning I need your order."

"I'll have seven biscuits with meat. And what's a hash brown?"

"Christ, were you raised on a farm? It's potatoes fried in oil and splashed with salt. They're spec-fuckin-tacular, you want some?"

The goat reviewed the breakfast section of the menu again.

"What kind of meat on the biscuits?"

"Excuse me?"

"The biscuits, you ordered, what kind of meat do you want?"

"Um," Sparky looked to Frank.

"Just say 'pig.'"

"Pig."

There was no immediate response just a low buzz of static. A repeating thud rose through the static. Sparky cocked his head. Frank leaned over further and perked his ears. The sound continued in an uneven rhythm. Sparky rolled his eyes down to the dog head that was now fully extended into his lap.

"I think it is broken." Frank returned to his seat.

Sparky eased the accelerator. They advanced to the window. The young blonde male, Guy, looking no older than eighteen human years, was repeatedly hitting his head against the register. Sparky recognized the importance of the human's actions, he himself having personally enjoyed a good ramming. Sparky tapped on the glass window.

Guy looked over and glared. He threw open the window.

"Yes?"

Sparky hesitated. "Establishing dominance?"

"What, did Siebert put you up to this?"

"I don't know who that is." The goat was determined to keep the face-to-face brief. "We decided on the pig biscuits and some hash browns."

Guy stretched his neck to one side and gritted his teeth. "Fine. How many?"

"Seven," the word came slowly as Sparky looked over at his passenger, Frank nodded in compliance.

The man closed the window and began tapping at the computer, this time with his hands. Guy looked out to the pickup and studied the driver sitting alone with his dog, knowing he had heard at least one other person in the truck. He hated being played for a chump. Guy slid open the window; his eyes went level with Sparky's hat rim. "I bet you think you're so funny. Where's the other guy?"

"Other guy?"

"Yeah, I heard two people, at least. You know my life isn't easy, and working here is the pits. When people like you and your friends come through being jerks it really doesn't make me feel any better."

"I'm sorry, I guess I..." Sparky wasn't sure what the man was upset about. The blonde teenager's firm stare made the goat's heart rate quicken. "Life is hard."

Frank leaned his body out the window pointing his snout into the greasy kitchen. The dog's tongue drooped fancy free in the morning breeze.

Guy turned back to the register screen, scowling. A dark brown bag dropped on the counter in front of him. He picked through to double check the order. From the corner of his eye Guy watched for an opening to spit.

"That man is an ass." Frank's body now hung halfway out the window.

"Shh. We don't want any more attention than we've already earned Frank."

An arm extended into the car window right by Sparky's face. Guy could see the form of the driver much more clearly. "Are you wearing a mask?"

"Ass," Frank snorted.

"You've got some fuckin' nerve!" Guy withdrew his arm.

The loaded bag came back into the cab in a sweeping motion. A strong aroma of oil wafted up Sparky's nose as the paper crinkled into his face. Sparky raised his arms in time to deflect a second blow. The bag burst. It's hot contents scattered across the truck cab.

"I'm going to kill you man!" The young man dived through the window and struggled to get his hands around the driver's neck. The goat's straw hat dislodged, Guy's rage paused. His eyes went wide. "What is this? W-What the hell?"

"I'll tell you what this is. This is really poor service man. I hate eating off the floor." Frank ruffled through the paper wrapped pig biscuits. He looked up at the Sparky. "I'd wail on him man, and no tip."

Guy retreated back into the restaurant, his stomach churned as his eyes stayed focused on the creature. His skin went pale.

"I, uh," Sparky looked to Frank for direction. The mutt huffed along the floorboard, sweeping the mess of food into his mouth with his paws.

Guy let out a yell. Sparky's arm clumsily ran its way to the column gear shift lever by the steering wheel. His claw fumbled over the device twice before he could grip it and shift into drive. His foot smashed the pedal, the engine roared but stayed in place.

"No brake," Frank shifted his friend's hooves from the floor to solve the confusion. "Just gas."

The vehicle exploded in a burst of speed. They tore through a low wall of shrubs separating the drive thru lane from the road. The bushes grated against the sides and undercarriage of the pick-up. The truck emerged onto the main street, Sparky spun the wheel. The truck settled into the left lane, Sparky's foot still heavy against the pedal.

A small coupe was directly oncoming. Its feeble horn belted out. The squealing of the old truck's brakes rose over the engine's hard groans. Sparky veered the pickup back into his lane as the coup drove off into the ditch. The goat's foot stayed steadfast against the accelerator as his eyes sharpened in on the on ramp ahead. He blew through the red stoplight and merged onto the freeway.

Sparky turned to Frank. Biscuit crumbs covered his face and seat. The mutt picked at another wrapper with his muzzle. "These are good, goat. Aren't you going to eat?"

"Don't you ever do that again!" Sparky screamed.

"Hash brown?"

Chapter 34

The wear and tear of the endless highway was almost too much for Reilly to contend with. He was losing the battle with his eyelids. But the proximity to his destination lit a fire inside him. The sun rose ahead of him. The truck flew past the marker for Hawkesbury.

"How far are we out now?" Reilly's exhaustion carried through his words.

Cross, his companion, carefully studied the landmarks on the map. His eyes had been affixed to it for the better part of ten minutes. "I think another inch, inch and a half."

Reilly's hand came against his forehead with an audible clap. His loose fingers trailed down after impact. His loathing for Valerie and her incompetent staff was growing every minute. Never again would he let her organize a job. No matter what the boss said.

"I'd be better off with one of those damned animals up here navigating."

"What do you mean?" Cross asked.

"Nothing." Reilly was a ball of hatred.

"What the hell is that?" Reilly looked into the mirror. Red and white lights flashed not far behind. "Not now."

Reilly eased off the accelerator and waved the officer by. The police officer chirped the siren and stayed steadfast on the truck's rear. Reilly turned to his accomplice. Cross was still fumbling with the map.

"Put that away." Reilly ordered.

He gently pulled off on to the right shoulder of the highway. Loose gravel crackled and spit from the tires as the semi came to a complete stop.

"Stay in the truck, and stay quiet." Reilly pointed at Cross as he spoke.

The man only nodded.

Reilly hopped down from the truck cab. He watched as the police cruiser pulled up behind them. Officer Brighton climbed out of the squad car wielding a clipboard in a deadly fashion. Reilly met the officer halfway between the cab and his car, directly beside the rear doors on his truck. The rising sun flashed in Officer Brighton's glasses. The trooper was several inches shorter and Reilly had to look down to him.

"How you doing?" Reilly asked.

"You know how fast you were going?" The officer's face barely moved as he spoke.

Reilly shrugged. "Maybe a hundred?"

"Try one-thirty. Can I see that I.D., aye?"

"Yes, of course," Reilly handed the man his identification card. He glanced at the name to refresh his memory.

"Headed home are you, Mr. Vaster?"

"Yeah, just finishing up some work. Guess I got a little eager to see the family."

"You do a lot of reckless driving for your company?"

Reilly coughed, not answering the policeman.

"Wait here," the officer went back to his cruiser. Reilly tossed his hands in his pockets. He started whistling. Everything was covered. His identity was as tight as a drum.

As he stood waiting a goat knocked against the truck.

"You guys act up and I'll be eating you deep fried on Thanksgiving."

"Mahh."

"I'm serious, knock it off," Reilly casually tapped on the truck, the officer wasn't watching.

The knocking continued. Reilly slammed his hands against the truck keeping a close eye on the officer. The goats ceased their misconduct.

Reilly sucked in his chest as the officer returned.

"This here is your traffic citation. You pay this, at the address on the bottom. Slow down in the-"

Knock.

"-future. What was that?"

"What?"

Knock. Knock.

"Oh, just some um, mechanical equipment that we're moving."

"It knocks on the walls?"

"Some prototype stuff, top secret."

"And it knocks on walls?"

Knock.

"Well, it's unstable and doesn't take interference well."

"Uh-huh, look, if don't slow down, you're going to lose your license."

"Thanks officer, I'll do that."

Bang!

"I'm going to insist I take a look."

Reilly offered the man his license again.

"No, I've seen that. I need to see what's in the truck."

Reilly looked down at the man's shield. "Officer Brighton? I'm actually in kind of a hurry. It's important to me that I get this cargo hauled, my people are on a deadline."

"Is there a problem showing me the mechanical equipment?"

"Mahh."

"Uh, well you see, uh."

"Mahh."

"Sounds like livestock to me. This truck is not equipped to carry livestock. What the hell are you trying to pull?"

"Me, nothing sir, nothing. Look I've got the paperwork in the cab. I'll get it for you."

"Quickly."

Reilly dashed to the cab as the policeman scanned the exterior of the vehicle. Reilly returned hurriedly with a thick stack of papers. Each document stamped with an official seal and authorized. He turned them over to the officer.

The policeman spent his moments carefully reviewing each form. Despite his gut instinct, the man had all the forms required to transport the animals. Even authorizing the use of what appeared to be a cruel transport.

"I still don't see any windows on this rig. It says here in plain type there is to be at least six windows no smaller than one half meter each."

The goats had continued their racket. The officer put an eye to the truck. "I've got no choice pal. Until I get an animal unit out here, I've got to hold you."

"You didn't see our windows? This was kind of last minute, but we got them up top and on the far side. Here come see."

Reilly pointed the officer around to the far side of the truck. "We take good care of these things."

"I hope so," Officer Brighton turned the corner of the truck and immediately saw there were no windows as promised. What he did see was a short man standing next to the truck smoking a cigarette.

"No windows. Are you playing games with me?"

Officer Brighton immediately turned to face Reilly. He was met with the dark barrel of Reilly's pistol.

"Look, Officer. No quick moves."

"You're making a mistake big man. You go down a long time for pulling a gun on a cop."

"Hit the dirt, now!"

"Drop your weapon!"

Reilly could see a gleam in Officer Brighton's eye. He knew it well, the cocky youthful edge you feel when you have a gun at your side. Things weren't going to go easy.

"One more chance, hit the dirt."

"Drop the damn gun!"

Officer Brighton dove toward Reilly clinging to the gun in his hands. A round fired off, puncturing the truck. The goats screamed.

"Cross!"

The man by the truck had already dropped his cigarette and was looking for a way in to help suppress the cop.

"Take him down Cross."

Three shots were fired. The officer went limp in Reilly's arms. Reilly watched his eyes roll back. He let the body loose. Officer Brighton collapsed to the ground. Reilly turn his attention from the bloodied corpse to his associate.

"Cross, I meant to kick him, punch him, grab him. Not shoot him!"

"You said take him down! He's down right?"

"We can't just drive off and leave a dead cop on the side of the road. Where the hell is my phone?"

Chapter 35

"What are you thinking goat?"

"I was listening to the radio, trying not to think. I'm getting pretty tired."

"Want to pull over and take a nap?"

"Nah, we must keep going. I know that I am already running behind," the goat rubbed at his tired eyes with his hoof.

The road blurred before him. He couldn't excuse himself to slow down his quest. He had to keep up, keep going.

"You shouldn't push too hard, maybe we can get you some coffee. They have a drive thru for coffee."

"I don't know that I want to go through another drive thru."

"You can't sleep behind the wheel man, and I can't drive. You need some caffeine, and coffee is the source."

Sparky knew he was on the edge of a coma.

"So it will keep me awake?"

"For days man. Hey, look! Take the next exit."

Sparky's eyes affixed to a large billboard. It pictured a young lady with a very bright-toothed smile. In her hand was a steaming white cup.

"It's a sign," Frank said to the goat, licking his back. "Damned fleas."

"World's best coffee, ever, in the history of the world, stop and enjoy. Right now," Sparky read from the billboard.

"Totally a sign."

"I hate dealing with people," Sparky admitted. "This would be so much better if we could avoid them all together."

"You want me to do the talking?"

Maybe he was catching on. Maybe he was too tired. Maybe it was the way he realized Frank squeaked a little when he was trying to make a joke. But Sparky laughed at his statement and Frank smiled with delight.

As they pulled into the lot there was a sign for The World's Best Coffee, Ever, In the History of the World. Underneath was a smaller tagline. It's like legalizing crack all over again! As they approached the establishment, Sparky became hesitant.

"There isn't a drive thru."

"You need some coffee goat. I'll come with you. Everyone will be looking at me. After all, I am man's best friend."

They parked and the two climbed out of the truck, it was nearing midday. The lot was full of other cars.

"Maybe this isn't a good idea."

"It'll be fine."

Frank ran over to the restaurant and jumped on the door. His breath fogged the window. Sparky slowly made his way over.

"I wonder if they sell those pig biscuits here."

"You're still hungry?"

"I'm always hungry."

Frank hopped off the door as the goat pulled it open, he quietly skirted through the opening. Sparky followed.

He stood just inside the door staring at the tables filled with people. Most of them were casually dressed. Quite a few people looked over as he entered. The rest stayed true to their discussions or to one of the two TVs.

Frank was indifferent. He made his way to the counter and sniffed the air. The crisp Colombian smell was abundant. Sparky hurried to the counter as he pulled up his coat collar.

"Yes, sir?" the older lady at the counter had her hair pulled back tight. Her expression alert and her voice was chirpy. Sparky looked down and noticed her hands trembled as she talked.

"I guess I need a large coffee. Please."

"We have scones!"

"No thank you, just coffee."

Sparky tucked his head down, and turned away. The woman clicked away at her register.

"Six dollars and seventy-six cents."

"For coffee?"

"Yeah, it's the best coffee in the world," she threw her arms up. "Ever!"

"Like legal crack," Sparky quoted.

"Shh, we don't want the crack heads to get started," she pointed to the table closest to the counter.

Seated there was a man and a woman, both in faded overcoats. The man was blond with dark roots, his hair uncombed, and his clothes unwashed. The lady wore fishnet leggings and a thigh-length shimmering metallic dress. Her hair a mess as well. Both of them cradled giant mugs of coffee in their hands.

The man sipped generously. "Don't listen to the hype, mate," his lip quivered as he spoke to the goat. "It's not true."

"But it's pretty close," the girl threw in.

She didn't look up from her steaming mug. As she sipped at her coffee again her eyes widened. She gurgled the fluid in her mouth before swallowing it down. "Ah!"

Sparky turned back to the cashier and slid her the demanded ransom for his beverage.

"Is that to go?"

"To go?" Sparky hesitated. "For the road? Yes. Yes."

The young lady at the table behind him was sipping at her giant mug and staring at him with a gleam in her eyes.

"You look crazy!"

"Who me?" Sparky asked.

The girl nodded.

Sparky put his back to her. Frank was sitting at the far end of the counter staring up at a case full of muffins, his tongue dangling. He turned with a pouting face to the Sparky who wasn't paying attention. Frank stared deep the muffin case, and started pouting aloud.

Sparky's eyes suddenly locked on the television. He was still impressed at how prevalent it was around people. He took a step closer to get away from the gawking woman and to better see the display. He read the headline running along the bottom of the screen. Attacked by a Mutant.

Sparky's breathing seized.

On the scene, a reporter was holding a microphone in front of a young girl. The girl wore a bright orange shirt with a man's smiling face. The word Larry's was not shown, but Sparky knew who she was and where she worked. He stepped closer to hear the broadcast.

"...he said to me that he was, he was, he would, he," Sally broke into tears. "He was going to eat me," the dramatic tears streamed down her round cheeks, the camera zoomed in. "Then he flashed his giant teeth at me," the girl stuttered as she spoke. It appeared they were conducting the interview outside the rental outlet. "I, I, I, I was lucky that John came in and scared him off."

The screen flashed to John's interview.

"Yeah, I jumped in and the monster screamed. I was like "get out man" and he was like "no way" then I kicked him square in the jewels. That got him. Hi mom!"

Sparky was shocked at their lies, but was much more concerned that they were broadcasting his visit via television. Everyone had one, and everyone watched it. It was only a matter of time before all the humans were aware of his presence.

The screen bounced back to the reporter. "First considered to be a hoax, surveillance footage provided from the Larry's camera shows these startling images."

Sparky watched as they ran through the security tape. His hat. His overcoat. His assault on the attendant.

The girl with the large mug looked up at him from her coffee. Her eyes narrowed. Sparky took a fearful step back, remaining focused on the colorful screen.

"This image clearly shows the creature's profile," the static shot was in black and white and very grainy. Sparky leaned in to see his own shadowed face. Even he wasn't sure that the picture was him. The camera was too high and his hat was too low. He sighed with limited relief that the camera had missed his face. He looked around the room to see if anyone was staring at him now and noticed all their eyes were affixed to the screen.

"Can you believe that?" an older woman said looking over to the goat. "What kind of baloney is this? Mutants! Ha!"

"Yeah."

"We estimate it to be about six feet tall; the creature may be wearing a hat and gray overcoat. It's possible it is trying to pass as a person. If you see the creature, please call your local animal control or police agency immediately."

"Sir?"

Sparky could feel a cold glare in his backside. His hooves began to shake; he quickly buried them in his coat. He looked down over his gray stained coat and checked his hat carefully.

Run.

"Sir? We don't allow animals in here!"

They knew. The humans at any moment would unite, drag him out, and beat him. They would burn him with the coffee and assault him with the chairs. He would be carted away for study, or taken to a local zoo. The rest of the herd forgotten, lost forever.

"Please don't, I need my family!"

Sparky's plea grabbed everyone's attention.

"That's fine sir, but your dog needs to wait outside, family or not."

Sparky took a deep breath. Everyone was still watching him.

"Oh. Of course. My dog!" He walked over and patted Frank on the head. "My dog! I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Next time just leave him outside."

She handed over a large plastic mug. Sparky grabbed it from her quickly, and kept his head low. Behind him the television was still broadcasting the news. "This image shows the creature's odd appendage, the monster doesn't have hands but more of a claw."

Sparky hustled to the door, Frank in tow.

"That guy's a freakin' goat!" the crack head male said to the cashier.

"What?" she asked,

"Wild, I mean," he sipped again at his coffee. He turned to his girl and laughed. Coffee shot through his teeth onto the table. "Goat!"

"Goat!" the girl echoed. She broke into a laughing fit. The air rushed out her nose uncontrollably. She held a hand to her face. "Goat!"

Sparky didn't slow down as he exited the establishment, the cries of 'goat' echoed in his ears. He dashed to the truck and climbed in, rushing Frank along. They peeled out of the lot. It wasn't until they were back on the freeway, that he took a full breath again.

Frank didn't seem the slightest bit concerned. He was busy gnawing at his hindquarters.

Chapter 36

"We could have been caught back there, I thought those people were going to get me," Sparky was chewing on his upper lip, the skin grated along his flat teeth.

"Nah," Frank didn't take his attention from his rump chewing.

"How can you be sure?"

Frank looked over, his soft brown eyes intently serious. "You know how every food has a smell?"

"Yeah, I guess." Sparky's nostrils picked up the slightest hint of wildflowers from the farm.

"Well, so do emotions. I can smell what people are feeling."

"That's ridiculous."

"No, you're feeling scared. Fear is the easiest thing to smell; it smells like urine."

Sparky was still unnerved, but that was an easy guess. The goat hesitated before speaking. "Are you sure you're not just smelling the coat?"

"No, definitely fear," Frank turned away from his flea chewing. "You know what the people in the restaurant were feeling?"

"What?"

"Well the lady behind the counter was feeling very unhappy. It smelled like money troubles."

"You can smell if someone is having money troubles?" Sparky prepared for Frank to announce that he was only joking.

"Of course, most worries smell alike, but when it's about money it has a different smell to it."

"What smell?"

"Worries smell like rotten shoes, money worries smell like rotten shoes covered in raspberry jam."

"That's very specific." Sparky nodded. "I take it you have spent a lot of time sniffing shoes?"

"More than you know," Frank assured. "I've spent about ninety-percent of my life with my nose to the ground, and that's a lot of shoes."

The goat nodded in compliance.

"What about raspberry jam?"

"Used to get it with my pancakes-" Frank cut himself off. "It's a long story."

Sparky adjusted himself in the seat seeing a large tractor trailer pull up alongside them. He turned his head toward his passenger hoping not to be seen. He eased off the accelerator to allow the truck to pass.

"That crack lady, she was attracted to you."

"What?" Sparky's attention was on the truck. The driver seemed to be matching his pace.

"Unmistakable."

"What's that smell like?" Sparky tilted his hat lower.

"Roasted Duck, sometimes it can smell like rack of lamb, depends on how strong the attraction is. But if it's real strong, like it was with her, it smells like pu-"

"Hang on, I think this person is eyeing me funny."

"Let me see."

Frank dove in Sparky's lap. Slapping his wet nose to the window. The truck driver waived to him. She had a very large grin on her face.

"Watch out," Sparky knocked the dog off his lap. "Any idea what she's thinking?"

"Sorry, I'm not a mind reader, just a good sniff."

"What do I do?"

"Speed up a little, you'll lose her in no time."

Sparky eased the accelerator a little harder. The engine purred excitedly. The truck driver was again focused on the road, but after the broadcast this morning, Sparky wasn't taking chances.

"So you were saying something about the smells?"

"Oh yeah, her boyfriend wasn't happy, he smelled like potato chips. It's a telltale sign of a jealous lover," Frank punched the window lever but couldn't spin it with his clumsy paw. "Could you help here?"

"I'm can't while I'm driving, what were you saying about the lady?"

"Not until you get my window."

Sparky stretched himself out and spun the window lever, his truck pulled to the right as his attention drifted from the road. He quickly sat back up and straightened the wheel. The window was only slightly open, but Frank was pleased to have even a small gust in his face.

"I was saying, when it's really strong, it smells like pu-" the dog stopped. "Oh god."

"What? What's that sound?"

"You don't know?" Frank knew it all too well.

"Well, I guess it's coming from that car behind us, you should check out the lights."

"That's a police siren. They use it when they're mad at you."

"What? Why? Because I'm a goat?"

Frank looked over the console, checking the speedometer. "I'd say outrunning that truck wasn't the best idea."

"But it was your idea!"

"Hey, keep cool. You don't want assault on your record as well. Just pull over."

Sparky wasn't sure what to do. His disguise had worked this morning in the café where he was surrounded by people. Surely it wouldn't fail now, with one single cop. The pickup slid gently along the roadside and came to a halt. Sparky checked his hat as the cruiser pulled up behind him.

"What if he takes me away?"

"You think that's bad, I'll be stuck in a pound. At least they'll just chop you up for science. You know what you get fed in the pound?"

The officer tapped on the window.

Sparky tried to roll down his window, but the lever wouldn't move. The policeman tapped the window again with a very stern look. Sparky punched the lever and the window started to fall. As the outside air came in, Sparky caught the chill of autumn.

"License and registration."

"Oh um, sure. License for?"

"I need to seed a valid driver's license, usually has your picture on it, and a vehicle registration."

"I still am not-"

"The pretty card in your wallet with the picture on it."

"Wallet, got it."

Sparky produced the stolen wallet and handed it to the uniformed man. The policeman shrugged and sorted through the billfold. He pulled the I.D. and checked the image. He looked to the driver.

"Could you please remove your hat?"

Sparky didn't move.

"Sir, I need you to remove your hat."

Sparky follow the command slowly. When the hat was clear the officer's jaw dropped.

"I know what it looks like, but you have to believe me," Sparky pleaded. "I'm trying to save my family, they were kidnapped. I know I am supposed to call you guys, but look at me! Can you blame me for not calling?"

The officer remained perfectly still, the billfold in one hand the I.D. in the other. His expression was locked into his muscles. His mind was blank; too blank to even comprehend the words Sparky was speaking.

"I borrowed this truck, I know you'll probably think it's stealing but I am going to return it. Please don't have me hauled off. It's a matter of life and death."

The policeman looked down at the contents of his hands and wordlessly handed them back to Sparky. His face never changed.

"Hey thanks buddy, you're a lifesaver!" Frank said. "You're doing a great job."

Sparky started to roll up the window. The officer stuck his hand in and his eyes shrunk. "If this is due to those drugs I took in college, I'm sorry."

Sparky turned to his canine companion. The two shared a silent gesture of confusion.

"Too much acid, bingo. Go do some charity and relieve your conscience," Frank said.

The policeman's face fell. "I'm so," he started welling up with tears. "I thought it wouldn't do anything to me. Now twenty years later I'm having a breakdown!"

"Hey, buddy," Frank adjusted himself in the seat to get a better view of the man. "We're delusions, not psychiatrists, can we go?"

"Oh yeah sure. Hey, is this going to affect my sex drive?"

Sparky turned, forcing out the first thing that came to mind, "Probably."

"Dear god," the officer curled into himself. The two heard him begin to sob as he turned back to his squad car. They sat and waited as the policeman entered his own car and drove away. He even waved at them as he passed.

Sparky looked at Frank and smiled. He shifted the truck into drive and steered back onto the highway.

Chapter 37

"This is sloppy, Reilly."

"I don't need your help, suck up."

"The boss sent me to save your ass. You were supposed to drop these goats off hours ago, he was right to doubt you, I told him you'd screw up," Valerie had been back in the care of her own salon for two days. Her hair had been restored completely to its fullest. She smiled as she berated her failing accomplice.

Reilly slid the leather gloves over his hands with a scornful look. "I know he wouldn't send you out here, he told me I had his complete confidence."

"Reilly, you are a grunt. The doctor wanted you to succeed, but he understands this as well. You're no good when you have to make decisions! He cannot extend you his good graces any longer. You've made too many mistakes."

Reilly lifted the bagged body of the policeman from the roadside. Shortly behind Valerie had been a small cavalcade of emergency personnel. There was an ambulance, two squad cars, and an unmarked car to create an authentic accident scene. It was all an act. Everyone was on the payroll.

Reilly hoisted the carcass over his shoulder.

"So what, am I fired? Who's he planning on getting to do his dirty work?"

"He wants you to take my car back to the office. I will be driving the goats the rest of the way to the city."

"This is a ploy to take credit for my mission!"

Reilly pulled himself up the first rung of the ladder, straining under the weight of the dead officer.

"Reilly, you screwed up! And you're too much of a liability. The doctor wants you back at the office. Now!"

Reilly pulled himself with his free hand, making his way up the second rung. He exhaled. The pressure of a grown man on his shoulder was something he had been very used to years ago. It wasn't as commonplace these days.

"Valerie, I have been working for the old man for years. He wouldn't let me go."

"He's not letting you go, Reilly. Despite my desire for him to do so, he simply wants you to get back to the office, that's all he told me."

"Call him."

"What?"

"You've got a phone, call him. If he asks me to come in and leave this to you then I'll do it. Otherwise I'm driving this cargo in."

Valerie turned and looked at the crew of grunts in costumes. All of them looking busy, but no real investigation was occurring. Not yet. It would come, and the appropriate people would be paid off. This was all Reilly's doing. Yet her employer footed the bill without question.

If the boy were related she could understand. Nepotism was as popular a corporate tool as nylon and lipstick. Standing at the scene waiting for the block-headed Reilly to comply, she was even further from understanding what the doctor saw in the brute.

"I'm sure he won't be happy," she said finally.

"Whatever."

Valerie flipped open her compact phone from the small holster on her belt. The line connected instantly to a receptionist.

"This is V.G. Please connect me through," she twisted her hair between her fingers as she waited on a silent hold. The softness and fullness of body caused a short grin. Reilly lifted the man another rung, watching her from above.

"Valerie?" the voice on the other end was surprised, but even.

"Sir, he's refusing to come in."

"Valerie, you're a big girl. Why are you bothering me with this?"

"He wants to hear it from you."

"Valerie, I thought you had all of this taken care of."

"I expected your monkey would at least be reasonable."

"Very well. Put him on."

Valerie extended the phone to Reilly. He balanced the dead man between himself and the ladder as he put the phone to his ear. "Yeah boss?"

Valerie watched with a contented smile as his face turned sour. His smile dropped, his ears turned red, and his cheeks went white. She had not wanted to call the old man, but the effect on Reilly was priceless.

"It's okay, Reilly," he concluded. "Come in and we'll talk."

The phone fell from Reilly's ear and the body fell to the ground. Reilly climbed down the ladder without saying a word. He refused to make eye contact with Valerie. He couldn't stand to see the smile on her face.

She extended her arm with the keys to her rented car. Reilly grabbed them but she wouldn't let go.

"I told you. Now get out of here."

She didn't turn to watch him leave. Instead she focused on the contentment she felt from moving up in the world. Reilly's failure had been all she needed. She would now carry the doctor's favor.

Valerie snapped her fingers at the lackeys standing around.

"Get this place cleaned up! And someone get this corpse off my phone!"

Chapter 38

"What's wrong with your eyes, goat?"

"What do you mean?" Sparky's usually yellow eyes were streaked red.

"How much of that coffee did you drink?"

The goat's voice vibrated as he spoke. "All of it."

"I don't think you are supposed to drink that much."

"Oh, I don't know. I feel more alive than I ever have before!"

Frank shook his head disapprovingly. "Definitely need to cut down."

"Well, it's too late now." Sparky had been careful to maintain a proper speed. The goat flipped the radio on. The loud volume forced a jump from Frank.

"Damn, are we there yet?"

"No, I keep seeing these signs for Winnipeg. We should be there shortly," Sparky said.

"Yeah I was there once long time ago, great place. Lots of trash."

"Oh no. It's a big city? Like Saskatoon?"

"No worries goat, it's much bigger than that. I'd say like three times bigger, maybe more," Frank looked over and noticed that Sparky was scratching. "You okay there, pal?"

"I keep getting these little urges to scratch."

"Oh, well, you probably have fleas."

"What? What do you mean I have fleas?"

"I mean you have little fleas nipping at you."

"From where? Why?"

"I don't know, I just know they piss me off."

"This is why you keep biting yourself?"

"Yeah, well among other things."

"They spread?"

"You're not very aware of animal issues are you? I've had fleas forever, it's a fact of life. Speaking of which," Frank's snout dove into the fur on his back.

"This is no good. Is there a cure?" Sparky was scratching his side. Part of him was hoping to peel the skin away leaving nothing for the terrible creatures to gnaw on.

"Sure, all kinds. We can get something when we get to the city."

"No, I think we need to find another way. Driving through the city is a bad enough idea, I don't want to stop. No more people. It's too risky."

"Look, Sparks, we'll drive straight through. After we make just a small stop for the flea stuff, and maybe some beer and food. Weren't you saying something about a map?"

"Yeah, I know. Montreal is east, but I'm beginning to wonder how east."

"It'll take no time at all," Frank sounded as if he were used to making stops in the city with talking barn animals.

Sparky conceded the fleas may be too much to bear for long.

"Alright, fine. We'll get the map and maybe some food, but no beer, and some more coffee."

"Sounds like we need to make an official stop at a store."

"It has to be a small place, somewhere with no customers, and preferably somewhere where we can get everything we need in one stop."

"I don't think they make a store like that. Maybe we can work on your disguise a little, though" there was a careful plan in the dog's tone.

"What are you thinking?"

The goat's eyes followed Frank's distant gaze. Rising above the highway stood a massive billboard featuring humans disguised from head to toe.

"Halloween Super Center, all your costume needs. Open now through Halloween! Next exit!"

Frank and Sparky both smiled.

The parking lot for Halloween Super Center was empty. Sparky was relieved. He and Frank hurried from the truck into the warehouse.

The forty five thousand square foot inside overwhelmed Sparky. His urge to run away was fierce. This is was a bad idea. Before he could utter the words to run, Frank was off through the sea of merchandise.

Row after row of masks and costumes, fake jewels and plastic weapons. Frank casually strolled up and down the aisles for something that would help the goat appear more human. Sparky stayed hesitantly in tow. Monsters, devils, witches, pirates, princesses, everything to appear less normal, but no plain people.

A short man appeared dressed in costume. He was wearing the Wacko-Hippie Tie-Died Top™ and Sup-A-Fly™ wig, accenting the look with the Cool-Dude Sunshades™ from aisle four. Around his neck was a Peace™ sign necklace; it was ninety-nine cents on special from the end cap of aisle two.

"Can I help you?"

"I am looking for a mask."

"Well, we have over one-thousand masks in stock. What do you need? Monster? Creature from the deep? How about spooky ghost with realistic oozing blood?"

"I was actually thinking of something... normal."

"Normal? I don't know what you're asking for with normal. Halloween's the time to dress up like something else."

"Hmm, what do you have that isn't a monster?"

"Oh, I get it!" The hippie dressed clerk started off. "Follow me!"

Sparky and Frank followed the middle aged male clerk to aisle seven. He pointed them to masks piled on the bottom of the shelves. Sparky had overlooked them before. The goat picked up a few to study lobbing each one back into the heap, unsatisfied. The noses and ears were too exaggerated. The hair stiff and plasticy. It would be a step up from the goat features Sparky currently flaunted, but not the perfect look he had imagined before they arrived.

The clerk hovered nearby, watching every potential choice.

"Hmm, can I have a minute?" Sparky asked.

"Sure, take your time!" The man disappeared around the end cap.

"What do you think, Frank?"

"I don't know, I think it looks like a mask."

Sparky was holding a dummy presidential mask modeled after Richard Nixon, the nose and ears were definitely larger than life, although not by much. Neither of them recognized the mask's famous owner fame.

"This one?" Frank pulled free a pair of black glasses attached to a large beige nose and a mustache. "This could work, right?"

"No, it's going to have to cover my face."

"Try it on anyway!"

The goat slipped the glasses on. They quickly started sliding down his face.

"No good."

Sparky tossed them into the pile. He tried on the Nixon mask he was holding; it stuck up with his horns. He pushed the mask on fully, piercing holes with his pointy horns; he then replaced the straw hat.

"How about this?"

"I think you look like Elvis," Frank sat back and looked again. "I think that's who that's supposed to be."

"Do you think this will work?"

The dog put his paw under his chin, posing in thought. "No."

Sparky removed the disguise and threw it on the ground. "This is pointless; this is where people come to look less human, not more human."

Frank wasn't listening. Something at the end of the row had caught his eye. He bounced off. Sparky was bending over sorting through the other masks.

"Finding everything?" the short clerk with the afro wig returned.

"Not really, no."

"Remind me, what exactly are you looking for?"

"I want a mask that looks human, but not like my face."

"Well, let me show you something else then."

The costumed man led Sparky out of the aisle. They marched through several other rows then back to aisle one. Sparky sighed. He had already been through aisle one twice. He looked over the hanging costumes again seeing nothing that would do him any good.

The man started sorting through some various sets of clothes that shimmered in the florescent warehouse lights. The glistening colors seemed to merge as the man flipped through them at lightning speed. At the very rear of a rack he reached in and pulled out a red sequence shirt. Underneath was a plain white shirt.

"I need a mask, not a shirt."

"I know, check this out."

The man flipped up what had been hidden behind the clothes, a very human mask. The nose was a little pointy and the skin was a little pale, but it was by far the best.

"Had this around for a couple of years, you'll be surprised how hard it is to sell these things."

"It's perfect."

"You know, I think I know just the wig to go with it!"

"You're a lifesaver!"

"And you, my good man, are going to be spitting image the King of Pop."

Chapter 39

"Are you ready for this one, Basil?"

He looked up from his desk, scratching at his unshaved chin.

"Sure."

"We just got word from county patrol that one of their officers is having a nervous breakdown. It appears that he pulled over a talking goat and his pet dog."

Basil looked up at her, waiting for the punch line.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, here's the deposition from the psychiatrist visit he had."

"Where'd you get this?"

"Fax machine. It was between the report for the dancing monkeys and the verdict on the hippo drug trial."

"Ha, ha, ha."

The detective had been getting this treatment since the investigation had been handed to him this morning.

First the department received a report that a half-goat, half-man beast had tried to rob a moving company. Basil had reviewed the interrogation from each the of the kids working the counter, but their stories were all different. There was little late substantive information to go on.

It would have been easy to write off as a con artist in costume if not for the footage from the surveillance video. There was a remote possibility he couldn't ignore: a were-goat.

It was not a popular theory.

During the years he had spent at the Canadian Bureau of Investigation, Basil had been the lead agent to follow up on many such tips or rumors of the beast, but much like Bigfoot, hardly anyone believed. Complaints of the mythical creature showed up from campers and the occasional drunkard or hobo. The CBI's investigations always led to these cases being filed in the trash. If not for the video footage being less grainy than the normal recordings of were-goats, this report would have gone in the same place.

Then came a second call. Local P.D. at a truck stop town had taken a call about a man in a goat suit accosting a cashier at a local fast food chain. The man had apparently robbed them of some food and over four hundred dollars in cash. The police found the stolen money in the cashier's car not an hour later, one of his coworkers had ratted him out. But the goat-dressed man was nowhere to be found.

Just an hour ago, Basil was notified that a group of men had been arrested in connection with a cocaine operation. Their front was a goat milking facility. Before the police arrived, one vigilante had single-handedly taken out the criminals and released the animals. It was only after one of the men regained consciousness that they described their assailant as a crazed were-goat: the creature had come with one of their contacts who he refused to name, but he said the were-goat's name was Sparky.

Several sightings all correlated to the same shocking conclusion. Basil couldn't wait to rub his fellow agent's faces in it.

The detective nodded as he accepted the facsimile. "Frita, is there any chance you can get me another cup of coffee?"

"Of course, no problem, Bahh-sil."

The detective started over the report. The officer's account was no more out of proportion than the others Basil had been going over. The descriptions were similar. Of course now there was specific mention of a dog. Did this were-goat have a pet?

"You need anything else?" Frita quickly returned and handed over the steaming mug.

"No, I'm fine," he stood up as she walked out of the room. He watched as she emerged from his office making horns with her fingers. Then came an eruption of laughter from the agents outside.

Basil shook his head as he sipped at his cup. The agent trusted his gut about this, this time he would get his goat. He turned to the map on the wall. Starting in Saskatoon, then Plunkett, and now just east of Winnipeg. Where are you going?

There was another knock on his glass door. Basil waved in the visitor without turning to see them.

"Looks like you're just rolling in the hay today." Tony chuckled.

"Can we leave the goat jokes out?"

"Sure, sure," Tony dropped a new stack of papers on the desk.

"So we just got word from Saskatoon, they ran over the computer records at that moving place. Looks like the young girl was more helpful to our suspect than she let on."

"What do you mean?"

"She violated company policy and printed someone else's trip itinerary for him."

"And?"

"And the rental she pulled was for a full sized rig, rented to a..." he looked down at the paperwork, "Reilly Thompson."

"Great, where is this guy?"

"His trip planner puts him going to Montreal. He's supposed to drop off the truck there, could be at any of the moving locations there though, over twenty-two in the city alone. Counting the surrounding areas, it's looking more like fifty."

"I want a man at each one. I want to find out what's his connection to this whole mess right away."

"Sure, we'll talk to the captain. But there's more," Tony straightened himself. "I ran his I.D. on the crime-net, totally clean. I figured that couldn't be right, so I ran it through the main traffic records, and nothing."

"So he's clean all the way around?"

"No, there is no license in the system. It's a fake."

Basil rubbed at his chin again. The were-goat was headed to Montreal, following a man with a fake ID.

"When did he rent the truck?"

"Saturday."

Visions of the were-goat creeping out of the wilderness were fading from him now. A crazier structure was coming into play. The goat could be the product of some wacko mad scientist, creating an army of evil mutants, after this Reilly character who held the key to defeating the were-goat. The detective shook his thoughts free. He would have to take it one credible detail at a time.

"And there is this, too." Tony slid a single white page over to Basil.

A missing property report. Basil read on. It was filed by Oliver Simms in regards to some eighty or so goats that had gone missing in the middle of the night. The report listed that Oliver believed that they ran away, due to depression, but the police had filed it as a possible theft. The report carried on, reminding the detective of his visits to his crazy aunt in the old folks home years back. They had logged details of eating habits, likes, dislikes of the goats. The man reported that all but one goat had run off and that he and his goat were sad.

"What are you thinking?" Tony asked.

"I should give this man a call." If the man was half as loony as the report, the call could be fruitless. Basil had bet his career on wild stories in the past, and none of those had paid off, but the detective was still a gambling man.

"Sure," Tony stood at his desk, waiting as Basil picked up the phone.

"Yeah?"

Tony mouthed the words "thank you" to him.

"Yeah, thanks, yeah," the phone was ringing in Basil's ear.

The line picked up. There was no hello. Basil was greeted only by sounds of sniffling and whimpering.

"Mr. Simms?" Basil waited a moment, but the man just kept sobbing. "Mr. Simms?"

"Yes, Goddamnit can't a man morn?" The hostility of Oliver's response crackled over the phone.

"I'm Special Agent Lain. I was following up on the goats you reported stolen."

"I didn't report a damn word about stolen! I said they was missing, but the cops won't help find missing goats, said had to report it as a theft! Ruthless bastards."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

Oliver swallowed back his tears. The old man gave his perspective on the two day affair, starting with the displeasure in their demeanor, then gone. His story often interrupted by details of individual goats.

Basil jotted down what he could. Oliver finally finished after a straight five minutes.

"Do you have any idea where they would have gone?"

"Damned idiots, the lot of you! If I knew where they was, I wouldn't be missing them." Oliver's tears and sadness shifting to vehement frustration.

"Is there anything else you can tell me about your goats?"

"God damn, you're writing a book aren't you? Exploiting my pain!"

"No sir, I'm a detective, a special agent with the CBI-"

"Listen, Sherlock, I don't care who you are, I told them all I know!"

"Look, Mr. Simms, I think I can help you find your goats."

"I don't trust you any more than those damn other creeping cops up at the station."

"Well, I am sorry sir, I will let you know if I find anything out about you other missing goats."

"Ain't no other missing goats. They all are missing, jackass."

Basil rechecked the report. It wasn't completely clear. "Mr. Simms, this report says you were able to hold on to one. Did you not still have one goat?"

Oliver didn't respond.

"Are you still there?"

"Now who is this? What are you calling about?" The old man's confusion was thick with innocence. Basil presumed some kind of dementia was at work.

"You had reported all of your goats missing, you said you still had one left?"

"I don't," Oliver sniffled. "He left me, too. I tried to make him stay."

"Did you ever have a name for any of your goats?"

"Of course that son of a bitch had a name, you think I'm just some heartless old fart with a collection of unnamed goats?"

"What was this last goat's name?"

Oliver was silent. The detective could hear breathing on the other end of the line accompanied by a muffled scratching sound.

"Mr. Simms?"

"God damn, his name was Sparky! Now stop harassing me!"

The connection dropped. Basil hung up the phone. His mind stirring together the details of each report. It made even less sense now, but it was terribly intriguing.

Chapter 40

"I think you might have better luck without the mask, that's a pretty scary looking face," Frank shivered.

The dark stringy wig the clerk had sold him on made it even worse. The only improvement was the new hat he had gotten to replace the torn up straw number.

"I think I look pretty snappy," the goat viewed his plastic visage in the rear view mirror. The face appeared to him a decent enough replica. Sparky squinched in his chair, the deep biting attacks of the infesting flea army were getting worse by the minute.

"It could go either way. Who are you supposed to be again?"

"The soda king, Michael Jenkins?"

"Never heard of him, you should have taken Elvis."

"Do I look human?"

The dog examined him again.

"Sure."

"What's that other stuff you had me get?"

Sparky leaned over to peak in the bag. Frank had tossed it at him on the way out and insisted it be purchased, but Sparky hadn't got a good look.

Frank pulled a pile of fabric from the bag. Sparky couldn't discern its value immediately. Frank turned toward the door and pulled the cloth over his head. Sparky watched as the pink dress covered the dog, all the way down over his feet. Frank slipped on some pink slippers and adjusted the suit on his head.

Frank turned back toward him. Sticking out on his snout was a baby mask complete with rosy cheeks and a bright smile. It stuck out on the dog's snout.

"Mama," Frank said in his most childish tone.

"No way! One of us in costume is bad enough, and you honestly look like a dog with a mask. No one will buy it."

"The problem with you, goat, is you still think people are smart. People are stupid. You know how long I have been running games on humans?"

"I, I dont?"

"Years. That's right, years. No one will think twice. I don't want to sit in the car while you shop. I want to go in."

"Frank, it's been a pleasure to have you along. I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, but your idea stinks."

"So does yours!"

"You're not coming in Frank. Look at yourself in the mirror at least."

Frank turned to the side mirror and caught his face. The angle stretched his face even more out of proportion. He tilted his head this way and that trying to find one that was acceptable, but everywhere he turned there was fur.

"Let me come, please?"

"Super-Mart," Sparky read the bright blue sign. "One stop shopping," his hook slid the wheel right and the truck puttered the highway off ramp.

"No Frank, for the last time, your costume stinks."

"I don't care! If you're my friend you'll let me come anyway!"

Sparky pulled the truck into the lot, people everywhere strolling casually about. He tossed the truck into park and reached for the handle. Frank rushed to the door.

"Frank."

"Beer?"

"What?"

"Get me a beer and I'll stay."

"No beer."

"No beer, no deal."

Sparky caught a woman pushing a cart in the rear view mirror with a large child in the seat. Sparky imagined Frank bouncing and panting behind the mask in sitting in the top of a cart.

"Okay, beer."

The stop at the costume shop hadn't been cheap. The budget was reduced to just over two hundred bucks including what had been spent on gas and food. He didn't really know how much it would take to make the trip, and wouldn't until he had the map.

Sparky slid out of the car. He made his best attempt to keep a low profile, but the goat was more nervous than any time before. He approached the doors to the store and they slid sideways automatically. It was a marvel he had yet to see. The goat smiled at the automation; his mask didn't move with the gesture.

Once inside, he gazed in awe of the high ceilings and massive inventory. The store may have been larger than the whole city of Asquith. They needed the space Sparky thought as they sold, as advertised, everything. A lady pulled out a cart for him as he entered. With his eyes still wrapped up in visual splendor, he walked into the metal basket jarring to a halt.

"Oh, I'm sorry sir, welcome to Super-Mart!"

Seeing the other patrons walking with their carts he looked down to the white gloves on his hands. Even though he had stuffed the fingers they still looked fake. Sparky bravely put his covered hooves on the basket and walked on. For a moment Sparky questioned that he might have been better off with the hook hand the hippie at the store had tried to sell him.

Sparky quickly moved from the front entry, but quickly discovered there was nowhere he could go without being surrounded. Around every corner was another man, woman, or family pushing their own cart through the store. Children were screaming, parents were screaming.

Fortunately no one was truly paying any attention to anyone else.

Sparky revisited the list of things he needed in his mind: coffee, a map, snacks, and beer. He listed the items again and knew he was forgetting something. It was important. He ripped at his skin through the overcoat, with one of his stuffed hands. "Damned fleas," he spoke aloud, not seeing the young couple behind him in the aisle.

"Excuse me?" the man asked.

"What?" Sparky hesitated, not looking over his shoulder.

"Fleas?" The man behind him questioned.

"Yeah, fleas, horrible little monsters." Sparky scratched himself and moved on. Flea killer became the first item on his agenda. The goat pushed his cart on through the maze of aisles.

All of the flea related products Super-Mart carried were approved for use on domestic household pets. There were at least a hundred of them, each one promising the best results. The packaging for each one spent more than time warning of the dangers of use than describing benefits. Misuse could suffer penalties as high as death. After checking through each one carefully, Sparky had found that not one listed themselves as safe or effective on goats and he couldn't risk it. The concern grew that he would never be rid of the terrible beasts. The plastic mask squeaked between the goat's lip and teeth. Sparky realized he was chewing on his disguise.

A young lady with a blue vest appeared from around the corner. She wore thick glasses and a bright smile driving at full speed toward him.

"Can I help you find anything?"

Her nametag read: Joon, Super-Dooper Excellent Service Person. Sparky released the plastic from his mouth, worried it may be torn.

"I need flea killer, something safe on goats. None of these list anything about how they work on animals other than dogs and cats."

"Oh, well have you looked at this one?" She pulled down a box from the shelf, Deathspray. He had already read the box thoroughly and nowhere had it indicated its safety with goats.

"I checked that."

"Oh, well," she placed the box back and grabbed the next product in line. "This one is our number one seller."

"But it doesn't say it's safe on goats, I need one that is safe on my goat. He's very important to me and the fleas are eating him alive."

"Oh, well," she put up the box. She looked over the products carefully and grabbed a white spray bottle. "This one is totally organic! It's great for houses with children."

"Maybe you don't understand my dilemma. As we speak, my goat is being gnawed by fleas, and in some very sensitive areas I might add. I can't chance that what kills the fleas today will kill him in a week."

Joon looked at him with a new level of concern and puckered her cheeks thoughtfully. "So he's a goat?"

Sparky frowned.

"You know, I don't know which one of these would work best, but if it's safe on a dog, I bet its safe on a goat."

"Are you sure? I would be upset if my goat died."

"Well yes, I'm pretty sure. Would you like me to recommend one that is popular, or maybe an organic option?"

"No, thank you for nothing. Please let me figure it out alone."

"Is there anything else?"

"Yes, could you go find me a flea killer that's safe on goats?"

"I'll go ask my manager!"

She spun around on one foot and vanished around a corner. Sparky looked down the aisle where an older woman was searching through various bags of cat food. She was counting off numbers to herself aloud.

"Nine ninety- nine, eight fifty-nine, seven eighty-four, aha," she said pulling a bag free. "Six seventy-nine!" She looked to the masked goat, surprised that he had been watching her. "If it's the cheapest, it's the best!"

Sparky at once noticed then the array of prices underneath the flea killers, carefully auditing each one.

"Four ninety-nine!" he shouted, tossing a handful of boxes in the cart.

Chapter 41

"Where's my beer?"

Sparky dropped two plastic bags on the floor in front of Frank. The dog fell over himself to dig into the bags.

"I had a few problems finding the flea killer, and they asked to see my I.D. at the register. The lady said that beer was a restricted purchase."

"If you didn't get beer, you're going back!"

"It's in there. I had that man's license that I showed the cop earlier, they didn't ask questions."

Frank could tell he was holding back. "What else?"

"Well I think people are looking at me more with this mask on."

"Well why not? You look funny! You picked the gauntest looking mask on earth. You look like you have some kind of disease!" Frank pulled the flea killer from the bag. "Super-Mart Flea-away? Could you have gotten something that looked more deadly? This doesn't even have the pictures of the dogs on it or anything."

"It's the cheapest, so it's got to be the best!"

"You've got to be kidding!" Frank raised his paws in disbelief. "You have it backwards, if you pay more, it's a better product. This stuff will leave me bald."

"Are you serious?"

"Well hopefully not on the first use, these fleas are killing me," Frank opened the box and pulled out the small tube of cream. "Oh no, it's the cream stuff. This garbage is not even legal some places," Frank unfolded a long paper covered front and back with black text.

"Does it kill fleas?"

"Guaranteed or our money back!"

"Good."

The truck came to a sudden stop. Frank tumbled into the floor. Sparky stared blankly at a mother carrying her young daughter. Her scolding glare kept him glued to his seat back.

Sparky waved his white-gloved hand, not sure what else to do. The woman kept one eye on the truck; the child stared at him. As the two cleared the truck, the little girl extended her finger and screamed.

"Michael!"

Her mother's expression changed from scorn to fear. She darted away with her daughter.

"What's all that?"

"I don't know," Frank was still in the floor, searching the bags. "Where the beer, goat?"

"It's there Frank, can you get that map out while you're down there?"

"Sure, once I find my beer. Where the hell is it?" Frank tore apart the plastic bags, realizing he still was holding the flea cream. "You want this?"

"Do I just rub it on?"

"Just dab a little under your neck and near your tail," Frank finally procured the can from the bag. "God damn!"

"What's wrong?"

"This is good beer! I've had this before!"

"Oh. Hey, I got some coffee, too. Would you mind handing me that?"

Frank reached down into the plastic again, sorting past the extra flea cream. He pulled out a vacuum-sealed bag of Colombian roast. "This?"

"Yeah."

"These are beans."

"Yeah, they looked good."

"You know you are supposed to use a coffee maker for that, it's not cooked yet."

"Really?" Sparky looked down at the bag. He read the front of the package for use in in-home coffee makers. "This isn't the same stuff?"

"It is, sort of, once you put it in a coffee maker."

"Are these any good?"

"I don't drink that stuff, it's not healthy," Frank was struggling to pop the top on his beer.

"Well, I can't just go to sleep."

Sparky adjusted himself in his seat, dropped the beans next to him and tore open the bag. He threw off the mask and tossed one of the beans into his mouth.

"These are ten times better than that stuff at the coffee house!"

"Just take it easy okay, no one likes a user," Frank tilted the beer can back and poured the bubbling liquid down his open throat, rapidly gulping its contents. As he lowered the empty can his tongue rolled out of his mouth. The can dropped to the floor and he put his head on his paws.

Franks eyes drifted shut.

Chapter 42

It was dark when Frank's eyes re-opened. The goat next to him appeared to be just as wide-awake, but the road around them was blanketed with the darkness of night. There was no traffic.

"Where are we?" Frank asked. The mutt's eyes were still filled with haze.

Sparky's eyes were suspended forward. They were vigilantly tearing through the darkness, searching out the road ahead. He didn't speak. His head drifted around his shoulders and found Frank, painted with an eerie grin.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sparky's voice sounded like he was at the other end of a long distance call.

"Where are we?" Frank lifted himself further, surveying the land from his window. The countryside was blank of any light. They were driving into nothingness.

"Somewhere in Ontario. I saw a sign, it was beautiful."

"I think you need to cut back on the coffee." Frank peered over at the bag of beans. The coffee was all gone, the bag was half eaten. "At least for a little bit."

"I feel so alive."

"You're almost out of gas again."

Sparky's head slowly tilted down as he viewed the console, and then over to Frank. "I love you."

"You're scaring me. Take the next turnoff and we'll take a break."

Sparky followed the canine's instructions. His own mind was too busy to come up with anything to say back.

"Welcome to Deneda, Meat Capital of Western Ontario!"

"What?"

"That's what the sign said."

"Oh," Frank's eyes remained fixed on the goat's shaky hands.

Sparky grumbled under his breath, as he pulled off into the small town. The advertising of their animal market started his mind rolling over his stolen herd. Criminals, all of them were criminals.

The truck slid in alongside the pump. Sparky tossed his hat back on and exited the truck. He inserted the nozzle into to the tank and depressed the handle. He felt as though his senses had been sharpened. On the nozzle he noted a small metal tab. He flipped the tab and it locked the handle in place. "How convenient."

He made the most of his time swinging his arms, designing his own short workout to shake free the stiffness accrued while driving. Frank watched him through the open door, perched in the driver's seat. He yawned as he watched the goat's faux yoga routine.

The gas pump clicked.

Sparky trotted over and hung up the hose, smiling. He wandered up to the small cashier's booth and dropped his money in a little drawer marked for late night purchases. His money disappeared into the little stall operated by an older woman. The lady cashier rang him up without a word, and the drawer popped back out with his change and a receipt.

He swiped the money and danced his way back to the truck. Frank was still sitting on the seat with his ears perked and a very serious expression.

"Come on," Sparky motioned Frank to get back into the passenger's seat.

"Don't you hear that?" Frank's head was strained forward.

Sparky flipped back his ears with a jerk of his neck, still dancing in place.

"Nah." His ears settled back down beside his head.

"Shh." Frank jumped from the truck and galloped over to the roadside where the light from the station faded abruptly. Sparky waltzed over swinging his arms.

"What? What is it?"

"It, it sounds like," Frank took another step, completely leaving the aura of the station's light. In the darkness he waited, sorting through the noise. From the freeway the sound of a large truck echoed in the pits of his ear canals. Behind it all there was something else, a constant jabbering. "It sounds like crying."

"We should check it out," Sparky didn't hesitate and climbed back in the truck. Frank was still on the street. "Are you coming or not?"

The dog kept his ears up as he ran back into the cab, crossing the goat's lap and settling in the passenger seat.

"Where is it?" Sparky questioned.

He raised his paw, wordlessly giving direction. Sparky started the truck.

They next few minutes were spent driving and stopping on the back roads of Deneda. At each pause the dog would check to make sure they were getting closer to the source of the disturbing sounds. Their journey ended abruptly as they came across a private property sign and the end of the road.

Sparky shut off the truck.

"What do you think?"

"Open the door," Frank was unsettling to look at. Behind his fear filled eyes Sparky could tell there was more going on, but he didn't press it. Instead he opened the door. The sound poured in. It was a crying that Sparky recognized. It was livestock; cows, goats, pigs, and poultry all mixed together. The sound was desperate.

"Do you see anything?" Sparky asked. Along the tree-shrouded road was a metal fence. "No," the dog's expression went from concern to fear. "I think we should get out of here."

"Yeah," As Sparky jumped out of the cab his hooves clicked on the asphalt.

"No, Sparky, we should get out of the area, keep driving." He waited for his companion to respond, but the goat just crept closer toward the fence. "Sparky?"

Sparky wasn't listening to him. The goat was only listening to the sounds from the far side of the fence. The sounds of trapped goats. Could they be there? He shook the wire fencing with his hooves. He had to know, he had to find them.

"What are you doing, goat?" Frank was calling to him from the edge of the driver's seat; refusing to leave the cab.

"They could be there."

"I thought you said they were in Montreal."

"I don't know where they are, they could be here."

Sparky looked over the chain link barrier. It wasn't very high, just over his head. It would be no problem scaling it. He had to know.

"You coming, or staying?" He didn't turn around to speak to the dog. He was surveying the best place to jump the fence.

Frank looked up and down the pitch-black roadway; the only light around was that from the cab light in the truck. He looked at Sparky who was still sizing up the fence.

"Damn you," the dog jumped from the truck and walked slowly over to the goat. "You can't carry me over can you?"

"You're not that heavy Frank," he lifted the dog from the ground, Frank immediately pawing at the air.

"Oh no, I'm not made for this!"

Sparky heaved the mutt underhanded, the dog's belly just cleared the bottom of the fence, Frank crashed into the ground on the other side.

"You son of a bitch," Frank struggled to find the air to speak. "That hurt."

"Just relax," Sparky sealed his coat and hat in the cab of the truck and made his way over the fence. As he joined the recovering mutt he realized the trees were thinner than he had suspected. "See anything?"

"No, I think you knocked my eyes out on that landing."

"Oh, why don't you-"

"And don't expect me to scout ahead, I'm not your sidekick," Frank barked as they proceeded into the brush.

Sparky didn't comment any further as they made their way into the brush beyond the fence. Ahead through the thin wall of arbors was a bright light, it could have been the dawn. Sparky lead the way forward, emerging onto a hilltop.

Chapter 43

"I knew this was a bad idea, let's get out of here." Sparky seized Frank as he turned to leave.

"Shhh."

They were lying in the grass at the edge of the wood. After emerging from the trees the situation had become very clear. The livestock they had heard were being ushered about in the middle of the night and loaded onto trucks. His family wasn't there, these animals were strangers.

"We shouldn't be here."

Frank's mind was elsewhere. The scene before him was taking him back to a point he had blocked out. Before his time in the circus, before the time with his first family, to his first memories. "I'm not going back goat. I won't do it!"

"What?"

"We should go, if they catch us, it's over, they'll cut us up on a table somewhere."

"What are you talking about? These animals need us."

"Look down there. You're crazy. If you try to help them those men will get you, and then your family will have no one."

No one.

"Who's going to save them if we don't, Frank?"

"No one Sparky, no one."

No one.

It was the stimulation of the coffee combining with adrenaline. Sparky's breathing quickened as his mind raced to make a plan.

"We have to free them."

"No, I'm going back, I'm not getting caught."

"I won't force you to come, Frank."

Sparky darted down the hillside and jumped the fence. Immediately swimming in a sea of his peers. Mixed in with the goats were some cows as well. The giant bovines were lumbering quietly over the panicked goats. At the far end of the pen were large spotlights, shining out over the animals. Behind them a massive truck was working its way back to a loading ramp. Sparky imagined a similar scene occurred the night his family was taken.

Sparky leaned up on one of the cows, peeking over, trying to get a better vantage. The large creature turned to him. He smiled at the animal's blissful expression, watching the bovine chew cud for a moment. As Sparky returned his attention to the people he counted at least ten men. A fight was out of the question.

Sparky hopped down and made his way through toward the loading ramp. Two men were standing and smoking cigarettes waiting for the first truck to be backed up before they opened the gate.

"Too bad those trucks didn't show up earlier, could have had this done hours ago," the first man was discussing.

"Won't be any problems, Ted, so long as the cattle don't spook again."

Spooked cattle. He could rouse the animals, but without an escape route, it wouldn't help. He mingled back toward the rear of the fence line. He checked and rechecked. The posts were solid.

He looked behind and confirmed the men were still occupied in the distance. He hopped the fence and headed toward the barn which appeared to be empty. Sparky stayed low as he crept through the dark. Entering the barn he wedged himself through the narrow opening. It took him a moment to find a light switch. When he flipped it on the entire room illuminated with a series of overhead lamps.

The space was deserted. The animals had been moved not long ago as their smell still hung strong in the air. On the far wall was a selection of tools. Sparky approached the assortment and started shopping through the various items. There were a few shovels and post diggers, beyond that were some tools for grooming and some harnesses for goats. He scowled at them. Even further down were some very large bolt cutters. Sparky lifted them from the wall and then gently placed them back. Then his eyes settled on a silver cloth case hanging at the end. Sparky unzipped the bag.

Superman Razor Chainsaw 2000.

The name glittered on the monstrous device. The teeth on the machine gleamed in the light. He raised the chainsaw from the sack. The goat moved it back and forth, wielding it with the fury of Excalibur.

It would take time to cut through the fence. The saw would be loud. He would need some form of distraction, something to keep him from being assaulted until he had cut the fence through with the chainsaw. He needed something more.

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

The saw dropped to the floor, its fall padded by the hay. One of the farmers was standing in the doorway to the barn, eyeing him.

"You should be in the pen," the farmer's eyes fell to the chainsaw. "How the hell?"

Sparky fell on all fours.

The broad shouldered man stood in a cloud of smoke rising from his cigarette. Sparky waited to see what the man would do.

The man puckered his lips and kissed at the goat several times. "Come here goat."

Sparky trotted over to him.

"Damned goats!" the man swung his hand at Sparky. He ducked out of the way. The man laughed and took a drag from his cigarette.

"Don't run off now, I'll get you in with the others."

Sparky sized the man up. He was a good solid build, wearing overalls and a flannel shirt. Covering him was a tattered suede jacket and a baseball cap. It was blue with little white wings on the front. It would make a good disguise.

Sparky stood upright. The farmer opened his mouth in time to catch the goat's first swing into his jaw. He doubled over as the second hoof struck his belly. Sparky swung a final time, his hoof connecting with the man's skull.

The farmer went face down in the straw.

Sparky crept up to the doorway and looked outside. The loading had already begun. The other men were busy clapping and yelling orders to the penned animals. Slowly the creatures were piling into the trailer.

Sparky turned back to the chainsaw and then to the man on the floor. He shut off the light and got to work.

Chapter 44

The farmers were working to make up for lost time and unfortunately the animals were not at all cooperative. The trucks were supposed to arrive by noon and this work should have been finished in the daylight, but due to a hold up at the meat company the trucks had been late. Twelve hours late. The animals were restless and the men's strength was wearing thin.

The late trucks had led to even more problems.

The goats were supposed to be sorted into their own trucks, and therefore had been previously sorted into their own pen. During the delay, the goats had become restless and discovered a way to navigate between their pen and the loading pen for the cows quite easily.

None of the men had noticed before it was too late, and the goats were already at work eating the grass from the cow pen. This had caused a more serious problem with the cattle. The cows had defended their food injuring two of the goats and spooking the rest. The farmers had been forced to sort out the mess until well after sundown.

They had been completely unsuccessful in segregating the animals. The easier solution came down to simply feeding them all from the hay stocks. It had won peace.

But now that the trucks arrived there was a bigger problem. The animals were now more tired than hungry and were not loading onto the trucks when tempted by food. The men instead had to round the animals up by hand and lead them to the gate. Since the goats and cows were still mixed they settled on loading the cows first. If the goats tried to climb the ramp they were simply tossed off. It was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~

Back at the tree line, on a small crest, Frank was perched on his haunches trying to spot where his friend had gone. He had watched the animal enter the herd, seen the goat make his escape to the barn and had seen the farmhand that followed him in. Some time had passed and neither had emerged.

Frank did not want to go, he did not want to get caught or killed. Sparky was a fool to rush down there and now he was probably dead. Frank liked his new friend and didn't want to lose him, but his paws were frozen in place.

His bleakest memories emerged from the back of his mind. The dark face of the man that tortured him, and the others. The others he left behind when he ran. Those he couldn't save. He knew better than to risk himself foolishly. Sadly, Sparky did not.

His eyes stayed focused on the door of the barn as the farmer emerged carrying something. Frank couldn't tell what it was. It was covered by a silver blanket.

Sparky!

It was too late, his friend was already gone.

Frank buried his head in his paws. Working himself down from the tears that were fighting to be free. He lifted his head and watched the killer in the blue cap. It was very hard to see him. The fence was occluding the spotlights. He waited anxiously trying to confirm the goat's lifeless mass was indeed in the man's arms. It struck him that something about the scene was out of place.

As the farmer walked around the back of the pen, Frank realized that whatever the man had it was not the goat. Sparky must have hid. Frank would wait until the man passed and then check the barn.

The man stopped at the back of the fence and he set down his bundle.

Frank watched impatiently, wanting to hurry and check on his friend. But the man didn't continue to walk; he dropped down and was fumbling with the package.

From beneath the hat an odd shape stuck upward, too solid to be ears. The man must have horns. But men don't commonly have horns. Sparky!

Sparky hoisted the cord to the chainsaw. The sound shattered the animal chatter and startled the animals. The mighty saw came to life; Sparky settled his grip on the handle and immediately turned and started on the fence. The goats and cows were bouncing around in the pen.

Frank saw the farmers by the loading dock start over. Whatever trouble Sparky had avoided with the one man, he would not be so lucky with the group.

Sparky sawed down through the posts as quickly as he could. He had cut through the first side when the first man rounded the corner of the fence. He started on the next side and the top post dropped. It fell in and rolled along the soft ground of the pen. The next one followed.

The other men were around him now, not recognizing his true animal identity for all the shadows and confusion.

"What are you doing, Ted?"

Sparky continued until all the poles were cut. The farmers were surrounding him, but not moving in.

The saw dropped. Sparky had made his opening. The animals were all huddled on the far side of the pen. He turned and viewed the men around him.

"Jesus Christ!"

"What the hell is it?"

Sparky held his ground.

"Ted, is that you?"

Sparky remained calmly in his place. One of the farmers approached cautiously and placed his hand on the animal's shoulder. It was quickly slapped away.

"Well, I don't think it's Ted."

"Kick its ass! Son' bitch stole my overalls!" Ted emerged from the barn, waving his fists and shivering from the cold air. Revenge burned in his eyes.

The group turned at the sound of the yelling man wearing only his briefs.

"Get him boys!"

The group started to collapse on Sparky; surrounding him from all sides. He couldn't run away. The animals weren't free. They were now crowded even more closely to the loading ramps. He was their only hope.

Sparky dropped on all fours and charged the closest man jabbing him with his horns. The man fell back in pain as others dove in, tackling Sparky and wrestling him to the ground. Four men restrained him each holding one appendage.

"What the hell is it?"

"I don't know, but it's about to be dead!"

"Get that chainsaw over here, we'll teach this critter what we really use it for."

Sparky struggled but couldn't break the hold. He strained his neck and watched as Ted secured the chainsaw from the ground and yanked the cord. The hungry sound of the saw again filled the air. Ted waved the chainsaw as he stepped forward.

"You messed with the wrong set of overalls!"

He swung the chainsaw.

"Wait!" Sparky yelled.

The man stopped, the saw was just inches from his target.

"If you kill me, you'll ruin your overalls!"

The men stood momentarily awed that the animal was speaking.

"God, damn thing's right!" Ted said looking to the others. "Strip 'em!"

The men carefully held Sparky as others worked to remove his stolen outfit. Ted slipped on his overalls at once and quickly returned to the chainsaw. The machine still purred, its motor warm and ready.

"Anything else?"

Sparky was at a loss. He couldn't break the hold they had on him. Ted looked at the other men, and then back at him.

He swung the mechanized saw, cleaving downward. Halfway into his swing he winced in pain and the saw went free of his hands, tumbling end over end. Attached to his leg was a very ferocious looking Belgian Groenendael.

The butt of the saw collided with one of the men restraining Sparky, knocking that man to the ground. Sparky swung his newly freed hoof into the man holding his other arm, blasting him in the eye. The man retreated screaming. Sparky sprang, shaking the other two farm hands off his legs. He kicked and clawed, forging an opening and emerging from their circle.

Frank pounced on Ted as he lay the ground, slashing at his face. Ted screamed. His skin torn by the dog's claws. Blood seeped down his cheek. Frank stayed on top, growling, then unleashed a low bark.

Sparky turned around seeing the canine holding his position. Another man dove for Frank, trying to remove the dog from his ally. Sparky rushed over. The goat charged on all fours, ramming the man. The strike hit right on the man's backbone. He collapsed onto Frank. The dog belted out a string of curses.

The man rolled off, collapsing to the ground. He reached to his side where a small bloodspot formed on his overalls.

"Lookout!" Frank yelled.

Sparky turned to see two of the men rushing at him, arms out. Sparky ducked down. The men stumbled past. The goat leapt toward them. He pounced on one of the men, knocking him to the ground. Sparky threw his hoof into the fallen man's neck. The man yelped.

Sparky turned his head to the other man. He was a younger man, with a firm set of arms. The farmhand had his fists circling in front of him. Sparky raised his forelimbs to match and flashed his teeth. The man cried out. The farmhand turned and ran.

Sparky turned his attention to the other men who had surrounding Frank. Sparky scooped up one of the fallen fence posts and hoisted it over his shoulder. He swung the timber around swiftly, hitting another man in the shoulder. The cracking of bone made an audible crunch. The man fell. He writhed in place, pulling at his shoulder with his free hand and yelling.

The four remaining men turned to see Sparky holding the massive beam. The men turned to each other and then to Sparky.

Ted was among them. "You won't get away with this!" He charged.

Sparky swung the post like a bat, striking Ted for a home run. Ted crashed into the fence and slid down to the ground. Ted didn't stand back up.

The other farmers stood speechless, staring at the armed goat.

Sparky hoisted the beam and started walking at them steadily. The three men broke from their place and ran away toward the trucks. The other conscious men on the ground, climbed to their feet, and hurried after.

Sparky and Frank watched the men flee into the distance.

Chapter 45

"This is Basil."

"How's the road out there, Bah-sil!" Frito's voice broke up over the cell speaker.

"You better have something to be calling me."

"Well, I didn't expect that you would be sleeping at this point. I figured you needed a little straw to chew on."

"Frita, I'm getting tired of the goat jokes. Now do you have something or not, damn it?"

"Oh, I do. But you sound tired and grumpy. Maybe I'll call you tomorrow, when you're feeling nicer."

"Okay, Frita, I'm sorry. It's late. I've been on the road for a while and just don't feel good. The coffee is eating at my stomach and I just got some fries that didn't settle well." Basil spoke softly.

"Where are you?"

"I'm almost to Ontario. I just got through speaking with that patrolman, he wasn't helpful."

"Well, what did he say?"

"He's no help. He truly believes that what he saw was purely in his mind. Can you believe that?"

"Yes. The better question is why don't you?" Frita said.

There was a pause, she probably wanted an answer. Basil took another sip of his cold coffee as he peeked down at the phone to make sure the line was still active.

Frita gave in, "So no new details on your were-goat?"

"He doesn't even have the vehicle plate, he threw out everything. You know he's going to quit the force and join up with the VSO?" The now former policeman had talked Basil's ear off in great detail about his changeover from crime fighting to humanitarian aid.

"Look, not everybody thinks goats can talk. Maybe you should take a hint."

"He thinks it's some old drug trip coming back to haunt him or a sign from God, but totally useless either way."

"You weren't heavy into drugs in college were you, Basil?"

"Apparently, I didn't do enough. They still let me join the CBI didn't they?" He sighed, sipping again at the bitter coffee beside him. "What do you have, Frita?"

"Well, initial reports say an animal rights activist just attacked a group of farm hands trying to get some animals loaded onto trailers. The local police have been called to the scene but I put a hold on them."

"Let me guess, the attacker fits the description of a man in a goat suit?"

"Not only that, but he has a dog with him. It's definitely our guy."

"Our goat, Frita."

"Whatever, Basil. You bring him in handcuffs and we'll get the DNA proof on what this thing is."

"Where am I headed?" Basil looked over, noting the sign welcoming him to Ontario.

He scribbled down the directions on his notepad as he drove, just after the notes from the conversation with the patrolman.

"You know he's going to get his name changed to Flower Petal tomorrow?" Basil recounted.

"What?" Frita had forgotten about the cop.

"Never mind. Send in the troops, have them tear that place apart. Let them know to be careful with any goats in they find. And give me their number," he scribbled it down on the pad as she spoke, careful to keep a knee on the wheel.

Basil flipped the phone closed and chucked the pad into the passenger's seat. He slid down in his chair and yawned.

Just after midnight.

He couldn't recall if he had changed time zones yet or not. He had driven from the central office since earlier in the afternoon, hoping to catch up with the were-goat right away. It had been a longer drive than he expected. A little more coffee would be in order, but first he had to reach the scene.

He dialed the local police.

"This is Special Agent Lain, let me speak to the man in charge."

The local police would have this wrapped up before he got there. He would have his were-goat. His glory. Not only for running down this elusive critter, but also for discovering the greatest aberration in human history. The Noble Prize would be in order.

"Dis em Jeb."

Chapter 46

Frank joyfully followed his companion about the animal pens. Sparky moved deliberately to herd the animals free of their prisons after having used the chainsaw to take down the other barriers. Most of the animals were quick to exit, but a few stragglers needed extra motivation.

To Frank, it was hardly a celebration of their victory. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"It's just the way I fight. I didn't want to hurt anyone, but I couldn't let them steal anymore families."

"They'll get the police. They'll be coming after you."

"Didn't you see the news at that coffee shop? The police are already looking for me." Sparky's voice trailed off, the adrenaline and the caffeine were both waning.

"Well, this definitely won't help our cause."

"What cause, Frank?" Sparky stopped and squared off with the canine. "I'm a talking goat, a talking goat that just wants to find his family. If I happen to help a few goats or cows or pigs," he clapped his hands behind a larger sow, the animal scurried almost plowing over Frank. "Is that a cause?"

"We need to get a move on," Frank said. In the distance he could hear the approaching cars.

Sparky continued to route the remaining animals as if he hadn't heard or more likely, Frank presumed, he didn't care to leave any one behind.

Frank pitched in and helped where he could, knowing that the goat wouldn't leave the job half done. He wasn't trained to corral anything, but he had seen that movie where that tiny pig did it. Frank knew that anything a pig could do, a dog could do better.

"You pitching in to this cause now?" Sparky laughed.

"Don't forget who rescued you, I did my part. Besides, the police are getting closer. I don't want us to be here when they arrive."

"Worried about me?"

Frank looked at Sparky and then went back to chasing a smaller goat toward the opening in the fence. It was the last penned animal.

Sparky glared his teeth at the dog, "I knew you had feelings for me, it's my animal magnetism."

"Right," Frank responded, it took him a moment to recognize Sparky's expression as a smile. "When did you become a comedian?"

"I saw it on a bumper sticker while you were sleeping."

"Well, it has been a long time since anyone bought me a cold beer," the dog sighed, running after the stray goat, finally clearing him from the cage.

"Maybe I'll get you another one when we're through here."

"Really?"

"I said maybe."

Sparky picked up the chainsaw from the ground and surveyed the herd. He struck up the loud device and cranked the trigger a few times. As expected, the animals ran away from the saw, the fence, and the barn.

"You think they'll just get rounded back up?"

"Some of them won't," Sparky said. "I hope."

The two hurried their way back through the woods. As they reached the fence again and Frank braced himself to be thrown over, Sparky brandished the bolt cutters. Frank sighed with relief. After making short work of the fence, they loaded back into their pickup and started back to the freeway.

~~~~~~

Within minutes of their departure, a dozen squad cars had lined driveway by the loading area, surrounding the abandoned trucks. The bright lights set up earlier by the farmers to support their loading illuminated the empty pens in the dark hours of early morning. A swarm of local deputies were crawling through the scene, attempting to find any trace of the assailant.

Sheriff Jeb Jenkins pulled up behind the other units. The tall, narrow man stepped out of his squad car. He surveyed the area while chewing on a mouthful of his homegrown tobacco. One of the deputies walked up to Jeb and handed him a flashlight and two latex gloves. The sheriff pulled them over his hands and spit some of the juice from his mouth.

"Wat yiz got sez fer?" Jeb asked his underling.

"We just got here, sir. We haven't found any sign of the attacker."

"Why fer? Yiz ain't cut nufin'? Dag-gun!" Jeb spit another wad from his inflated cheek. "Git-goun!"

The officer joined the others already spread out through the pens and the barn. There wasn't much to be found, besides an abandoned chainsaw, they'd take it for prints. It was what the men referred to as a dry scene.

Bartlett Hoover didn't need any clues to know that the goat had been there. He could tell that many goats had been there, but finding which one was not going to be easy. The Basset Hound belonged to a sheriff Jeb and although he wasn't an official member of the force, he was always welcome at the scene. Jeb let him loose from the car to join in the investigation, handing his leash to Deputy Darrell.

Bartlett kept his eyes sharp and his nose to the dirt. The hound made his way about the circus of men. Men who were oblivious to the clearest clues left behind by the goat and his cohort. It was the especially the latter that gave them away. When the Basset caught scent of the Groenendael his trained instincts kicked in.

The little dog caused quite a stir. Barking and bouncing, signaling his find.

"Shut tar nat tis lip! Wherf dat tar-pick snuffin?"

"You think he smells the man's trail," said Deputy Darrell, who was holding tightly on the leash.

"Right-zo-frig a nag! Tern dat dem oot!" Jeb commanded.

The man did as he was told and set the dog free. The hound raced into the woods. Deputy Darrell followed him to the best of his ability.

Bartlett was happily panting as the man arrived at the fence. Behind the dog was a large hole in the fence, and a dropped pair of bolt cutters.

The deputy stepped through the opening and looked around. As he made his way out onto the roadside, he flashed his light around in the darkness. On the far side of the road his light flashed against something on the black asphalt.

Deputy Darrell stepped over and picked up the object. In his hands was a half eaten bag of Colombian roast.

Chapter 47

The early light of dawn tinted the sky pink, as he pulled into the driveway, Basil could see the line of police cars, then a handful of trucks. Beyond them, large bright spotlights shown over nearly empty pens and fields. The detective parked alongside one of the cruisers.

When Basil emerged from his car, his attention went to a line of eight uniformed men along the fence, all talking amongst themselves and giggling like children. He crossed over, grabbing the first by the shoulder.

"Detective Lain, CBI. Who's in charge?"

"Yupins," a long stringy man zipped up his fly and turned away from the barn.

"Sheriff?" Basil recognized the man's voice from the phone. Seeing the sight of the rugged country man he would have been more satisfied if an army of dancing monkeys were performing the investigation.

"Yupins."

Jeb's mouth was swirling tobacco. A wad of spit ejected and impacted at Basil's feet. "Jeb," he said extending his hand.

"Did you obtain our suspect? I was assured you'd have everything handled when I got here!"

The sheriff could see the flames at Basil's nostrils.

"Right-zo-sag wiv cut der cridders."

Basil stared at the man. Of the words they had exchanged on the phone, he had tried hard to make sense of the man's gibberish, and in person it was no better. "What the hell did he just say?"

"We did caught them!" one of the deputies responded. "We got him and his mangy cohorts!"

"Cohorts?" Basil asked.

"Yeah, wily bunch."

Basil waited for more to pour out of the man, but got nothing. "Well, I insist to see him at once!"

"Held pup der dis mine vestigate-a youzin nat getin mine fae," the sheriff crossed his arms at his officer, who took a step back.

"What?"

"Darnus til hum ter shatz-up."

"Did he just tell me to shut up?" Basil asked.

The others remained silent.

"Look, I don't care about your damn policy. I have jurisdiction over this investigation. Get me that goat or I'll have your crooked operation shut down!"

"Wellzum!" the sheriff uncrossed his arms and put on a quaint smile, his yellowed teeth highlighted by one of the spotlights. "Gad-dam!"

The sheriff led Basil down the row of fences vacant to the barn. The barn door was closed and sealed with a large cinderblock. "Diz en der,"

Basil nodded plainly but refused to smile. He watched as the sheriff turned and walked away to his following of cronies. The detective was glad to see him go, but without a doubt he was most excited to be meeting the were-goat.

He crept into the barn, sliding along the dark wall, hunting for a switch. His ears perked at a rustling behind him.

"Sparky?"

"Mahh."

"Sparky? I know your secret. You can talk to me."

"Mahh." As he was told, there was more than one goat. Basil scavenged the wall searching desperately for the lights. His hand jammed into a sharp metal edge and then stuck a cold box. His fingers walked its surface, finding the switch. The light illuminated four goats in the corner, all lying down.

"Sparky?"

Basil stalked closer, looking at each one in turn. He made note of their markings; once he identified which of them could talk, he would never forget the face.

"Sparky?"

One head rose, looking directly at Basil.

"I knew you were here."

The goat cocked its head. Slowly it cracked its lips. "Mahh."

"I had to drive down here to get you myself. You know the last two days people have been cracking on me that a goat can talk?"

The goat burrowed its head into the straw coming back up with a mouthful. The goat's lower jaw began its methodical grind.

"Don't worry Sparky, I just want to let everyone know that I'm not nuts," Basil continued taking metered steps. "You can ride with me back to the city. I'll make you famous."

The four animals raised, then trotted away along the wall, avoiding the man. Basil paused, sprinkling his voice with sugar.

"You like French fries? I have some left from dinner. They're in the car."

Every step closer he took, the animals took two away.

"How about a candy bar?" He pulled the chocolate from his coat. "You must be hungry, it has been a long ride since Asquith."

The lead goat took a step closer.

"It's chocolate candy, you'll love it!"

"Mahh."

"Trust me, Sparky, I'll take care of you."

He was almost at arms length; Basil pulled the candy bar close to himself.

"You have anything to say boy?"

"Mahh."

Basil sprang on the creature. His arms went out like a net. The goat kicked and panicked.

"Sparky! You are going to talk!"

The other three animals started screaming.

"Damn it goat, speak!"

"Mahh!"

"Why won't you say anything?"

The goat reeled his back legs and caught Basil squarely in his groin. He released his grip and the goat bounced away.

"I'll get you for that!"

"Detective?" Deputy Darrell was standing in the door, Bartlett Hoover emphatically bouncing around at his feet.

"What, can't you see I'm about to crack him?"

"Sheriff wanted me to let you know your guy got away, seems he cut through the fence and took off," Deputy Darrell had a disturbed look on his face.

"Then why did he put me in here with these goats? He said he had him." Basil rubbed at the soreness between his legs.

"Sheriff thought you might want to question his accomplices."

Basil looked over to the four goats. They were completely spooked. On the ground at his feet was the crushed chocolate bar.

"Honestly, what is wrong with you people?"

Basil climbed to his feet, kicking the candy bar toward the goats.

Chapter 48

"You really are a really talented, um, talent, um really, I really, really want you to know that," Frank hoisted his can skyward. It took both of his paws to hold it.

"You're getting drunk on me aren't you?"

"Even without the booze, I really, really think you're one sexy sheep!"

"Goat."

"No, no, no, I think it's totally great what you did, really."

"What we did."

"Look, I've been traveling for a long time. A really long time. A really, really, really long time."

"Can you move this along?"

"Yep!" The mutt tilted the can back and swallowed more beer. "No good friends, especially no good goat friends, have been nice to some mangy mongrel. You're a hero. My hero."

"I think you should really slow down, or you're going to hurt yourself."

"You should see this, this proves my point." Frank leaned down and pulled out a newspaper from below his seat.

"Where did that come from?"

"I got it when you went inside the store for the beer," the dog dropped the paper on the seat between them. It was the National News Poster, a big name tabloid. The cover story showed one of the images from the surveillance cameras at Larry's.

"Oh no!"

"I read about you! You did this before. You single-handedly took out a smuggling ring!" He cheered, raising his drink. "Sparky the Hero!"

"It's not like that, those goats were being tortured."

"How do you think this hero thing works, goat? You think you can just go mad kung fu and not get front page?"

"I don't know."

"I need to get my hair done. We're going to be getting our pictures taken. We'll be national treasures!"

The goat looked down at the paper. He couldn't stand it. His eyes went back to the road. "I don't want the fame, I just want my family. I was at that place and those animals needed me, too."

"Like the animals tonight? Face it, you're a savior! You did ten times better than me!"

"You did great Frank, you saved my life."

"I wasn't talking about tonight. I had my chance to be a hero. Long time ago, I let them down."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not like you, goat. I wasn't born on a farm, out in nowhere land. I'm a mutt, a dirty lab mutt. I had friends and family. I had a girl."

"Frank?"

"They're all dead! I had the chance to escape and I took it, I never tried to help them."

"What are you talking about?" The hair on the back of Sparky's neck stood at attention.

"Where is this place?"

"I'm not going back. I'll never go back. Besides goat, even if I would I don't remember." Frank's speech trailed off into a slurred jumble.

The goat spoke slow, "Frank, you and I are one of a kind. This place you came from, it has to be where my family is going."

"If your family is being taken there, there may not be, they may not..."

Sparky could feel Frank begin to tremble as he spoke. His own fears rose.

"What happened to them, Frank?"

"They were experimented on, tortured. Some of them didn't make it, I can only think, that after I left..."

"You think your friends are dead?

"Yes. Your family will be, too, if they end up there."

"Frank, you have to tell me where this place is. Where is it?"

"I don't know. I can't remember."

"You have to remember!"

Frank sat silently. in a moment the low grating of the dog's snore filled the silence.

"Frank!"

The dog's head rose just an inch off the seat. "You know, you're going to have to give interviews."

"What, Frank, my family, this lab... where is it?"

"I need you to try and tell me," Sparky pleaded.

Frank bobbed up and down.

"I wish I could tell you, but it was a long time ago. I got away. I never thought about going back. You should get your hair done, too. This picture is awful."

Frank was staring blankly at the tabloid photo.

"I'm not giving interviews."

"The article says you're a freak science experiment gone wrong! How are you going to fight that without giving an interview or two?"

"No. It's done Frank."

"Spiderman gives interviews."

"Who?"

Frank cracked open another beer can. "Your problem is you don't realize just how this hero thing works."

Sparky grabbed a handful of fresh coffee beans from the open tin between them. He knew this would be a good time to keep his mouth full.

"Spiderman, Batman, Superman, they all use nicknames to cover up their real identity. You need to do the same thing," Frank looked over across his can. "This magazine is a joke, people read this crap when they have no lives, but with the streak you're on, you're likely to hit a real paper."

"Uh-huh."

"What if you had an alias, a nickname to strike-fear into the hearts of evil-doers."

"Uh-huh."

"You could be Super Goat, or Goat-Man! Or the Incredible Goat!"

"Uh-huh."

"No, I think you're missing the point. We make you into a larger than life character and people will think you're a superhero. Next thing you know, you get to be taller and smarter. It comes with the territory," Frank tilted his head back and started guzzling the beer.

"Frank."

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to be a superhero. I don't want to be Goat Man. I'm not a man, I'm a goat."

"You're not soaking this in. By the time you're through liberating the entire countryside, you'll be the biggest star there ever was from a humble farm."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"The only one that wasn't human!"

Sparky could see that Frank was only going further into his drunken bliss. The goat smiled and returned his eyes to the road. He wanted to know about the lab. He wanted his family.

"An alias will protect you. When it's all over people won't remember Sparky, they'll only think back to the Barn Avenger!"

"I don't know." Sparky hesitated to label his deeds, although he agreed that it would be best to have a way out when this was all over. "No one will be looking for me when this is all over?"

"No one's going to care! You'll just be a legend."

"Are you sure?"

"Totally sure! Surer than sure!"

"No interviews though."

"Fine," Frank turned to the window, "no interviews."

Sparky chewed more beans. He hadn't meant to do anything more than what was right. He wouldn't simply give in to the dog's drunken whim and go public as a superhero, but maybe there was something to having an alias.

"I think it's a bad idea."

"No, come on, I'll send out a letter. We'll even say that you're just some guy in a suit to completely throw everyone off."

"Will they believe that?"

"Let me see," Frank held up the paper, "blurry tabloid photos from cheap moving company outlet, or written explanation stating you're a real live man in a suit doing good honest work."

"I'm still not sure. This could seriously cause more trouble."

"Nah, I've got a good feeling about this," Frank polished off the next can; he was now down to only one left from his pack of six. He pulled the last can free from the plastic rings. "We need more beer."

"No, I think you'll be fine."

"Six is hardly enough."

"You know by my guess we'll be in Montreal in one more day."

"Yeah, yeah," Frank said. "So whaddaya think? Super Goat?"

"Frank, I don't need anything fancy. If we're going to do this, let's keep it simple."

"What are you thinking?"

"Just, 'The Goat' is fine, really."

Chapter 49

"Damn," Basil was trying to dial out on his phone, but kept getting a no service message. "Damn, damn." He had left behind the local deputies who were further investigating the scene for clues. Although he was certain they would find nothing, he didn't want to miss a call. Basil needed to call the central office and see what they had. Until then he would point eastward and drive. The detective's gut feeling pulled him that way. Despite solid leads, his mission was to locate the were-goat, and that is exactly what he planned to do.

He tried the phone again, no service.

Off the highway ahead stood a small sign advertising gas and food at a convenience store. He checked his gauges; he could use some fuel, and borrow a payphone. News could be breaking at just this moment. He might need backup. No, Basil told himself, I can take him.

Basil pulled up to the station. He climbed out and fiddled in his pocket for change but came up empty. He pulled out a bill and went inside to the cashier.

"Howdy, you doing alright tonight, aye?"

"Yeah, yeah, where's your payphone?"

"Out there, you see that little blue light?"

"Yeah, okay, can I get some change?" Basil dropped the bill on the counter. As his coat opened the man caught a flash of his gun.

"Is this a stickup, aye?"

"No, it's not. I'm a special agent with the CBI," Basil flashed the man his brass.

The man behind the counter squinted to make out the text. "You're a long way's from home, aye."

"Yeah, and my phone doesn't work. Can you just get me some change?"

The cashier popped the drawer. Basil nodded and walked outside to the little blue light. He pulled his coat tight as he picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"This is Detective Basil Lain, who's running watch?"

"Detective Lain? Hold please."

Basil tapped his foot impatiently. On silent hold. Must be in trouble. He hadn't expected that he would be greeted by such a sudden shut out. He was prepared to be yelled at.

"Basil?"

"Tony?" The detective could hardly recognize the man's voice through the static. From the look of the hardware, the phone booth was barely still standing.

"Basil, the captain's been told to back off about the goat man thing. He said it's no longer you case, he wants you to come back in."

"What?"

"He thinks you're getting too personally involved, he wants you back here. The case is being reassigned. He is working on something else for you." Tony sounded very cold.

"Reassigned? What? Every minute the were-goat is getting further away! What did I do, come on! This goat case is going to vindicate me for that botched investigation on those exploding puppies."

"Basil, that was a long time ago, you don't need to be concerned. The captain is handing this off to Rogers. You'll have a new assignment tomorrow."

"Tony, I'm right on his tail. I'll have this goat by morning. You know Rogers couldn't track his own bubble butt from his desk to the donuts."

"Captain's order's Basil, you don't want to get suspended again. It's just as easy as driving back in, whether or not you think Rogers is the man for the job."

"I've had you guys rag on me for two days about this and now someone else is going to get the collar? No way, I'm not giving him up."

The phone broke up; Tony's monotone voice was replaced by the stern voice of the commanding officer. "Detective, you have no choice in this matter. I got a very startling call from the local sheriff out in Deneda. They said you were totally unprofessional. I don't know what kind of relationship you keep with goats when you're off duty, but the CBI is a professional organization. Now that it's gone to the press, we have to keep a low profile. I think you're just not the man for the job."

"I'm surprised you understood that yokel from Denada."

A cold breeze gusted through the station. Basil stared at his unmarked car, it called to him. The captain took in a deep breath; Basil prepared himself for the shouting.

Surprisingly, the captain remained calm. "Detective, you can be here tomorrow or you can pick up the classifieds tonight. I will not have another embarrassment in my department."

The line went dead. The receiver was still propped to Basil's head. He stood there for a minute weighing the options; recognizing that the probability of catching and finding a true were-goat was rather low. It was a man in a suit, or some deformed criminal. It had to be. Was this worth his job? it wasn't an easy decision, could everyone else be right? Could he be wrong?

The deliberation led him to succumb to orders. Basil retreated to his car. The gas pump had cut off early only dropping in a couple of liters. Basil ignored the machine's error and hung up those hose, defeated. He dragged his feet as he entered the station.

"Just the gas, aye?" The attendant asked as basil approached the counter. He was an older man with a short fluffy grey and black beard.

"Yeah," he set his funds on the counter with his head drooped. Below him he noted the selection of candies. To his left were all the magazines, to his right the tabloids and papers.

The photo on the cover of the National News Poster grabbed his attention. He lifted the paper and stared at the captured image, saddened further. The captain probably thought it was him that leaked the photo.

"Dang thing's real you know, aye."

"What makes you say that?" Basil flipped the paper open to the fold out, which contained more photos, all just a blurry as the video, highlighted and circled. Experts had been consulted and were quoted saying the beast was the great find of our time.

"He's a drinker, too. Think he left about twenty minutes ago."

"Who, this man?" Basil dropped the paper on the counter, pointing to the image of the were-goat bonking the man at his computer in Larry's.

"That's no man. Freaky looking hands. He was wearing a mask, aye."

"Are you sure?"

"Unless Michael Jackson moved in nearby, I'd say yeah, aye."

Basil didn't grab his change. He spun from the counter and made like a wolf to the car. With a grimace on his face he turned the key, and peeled out from the gas station.

Chapter 50

"Seventy-four, hic, seventy, seventy-four, oh god," Frank had been singing a rather childish song Sparky had not heard before. It had contained the same verse starting with ninety-nine and counting down to seventy-four bottles of beer. Frank looked like he was finally too sick to continue.

"Seventy-four bottles of, oh no," Frank tried to stick his head out the window and crashed into it instead.

"Are you okay?"

"Open the window," he put his paws to his mouth. "Pull over!"

The truck skidded to a halt. Sparky leaned across and opened the door for the dog. Frank started vomiting right away, his head just barely clear of the truck.

Sparky jumped out of the cab of the pick-up, disgusted by the sight. He grabbed his coat, wrapping it tightly to shield out the cold night air.

"Don't ask me to buy any more beer if this is what you plan to do with it."

Frank tried to lift his head to respond, but could not. The venomous drinks were still overflowing from his system.

Sparky kicked at a rock on the roadside. He started humming, trying to cover the sounds of his friend.

"Are you done yet?"

"Yeah," Frank groaned.

Sparky turned back to the truck.

"No!" Frank once again started spilling more of the poisons onto the roadside.

Sparky took a few more steps down the road, still humming his tune.

He looked up to the night sky. It had been too long since he had been able to just sit and look upon it. His thoughts turn to the farm, lying in the grass at night with his Princess. Together they would just roll on the hillside. No worries, no fears.

He closed his eyes and was there by her side. He wrapped his arms around her tightly. Living in her warm embrace, feeling the soft tuft of her cheek, all of her sweet smells, spinning together in the grass, waiting for the moon to rise.

Sparky opened his eyes and he lowered his head. No moon tonight. He kicked another stone, resuming his hum.

"I think I'm done!" Frank waddled from around the side of the truck. "I think I could use a napkin and something to clean my teeth."

"A toothbrush?"

"Nah, some steak or something, I don't want them that clean," his red eyes traveled up to the sullen goat.

Sparky thought back to the time he had been on his journey without Frank. The loneliness. The scene tonight reminded him of when he found the mangy mutt. That night was not much different than how they were now, except for Frank's illness. Sparky stood over Frank. Despite the terrible smell, the goat was able to muster a smile at his sickly companion. Frank looked up at him with a swollen expression.

Suddenly there were the glaring headlights of a passing car followed by the squealing of its brakes.

Sparky was jolted from his reverie. The car pulled in, directly in front of his truck. The driver climbed out of the car and slammed the door closed. They were standing in the red glow of the pickups tail lights.

"Sparky?" The shadowed figure called out.

It was too dark to see a face. Sparky waved Frank away. Frank looked at his companion strangely at first and then circled behind the truck to avoid being seen.

"Is that you?" The man stepped closer.

Sparky thought over his contact with people, who he had seen, met, spoke with, given his name. It wasn't in the tabloids, the kids at the shop never heard it. There was Gus, and there was Fat Jack. He caught the flicker of metal in the man's hand, a weapon. Fat Jack.

"You caused me a ton a problems, goat."

Sparky retreated another step.

"Fat Jack?"

"What?" Basil was taken aback, he hadn't heard that name mentioned before. He thought through his files, nothing came to mind.

"Who?" Basil stepped level with the rear of stolen truck, the red glow exposing his face. The man's hard eyes were framed by a thick five o'clock shadow.

Sparky looked him over. Maybe Fat Jack was connected? The criminal must have sent this man to kill him. Another homeless employee; like he had been. Sparky's eyes sharpened around the shadow of Frank sneaking up behind the stranger.

"Who are you?" Sparky asked.

Basil could easily see that the creature in front of him was much more goat than human, but it stood upright casually. His horns sticking from his head, his body loosely wrapped in a dark overcoat. Surprise filled him, he had expected to be right, but this was beyond his own imagination.

"I'm a special agent with the Canadian Bureau of Investigation. Basil Lain. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Frank was close behind the agent, within striking distance.

"What's with the gun?" Sparky asked.

"This is standard, but I shouldn't need this with you, right?"

"Standard?" Sparky chuckled. He looked down to Frank who still was prepared to strike, but he wasn't moving. "Well I don't carry one, I think they're brutal. I would rather have something like an attack dog."

Frank still didn't spring.

"Yeah, I heard about you adopting a pet," Basil chuckled. "If you're ready, we can go."

"You're going to let me leave?"

"You are coming with me. I'll take you where we need to go."

"Look, I'm kind of in a hurry." Sparky took a step forward, unwilling to wait any longer for Frank. "I need to find some people."

"You can tell me all about Reilly when we get back to the office. We'll search for your friends together. I'm sure it will be our first priority,"

With every word Sparky became more certain Basil was only going to hurt him. The goat refused to be fooled.

"No, I'd rather take my own car."

"It's not yours, Sparky, it's stolen."

Sparky took another step in. Basil raised the gun. "Don't do it."

Basil cocked the hammer. Sparky held still, he again looked to Frank; it appeared he was moving again, but Sparky couldn't tell what he was doing.

"Can't we work this out another way?"

"No," Basil was hesitant; he hadn't wanted to be enemies with the were-goat. His mind moved beyond the arrest, Basil started working through the marketing potential. "But I promise to give you every comfort I can." Basil wouldn't surrender to the animal's whims. He was in control. He had the gun.

Frank had been trying to seize an opportunity to attack the stranger, but he had gotten caught up in a battle with another enemy. His stomach. His belly had again turned on him with a vengeance, and sneaking past his own pile of vomit had done nothing to help the situation. He was crouched not a foot away, trying to get the balance he needed to spring on the man. He gathered his wits and made his move.

Frank leapt from his hiding spot, completely missing his mark. He collided head first with Basil's right leg, and immediately his stomach gave up. Frank spilled another load upon the detective's polished shoes. Basil turned and pointed the gun at Frank.

"You sick bastard!"

Basil fired, Frank screamed.

Sparky clobbered Basil, tackling him to the ground and raking Basil's face across the gravel. Basil rolled over and vaulted Sparky into the truck. The man scurried in the darkness, searching madly for his gun. His hands slid under the truck, Basil knew it was close.

"Are you looking for something?" Sparky asked.

Basil looked up from the ground. Sparky's face was dark; the guns in the goats hand shimmered in the red glow of the taillight.

Chapter 51

Sparky had wrapped the wounded dog in Basil's coat. The two now raced down the highway in the detective's sedan.

"I can't believe that he shot you." Sparky split his attention between his injured companion and he road. The dog's need for medical attention was unclear.

"You can't? You want to see the wound again?" Frank stuttered as he spoke. "I'm cold, I'm so cold."

Sparky looked over, "Then put your head back in the window."

"It's not as much fun! These electric windows are so easy to use!" The dog's face and paws were perched in the open window.

"You don't sound like you're in a lot of pain."

"Shall I shoot you? We should have plenty of bullets left," Frank pulled the gun up from the floor of the car with his clumsy paws then pointed it Sparky. "Bang!"

"That's not funny, Frank," he pushed the gun down with his hoof. "Where did you put my coffee?"

"I thought you got it?"

"You forgot the coffee?" Sparky bit at his upper lip. "Now we need gauze and coffee."

"Maybe you should have checked that guy for money, what was his name?"

"Basil something. He said he was a detective, he wanted to take me in."

"I thought you said he worked for that one guy you beat up?" Frank's eyes strayed to the back seat; there sat a small, black and neatly sealed duffle bag.

"I can't be sure of any of these people." Sparky confirmed he was driving at a legal pace as they passed a sign. "I don't trust him. He could work for Fat Jack, he could be a detective."

"He could be animal control."

"What?" Sparky asked. The roaring wind had obscured the dog's word.

"Never mind. It's hard for me to guess. People love to get revenge. It's their favorite thing besides Christmas," Frank settled back into his seat and pulled off his coat, "Hey, I think I stopped bleeding!"

There no blood in the stolen coat or on the scratch. Between his matted fur there was a scrape where the bullet has passed over his side, braising his skin. It appeared to be a lot smaller wound than what Sparky had remembered.

"You sure did scream a lot about that for as small as it is."

"I still have the gun, you want to feel it?" Frank again put his paw on the pistol sitting between them.

"No, I'm good. You should put that away, I don't want you playing with it."

Frank grabbed the pistol and slid it back under his seat.

"Well at least we don't need to get you to a hospital," Sparky watched as Frank hobbled over the seat into the back of the car. "What are you doing?"

"He's got a bag, it's not like he'll need it."

Sparky watched Frank in the mirror, chuckling as he bumbled with the zipper.

"You think this is hilarious, don't you? Injured dog pawing at the little black bag. Boo hoo hoo!"

Sparky erupted in roaring laughter. His eyes watered as the dog made sour faces at him from the mirror.

"You think my pain is funny?"

"Yes," Sparky said, catching his breath. "I think you are a very funny dog."

Frank raised his paw in anger, saddened that he had no middle finger to complete the gesture. Sparky had already turned his attention back to the road.

Frank grabbed the bag's zipper in his teeth and yanked. The metal clasp yielded. He wriggled it the rest of the way, leveraging his front paws into the opening to brace the bag. He was forced to draw in a breath as he finally spread the flaps open, feeling the strain of his recent wound as he stretched. He made an audible groan, then looked up to see if it had been noticed.

Sparky had his eyes on the road.

Frank went back to Basil's bag. He sorted out the clothes on top, throwing them out onto the seat.

"Don't make a mess." Sparky instructed.

"Why not?"

"Never mind, it's a reflex from having four kids."

"Hey looks like we found something." Frank was sticking his entire face in the bag. "It's a big wad of papers. He's got your pictures and everything!"

"What?" Sparky leaned over to see. Banded together were several folders filled with papers.

"I think this is your police file," Frank pulled the stack. It slipped through his paws. Papers spilled out all over the rear of the car.

"That confirms the detective story. Don't ruin it, I want to know what they have on me. Is there any money in there?"

"No. What happened to the rest of that cash you had? We had plenty when you stopped for beer."

"I thought so, too. It must have fallen out of my coat when I was wrestling with Basil."

"Definitely no cash in here."

"Great, and this car is going to need gas soon," the goat looked down at the needle. It was hovering just above the little red E on the indicator.

"He's got more bullets in here. He must have figured you were a werewolf or something," he kept pawing through the bag, leaving the scattered papers where they were.

"Hey, are you going to clean up those papers? I don't want them getting torn up."

"Sure, Dad, let me get right on that with my opposable thumbs," Frank turned to him and sneered. "Do you know how hard it is to pick up paper?"

Sparky didn't answer. His mind was more focused on the fact that they were out of money.

"Maybe we should just get some sleep and try and figure something out tomorrow. We have been pushing hard." the Frank offered.

"We're almost there Frank, we can't stop now."

"Just for a bit until we find some way to get the money together. We need to make sure that goof doesn't find us."

"It's going to take him a while to catch us."

As he spoke the light on the dashboard came on reinforcing their need to refuel. Sparky's stomach bubbled at him angrily; he remembered that other than coffee he had not eaten anything in some time. And despite the coffee he had been consuming, he was still getting tired. He would be no good finding his family too tired to rescue them.

"Okay, we find a place to stop."

Chapter 52

"Good job, Valerie."

Reilly's sour voice stung her ears. She had prayed for a merciful or unmerciful death to befall him at the hands of their employer, the doctor. It was not the scene she expected when she entered the facility; his wide yellowed teeth grin.

The lady flipped her hair. It was not worth it to give him a vocal response. She had had the doctor's word that she wouldn't have to deal with Reilly again. Valerie turned her attention to the more important matter of the large goat-filled cage.

"You look surprised to see me." Reilly was bouncing on his toes staring down at the dark-haired woman. "Dr. Fudge sends his regards. I wanted to of course thank you for personally delivering the animals to me on time."

"What's all this about?" She was red in the cheeks.

"He wants me working this end of it now. I guess he's gotten tied up in another project. He sincerely apologizes. But I promised I'd break it to you gently."

"I can't believe this." Valerie scurried away, not all that dissatisfied to be free of managing the stinky beasts for the time being.

Reilly studied the goats all together in the giant pen that had been constructed for them while they were en route. He was satisfied to see the animals in their place; trapped in a cage, spirits broken. It was all he could do not to uncork on the champagne.

"Alright guys, we need to sort these goats out. Males need to be put in the single cages; the females and kids are going two to a cage."

"Are we doing this by hand?" one of the men asked.

"We're not just doing this by hand but anyone caught hurting these fine animals will be thrown in a cage themselves," Reilly lifted his left arm. "These are special orders coming straight down from the top." His left arm swung across clapping his right hand. "And we're going to get this done right."

Valerie watched them from across the room, seated on a loose crate, cigarette in hand. What was the doctor thinking? She shuddered for a moment wondering if he had discovered her double cross. She couldn't wait for the sun to rise. She needed to put the nail in the coffin now. If Fudge knew what she was up to she'd be dead by morning, unless she had leverage. She took another drag off of her cigarette and hopped off the crate.

"Knock it off!" Reilly interrupted one of the men who had just been kicked in the shins a few times by one of the larger stags. The man had turned around and was running after the goat with a thirst for revenge. "You don't want to live in a cage!"

One by one, or two by two, they were being sorted. Reilly paced along the giant pen towards the gate the workers were passing through to load the cages. A second group of men were moving the small cages into place for the animals and hauling them off when loaded.

He came around and stepped up to the next one to go, recognizing the goat that was just tossed in. Oreo slammed his hooves into the side of the cage when he spotted Reilly, foam brimming from his lips. Reilly didn't flinch.

"I'm having the time of my life, did you know that?" Reilly's grin ran ear to ear.

"Why don't you come in here and see just how much fun you can have!" Oreo screamed.

It was the first time one of the goats had spoken to him directly. Reilly was a little surprised that the creature had chosen to do so now.

"You know what's really great? Everything in here is on camera!" He pointed to the ceiling, showing off row after row of suspended cameras.

Oreo jumped down from the cage, biting back his rage to act as normal as possible.

Reilly kicked at his cage. "I knew you were a coward."

Oreo again launched his body at the cage, clamoring his hooves against the side. "Let me out of here, I'll show you the coward!"

Two men came to move the cage. The first man double-checked the lock on the gate, while the second positioned a dolly under the cage. Together they started wheeling off the violent Oreo amid his continued yelling.

"If you harm any one of my friends, I will tear your head off!"

Reilly didn't respond, he just crossed his arms, reflecting on his success thus far.

~~~~~~

Through the system of cameras the glum doctor watched. He caught the goat's explosion and Reilly's smug expression. He pressed a key on the laptop before him and the scene changed. Valerie Goldman was sitting with a cross look on her face and a phone in her hand. His own cell began to vibrate, the silver display illuminated "V.G."

"Yes, Valerie?"

"What are you doing putting that monster in charge! I'm the one that got them here, I've already had to save his ass more than once. I demand you get him out!"

"Valerie?"

She huffed into the phone, shaking her fist to the cameras above.

"Now, now. Is that really necessary?"

"Why is he here, Fudge? You promised I was done with him."

And you will be. "Things like these take time to fruit, Valerie. You must be patient. You must understand that Reilly is a big name in the news right now. His face is being thrown around everywhere. I had to put him out of the way."

"Why here? What about those dump jobs you've got out west?"

"Now Valerie, have I let you down before?"

"I'm sorry. He sets me off."

"I don't keep easy companions. Yourself included. I do however expect patience from my loyal employees."

"Are you questioning me now?"

"Now why would I have any reason to question you?"

She held herself. Valerie could tell she was being read. "What do you want me to do?"

"Just sit tight, I will be back shortly. Unfortunately I got called away, it seems that Joaquin wanted to go over some things with me that couldn't wait until morning. I'm guessing it has something to do with those reports I had you submit to him last week."

Her fingers tapped at the crate, abruptly she pulled them back. "I will wait for you to return."

"Stay close to Reilly, as well, just to be safe."

"Of course," her hair flew with the stroke of her neck.

Chapter 53

Basil huddled shivering in the cab of the abandoned pick-up. He had been dumped naked in the woods tied to the steering wheel. But now he was loose. His rubbed at his chaffed wrists in turn. Despite the goat's lack of skill with knots, it had taken some time to work free.

The cabin had been cleaned out except for a nasty straw hat. It had an indiscernible smell that tore at his nose.

Sitting in the cold morning air, his feet dangling from the edge of the cab, he dreamed up extraordinary suits. Custom cut to his frame, pressed and neat, very warm, and financed by his were-goat fortune.

It was just before sunrise now and the night was at its coldest. He would have to venture out in the near freezing air. He would have to get past the trees and the brush and find his way to the road. But he refused to let the goat get further away.

His mind turned to scheming how to explain this to the captain. Of course the attack was completely unprovoked. He had been hijacked, overwhelmed. He could figure out details later when it was time to get to the office. His clothes, his car, his phone and his files were gone. He must catch the goat. It was his personal vendetta now.

Basil looked outside, spotting the sky lighting with color. The rising sun would warm the air some, but hardly enough to be comfortable.

"Damn."

He lowered his foot to the ground. It was soaked with dew. His toes retreated reflexively from the almost frozen soil.

"Damn."

Bravely he dropped his feet to the ground and grabbed the straw hat. He held it over himself, covering his crotch against the loose limbs he would most certainly walk through. It was bad enough to be naked and cold, the detective did not want to add injury to insult. "Damn."

Every twig and branch snapped him in the rear, some more painfully than others. He brushed his hand over to check for blood every few steps. He found it best to bite his lower lip as he went. Edging through the trees, he found his way to the road; morning traffic already moving. He stopped to survey it, shaking involuntarily in the cold.

"Damn."

It was a good walk back to Denada, and he didn't know at all how far the next city would be. Basil crept down to the edge of the tree line, cautiously. He took another moment to curse the goat for his predicament and for the cold wind that was now circling beneath his straw covering.

"Damn."

Basil spotted a small car coming down the way, its lights piercing through the morning fog. He jotted down to the road quickly, holding the hat in place. He stepped to the edge of the road and started waving with his free hand. The car drove past.

"Thanks for nothing!"

He squinted to better pierce the gray coating of moisture in the air. His ears perked up to another rumbling; he tilted his neck searching for a car. But it was not a car; it was a breeze rustling the trees. The naked man quickly curled himself over to protect against the element.

"Damn."

Through the breeze he caught another sound. He gripped the hat firmly and started waving his free arm wide and screaming "Help, help!"

This car not only drove past, but upon seeing him had sped up.

Basil heard the air building up for another breeze. He tried to protect himself but it was no use. A tear formed in his eye and in the chill dawn he started to weep. "Damn goat!" His sound echoed in the trees.

He remained hobbled over as a third set of lights pierced the fog. The detective righted himself and tried to wave his arm, but he was too cold. Despite his lack of effort, the third car pulled over just past him. Through the fog he heard the door open. A man with a wide brimmed hat stepped free and called to him.

Basil couldn't make out the words, but hurried over bracing the straw protection firmly against his frozen genitals. As the distance closed, his eyes fixed on the man's face.

Sheriff Jeb looked over at the naked detective, spilling his laughter. Through his riot he pointed to the man and said something, but Basil couldn't make it out.

He tilted his head back to curse the goat again, but he was too cold to say anything. Straining himself, shivering at the roadside, Basil looked squarely at the sheriff. His lips formed up and his lungs compressed.

"Damn."

Chapter 54

Frank rolled about in the hay, still very much asleep. Sparky watched as he stirred, having been awake since just after sunrise. He had only slept a short while but felt very refreshed. The two had found refuge in a barn after hiding Basil's car in some bushes. The barn had been full of sheep, which were good company for them. Sparky knew it was time to go, but without gas or money, they were stranded. Meanwhile his loved ones could be on a table in a lab somewhere being dissected. Sparky shuddered.

One of the ewes wandered over to him and he stroked her neck gently. "There, there," he whispered. "They're going to be fine."

She nudged at his cheek, forcing him to smile. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "I'm not here for a date."

The ewe trotted away.

"Hey, you'll make someone very happy I'm sure!"

Sparky settled back down, realizing that the sheep was more likely startled with his words than upset at his rejecting her. He missed Princess more than ever. He looked over and saw Frank flopped on his back, eyes wide open.

"I won't tell."

"It's not like that, I have a very fine lady that is waiting for me," he caught himself before going further on the defensive. "Do you plan on sleeping all day?"

"We agreed to take a break, and unless you found us some money," Frank rolled away into the straw away from the goat. He bumped into one of the resting sheep.

"Hey baby, wanna cross breed?" he put his paw on her. The ewe jumped up and bounced away.

"That's just sick."

"You were doing the same thing not a minute ago." He made a smooching sound and threw the imaginary kiss the ewe's way. "They dig me."

Sparky looked to the ewe, expressing his apologies. She didn't take notice. "Does this mean you are going to get up and help me think of a plan?"

Frank stayed on his back with his paws up in the air. He stretched and yawned at the same time. "No, not without some breakfast at least."

"No money means no gas. It also means..."

"Um, don't tell me, I know this."

"No food."

"Are you sure we're out of cash? You didn't eat it, right?"

"We spent some of it on coffee, gas and beer. I know the rest was in my coat. I've been over the car already before we came up here last night. Nothing."

"You want to go check out the farmhouse? Maybe they have some money we can borrow," Frank climbed up on all fours and rolled his head from side to side. "Bet they are loaded. Sheep's big business, it's bigger than that Teflon stuff."

"I'm no thief."

"You took that one guy's wallet, and last night we stole a cop's car, clothes, and his wallet. And you stole that paper."

"You stole that paper."

"You get the idea, save the long speeches for the judge. The point isn't who stole what, or if stealing is wrong. The point is rescuing your family."

"Frank, I took from bad people. I know it's still wrong, but I, I, I am not going to just steal from someone who didn't wrong me."

"Ah, you are such a noble creature, but you'll be singing a different tune in a few hours, goat. There is no honest job you can get, people control the money, you can con them or you can rob them, but you sure can't ask them for help."

Sparky stood up tall and crossed his arms, realizing Frank was right. They were out of options. He didn't want to lower himself any further than he had had to already, but there was no point in coming this far to let his family rot on a moral obligation to a different species.

"I'll help you."

The voice was one step over a whisper. Hiding behind the crack in the barn door was a teenage girl. She had long blond hair streaked with pink highlights.

Sparky fell on all fours.

"Mahh."

The girl slid the door shut behind her as she entered and stepped over to the goat.

"I know who you are. I've read the paper. You're from space, aren't you?"

"Mahh."

"If you want the moral road Sparky, there it is," Frank said.

Sparky was filled with disbelief at the dog's betrayal. She turned to Frank and petted his head gently.

"Aww, aren't you cute."

She was speaking in the baby voice Frank knew all too well. Sparky turned and walked among the sheep. Frank was blowing their cover, risking everything. The police would come and haul them away. He dropped to the ground and sat stewing in his anger. Behind him he could hear Frank's flapping tongue.

The girl rubbed Frank's ears.

"That feels so good. What's your name, lady?"

"Sherry."

The idea of talking animals had left Sherry's imagination long ago. At seventeen she would not have believed it plausible. That it was directly in front of her left her without a choice, she could not deny it. The treat lit up the girl inside.

"You know where I really like to be rubbed, Sherry?" Frank rolled to his back.

Sparky stood and looked at the lady. "Knock it off, mongrel. Look please, just don't tell anyone you saw us. We'll get out of here."

Sparky aimed for the door, waving for Frank.

"I insist you stay. I can give you some help." she stood and blocked his path, her eyes level with Sparky's. "I heard you say you needed some."

Sparky spent a moment reminding himself how many times he had had problems dealing with people. His review of Frank showed that the mutt had already given his trust. The girls round eyes held sincerity that he remembered only from the farm.

He extended his hoof.

"Sparky."

Without a hesitation the young woman grabbed his hoof and shook it.

"A pleasure."

Chapter 55

Sparky was sitting at a bar stool in her kitchen. The spacious room was decorated with many fine things. Overhead, pots and pans hung from a rack. The silver refrigerator was littered with photographs; he recognized Sherry in some of them. Tying the space together was a quaint floral wallpaper.

"Your parents leave you alone out here?"

"They are just gone for a few days, it's their anniversary," Sherry was standing on the other side of the counter, Frank sniffing at her feet. "Can I help you?"

"You smell so nice," the dog nuzzled his snout into her pant leg, scratching it against the denim. Sherry raised an eyebrow and looked over to Sparky.

"Before you ask, yes he is always like this."

"Did you want to shower? Shave? Maybe eat some breakfast?"

"No. No. Yes."

"Shower?" Sparky asked. "Indoors?"

"Sure, yeah, the bathroom is upstairs at end of the hall. Towels are in the closet on the right just before you go in."

Sherry was buried in the fridge. Sparky hopped down from his seat and pointed toward the visible set of stairs.

"There?"

"Yup."

The stairs were covered with pictures. Just as many with Sherry as without. The hallway above was the same, a shrine to the family and their friends. He rounded a bend at the top of the stairs, nearly clipping the wall, and found himself in the bathroom. It was luxurious just like the kitchen; high ceilings, marble counters, silver faucets.

Sparky tested the shower stall, opening and closing the door. The elaborate handles inside were hooves and the shower head was in the shape of a cow. Sparky climbed in and turned on the water.

Downstairs, Sherry was still digging through the fridge.

"I could make you some bacon or sausage."

"Both would be nice. Do you have any pig?"

Sherry pulled the packaged meat from the drawer and looked over at the dog, nodding.

A loud scream peeled through the air. Sherry dropped the meats and ran upstairs. Sparky was standing outside the shower wrapped in his arms. Water was dripping from his fur as he shivered.

"Are you okay?"

"You like your water that cold?" The goat turned and pointed to the shower. "It's a damn torture chamber."

Sherry reached into the shower, adjusting the knobs.

"You just have to set it where you want it, it's better to do that before you get in."

Sparky cautiously stepped into the shower and relaxed when he felt the warmth of the water.

"Much better."

"I'll put an extra towel on the counter for you."

Frank was sitting in the middle of the kitchen, awaiting Sherry's return.

"Did he burn himself?"

"Too cold." She picked the dropped meats from the ground. "Does Sparky eat meat?"

"Nah, he's a total vegetarian. He loves hash browns and pizza though." The dog trotted out of the kitchen and into the large living room. "You got cable out here?"

"What?" She had just tossed the dog's choice meats into the skillet and the sizzling masked the distant question.

Frank settled into the couch. He dug at the remote with his paws. The TV sprang to life and was instantly back off. He pressed the button again more carefully and succeeded in turning the set on. Slouched back in the cushions of the couch, he started surfing for entertainment.

Sherry was still busy sorting through the pantry. Her goat guest was a hard one to pick a meal for. She doubled back to the freezer and moved the contents side to side. Buried in the back she discovered a package of freezer burned whole-wheat waffles.

She smiled contently and proceeded to toast all four of them.

Sparky emerged from the shower, refreshed like never before. He wrapped one towel around his waist and tossed the other around his shoulders. He inspected his hazy image in the fogged mirror. He extended out the towel and wiped clear a small circle, staring at his head in the reflection.

He stuck out his tongue and then pulled it back, giggling. Out of curiosity the animal peeked into the drawers. Not sure what most things were used for, he did recognize a brush he found. Sparky pulled it through the hair on top of his scalp. He smoothed over his fur and then surveyed the look in the mirror. He toweled himself a little more making sure to get the thicker patches of hair.

Seeing his image he lit up with delight.

Investigating further into the cabinets led to the discovery of an array of ties and clips. One striking barrette had a little green butterfly on it. The goat tested it in his hair but thought better of it.

He jostled his hair again to strike down appearing too formal. With the towel still wrapped around his waist he moseyed back downstairs, the smell of meat strong in the air.

Frank was still shopping for a channel in the living room, finding nothing appealing. He barked something about breakfast to Sherry, but again she couldn't hear him. She slid a plate of waffles onto the counter as the Sparky emerged from the stairs.

She looked at him nervously.

"Frank said you were vegan, I hope waffles are okay."

"Yeah, yeah." He had never eaten a waffle.

"Frank, breakfast!"

He slid into the room as she dumped the food on a plate in a giant heap. The dog looked up to the counter and then at the bar stool. Sherry quickly pulled the plate down and set it on the floor.

Sparky thoroughly enjoyed the waffles, especially when garnished with syrup. Over the course of his meal, he answered many of the Sherry's questions about what she read, and filled in the spaces of their journey so far. She was not surprised to hear that much of the tabloid's printing was exacerbated.

"And so we are out of cash, out of gas and found your barn a safe place to camp for the night," he polished off the last bite.

Sherry was leaning on her hands across the counter.

"I've got some," she said plainly. "But I don't think driving in a stolen car is good, the police will be looking for it. We should take my car. I'll drive!"

Chapter 56

The metal cuffs grated sharply into Basil's wrists. He had been planted by the sheriff some time ago; left to sweat in a supply closet with two folding chairs and a card table in the middle. He read the names of the spray bottles on the bottom shelf for the sixth time. It occurred to him that he hadn't cleaned his oven. He would need to get right on that, when he got back home.

The door opened. The officer that entered was dressed in a gray suit.

"Damn it, I'm a cop! You can't hold me here! I know my rights! I want an attorney and my phone call and," Basil strained, "and some coffee!"

The man turned to face him directly with a bewildered look on his face. Basil looked over the man's suit and realized it was a one-piece jumpsuit. On his chest was a white name tag. On that name tag, written very neatly in cursive, was his name. Gene. In smaller straight text was stitched "Janitor."

Gene smiled nervously. He reached over and grabbed a roll of work towels and a bottle of window cleaner. He spun about and walked out, the door sealing itself.

Basil struggled with his cuffs in the chair. The chair was flimsy and flopped over with him chained to it. The metal folded about his hands and pinched his skin. As he righted himself he fell against the wall. The blanket that he'd been covered with fell aside, exposing him to the cold chill of the room.

"Damn it, somebody help me!"

No one came.

He remained prone another minute before trying to correct his position a second time. At first he slid back, but the chair hit the wall and one if its legs jabbed the back of his thigh. Basil then tried sliding forward and lifting himself up, but lost his balance and fell against the shelves holding the cleaning supplies.

He had collided against a bottle of household bleach, it was teetering against his shoulder. Slowly he lifted himself and pushed the bottle back in on the shelf.

He sighed with relief.

Basil slid away from the cabinet and carefully tried to pull himself to his feet. Slowly he climbed to his knees. He steadied himself on them with pride and extended his left leg out, cautious not to fall. The wary man then lifted himself to his feet and if not for the attached chair would have jumped for joy.

In that moment the sheriff swung open the storage room door and the handle decisively struck the naked Basil in his exposed genitals. He went fetal on the floor.

"Fxn ta scape?, Lwlif zity poe-leece," the man grumbled averting his eyes from the fallen naked man.

"Getzup! No firk'en pride."

The sheriff unlocked the handcuffs, keeping his eyes glued to the ceiling.

Basil seized the blanket from the floor and wrapped it around himself. He proudly stood, happy to finally be off the floor. The sheriff raised an eyebrow at him.

"Youza ain'tz gettun fun-nee iz yaz?"

"I really am not in the mood."

"Wellz, dun't cum fer meez if ya iz!"

Jeb walked out, Basil followed.

In the main office of the police station, the face of the building was all glass, and conveniently placed in the center of the small town. Locals were looking in, gawking at Basil in only a blanket. A few chuckled. Basil returned their amusement with a harsh glare.

"We got word from Winnipeg. CBI office there says you're clear, but they advised us you are on orders to come back in," Deputy Darrell informed him, handing over some clothes. "We tried to guess your size, but these are all donations."

"Well, can we at least get my car back? I can't get back to the city without it. Should be easy, it's lo-jacked."

The sheriff nodded. "Ray, getzum in tha harn an letzum knowz weza gettun beck da mens cah."

The detective grumbled, looking over the faded pants and pink shirt with stains on it. He could hardly believe he was still being ordered to return home. It didn't matter, he was getting his goat.

Chapter 57

"I realize the irony in this, but this is no place for a human to get involved. I appreciate the offer, but I'm not taking your car."

"You have to let me come, I want to help you."

"Sherry, your parents would want you home safe. As a father I can preach for the pain of not having your kids around."

"I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"I'm not letting you come with us."

"She does have a point about the car, goat! Ours is rigged!" Frank yelled from the other room.

Sparky left his spot at the counter and walked into the living room. Frank was still stretched out on the leather sofa, watching an old black and white movie.

"You know I don't feel colorblind when I watch these, do you know how liberating that is?"

"What do you mean about the car being rigged?"

"Oh, it's got one of those anti-theft things. I don't remember what they call them, but they make a terrible sound. It's bothered me since we switched cars."

"Why didn't you say something before?"

"I did."

"No you didn't."

Frank turned and looked at the goat, his eyes were glossed over. "You know what, you're right, I didn't. Sorry about that."

"I've got to get that car cleaned out."

"Let me help you, where is it?"

Sparky was trapped in thought about being captured by the police; two narrow escapes had been enough. "By the roadside. In the brush, near your driveway."

"Let's get it cleaned out."

Frank rolled over and looked at Sherry, "Do you have any more of that meat? It was so good."

"Not now Frank, we need to clean out the car."

"We this, we that, I swear, we are still hungry."

Sherry and Sparky headed outside, she handed him a coat at the door. The two quickly jogged down the hill to the stolen car.

"Where is it?" Sherry asked.

It was nowhere to be seen.

"I drove off over here, into this bank, see the bushes," he pointed over. The two went to where he advised, but the car was not there. "Oh no."

He took a few more steps. Over the edge of a small ravine he could see the back end of the car sticking out of the foliage.

"I think you forgot the parking brake."

"The what?" Sparky put his face in his hoof. "They really should come with instruction manuals."

"They do."

"Oh."

Sparky looked down the embankment. Although it was deep, it wasn't too steep. He vigilantly climbed down the hill and marched over the brambles the car was stuck in.

"Need some help?" Sherry called down.

"No, stay there, I can get it."

He quickly raided the front of the car; collecting Basil's bag and the scattered files. He tossed his disguise into the bag. He passed over the gun on the floor in the passenger's seat, he despised it. With his coat over his shoulder he placed his new hat atop his horns.

When he emerged Sherry covered her face. Sparky knew she was laughing.

"Nice hat."

"Thanks."

As he reached the top, the young lady extended her arm and pulled him back up, level with herself.

"You don't travel light do you?"

"Most of this isn't mine. It belongs to the detective."

She waved her finger disapprovingly, "Stealing a policeman's car and personal belongings isn't exactly low profile."

"Well neither is having horns and a fluffy tail."

"A goat's gotta do, what a goat's gotta do!"

"Why are you helping me?"

The girl swallowed over a lump in her throat from being put on the spot.

"I don't know. I caught you two in the barn and at first I wasn't sure what to do, but as I sat there watching you, I remembered all the times I wished my stuffed animals could talk." Her voice trailed off, they were almost back up to the house. "This is ten times better."

"I truly appreciate it."

"It's no trouble at all. I still insist you should take my car, even if you won't take me."

"I don't want you to be put out. I can't promise that I will be able to bring it back. I'm making this up as I go."

"Well, you won't make it to Montreal without a ride."

The two walked into the living room. The TV was still playing the black and white film, but Frank was gone.

"Frank?"

"Frank?" Sherry echoed.

They both listened quietly, frozen in the doorway. A muffled sound crept over the counter in the kitchen. Sparky walked lightly on his hooves across the living room, stretching to see over the counter. Sherry stayed close behind.

"Frank? Is that you?"

Sherry looked around to find anything Sparky could use to defend himself and readily seized an umbrella from the coat rack. The goat looked at the contraption she offered, not sure why she had given it to him. Sherry made a striking gesture with her arm. He nodded and held the umbrella out before him, prepared for anything. Another step. He was waving the device menacingly in front of him.

"Frank?"

Sparky leaned over the counter to see Frank flat on his back, not moving. He bolted around the counter, stumbling over his own feet. One hoof caught the counter for balance, the other accidentally triggered the umbrella. The fabric and wire shot out, startling the dog.

Frank jumped upright, dropping the bottle that was in his hands. Red liquid spilled out over the floor.

"Frank!"

"You didn't tell me you had wine!" Frank picked the bottle back up. "Good wine, too!"

Chapter 58

Basil was less than happy about trying to locate his were-goat with Sheriff Jeb "The Jibster" Jenkins, who was being nice enough to take the detective personally to his car.

Basil did feel gracious in a way. But it was the same graciousness that he used to have for his Aunt Edward. Eddie. Her father had chosen the name because she had been born a man. Aunt Eddie was always very sweet and always very loving, but she also had a five o'clock shadow. She would always stare at him when she came by, which fortunately for Basil wasn't too often.

When Aunt Eddie did come by, she would always want so much attention from her little Bas. It made him strangely uncomfortable. Aunt Eddie would always conclude their conversations with "If only I could have my own children," and then let him run off with a new toy.

Basil felt exactly the same about Sheriff Jeb as his Aunt, but even for a king's ransom, he couldn't have explained why.

"D'ju'on gizzle?"

Basil nodded silently.

Jeb adjusted himself in the seat. They had been on the road for some time; following the information from lo-jack they had learned the vehicle was only a couple of hours away. Basil was pleased that it was no longer moving.

"We'll catch them sleeping."

He was excited. He would finally have his glory. Sparky would not elude him this time. If it came down to it the he would fire on him. He was a crack shot, the goat would live.

"Gr's kn'wowly ex-hima?"

Basil leaned back in his seat a little further. He closed his eyes in exhaustion. Flashes of his Aunt Eddie came to him and he raised his lids. He looked over at the sheriff who was pursing his lips into the rear view mirror.

"Is the weather always like this?"

Jeb again resettled himself in the seat. He looked over and smiled at the detective. "Yupins."

"How long till we get there?" Asking questions was keeping Jeb from doing the same. He was far more comfortable with it than the unintelligible questions the local man was throwing at him, which left him nodding in ignorance.

"Sis too-in lik a bon, chuit."

"I'm sorry."

"Sis te-in dor twoon-tee mensuts."

"Oh."

Jeb steered off the highway onto a side exit. Basil didn't catch the sign. The small roadway was paved but in much need of repair. The broken asphalt was being pushed apart by creeping grass. It was a rough ride.

"Ses a moo-dar rek-in lik a bon yis-yago," the man coughed clearing his throat. "Poo lille gwirl boot swevwen. Sham-on, sim-sham-on."

"Very interesting," he thought he made out enough of the man's short story. Little girl, murder. Something like that. Jeb didn't sound all that interested either.

"Ses-bro-deer, wez-inly te-welb."

Brother, age twelve. Basil was starting to get the hang of this. It was like a game of some kind. It wasn't all that much fun but it would pass the time.

"Ching-a ding, uze-en dat sis-a-gworl fer squatter-bingin."

The man's dialect was one thing to decipher, but when the statement ended in his backcountry slang it was like a train wreck. Basil rubbed his forehead. It was starting to ache.

"Squatter-bingin?"

Jeb licked at his teeth. "Yupins."

"I don't follow."

Jeb again moved himself in his seat. Basil was starting to worry that at any juncture the man might pull his gun, or try and get his way with him. Basil thought it may be better if he didn't ask any further questions.

"Squatter," the man stuck his tongue out and slapped it back and forth between his lips. "Bing-" he stretched the word. "-en."

Basil turned away in disgust.

Jeb sighed, realizing the man had misinterpreted what he was trying to say once again. He grunted to get Basil's attention again.

Basil turned back and the man had his hands extended in front of him grasping at the air. Basil squinted his eyes. He didn't like how this stranger was playing more upon the torture of the little girl with his hand gestures.

"I'm not sure how you are around here but we speak with dignity where I am from."

Jeb slammed on the brakes and halted the car. He climbed out, leaving the keys in the ignition.

Basil watched as Jeb walked around the front of the vehicle and opened his door. He reached in to pull him free from the car, but Basil struggled. Jeb unclamped his pistol and Basil gave in. He slid out of his seat with his back against the car.

Normally he would be above begging for his life, but this was his second time at gunpoint while unarmed in just a few hours. He started to think of good reasons why he should not be executed.

Jeb turned away from him. Basil watched closely, shivering in the chill of the outside air. Jeb waved his arm over his head, pointing to a tree. Basil leaned in to catch a glimpse of what the man was looking at, seeing only leaves.

A small rodent galloped across the branch.

"Squatter."

Basil looked intently as the little brown squirrel jumped to another branch. The small creature sat down, holding a nut between its paws. He began to settle down, sensing the sheriff meant no harm after all.

His peace was shattered by a gunshot. Basil's calm expression turned to sadness as the little animal succumbed to gravity. The little rodent collided with a branch and then hit the ground.

Jeb turned around, still waving his gun. "Bingin."

Basil didn't make eye contact with the man. He climbed back into the car and closed the door. Jeb climbed into the driver's seat and started up his car again. He looked over with a very tight glare.

"Squatter-bingin."

"I get it."

Chapter 59

"Thank you so much for breakfast," Sparky felt that he had truly overstayed his welcome the moment Frank had raided the wine cellar.

"You're more than welcome, I wish I had more to give you, but at least you can get a few hundred kilometers, I'm sure you'll figure something out by then."

"I hope so," Sparky turned to the dog that waddled into the room with a backpack saddled loosely at his back. Glass bottles clacked together as he walked. "No Frank, bad dog."

"You're not my dad, goat. I can take what I want."

"I'll take that, I might need that for school," she patted Frank on the head. "You wouldn't want me to fail, would you?"

"Don't play on sympathy, that's my job," he walked through the open door, turning when he had almost reached the car. "Thanks for the meat."

"You're more than welcome here any time. Preferably sober though, okay?"

"You're just as bad as the sheep."

Frank climbed into the car and out of sight.

"You sure it's okay that I take your car?"

Sherry bent forward and wrapped her arms around Sparky. "I would have done it for my Teddy."

"I'll bring it back."

"I know you will, maybe that's why I'm giving it to you. I wouldn't mind seeing you again."

Sparky would always enjoy some benefits as a goat. Not needing clothing to be warm, bathrooms were always available no matter who was watching and at that moment no matter how much he blushed, his fuzzy face would never reveal it.

"Thanks Sherry."

Sparky opened the door and climbed into the driver's seat.

"Man, no power windows!"

"Frank."

"Yeah?"

"Never mind."

Sparky looked back and waved a final time. He felt warm that he had finally met a good person to help him. It could not have come at a better time. The road ahead was still long, much too long to walk.

The two made their way down the backcountry road, taking a shortcut that Sherry had offered. The small, inconspicuous street ran directly through a National Park and would spit them back out on the highway. It was relatively free of other cars.

~~~~~~

As they merged with the early afternoon traffic on the freeway, Basil jumped out from the passenger seat of the sheriff's car.

"Where is it? Where is it? It's got to be here!"

"See'sums in he-yah," he pointed directly in front of their car. Some bushes were knocked over, but the car was not there.

"Call the system, we must have just missed them."

Jeb pulled a small receiver from his shoulder and pressed the call button. "Simsan," he moved the device downward while licking at his teeth.

Basil walked over to the edge of the road, running his hand along the grass. Where are you? They couldn't be far off.

"This is Simpson, what's up doc?"

"Canza, youzall gitz dat lozo-jick dat-tat?"

"Right on it!"

Basil was stunned than anyone knew what the backwoods man was saying that fast. It had taken him some time to get used to getting anything from his gibberish. He shook the thought and took another step.

A gleam in the grass caught his eye. It was a piece of metal. As he moved he lost sight of it. He took another step, carefully putting his eyes on the spot where he had caught the reflection.

"Tiznarnatat!"

Basil didn't steer away from his search. He lowered himself to the ground and put his hand out touching the grass, moving the blades aside as he checked. He caught another flash from the object and zoomed further in. As the man leaned over further, it became clear that the object was a paperclip.

What are you doing here? He stood holding the tiny metal object in between his thumb and forefinger. It alone was the key to the missing goat.

"Sheriff," Simpson was back on the horn.

"Yupins."

"The technician said there was no change, you two should be standing right on top of it."

"What do you think of this?" Basil held the clip out before Jeb.

The sheriff grabbed the paperclip and gave it a quick once over. Jeb bounced as he let out a short breath of air through his nose. "Dizen mitez cum frem der, mae-beez." He held out the paperclip pointing down into the ravine.

Basil turned and looked down upon the rear end of his car. He kicked the wet ground.

"Damn."

Chapter 60

Frank was flapping his paws about the map. Every time they moved the paper crinkled. The sound prompted a shudder from Sparky each time. Frank had been jostling the map about for a few minutes and had yet to answer a single question on the subject.

"Do you know where we are?"

Frank looked up in time to catch a road sign, "Exit two thirty seven."

"On the map, do you know where we are on the map?"

"It's a graphical representation of the real world. It takes time to decipher these things," Frank flipped the map sideways and then straight. "Besides, you know I have problems managing paper."

"You know you're looking at Texas, right."

"Yeah, so?" he leaned a little further in, reading the heading on the page. Texas.

"We're in Ontario, Canada."

"Does this mean we can't go see the World's Greatest Rodeo Show?"

"I'm pulling over."

"Why come on, now, I can figure this out. I just need some time."

"We don't have enough gas, I'd rather not get off course."

Sparky took the next exit. The welcome sign was faint with age. Raith, Ontario Home of the Three-Legged Duck.

"Oh my, that's much better than a rodeo," Frank collided with the window, retreating in pain. He rubbed at his nose. "That's why I need power windows, goat."

"You'll manage."

Sparky navigated into the gas station. He checked his hat and coat, making sure the mask he had slid on was still tight. "We've only got a few dollars for gas. I'm going to put it in the tank now so we know how much we have. But we need to get some money."

"You can hold up this gas station."

Sparky climbed out of the car, "I will not rob a gas station!"

An older gentleman with thinning hair was staring at him. He caught the phony mask immediately.

"Isn't it a little early to be dressed for Halloween? Not until tomorrow night, right?"

Sparky kept his head tucked down into his coat as he filled up the car. "Yeah."

"You going to a party or something, aye?"

The attendant leaned up against the pump, right next to Sparky.

"Yeah." He wasn't wearing his gloves. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead.

The attendant stretched his neck left and right and then re-centered his gaze. "I bet you're a wanted criminal, aye!" He chuckled slapping the goat on the back.

The mask jiggled on its elastic strap. Sparky almost dropped the gas nozzle as he secured it in place.

"That's smooth criminal, dad!"

Another man emerged from the station. His hair was full and blonde and slicked back against his scalp. His features echoed his father's.

"Forgive him, he doesn't really follow the pop scene."

The young man walked with a rhythm in his step. He strolled up behind the car and leaned against the pump in a similar way to his old man. Sparky was surrounded.

"You going to that party down towards Thunder Bay?"

"Yeah, sure." Sparky wasn't sure the best way to escape, but he was ready to fight back if they tried to capture him.

"Kind of retro idea. I would have gotten those white gloves to go with it, but the overcoat's good. Does highlight the creepy thing. Like Thriller."

Sparky nodded. He released the handle as the counter neared fifteen. It was all he had, and it hadn't refilled the tank.

"Aye, ain't there some prizes down there?" The father said over him, more to his son.

"Yeah, they got something for costumes. It's a few hundred cash for first place."

Sparky hung up the gas nozzle. "A few hundred in cash for first prize in a costume contest?"

"Yeah, down at the Zoo. It's just this side of Thunder Bay. Just take the highway for another hour or so, you can't miss it."

"Watch out down there, those kids get wild at those parties, aye!"

"Dad, you don't lecture customers. It's bad business."

"I just hate to see another good man fall in the eyes of God, aye. Lord knows I've suffered since I lost your sister."

"Dad, she's married and lives up the way. She's twenty-seven!"

"And a dirty slut, too, aye. Don't think you're getting married until you're thirty," he went back into the shop.

"Sorry about that, he's a little old fashioned. I'll take that for you," he pulled the money free from Sparky's hoof. The attendant took a second glimpse at the hoof sticking out from the coat.

"You know what? Don't move."

The man ran off and into the station. Sparky dove into the car. His hoof went to the ignition, but the keys were gone.

"Frank, where are the keys?"

"What keys?"

"The ones that were in here!" He slapped the steering column.

Sparky looked out the back window of the car, the attendant had not yet returned. "He knows who we are and is calling the cops. We need to leave!"

"Goat, I don't have the keys."

"Where are they?"

Sparky frantically tore at the seat. He dug through his pockets with no luck. He started checking the floorboard, under the mats, nothing.

He checked the mirror again; the young man was running back.

Sparky leaned over and lifted Frank from the seat.

"Hey, watch it!"

He dropped him back down. He checked the rear of the car, leaning over as the attendant tapped at his window.

"Are they in the back? Do you see them?"

The man knocked on the window again, Sparky looked over at him. "What do I do, Frank?"

"Sell him some crack."

"What?"

"It's what most people want when they knock on your window."

Sparky saw the man's hands rolling in a circle. He gripped the lever and gently rolled down the window. The attendant raised his hand. Sparky closed his eyes, preparing for death.

"Here, try these out!" he tossed some white gloves into Sparky's lap. "They should work well with the mask!"

Sparky didn't move a muscle.

"Oh," the man bent over and picked up a set of keys from the ground. "These yours?"

"Yeah," Sparky grabbed the keys quickly. "Thanks."

"No problem," he said slapping the car door.

Chapter 61

Basil was standing just behind his wrecked car. Jeb had called a tow truck earlier in the day that had been able to pull the car up for better study. The forensics team which consisted of one man, a Deputy Chris Mattel, was busy dusting the car for prints. His search was proving fruitless.

"I'm still not finding any finger prints, must have been wearing gloves. Tons of hair though."

"He doesn't need gloves, he's a goat."

"Goats don't drive!"

This one does. "Why did he drop the car?"

"Probably changed rides, figured this one was hot."

"But where did he get another car?" Basil rubbed at his chin. He needed to shave.

"D'jzm k'ant fell-oot der skie."

Basil looked over at the sheriff.

"Wull der k'ant!"

Basil mulled it over. Who would a goat network with to get to Montreal? "Why did he leave it here?"

"Out of gas? Out of money?"

Basil nodded. "Where would you go if you were a goat?"

The tow truck driver, Carl, was sitting on the step of his large truck, smoking a filterless cigarette. Carl had raised a few animals before getting into his own wrecker company, including a handful of goats. He didn't care too much for them, but he did feel that he had enough experience to handle the man's inquiry.

"He needs himself a lady. Nice little ewe with tight hindquarters."

Basil immediately questioned the man's history with the explicitness of his remark. "What?"

"D'jzm gud 'ole tang-a-lang," Jeb made a spanking motion with his hand.

Basil turned away from them all and stared into the trees. He felt a connection with the ground at that point, if nothing other than a desperate desire to be buried six feet underneath it. Some place where his ears would not have to listen to the lurid nightlife of the men around him.

"That's sick."

"Don't you figure me as some pervert!" Carl said. "You said if I was a goat. And if I was a goat, that's where I'd be!"

"K'ant see-zum ain'tz notz t'unked it uv-er doh!"

The two men laughed. Basil closed his eyes. He tried to envision himself back in the city. It would be a blessing to just be picked on as the were-goat detective again.

"Little bugger's bound to get horny!" Carl laughed at his statement first, and the sheriff followed. Deputy Mattel emerged from the car and looked at the detective. Basil was still staring away into the distance.

"They have a point, city boy. It's the call of the wild out here!"

Basil felt very alone. All three men were taking turns making lewd motions with their hips while using one hand to make horns from their foreheads. At least the goat had left his gun in the car. He could shoot them, or himself. The semantics of mercy were debatable.

There was the one possibility mentioned earlier by the deputy. Out of gas, and money, he had chosen to park the car here. Not somewhere else. Why would he do it? What did he see?

Basil was staring straight at the barn of Sharon and Bartholomew Lingham. The were-goat had intended to hide. Where else was there to go? Basil thought over the situation again, his eyes were on the barn the entire time. He felt he was truly beginning to have a deep understanding of the were-goat's mind.

The three men were now making goat noises along with their thrusting. As Basil watched, it reassured him that his understanding was healthy.

He started his way up the driveway, veering across the open hillside to the barn. He opened the door and stepped inside. Inside were a few sheep bouncing about. They were restless but at least they were staying warm on this crisp fall day.

"Have any of you seen a goat?"

Basil shifted through the hay casually with his foot, hoping to overturn a clue that would prove that the goat had been there. He kept his hand close to the firearm at his side, in case the animal still was.

Of the most recognizable sounds in the world the top three are as follows: the barking of a dog, the meowing of a cat, and the sound of someone cocking a pump-action shotgun. Basil stopped dead in his tracks; he knew the third all too well.

"Think about this Sparky, you don't want me dead, now do you?"

"Who the hell are you?"

Basil was shocked to hear a young lady's voice.

"I'm Special Agent Basil Lain, CBI. Drop the weapon."

He faced her, staring her weapon down.

"Let me see some ID."

Basil reached into his pocket and came up empty.

"Don't have any, I had my wallet stolen," he turned his head away and tried to laugh it off. "You're not going to believe this, by a talking goat!"

"You're right, I don't believe it. Now get off my property before I call the real authorities."

"You didn't see him, did you?"

Sherry held the gun steady, and didn't move.

"You see he stole my car too, among other things, and I really need to know where he is." Basil had a gut feeling the girl was holding back, but her face was iron. He had to find the soft spot.

"We don't talk to our goats too often around here, Basil. I suggest you come back with a real badge before I have to call an ambulance to come pick you up."

"I'll do that, me and a team. We'll come back. Tear this place down, then we will find him the hard way, but by then..." he trailed off and started walking out, easing his arms loosely. "By then he'll already have been shot down. No one cares about bringing an animal in alive. He's just going to end up in a body bag."

Sherry knew she couldn't trust him, but there were a lot of cops and only one goat. She knew was he was alone, panhandling his way to Montreal. Frank would be no defense. If things got serious, it would be his end. If there was a chance that this sleaze of an agent could bring Sparky in alive, rather than him being shot down, she should help him.

"Detective!"

I'm definitely getting a bigger office when I get back.

Chapter 62

"I can't believe you talked me into seeing this damn thing." Sparky was trying on the new white gloves. They didn't fit any better than the other gloves he had tried to use when he went shopping, but it was slightly less obvious than his stubby, clawed hooves.

Frank looked over from the passenger seat. "Goat, how many times do you get an adventure like this? Cross country. You and the open road?"

"I'm not out on vacation. This is a rescue, remember?"

"Fine, the Goat and his sidekick Dog Wonder can be back on the road in five minutes. Just give me a chance to see the national treasures."

"I already said yes."

Sparky wasn't sure completely why he had. They needed to hit the road; they needed to get to Thunder Bay. How Frank had convinced him that seeing a three-legged foul was of any importance, he didn't remember.

"Be back quickly," Sparky ordered, reaching across to let the dog out.

"I can't go alone, I'm a dog. Dogs that hang out near birds are shot. You have to act like my owner."

"Does that mean I get to tell you what to do?"

"Hey, don't push it. I'm still upset about that thing earlier," Frank pawed at the door handle, not able to move it at all.

"What happened earlier?"

"It doesn't matter, let's go."

"No, tell me what I did to you," Sparky crossed his arms.

Frank settled in his chair, scratched at his head, then looked at the goat. He turned and saw the giant yellow sign for the three-legged duck and his tail started wagging.

"I didn't do anything, did I?"

Frank eyes buttered up and his tongue fell out free. "No, now can we see the bird?"

"Five minutes!"

"Yeah, yeah."

Sparky stepped out of the car and adjusted his hat. Frank spilled out behind him and ran to the entrance. He was bouncing and yipping at the sign, waiting for his so-called master. Sparky proceeded over, letting the canine lead.

He almost walked into a hulking stuffed bear just inside the room. The animal was posed in a threatening position lumbering over the doorway. It wasn't something he appreciated. The rest of the building was littered with smaller although similar displays of animals posed in strained surprise. From each one dangled a gaudy orange price tag.

A very old man came out from a door in the back. He stood behind the counter and waved at them. "Well hello there! You here for the three-legged wonder?"

Frank barked excitedly, bouncing off the counter.

"Is it free?" Sparky was hoping that the cost would negate their visit.

"Of course! Make my monies off the merchandise these days."

"Great."

"Wanna buy a duck?"

The old man was a pretty good taxidermist specializing in water fowl since discovering his three-legged claim to fame. Originally he had tried to sell off the live chicks to people, but tourists were reluctant to take them home. Too much work, they would all say. Killed and stuffed they sold in much greater frequency.

"No thank you, I just wanted to show my dog the three-legged duck."

"Well then, let's get you in to see the show!" the old man pulled out an ancient top hat from beneath the counter and blew dust from the top of it. "Right this way!"

Together they all crowded into a small room full of photographs of the three legged animal. Sparky studied the pictures carefully while Frank's attention stayed completely on an ornate wood column acting as a stand. The cage on top was covered with gold cloth.

"Ta-da!" The old man grabbed the blanket on top of the cage and yanked it off like a true showman.

Frank yelped in horror.

The mutant animal was only a bundle of feathers. Sparky took a step closer to the container and spotted three little legs up in the air.

"Oh my god! My cash cow!"

"I thought this was a duck?"

"I don't appreciate your coldness." The old man was sniffling.

He looked at the duck, curled up into a ball, cold and unmoving. The man wiped a single tear from his eye and then opened a cabinet on the side of the pedestal and pulled out a pair of salad tongs. He grabbed the duck from the cage with the metal clasps and walked out of a door in the back.

Sparky and Frank stood in silence for a moment, waiting to see if the man would return.

"Ta-ad!" He returned, clasping the bird in his arms. The duck was now gibbering in its lively manor and struggling to be free.

"How did you do that?" Sparky asked.

"You know, I got him outside and looks like he was just sleeping."

Frank was not as enthralled at the spectacle. He was shaking his head. Sparky leaned down rubbed it.

"He pulled a switch!" Frank whispered.

Sparky stood up and gave the duck another look. He recognized that indeed they did not look the same, but he could plainly see that the duck had three legs.

"Isn't it marvelous!" The old man said releasing the animal into the cage.

"It's not the same duck, he doesn't look the same at all."

"Of course it is, look at the legs."

"I understand, but do you have two three-legged ducks?"

"Of course not, this is the same duck." The old man was nibbling his lip. "Do you need glasses?"

"For my eyes?"

The old man nodded.

"Well no I don't think so. I can see just fine."

"Obviously not, you're telling me that this three-legged duck is not the same animal that was in here a minute ago, and I know that it is."

"Well, I-"

"Are you accusing me of running a con? Do you think I am a flim-flammerer?"

"Well, no I-"

"No one trusts anyone these days, and you come into my store, trying to ruin my business by saying that my duck is a joke? You don't know how much this means to me!" He slapped the cage with the duck. The bird spooked and jumped up, flapping wildly in the confines of its prison.

Sparky stepped back from the rising cloud of fluff and feathers. Eyeing the bird, he observed that it now only had two legs. The third he spotted on the floor just behind Frank. The duck must have lost it when he started panicking. He retrieved the webbed foot from the ground and held it up to the old man.

The room went silent.

Sparky extended it out to the old man, watching his eyes immediately bubble up with moisture.

"Don't tell anybody. Mr. Legs died almost four years ago,"

"Mr. Legs?"

"Yeah," he was sobbing. "It was a hot summer day, and I forgot to keep him in water," he dragged his sleeve across his nose. "I found him, I buried him, but I was afraid my business would end. No one wanted to see normal ducks. I did the only thing I could do and I super glued the third leg onto another duck."

The dog was staring at the man, his mouth open. Frank had been lied to and he wanted vengeance.

"It's okay, I won't say anything."

Frank barked. He set his legs back and his teeth out and gave his sharpest growl. The thrill of chewing up the old man was getting him excited. He stepped forward to strike, finding himself seized by the scruff of his throat.

Sparky apologized his way out of the room. Frank managed to contain himself until the two were back in the car.

"Can you believe that guy? What a rip-off! You should have let me tear him apart!"

"Whoa, calm down!"

"Calm down? He faked a three-legged duck. How would you feel if you wanted to see something your whole life and then someone tricked you into thinking you had? Wouldn't you be torn apart to find out it was all an illusion?"

"Your life's dream was to see a three legged duck? Maybe you're taking this too seriously."

"You're just as self-centered as he is, do you know that?"

Chapter 63

Basil was driving merrily down the highway. The race was on. It was his single focus. Orders could not be considered. He had been given an old Ford Escort that had been retired from field duty some time ago. The sheriff had felt no qualms about releasing it into the care of the CBI agent, but then he thought the man was driving home.

Basil looked over at the passenger seat and smiled.

He couldn't go back to the office, anyway. He had invested too much. He refused to lose. The captain was a fool if he thought there was anyone better suited for the job. Basil would prove that to him when this whole ordeal was ended.

He flipped the collar on the shirt he was wearing, wishing he had time to stop and get something presentable. He wanted his clothes. He wanted his badge to back him up. He needed his cell phone. The were-goat was to blame, and he would pay.

His situation with the sheriff earlier had not only been terribly uncomfortable, but terribly embarrassing. His coworkers at the CBI would never cease making jokes. It was the only way to save face, the only way.

"He's very smart, probably too smart for his own good."

He looked over to the passenger seat. His speaking had not elicited a response. Basil resettled himself.

"This were-goat is very dangerous, I just don't want you to be afraid of what might happen."

Sherry turned her head and gave the man a dark look. Her eyes pierced him like knives. "Special Agent, you said that you were the only one interested in bringing him in alive."

"Well, of course," Basil had not lied. He had told the angle of the truth most relevant to his life. He wanted the were-goat alive, and so would the research teams, and the publicists, and so on. "I don't want him to get hurt, but I don't want anyone else to get hurt either."

"He wouldn't hurt anyone."

"I've got the files little lady. I'm paid to protect people from the bad guys, and he is definitely a bad guy."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Do you know he's put three men in the hospital?"

"They probably deserved to be there. Wouldn't have happened to be some guys that tried to kill him when he demanded the release of their tortured livestock?"

"I'm not at liberty to-"

"Or maybe some of the farmers that were loading their animals up for their slaughter."

"You can't beat up farmers for farming."

"If everyone you loved was carted away from you in the middle of the night on trucks, would you feel good about watching someone else have the same thing done to them?"

"These are animals, not people."

"So is he. Sparky doesn't want anyone to be hurt. Ask the victims who attacked first, who fired the first shot or swung the first punch. I guarantee you if they don't admit to it, they are lying."

She was no longer looking at him. It made her uneasy. She instead focused out the window.

"So he told you about all these things, he did?"

"Of course."

Basil cleared his throat. He hated to think that he might be coming down with a cold, but it was definitely possible. He assumed that Sparky would have hidden these things from her. He was a bit surprised how upfront the were-goat was. Too smart. It was more than obvious the feelings the girl had for this odd creature. It was a bond he would not overlook.

"What do you think, Sherry?"

She had come along to make sure that Basil kept his word. More importantly she couldn't pass up her second chance to go. She wanted to find Sparky. He needed her help, and if the time came that Basil went back on his word, she would be there.

"Well?"

"I think you would do good to talk with him yourself before you arrest him. If you can find any place that he has committed a crime, I'd be surprised."

"I won't be. I told you I have files. In fact, he stole the files when he stole my car. Remember that?"

"I'll just say it once more detective, what would you do for your loved ones?"

Chapter 64

The bouncer pushed Sparky back from the door. He considered ramming through him. It was just past dusk and he was worrying he might miss his shot at the Zoo's costume contest. The two men in Raith had not advised him anything about the need for a cover charge.

Sparky returned to the car, disheartened and deep in thought. He dropped himself into the seat. He didn't even look over at Frank.

"Check this out, it'll work now!"

Sparky turned his head slowly. Frank had dug out the kiddy costume again and was re-dressed as a baby.

"No good, they want money to get in and we don't have any more."

"I told you we should have robbed that gas station."

"Any other ideas?"

"Hey, I thought you were the brains, I provide the good looks. That's what sidekicks do. You are the Goat."

Sparky smiled, without raising his head. "Yeah," the mutt had started getting to him with the superhero antics. It would have been nice to have a superpower, the ability to run fast or turn invisible, or in this case pay cover charges with ease.

"We could keep driving until we run out of gas," Frank offered. He himself had known that this may be a long shot, if not for the club itself but the terrible costume. "You wouldn't have won anyway. Your costume is awful."

"Now you tell me!" Sparky slammed his hooves against the wheel. He accidentally set off the horn.

"It's okay, I liked your costume."

"You just said it was awful."

"So, I have bad taste."

Sparky groaned into his chest.

"You still got that guys I.D.?"

"Yeah, oh wait, no I lost it. When I lost the other money I think."

"Oh, well what about his stuff?"

"Whose stuff? Basil's? He didn't have any money in his wallet, he just had that phone and his I.D. and stuff. I threw it all in the bag."

"The black bag? I didn't see it there when I went through it."

"No, it was in the glove compartment. I threw it in the bag when we ditched his car."

Frank jumped over the seat and immediately started through the bag.

"I told you he's broke."

Frank came up with the wallet in his mouth and dropped it on the seat next to Sparky.

"Open it up."

Sparky fanned the wallet. "See, nothing."

He dumped the contents out onto the seat. No money. Frank eyed the pile. His head drooped with the confirmation that Basil had been penniless.

"That's it?"

"And these cards." Sparky procured the detective's ID and his credit cards.

Frank's tail started up. "Do you know what those are?" His heart was racing. His tongue was trying to match the speed. "Those are credit cards!"

"Credit cards? So what?"

"Sometimes I forget how little you know about humans." The dog climbed back into the front seat. "Look, it goes like this. When you're a kid, you can get books and stuff they give you a library card. Get it?"

Sparky nodded.

"As you grow you keep getting better cards. When you get older you get a card that lets you drive, and when you go to college you get a student card."

"What is this leading to?"

"The credit card is the best one! It's the card that lets you drink!"

"I don't know, that doesn't seem like it makes sense," Sparky always wanted to trust the canine. He did appreciate that he had experience with things of this nature. "I got beer for you without a credit card."

"Of course, I can get beer from a store without a credit card, anyone can. The credit card is for when you go out, in style," Frank grabbed his baby mask and slid it on his face.

"Are you sure?"

"Goat, who do you think knows more about people?"

"I don't know, Frank."

"Okay then, who do you think knows more about alcoholic beverages, huh, huh?"

Sparky caved in at the animal's statement.

"Okay, so we use the credit card to get in, but what about the terrible costume?"

He looked up at Sparky and licked at his teeth. "I think I have an idea on that one, too."

Chapter 65

"You really should lighten up about this whole thing. We'll find him, and help him. He will be so happy when he's finally safe." Basil was definitely not lying this time. He was going to help the were-goat. He would be saved from a life on the run from, well, Basil. Sparky should be so lucky as to have the his assistance.

"Ugh," she groaned at the man and crossed her arms.

The two of them had been on the road a while. It wouldn't be long before the captain would realize that he had yet again disobeyed orders and wasn't coming back. Basil considered the trouble that Sparky had already caused, and how much more would be caused if he was not captured.

"You're not doing this for him."

Basil was offended, was he that transparent? No, he would deny. He was good at denying. "Young lady, I have no stake in this. I am an agent of the law."

"You know I have a good nose, I can smell bullshit as well as the next person," Sherry sniffed at the air jokingly and turned toward him. "Yup, totally bullshit."

"I put my life on the line for many people, this is no different. Your goat is a menace and needs to be brought down. I told you before you're just lucky it's me that's here and not a bloodthirsty, heartless killer," he was doing a good job with the emotion. Basil looked in the rear-view mirror. His cheeks were red. She would have to buy into his display.

"I know you wouldn't hurt him."

Basil felt contented with his charm. He wished she weren't looking so he could pat his own back.

"You're too much of a snake, you're in it for the money."

"That's ridiculous. What money is there in an arrest?"

"Don't act stupid. You know that he would be worth tons of money to whoever claimed to be his owner. Leave it to the man that captured him to cut him in on a deal."

She was right; Basil had been planning on making a deal. He just needed to find a way to get Sparky to go along. The animal had not worried about being shot. Maybe he knew that Basil wouldn't shoot to kill?

"We need gas."

Basil was happy to have cut her off. They pulled from the highway to a small town with only one filling station. He drove straight in.

Basil jumped out of the car. He immediately reached out for the pump and grabbed the gas nozzle. He placed it into the side of his borrowed Escort and started pumping. The attendant walked out from the office, a younger man with his hair slicked back.

"How you doing this evening?"

"Good, and you?"

"Oh not bad, just hoping to get out of here soon. Old man went home some time ago and I have to close up tonight. There is this killer party up at Thunder Bay, should be pretty wild."

Basil didn't want the man's life story. "That's a stinker."

"Yeah, you headed that way?"

"Kind of, but I'm in a hurry."

"Man, that is just too bad."

Basil stared at the rolling numbers on the pump. He prayed that at that moment he could master telekinesis and make them move more quickly. He squeezed tighter on the nozzle trying to make the gas come out faster. Neither idea worked. He cringed as he heard the passenger side door handle click. He tried to lean in to stop the girl but she had already stepped out of the car.

"Whoa, hey, is this your daughter?"

"Yes, and she's underage," Basil turned toward the pump. He swore the numbers were slowing down.

"Dwayne," he put out his hand. Sherry shook it casually.

"Sherry."

"So, what are you doing out this late?"

Sherry was not impressed with Dwayne, but she immediately recognized that he was frustrated with Basil. "Oh, what dad didn't tell you?" She batted her eyes. "We're hunting down a talking goat, he stole his car."

Sherry flashed a smile to Basil. If he had gotten any hotter the gas station would have gone up in flames.

"Man, that is a pretty big deal," Dwayne said.

"She's such a jokester."

"Well, I'll be honest, I haven't seen any goats tonight." He turned back to Sherry, trying to stay on her good side. "Let's see, I had some Mongols come through, and a giant squid."

"Wow, that's great," Basil was ready to start kicking the pump.

"Yeah, um who else," he thought to himself. "Oh yeah, Michael Jackson came through. Real bad costume, though. Didn't even have gloves, just a mask and an overcoat."

The detective turned, letting go of the gas handle.

Sherry's expression changed, she knew that sounded suspicious also. She batted her eyes again, trying to encourage the attendant.

"When, how long ago?"

"I guess a couple hours ago."

Basil stared at him blankly, his mind spinning about. Dwayne started to feel uncomfortable. Sherry turned to Basil; he gave a nod. It was in his eyes, she knew she was being used, but she had some this far.

"Wow, a costume party? That sounds like fun, how do we get there?"

Chapter 66

"Bump, bump, bump," Frank was sitting in the back of the club. His legs spread wide onto the table. His head was bobbing with music. People kept nodding at him and he kept nodding back.

"What are you doing?"

"What, goat? You need to just relax, this is how it's done."

"What's done?"

"Look around, Sparky, you have to relax."

His hooves stayed close to his side, his teeth readily stretching at his lip. "Are you sure they think this is a costume?"

"Totally, look at that guy," Frank held out his paw, showing the goat a man sitting at the bar. He was looking at Sparky and giving a thumbs up.

"Is that good?"

"Yeah, people do it all the time."

"I can't believe they let you in."

Sparky looked around the room again. He was definitely getting attention, but he trusted Frank that it was no more than he should expect. Frank straightened himself as some women walked by. He waved at them.

"I told just told them I'm a midget. The bouncer didn't want to jeopardize his job."

"What do you mean?"

"Short guys, in the circus they were everywhere. One time I overheard some stories about them going to a bar, this and that. They had some trouble with the doorman, telling him they were midgets. In the end they got some big lawsuit."

"Lawsuit?"

"Some guy in a wig bangs a hammer and you get rich, and the bad guys go to jail."

"Sounds awful."

"Yeah, it's no joke."

"What about if you're a talking dog?"

"Shh, you worry too much. This is Halloween, people dress up to be something they're not. They do it every year. I've gotten into a bar before like this."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but I didn't have a credit card. This is going to be way more fun."

Sparky had decided to wear his overcoat, rather than go completely as a goat. Frank on the other hand was simply in his furs. He had done a swell job of walking on his hind legs; something that Sparky had not seen him do before. Apparently it was another of his circus tricks.

A waiter came by dressed in a gorilla costume.

"You guys look excellent. Whoa, is that real fur?" He reached out and stroked the Sparky's face. Sparky started to pull back but caught Frank in the corner of his eye, urging him to act casual.

"Yeah, real fur."

"His family is in the business." Frank said.

"What can I get you this evening?"

"Do you have coffee?"

The waiter laughed. "Taking it light tonight?"

Frank slapped his paw down on the table. "Two shots of your best tequila!"

"Alright that's the way to start it out! Truly a party animal."

"You won't say that when he shows you what he does with it all."

Frank's face melted into a harsh glare. He waved his paw menacingly. Sparky turned back to the room, ignoring the attitude from his companion.

"I'll be right back." As the waiter left the table he almost knocked over an older woman who was dressed in feathers and a mask. As she stumbled, she put her hands out on the table to catch herself, landing face to face with Frank.

"Delite." The scent of whiskey was heavy on her breath. Frank closed his eyes and inhaled the flavor.

"Frank."

"That is, like, the best costume I have ever seen." She straightened up, adjusting the lower half of her costume. "Mind if I sit down?"

Frank made room at the table and the lady sat down, catching her first glimpse of Sparky. "Your friend is cute, too."

She pulled the mask down from her face and batted her lashes at him. Sparky's face held firm. "A little bit of a cold fish though."

Frank leaned up and whispered in her ear. When he backed down she extended a hand across the table. "Oh baby, no shame in here, I think it's great! Now excuse me, I have to go take a mean piss." She stood as abruptly as she sat down and trailed off through the thickening crowd.

"What was that all about?" Sparky asked.

Frank acted as if he wasn't going to answer the question and then he finally responded. "Look, Sparks, you just don't get it. You need to be cool in a place like this."

"Is it getting hot in here?"

"No, goat. What that means is to be cool, be someone that other people want to be more like."

"I just want to win the costume contest, and get going."

"You will, but to get there we have to act like normal people," Frank was talking in a very slow and mellow tone. "Be cool," he said, delivering the concept.

"Be cool," Sparky echoed, sliding his hoof across the table slowly.

The waiter returned, dropping the drinks on the table. "Two shots tequila, one," he cleared his throat, "coffee." The cup clanked against the table as the waiter set it down. "That's twelve dollars."

Frank had said that everything was covered with the credit card. The man had let them in at the door after swiping it. Sparky procured the card from his pocket.

"Is this okay?"

"Yup, shall I leave this open for you?"

Frank was solemnly nodding.

"Yes, of course."

The waiter seized the card and trotted off.

"That was good, very cool."

"Thanks, it felt, cool, I think."

Frank caught a sparkling hand across the room. Delite was dancing in the middle of the room, gesturing to him with a seductive wave of her hand.

"Well, duty calls."

"Wait, where are you going?"

"You should get out there and dance. It's good to blow off some steam."

"You can dance?"

Frank laughed as he stood up from the table. His full upright stance was just shy of four feet, and he was stretching. He hooked his paws around the tequila and slammed both glasses in short order. Sparky was impressed at his upright walking, it looked difficult with his legs.

"Look out there." Frank gestured, the faint Cuervo wind brushing Sparky's nostrils.

It was a mix of costumed men and women. On the dance floor people were flopping with the sound. There was no dancing, it was shaking and thrusting, but definitely not dancing. Some people were simply shaking their arms and legs and grinding together at the hips.

"I see your point."

He was keeping his attention on Frank. He didn't want the dog to get too out of control. As Sparky reclined in the booth at the back of the club waiting for the contest he started swaying with the music as he sipped his coffee.

Chapter 67

Sherry hated Basil.

She should have pushed Sparky harder. She could be there now, helping him rescue his loved ones. But she had caved too easy. Her punishment was plaid pants and a pink shirt filled with snakes disguising themselves as a man.

Basil had been displeased to learn there was no radio in the car, no way to hide the large silence on the road. It seemed that Sherry was coping with her own tune.

"What are you singing over there?"

"Nothing."

Sherry hadn't realized she was signing anything at all until he said something.

"I heard something coming out of your mouth, sounded like a song."

Basil hadn't really paid much attention to the girl in the last hour; he simply was tired of hearing the road noise.

"I don't remember, must have been something on the radio," she was so annoyed with him, even the way he spoke bothered her, a rasp in his throat. Her gaze was affixed blankly ahead.

"We're going to be there soon."

"Yeah, great. So what's your costume?"

"I won't need one. I'm a cop."

"A cop with no badge. You're just some guy in pink tonight."

Basil didn't want to hear her voice any more. He now regretted trying to spark up further conversation. She repulsed him and it frustrated him deeply that he constantly had to argue with her just to speak, "I know these places, they don't question it. I'll be in and out of there in no time."

"Right, and dragging the goat by the collar?"

"Of course. Then we'll get you home and I'll see to it that he is handled with the utmost care and respect."

"What's that smell?" she sniffed at the air.

"I can't smell anything. I think I'm coming down with something. Damn germs."

Sherry crossed her arms and turned to the window, the city lights of Thunder Bay ahead. The Zoo. The sign was zebra striped. They couldn't have missed it in their sleep.

She could hear Basil's sneer form on his face.

He quickly found his way off the road and into the lot. After digging around he finally found a place to park, barking instructions to Sherry that she under no circumstance should leave the car. He left without giving her time to respond.

Basil bowled his way through the door and headed straight to the doorman.

"Basil Lain, CBI, I need to get in."

"Ha, get in line chump."

Basil narrowed his eyes and pushed his way through the door. Two massive hands clasped on his shoulder and lifted him back outside.

"Wait, I'm sorry. Did you need me to spell it out for you a little better?"

"Hey, King Kong, get your mitts off. Like I said, CBI, official business, I'm going in."

"Tell you what, you show me some ID, we'll talk about this. Until then, you can wait out here."

"I'm not standing in line."

"You're right, you're not, you should go get in it if you want in." The bouncer waved a couple of ladies in, keeping a sharp eye on Basil.

"Twenty bucks?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Twenty bucks, and you look over there for a moment."

"Look, pal, I don't like you. If I liked you, sure. But you I don't like."

"So I'm getting that you don't like me."

"You're quick."

"I'm not going away. I've got official business in there. If I have to call down to the local PD and bust this club wide open, I will."

"You do that. I'll be here."

His feet stirred on the ground. Another charge was in order. Seething at the teeth, Basil readied himself. The bouncer put his hand on the shoulder of the detective.

"My job tonight is even more special, see," Basil could smell the acidity of his breath. "I also gets to make sure that everyone that comes in is in a costume and I don't see no ruby slippers, Dorothy."

Basil stepped up to him, fierceness in his eyes.

"Look commander steroid, I bust people like you all day long and I don't take kindly to being intimidated."

He poked the man in his chest with a single finger. The bouncer pressed back against Basil's finger. Basil winced.

"I think you better leave before I give the real police a call about a man I accidentally put through the front window of his car."

Basil stepped back, resisting his immanent desire to cause a scene. Sherry walked up and brushed by Basil, flashing him a sly grin

"Hey, can you believe that guy?" Basil put on his macho smile.

She ignored him completely.

Sherry walked directly to the front door and the bouncer. Basil watched as she started talking to him, but his ears couldn't stretch far enough to hear her. The big doorman leaned down and she whispered something in his ear. Sherry turned around and waved her hand once to Basil, then entered the club.

Basil's mouth dropped. He dashed the door. Gunning full speed. The bouncer stepped over and pulled back his arm. Basil faked a step left and dodged the man's swing. The second blow came from the outside and struck him in the eye.

Chapter 68

Frank was sitting at the same table. Empty glasses lined the surface. Under the dog's left arm was Delite. They had been joined by numerous others in costume. The table littered with empty shot glasses.

"You know baby, I think I have room for you at my crib."

Delite gave him a dirty smile. "You can't afford to take me home; I don't work for doggie treats!"

Frank barked and she jumped. Delite slapped him, still wearing her grin. Frank looked at his paw, feeling a deep sting. His eyes swam back up to Delite but by the time his vision had focused again his mind had gone blank. He looked down at the table for the next shot he had lined up. All the glasses were empty.

He steered back upward. The room was clouded so deeply in fog. There were two blue strobe lights over the dance floor, and this one man who was continually passing by dressed as a goldfish. In the corner was giant squid waving its tentacles at Frank, he had since stopped looking over. Regardless, the facts were there. The party was occurring inside a giant aquarium.

A young lady walked up to him without a costume. He had become one of the most popular subjects at the Zoo that night and all the ladies seemed to be cashing in on him. He wasn't surprised that one more had come by. But this one was different, he recognized her.

"Mom!"

Sherry in turn put her hands on her hips, the table's contents telling her the history of the evening.

"Guess again."

Frank leaned forward, trying to bring the spinning images together. Sherry cycled around the room in his eyes, but her face reached into his memory. "Sally!"

"Sherry."

"Who's Sherry?" Delite sized her up.

"Baby, she's just a friend."

Delite turned her nose up and started conversing with one of the other people in the entourage.

"Where's Sparky?"

Frank looked rather puzzled. He started tapping at the side of his head with the right paw.

"Sparky who?" He held up his paw to her as she tried to speak. "Wait, don't tell me. Big guy?"

She nodded

"Horns?"

He scratched at his head while she continued to nod. "Codenamed: the Goat?"

Sherry's eyes closed as she took a deep breath. "That agent is here!"

"Yeah, I know! Agent!" Frank shouted.

Sherry turned around, faced with a man wearing a bald cap and fake painted eyebrows. He raised his glass to the mutt.

"No, Frank. Basil!"

The dog stopped and looked down at the table. He looked back up at her. "I think I need another drink!"

"Where's Sparky?"

"Oh, well, him, well, he's being cool!"

Frank sorted through the glasses on the table until he finally found that one that was half full. At the same time his eyes caught a double image of the creature she was seeking.

"There," he raised the glass in the direction of Sparky.

Sherry was hoping that unlike the incredibly inebriated canine, Sparky had avoided alcohol all together. But in a place like this, anything was possible. She sorted through the faces and colorful costumes that were packed in shoulder to shoulder. The one she was looking for was so obvious she hardly knew what she was looking at.

Sparky was in the middle of the dance floor. The people had formed into a circle giving him his own space to dance. He was moving like a professional break dancer. She watched him groove to the blaring techno track. His feet circling in the air. His every move garnered large amounts of attention from the crowd. He dipped to the floor in and split and came back up. The ladies hollered in response.

Sherry pushed her way through to the front of the line, trying to get his attention. Sparky was too caught up in his motions to see her. As the music came to a close he went back to the floor in a split and again the ladies made noise. He smiled upon seeing her familiar face and hopped over amid the dancers that were now falling back into the floor.

"Sherry? What are you doing here?"

"Basil is here, he wants to arrest you! He's outside. I told the bouncer not to let him in because he's a pervert, but it's just a matter of time."

"Good thinking," he started walking with her off the floor, "I'll get Frank and we'll go."

"Can I come with you now?"

"You need to get home, wait, how did you get here?"

"I made Basil bring me."

"What? Here? Why? How could you do that?"

"He said that the police would shoot you. I didn't want that to happen," she started to well up.

He took a deep breath, thinking of what to say to her. The DJ knocked on the microphone before he started blaring loudly over the sound system. "All right, all right! All you animals in the Zoo! Let's hear you get loud!"

The individuals in the club responded with their loudest shrieks.

"At this time we need anybody that wants to be in for the Zoo club's fourth annual Halloween contest to come up to the stage! Don't forget, first place is taking home five hundred in cash!"

"I have to do this!"

"Sparky, if Basil brings the real cops down here you'll be hauled away."

"If I don't win this contest, I might as well surrender myself. I need the money, Sherry."

"Sparky, we have to go!"

"Sherry. I have to do this. I have to-"

He turned and looked at the stage, the ranks were forming. Sherry slapped him on the shoulder.

"Good luck."

Chapter 69

Basil sat in the car, rubbing at his eye. He kept focused on the front of the club. Twenty minutes and no girl, no were-goat. He was not angry that she had betrayed him. On the contrary, it only made his conscience more settled about how he was going to handle the situation between the three of them when the time came. His only burden was how to arrange that time.

He had mulled over the idea of contacting the local police. He knew that his department would back him on the call, but this was too personal. He couldn't risk someone else taking credit. He needed to handle the were-goat on his own terms, in his own way.

The bouncer had given him no choice. Threatening the doorman, just scaring him enough to get entry, was on the gray side of legal, but the were-goat couldn't slip through his hands again. Basil had to act decisively or surrender, and he was not a man to surrender.

He pulled the gun from the glove box. It was loaded, but he didn't have any more bullets. As long as things went well, not even one shot would need to be fired. If anyone were to take a bullet, it would be the were-goat. He tucked it into his pants as he climbed out of his car.

The bouncer was busy flirting with some young girls. They, like Sherry, were likely underage. It was the Basil's intention to make as small a scene as possible. He waited until the man allowed the girls in.

Basil approached, meeting the man eye to eye. The bouncer started to roll up the sleeves on his black shirt, showing off his large biceps. Basil pulled his weapon and shoved it into the guards face. The bouncer's eyes affixed on the pistol, he waved Basil inside.

Basil walked into the club, stowing the weapon at his backside, and covering it with his shirt. The bouncer crept in behind him and headed to the rear of the club. Basil looked around. Still no girl, and no were-goat. His mind danced over the possibility they had escaped.

The costume contest was underway. Basil couldn't clearly see the goat, but assumed that he would be taking part in the show at any moment. He took a seat at the bar near the door.

Sherry had spotted him right away, even seeing his motion to conceal the weapon. Now it was much more serious, she hadn't been aware the man was armed.

"Frank, I need your help."

He looked over, his head bouncing on his shoulders. "What, Sparky's going be up soon."

"Basil is here, by the bar."

Frank leaned over the back of his table, not seeing the man at first. He looked at the occupants of the seats at the bar, most of which were in costume. As he continued his study, he finally caught sight of the man. The still fresh scratch on his side from the bullet last night ached. The memory flooded back through his softened mind.

"Son of bitch! You know that Basil is here? Sherry, did you hear me? Basil is here! Son of a bitch!"

"I know."

She reconsidered the idea that the dog would be of any assistance.

"I owe him something."

Frank pushed his way out of the table and stumbled down on all fours. He managed back onto his hind legs. He stayed focused on the man, but between the crowd and his own impairment it was extremely difficult to remain upright. Frank camouflaged well among the costumes and his low height aided his being undetectable. Frank arrived at the base of the stool, without any of Basil's attention.

Sherry watched the whole time, not sure what to do about this inebriated bravery.

"Hey you," Frank called from below. Basil didn't look down. "You there, in the pink shirt."

Basil looked down and was surprised to see a midget in a dog costume. It was a very good dog costume.

"Can I help you little man?"

"Frank, Frank," he snapped at the Basil's dangling legs. "No little man!"

"Sorry, Frank."

Basil turned away, scanning for the were-goat. Frank rocked his stool.

"I'm not done with you!"

"Take it easy, pal. You don't have to go all nuts on me!"

"You want to take this outside!"

"Look, buddy-"

"Frank!"

"Look, Frank, I don't even know you. Just leave it alone before you hurt yourself," Basil reached down and petted him on the head. The costume felt more real than he had imagined. He reminded himself that not only could dogs not talk, they wouldn't be in a bar if they could.

"You don't remember me? I remember you. I remember you tried to kill me!"

Basil started wondering briefly if he had ever busted a midget before. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd run into a man turned out from prison that wanted revenge. No one came to mind.

"I think you've got the wrong guy."

"No," Frank shook the stool. "Fatty, you shot me last night, and I'm pissed."

The detective became bewildered. He hadn't shot anyone last night. The only bullet fired had gone off into the goat's scrawny mutt. It had been so dark. Basil froze in suspense. He reminded himself that dogs don't talk. Then he remembered that neither do goats.

"I know you. You were with the goat, weren't you?"

Frank was trying to remain intimidating. His head was spinning so much. Frank's stomach gave out on him. Basil jumped as the vomit splashed over his shoes.

Déjà vu.

He was certain this was the same dog. He was amazed to find that he too could talk. It was an unexpected perk that just doubled his income potential.

Basil leaned down to the animal, breathing through his mouth.

"Frank, was it?"

Frank was teetering on the cliff of consciousness.

"I think you do need a little help, how about we step outside?"

Sherry had watched Frank assault the man's chair and was now in suspense watching his reaction to the canine's upchuck reflex. She looked to the floor where the contestants were lining up, including a very boisterous Sparky. She turned back to Basil, and watched him carry the limp dog from the bar.

She didn't know who to run to.

The door closed as the bouncer came back from the rear of the bar with two other men. They started going over through the crowds, searching.

"Contestant number two weighing in as a wild goat. Coming to us all the way from Saskatchewan... Sparky!"

The crowd exploded.

Chapter 70

"We've got it! Sherry, we've got five hundred bucks! That's enough gas money to get there and back again. We need to find Frank and get going." His tail was spinning uncontrollably.

In Sherry's mind she kept going over the words she wanted to say, but she wasn't sure how to let the goat know that Basil had taken the dog. She was also afraid of going outside; the detective could be waiting there with a trap.

"Sherry what's wrong? Sherry?"

"Sparky, Frank-"

What if she had done something? What if she had acted? Frank's abduction was as much her fault as his own.

"Frank what? Is he throwing up again? Please tell me he at least went outside."

"He went outside, with Basil."

Sparky only heard the first half of her statement. He was ready to get back on the road. He burst out the club door, passing right by a large man who had replaced the doorman from earlier.

"Frank?"

Sherry emerged right behind him, his coat over her arm. "You forgot your coat."

"You said he came outside right," he looked back at her not taking the time to read her expression. "Frank?"

"Sparky, he-" A very large lump in her throat was holding her voice hostage.

Sparky turned back to her, finally catching that something truly had gone wrong. "Where would he go, Sherry?"

As she broke over the lump, her ducts also let loose. The tears came down her cheeks, reflecting the zebra stripped sign. "Sparky, Basil, he took Frank."

"What? No. No. Frank? Frank!"

"I watched him carry him outside."

"He wouldn't take him, he wanted me," Sparky started out into the cars. "He wanted me! Frank, come on its time to go. Frank!"

"He's with Basil, he's gone Sparky."

"Where, where's the car, where's Basil."

Sherry led him to where they had parked. The car was gone.

"Damn it!" He stomped in the dirt. "Frank!"

"He's gone Sparky, I'm sorry."

"He wanted me, not Frank, me!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Sparky I'm so sorry. This is my fault, I was only trying to help. Now Frank's gone."

"No Sherry, you didn't have anything to do with this. This is Basil's doing. If anyone else is to blame it's me. Why can't he just leave me alone to find my family? I'm not trying to hurt anyone. Why can't he just let me be? Why arrest me?"

"He doesn't want to arrest you, Sparky. He could care less. He wants you to make him rich. He wants to make a fortune off of owning a talking goat."

"So he must know about Frank."

"He walked right over to him."

"Who did? Basil?"

"No, I told Frank he was here. He got so mad and stormed over. Well, more like stumbled over. He was trying to pick a fight."

"Frank was probably still angry about being shot."

"We have to find him; we can't let the detective hurt him."

"We'll find a way to get him."

Sparky knew that he could not abandon his friend, but he could not abandon his herd either. Both were in need of rescue, and there was only one of him. In the case of Frank, he didn't have a clue where to start. He really had no clue where they were except in relation to their destination, and had no indication of where Basil would go. His hopeful words would be hard to back up.

"You rode down with him, right? Any idea where he would take him?"

"No, I don't have a clue. He didn't talk about Frank. He was focused on you, obsessed with you." She turned, hearing the door to the club open.

A small group of people came out in costume. One of them waved over "Congratulations, man!"

"Thanks," he answered, looking down at Sherry. "I think that guy was trying to take me home. There was this woman Frank had met when we got there. She kept offering to talk to guys for me. I wasn't really sure why."

"Sparky, what are we going to do, call the police?"

"If I could have called the police, I would have done it from the comfort of home. They don't help goats."

"I was joking, Sparky." She wiped her tears clean.

"Oh, I only know to laugh if you suck in a big ball of drool at the end. It's what Frank always does."

They made their way back to the car.

"You shouldn't even be along for this, you need to get home. If something happened to you-"

"I can't leave, not until I know Frank is safe."

Sparky hesitated as he opened the driver door and sat down. Sherry started to climb in the passenger side. "Watch out for the hair."

Sherry dusted Frank's fur from the seat. It was hard to get it all off. "I should have known you'd dirty up my car."

Sparky looked over at her, nervously. Sherry spread her lips and sucked down the saliva in her mouth. Sparky forced a small laugh.

"What do we do now?"

Sparky was about to answer her when he was interrupted. At first he wasn't sure if he was imagining the sound, but when he saw Sherry return his awkward expression he realized she was hearing it too.

"What is that?"

Sparky didn't know, but he was certain it was coming from under his seat. He reached down and searched. His hoof clicked against a small plastic item. He pulled it out from under his chair and stared at it, not certain what to do.

Sherry looked at him, "Are you going to answer it?"

Chapter 71

Sam was looking through the cages to her older brother.

"Do you see anything, Sparky?"

"Nothing."

Sparky Junior's proximity to the main door had given him a vantage that afforded him some chances to spy on their human captors. He hadn't gained anything truly valuable, but the two weren't about to give up.

"Wait, I hear something."

Two people walked toward the door. They stopped just shy of the stuffy chamber that housed the goats. Their voices were muffled but Sparky Junior was able to hear some of their words.

"I don't appreciate being called on an open line. The man is very watchful Miss Goldman, he doesn't take well to conspiracy."

"I don't care, I'm tired of that buffoon always being saved by his majesty and you are the only one that can help me get to him."

"I have what I want, I'm through with you. You're going to ruin this entire operation if you're not careful. You and that buffoon."

"How dare you!"

Sparky, Jr. strained his ears forward, but it was no use. He knew there was more chatting between the two parties but he could not make it out.

"What now?" Sam asked.

He put his hoof to his mouth, motioning for her to be quiet. Sparky, Jr. leaned his head up to the bars, trying his hardest to hear more.

The door sprang open and a short, balding man drove through swearing. He waved his arms wildly, visibly enraged by his previous conversation. He stopped at once and locked eyes with Sparky Junior.

"Spying on my conversation? You guilty little devil!" The man struck the bars with his hand. Sparky retreated.

"Do you know I worked so hard to put this together? I wouldn't doubt the secret ingredient to your magical transformation was my own sweat. And I get nothing. No thanks. Just a phone call from that dirty little minx that is trying to play me off. How dare she?"

"I know, 'What does this have to do with me? I'm just a little goat' you must be saying," he reached into his coat and pulled out a photograph. He waved the picture in front of the animal. "This was my first test. A Doberman. I loved my dogs. I did all my work on them. They were wonderful subjects."

"Sadly, his brain exploded all over me after I started treating him with my first strain of serum. Sad story, no?"

The bald man slapped the young buck's cage again and then proceeded on. The next cage had two of the younger goats inside.

"You must be simply ecstatic to be the first successes of my product. Although I will admit I thought dogs were dirty."

"Listen up! I expect your full co-operation! I'm going to start a very exclusive interview process. If you participate willingly it will have a very positive effect on your lifespan. If you resist, you'll be ground up and used as food for those who were willing to help our cause."

The bald man turned around and stormed out of the room, without speaking any further.

The moment the space was clear Sam called to her brother. "What did you hear?"

"I'm not sure. It sounded like they were fighting."

"About us?"

"I, I don't know."

"Will you two just shut up!" Oreo slammed his hooves down, demanding to be heard. "We're slaves now, slaves until they cut us apart for research. Unless you learn how to break metal bars with your teeth, nothing is going to change that."

"Oh come on big guy, they're only trying to help," Mudbubble said.

"All their bantering is pissing me off!" Oreo screamed.

"I don't see you doing anything to help!"

"And I don't see you doing anything either!"

"At least she's trying to lead us out of here, even if it is hopeless. You could learn something from them. Looks like their old man taught them really well."

Oreo laughed; the sound echoed off the hollow walls. "Their old man? Their old man couldn't protect us. He's probably the reason we're here."

"That's not fair!" Sparky Junior said.

"Oh, it isn't? Where was he then? Where is he now? He's living the good life on the farm! Probably got a whole new flock to watch over!"

"Knock it off," Blossom said. "You don't know that."

"Well, if it's not true then we'll all know in a few days. When we're all dead together we'll ask him."

"Damn you! If you don't shut your mouth this instant I'm going to rip your head clean from your shoulders. You're a damn fool, Oreo. Sparky is a good goat! And I pray that he never hears your words. It would break his heart to hear that such a good friend betrayed him. Don't label him with your own incompetence just because you are jealous!"

The room went quiet with Sam's outburst.

Oreo was infuriated that the little goat had openly bashed him in front of the herd, but he refused to speak it. The two caught eyes stared each other down, Samantha refusing to be outdone. Maybe it was her father's spirit. Maybe it was that she knew it would all be over soon enough. But she was unafraid.

After a long time, Oreo put his head down. Sam turned back to her brother, who smiled at her brightly. It was the first smile she had seen in some time and it elicited a feeling of hope that she had almost abandoned.

"Alright Sparks, now what exactly did they say?"

Chapter 72

"I knew you had my phone, remind me to get that back from you."

"Basil?" Sparky hardly recognized the voice through the phone; the man sounded just this side of maniacal.

"You know, I was going to put a gun to that girl's head to convince you to come with me, but now I have much better leverage."

"Where's Frank?" Sparky paused waiting for an answer.

Basil's heavy breath crackled over the speaker several times before he resumed speaking. "It's great to know that no matter if you choose to help me or not, I can make my fortune off of your passed out friend."

Sparky's patience thinned, he could tell the detective was drawing this out. "Basil, where is Frank?"

"You know, I wondered why you'd have a dog along with you. Do you know how excited I was when I realized that it wasn't a midget that was trying to pick a fight with me?" Basil's partial victory was something he had struggled for enough that he could resist enjoying it fully.

"Are you listening to me?"

Sparky shook the cell phone, not certain it was even working with their connection.

Basil ignored the goat, and kept gloating. "A talking goat and a talking dog, sounds like a new sitcom idea to me, or better, maybe it could be-"

Sparky disconnected the call.

"What are you doing? You hung up on him?" Sherry asked.

"I think it was broken. I don't think he could hear me." Sparky's face showed his confused anguish.

The phone rang again.

"Hello?" Sparky spoke slowly.

"Why did you hang up?" Basil's tone had moved from conceited to flustered.

"I didn't think you could hear me."

"Of course I can hear you! You just listen to me, then I give you demands, and then you can hang up. Not before!"

Sparky nodded. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Well now you do! Is that girl there?"

"Yes, she's here." Sparky looked over Sherry, her eyes were sunken and moist with tears. It was clear she felt responsible. "Where's Frank?"

"Let me talk to the girl."

"I want to know where Frank is!" Sparky could hardly believe he was yelling.

"Not until I talk to the girl!" Basil screamed in response.

Sparky hung up the phone. His yellow eyes rested on Sherry. "He wants to talk to you."

Sherry's mouth draped open. "You hung up, again?"

"He's yelling and not listening to me at all. What am I supposed to do?"

There was hardly a moment before, again, the phone rang. Sparky picked up. He didn't say a word.

Basil started after a long silence. "Hello?"

"This is Sparky."

"Why are you yelling at me? I have the hostage!" Frustration had Basil ready to strangle the phone.

"Why are you yelling at me?"

"Because I'm angry!" Sparky should suffer. It was only fair. The ridicule at the office, the shame of being left naked in the woods, the torment of Jeb Jenkins talking about, well, every damn thing the man said was torment. Basil was through with it all. Sparky would submit, Sparky would...he stopped his line of thought. The line was again silent.

"Did you hang up again?" Basil could hear breathing, "Hello?"

Sparky sighed into the phone. "You talk to me without yelling or I'm hanging up."

"I have the hostage!" Basil adamantly refused to hear one word of it.

Sparky closed the phone.

Sherry tilted her head, confused by Sparky's willful disobedience. "Aren't you worried about Frank?"

"Nah, he won't hurt him."

"Are you sure?"

"You said it yourself, he wants us both, for money. He needs us alive. He can't even think about catching me holding a dead Frank."

"But Basil might torture him," she replied.

"He's a tough dog. He won't put up with..." The phone rang. "Hello?"

"Don't hang up!" Basil screamed with all of his lungs.

Sparky flipped the phone shut, this time shaking his head at the device. "He's not very nice, is he?"

Sparky started humming.

Sherry hoped Sparky was right. She remembered riding with the detective, and admitted to herself that he didn't seem like a cold-blooded killer. The goat and the girl sat for another minute in silence. The detective didn't call back. She worried more with each moment that Sparky had been wrong.

"Are you sure he won't hurt him?"

"Well, mostly sure. People tend to surprise me more often than I would like."

Sparky was willing to admit that he had limited experience in these matters and could be making matters worse, but before he could, the phone rang. Sparky let it ring a few times.

"Are you calm now?" Sparky answered.

"Who is this?" the voice on the other end of the line was not Basil's.

"Who is this?"

"This is Tony," the man paused. "Basil?"

Sparky closed the phone.

Sherry turned to him, "Who was that?"

"It wasn't Basil."

The phone rang again. "Hee-loo?"

Basil kept his tone as level as possible. Once he had Sparky, the rules of engagement would change. "If you want to see your dog again, you'll do exactly what I say."

Chapter 73

Reilly flexed his left arm. He was in the elevator going down to the bottom floor. He needed to make a stop at the storeroom. There was one item of particular necessity for his next assignment. The doctor would be there shortly and had been very specific about what needed to be done beforehand.

Reilly was very pleased to have been put back in charge of the goat operations. He had gotten concerned that he was on the edge of being let go and it was his very direct experience that people weren't fired from his division, they were simply executed. The doctor rationalized it to Reilly by the company saving tons on unemployment. It wasn't Reilly's call, he just did as assigned. Reilly didn't like getting involved with the politics of running a corporation. He preferred to simply take orders from someone and only be responsible for the execution of plans and coworkers.

The elevator dinged. Reilly strolled out into the hallway dancing. There was no one else on the bottom floor. He and the doctor were the only ones with access. Besides, everyone else was getting the goats ready for the first wave of tests.

Reilly wanted to murder the goats. He was tired of their smell and attitudes, particularly the one large goat that had yelled at him. It was the same goat that had pounded him when they had tried to water the goats on the road.

"Sorry boss," he would say. "He broke out and tried to eat all the donuts, you know how my men love their donuts. We can't have chaos, can we?"

The doctor would smile and give him some more money. "Go on vacation, Reilly, you work too hard," he would say.

As of yet he had not really been given any time off. He accepted that it came with the territory of being an important person. Reilly was continually in demand. Do this, drive here, kill this, drag it there. It was in many ways his dream job.

He continued his dance down the hall, one arm raised as if he had a partner. Alone, in the security lights, spinning wildly.

Reilly started humming a little tune to go with his dance.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh."

Twirling in front of the security door, he swiped his key card and the terminal lit up yellow. He continued his rhythm as he punched the numbers on the keypad. It returned a terrible screech and the indicator went red.

Reilly stopped his song momentarily. The large man retrieved his key card again. He swiped the card and typed in his numeric code more carefully. The indicator turned red again. The large man leaned against the wall and stared at the panel, trying the process again. Again the pad responded with its red light and rough buzzing.

"Hmmm."

His foot tapped with the music he had been humming, but he wasn't humming. The sound echoed off the empty hallway. "Aha!" he said, at once tapping his card musically at the top of the reader. He swiped it again, mimicking cymbals being tapped lightly with that metal fan thing; he couldn't remember what it was called. They used it instead of the drumsticks.

The light went green. He pushed into the door. He reached inside, again humming as he clicked the light on. The fluorescent illumination brought to life the sterile rows of metal shelving. This room had been sealed for some time. He didn't know how long really, but the shelves were caked in dust bunnies.

"The back of the room," he sang with his little ditty. Reilly tapped his way back beyond the shelves to a small metal lockbox sitting on a narrow table, just where he had been promised it would be. He reached into his left pocket and pulled out a small brass key. He inserted it into the box and popped the lock. The lid sprang open.

The contents glowed. He reached in and pulled out a small latex glove and frowned. His massive hands would not be accommodated. He turned around the storage room and the archives of medical supplies. He surveyed the shelves persistently, tapping the lid of the tin box melodiously.

"Oh, oh, oh, oh."

He took a few steps back, faking a moonwalk. He bent down and read the label carefully on the box he had spotted. "Surgical gloves, extra large."

He secured a pair and pulled them carefully over his hands, snapping the fingers in place. "Looks like a good fit, la, la, la, la." He stood and turned, taking massive strides forward and then pulling his feet back; truly taking pleasure in composing his symphony.

He pulled free the contents of the box and held it up high above his head; vocalizing a crescendo. He retreated from the room and headed back to the elevator; holding the prize tightly in his right hand. The doors opened. Reilly stepped in and then jumped back, then stepped in again and turned to the door, swinging his arms dramatically.

He observed the panel, looking over each of the buttons. He tapped at the side of his face with his left hand, still in harmony. "Mmmm."

"Doo-wahh!"

He extended his finger to the button for the fourth level. The elevator started its ascent. The contraption dinged as he reached the first floor. He slid his hands into his pockets and continued humming. One of the lab technicians strolled in. The two men shared casual nods.

The white-coated technician pressed the button for the third floor. Reilly smiled cordially as the doors closed. Together they rose up two floors to where the doors reopened. The technician departed without a final nod.

As the doors resealed, Reilly pulled his hands from his pocket, still holding the retrieved prize from the storage room downstairs. The doors opened.

Much to his delight, Valerie Goldman was standing waiting.

"Damn it. I can't go anywhere without running into you!"

Reilly raised the gun.

"Bang, Bang!"

Thump-bum-bump.

Chapter 74

Sparky had listened carefully to Basil's instructions, but the dark of night mixed with heavy fog were not helping his already limited experience with navigation. The atlas that he had purchased didn't help with local roads and Sherry knew nothing about the dark streets of Thunder Bay. Sparky was fairly certain that they were lost, but regardless he continued driving, trying his best to remember the route Basil had laid out for him.

Leaving the club he had turned back up the highway and took the next right. He followed that road around a bend and then over a bridge. He didn't remember if Basil had mentioned a bridge, but he went on anyway. He continued into a small neighborhood that appeared to be still under construction. He thought that was right. But on arrival there was no sign of the Special Agent. Basil had said that Sparky would find him somewhere in the neighborhood, but Sparky could not remember exactly where the man had said.

Immediately in front of them, a pair of headlights came to life, signaling them through the fog.

Sparky pulled the car to the curb.

"Wait here."

Sherry's lower lip fell out at Sparky's orders. He stepped out of the car and wrapped himself in his overcoat, mostly to protect against the chill in the air. He closed the door while giving a reassuring smile. He tossed up his collar and started over to the Basil's car.

"That's far enough." Basil emerged as a smoky outline as he stepped into the headlights.

"Where's Frank?"

"He's nearby. Look, Sparky, I want you to come with me. I don't need the dog. He's a lost cause. You... You, Sparky are the real gem."

Sparky took another step; Basil raised his gun.

"Not another step, I'm not taking any more chances."

"Do you realize why I'm out here, why I've come so far? I have a family that needs me."

"Goat, you don't seem to realize just how much you are worth. You know that back in the eighties, some guy put eyes and lips on a bunch of rocks and made millions?"

"I didn't know that," Sparky was a little confused about what rocks and goats had in common. Most rocks couldn't care less what was done to them.

"They couldn't even talk. You are a true marvel of the modern world. Something made you special enough that you could communicate with humans, the rulers of the planet. No more mahhing and bahhing."

Sparky was all but impressed with the people he had met so far, whether they were the rulers of the planet or not. If not for Oliver Simms and Sherry Lingham, he would call no humans friends and would not consider it a gift to speak to them at all. He was staring down the barrel of a gun, it occurred to him that this may be an opportunity he couldn't miss.

"I'll give you what you want. You can show me to everyone for who I am." Sparky could hardly believe his own words.

"Really? I knew you would have to see it my way."

"Not so fast, you're going to win my friendship."

"I am?" Basil would do no such thing. He had the hostage. He had the gun. "No, I don't think so. You have nothing to offer me that I can't take from you. That's how negotiations work."

"I didn't say negotiate. I said win my friendship."

"I don't need your friendship! You're a fucking goat! I can brand your ass and make you mine if I want! Where they hell do you get off thinking I need your friendship!"

"If that's how you see it." Sparky started back toward the car.

"You're just going to think you can turn and walk away? You're not going to even attempt to rescue your friend?"

Sparky didn't slow down.

Basil aimed the gun and prepared to fire a round at Sparky's feet, but the goat kept on, and Basil couldn't fire. Basil's mind was a flurry, trying to think what to say, sorting through how once more the tables appeared to be turned against him. Sparky reached the car.

"Wait." Basil lowered the weapon and ran after him. "What do you want?"

"You are going to let Frank go."

"Okay, fine, I already said I would do that."

"And Sherry needs to get home, and you're not going to bother her about me again."

"Sure, whatever, I don't need her anyway."

"And you're going to take me to Montreal to rescue my family."

"No way."

"And we are getting them home, and you can't mess with them either." Despite that he hated committing to being the man's golden ticket he knew the detective would not give up until he got what he wanted.

"How do I know you'll go through with this? Once you have your family back, how do I know that you won't just shoot me? Or double cross me?"

"If I wanted to shoot you, I would have done it yesterday."

Basil knew that was true, but he didn't want to negotiate or win any friendship from the goat. Sparky should come with him now, or the dog gets it. At least that's how this whole thing started. He wasn't sure now what he wanted to get from all this. He looked to the girl in the passenger seat, considering putting the gun to her head.

He knew that the girl had high regards for the animal. Despite his lack of a moral human upbringing, this goat _came off as a fairly honest character so far. Basil knew that if there was a chance that Sparky would willingly give in to him it would make exploiting his uniqueness that much easier.

"If you turn on me, I'll shoot you."

"Okay."

"I could exploit everyone, all of your family, your friends. Make myself filthy rich."

"No, because then I would shoot you." Sparky was very matter of fact on the issue. With as far as the goat had traveled, the detective believed the animal would add murder to the charges if it meant the protection of his family. As honorable as that was, it seriously cramped his plans.

"Anything else you want me to do? Shine your shoes or something?"

"I don't have any shoes."

Basil turned away, his back to the goat.

"I let the mutt go, send the girl home, and then drive you to Montreal to rescue a giant herd of talking goats. Once they are delivered home to Asquith," he started waving his hands in the air, "I'm assuming that's where you're from," he turned over his shoulder expectantly.

"Yes."

"Then you will come with me to Hollywood or wherever so that I can be rich."

"Yes."

Basil wanted his money now, his fame now. But it would be sweeter to milk it for all that its worth with Sparky going along. It was either that or shooting the creature dead and hoping that he could turn it over to science for his due rewards. It wasn't the same appeal.

"Alright goat, you're on."

Chapter 75

Sherry was sobbing behind the wheel of her car. "I can't believe you made this deal with him. Let me come along, please! He's going to betray you."

"He might, but you don't need to be any part of this anymore."

She looked up to him, her eyes red. "I don't think you're doing the right thing, Sparky. You need to ditch him as soon as possible."

"I can't do that. He's as determined about me as I am to protect my family. At least this way I can protect the ones I care about, after that..." Sparky put his arm on her shoulder through the window. She rubbed her cheek against his fur. It was softer than she had expected.

"So I guess this is goodbye."

Basil put his arm around Sparky. "Don't worry, sugar, you'll be seeing him every Saturday night." He stretched his hands out to symbolize the gala event. "The Goat Show! With your host, Sir Basil Lain!"

"You're sick."

"You're not getting an invite to my palace with that attitude!" He pointed to her with one hand like a gun. "Bang!"

"You can kill him too you know, it's not murder if you eat him afterwards." she spoke loud enough that the detective could overhear her as he returned to his car.

"Nah, he won't taste good. I'll let Frank eat him." Sparky said.

Sherry laughed.

"Come on, goat, time to hit the road. I want to be hitting up the national news by Monday morning," Basil jumped into his car and slammed the door.

"Do you have enough for gas?"

"Yeah, thanks Sparky."

"Thank you, Sherry. I wouldn't be this far without you." He looked over at Basil's Ford Escort and then back to Sherry. "Will you be okay?"

"Yeah, I'm a big girl. Will you be okay?"

"Of course," he said, turning around toward the detective's car. "I'm a big goat."

Sherry chuckled at his attempt to break the tension. She started the car and watched as he climbed in with Basil. He gave a final wave and she returned it.

As they drove off, she looked down at the clock and realized it was almost two in the morning. She would have time to get back before her parents, but not a lot of time to sleep before they got in. She adjusted her mirrors, cracking a smile at the fur-covered passenger seat.

~~~~~~

Frank's limp body laid past out in the back seat. A pool of drool sloshed about on the vinyl seat cover around his mouth. Sparky was glad to see him, but wished he were awake to share the burden of the detective's company.

Basil pulled to a stop at the highway. After checking the traffic, he started to pull out and make a right. Sparky grabbed the wheel. Basil screeched the car to a stop.

"What are you doing?"

"Montreal is that way," Sparky pointed left.

"Oh, um, I must have gotten reversed. It is late," he made a pretend yawn.

"Want me to drive?" Sparky offered.

"No, that's okay, my insurance has enough trouble covering me," he pulled eased the car onto the deserted highway. "You know, you're going to thank me some day."

Sparky was looking out the window. Most of the time he had spent driving he felt obligated to keep his eyes on the road. He hadn't had a chance to really take in the sights.

The Zoo whipped by. He looked over at the speedometer. "Going a little fast?"

"You are really annoying, you know that? And by the way, that phone thing you did to me? That really pissed me off."

"Did it?" Sparky was tempted to tell him to shut up. He was really not at all impressed with anything Basil had said since they met. "You're fairly unpleasant."

"You know you have a lot of opinions for a farm critter."

"I think I've managed fairly well, especially considering present company."

"What do you mean by that?" Basil was licking over his teeth with his tongue.

Sparky looked over and Basil retreated his tongue back behind his lips.

"Look goat, I am a well respected member of the Canadian Bureau of Investigations and very successful."

"Then what are you doing blackmailing talking livestock?"

"Christ, you're just like that damn girl! Does everything have to be an argument with you?" Basil slammed his hands on the wheel.

"It depends on if there is a point to argue." Sparky turned, looking out the window. Most of the city lights were dim, but some of the fast food places were still lit up. They passed by giant golden arches. Sparky looked back to his new companion, feeling his stomach turn. "Hey, are you hungry?"

"Hungry for what? You bring some hay you can share with me? Oh wait I know, some of those little pellets. Us humans love to chew on grass cubes!" Basil lowered himself in his seat. "Stupid goat."

Sparky cleared his throat and pulled one of the hundreds from his coat pocket. "I was thinking we could stop and get a burger and maybe some hash browns."

"Where'd you get that money? Was that from the contest?"

"Uh-huh." Sparky flapped the stiff bill in front of his face.

"They don't serve hash browns at two a.m." The detective forced a cough. The goat didn't have an immediate rebuttal as Basil had expected. "Have you tried the French fries?"

"No."

"Just like hash browns," the detective pulled the car off the freeway. "We're going inside though. Can't take any more drive thru tonight unless you want me to throw up."

"No, Frank covered that this evening from what I heard."

Sparky and Basil looked at each other. It was the first time each had done so without trying to intimidate the other. They only kept the connection for a moment.

"Yeah, covered my shoes with it." Basil spun the wheel with his open palm as he guided the car into a free parking space.

Chapter 76

"Almost there, almost got it," Samantha was stretching her front legs as far as she could. The locks on the cages were at a near impossible angle for the goats to reach. She had coordinated with Dipper and the two were trying to see if she could manage to manipulate the lock on his cage.

"You're not going to reach, girl. If anything you're going to squeeze your arms off," Dipper said. "It's a noble effort, though."

She gave one final stretch before surrendering. She knew she couldn't reach the lock. She wasn't even sure what good she could do without a key, but there wasn't any other way to pass the time. As the young lady settled back down, she stumbled over Montana. He had been sleeping for some time.

"Sorry, bubby, I didn't mean to," She tried to apologize, but the kid just waved her off. He was too exhausted and hungry to worry about it. She reached over and stroked his head as he settled back down.

"You see anything, Sparky?"

"Nothing, sis. I think this is a lost cause." He hardly lifted his head to speak, his body stretched over the floor of his cage.

"It's okay little miss, no one expected you to save us," Mudbubble's voice was quiet and consoling. "You're doing great though."

"I'm just not one to give up, Muddy."

"Young lady, I'm not asking you too. In fact, if there were a goat that could do it in this room, it would be you." Mudbuddle grinned.

"Really?"

"Really."

Samantha sat down for the first time in hours and rested her legs. She thought over his gentle words.

"He's right, Sam. I think you're the only one of us that has any hope," Darren said. He was a few cages over.

"Oh, well." She turned away shyly. She had not been operating for compliments.

"Your father would be proud," Mudbubble said.

Mudbubble's vision drifted away to Snowball, she was almost on the other side of the room, but he still managed to find her through the maze of bars. This time he noticed she was looking back. He smiled. She smiled.

"Muddy?" Sam asked.

"Yes?"

"When we were in the truck, you said," she hesitated a moment. It was hard to overcome her greatest of fears. "You said my dad was coming to save us."

"Yeah, I did say that, didn't I?"

"Is it true?"

"Well," he studied her face. "I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

Mudbubble thought a moment to carefully select his words. "I don't know for certain. It's a big world. Lots of things can happen. I don't want to drown your hopes, but it would be almost impossible for any goat to-"

"But he's not just any goat. He's my dad."

"He's a special breed," Darren said. "He's the only goat my dad ever listened to."

"He's my best friend," Mudbubble added.

"Mine, too," Dipper said.

"You know honey," Mudbubble looked down at her, she was sobbing lightly. "If there was a goat that could do it, it would be your dad."

She smiled through her tears.

"Sam, Sam!" Sparky Junior's tone was panicked.

All the animals turned to the door. They knew from the young one's anxious warning that someone was coming.

The doors flapped open. Reilly strolled in like a king. He was followed by two men hauling a cart.

"Where are you? Where's my special friend?" His voice filled with satisfaction. "Where's my screaming little buddy?"

Oreo stood up in his cage. He looked behind him to Blossom and then returned the man's call. "I'm here."

"Excellent. The doctor was nice enough to let me choose the first subject. Guess who I picked."

Oreo held his stance as his cage was shaken and the men moved him onto the cart. Reilly smiled brightly, knowing fully what was in store for the goat.

"You're going to love this. But don't worry everyone, you'll all get a turn!"

"What about food?" a small cry erupted from the back of the room, Reilly couldn't pinpoint where from.

"Food?" Reilly kicked one of the cages, the rattling metal sent a shockwave through the room. "What food? Ungrateful beasts!"

Reilly started out of the room. The two workers followed, dragging the cart behind them. Oreo refused to sit as he was hauled away. As he was almost out of the room he turned and looked directly at Sam.

"Don't give up."

Chapter 77

"Welcome to Grand Mariner's!"

The young lady at the register was wearing a black hat with a dead man on it. Sparky wasn't sure how that would make people more hungry, but he would go along with it. He did not want draw attention to himself, he was already nervous about being inside another restaurant.

Basil had insisted they go inside on account of what he referred to as a weak stomach. The goat knew of no such thing and from what he had read in some of the Oliver's medical journals, there was no such condition. He tried to have the man give him alternate names in hope of wowing him with treatment options. The plan backfired and the two were screaming at each other in no time. Sparky had surrendered.

"Would you like to try a Flaming Happy Fish Surprise with our special imitation lobster flavored bisque dip?"

"What was that?" Sparky asked.

"The Grand Mariner's Flaming Happy Fish Surprise is two reconstituted cod filets coated in Grand Mariner's trademarked New England style breading and deep fried in lard. Then we serve it with the finest imitation lobster flavored bisque dip this side of Martin Street!"

"Martin Street?"

"Yeah, its four blocks over, there is this little mom and pop place there. We used to say this side of the Atlantic Ocean, but they filed a lawsuit and as part of the settlement we have to limit our supremacy to Martin Street."

Sparky nodded. He looked up to the menu. Everything seemed to contain fish. Fish and chips, fish and pups, fish brownie. "Do the French fries contain fish?"

"No, but they are fried in grouper oil."

He stepped back to review the menu further; Basil stepped up to the counter. "I want that Grand Mariner's fire special thing."

The young lady lifted a cardboard standup from the counter, moving her finger across the name of the special. "Grand Mariner's Flaming Happy Fish Surprise?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's good."

"And for you, sir?" she waved the card at the goat, "Do you want one too?"

Sparky looked at the picturesque landscape of food in the picture. Two slender filets of fish, lightly breaded to a tender golden brown, a mountain of fries wedged in and the steaming yellow bowl of what he assumed had to be the bisque. It did look appetizing, but he was sure fish was meat, and meat wasn't part of his diet.

"Do you have anything without fish?"

"Coffee."

"I was hoping for something with a little more substance."

Sparky looked at Basil, who had buried his face in his hands. The goat wished they had gone to one of the burger places. Their fries weren't fried in grouper oil. At least he didn't think so, he had never asked.

"I'll try the fries."

"Okay, one Grand Mariner's Flaming Happy Fish Surprise, and one order of fries. Anything else?"

"Come to think of it I'm a little thirsty, can I get a drink with that?" Basil asked.

"The special comes with a medium drink. You can sail off with a large for twenty-nine cents or cruise with the jumbo size for seventy-nine cents more," she paused to regain her breath. "If you're really in the mood you can sink yourself with the Titanic size for a dollar!"

"No that's fine, I'll take a medium. Just give me a regular soda."

The young lady coughed into her hand and then pointed. "The machine is over there."

She placed a small cup on the counter in front of him. Basil picked it up; he assumed she didn't give him the right cup. "What is this?"

"Looks like a cup," Sparky didn't realize the question wasn't for him.

Basil scowled at Sparky.

"It's a medium."

"This is a medium? I thought that was the medium," he pointed to a stack of cups behind her. The girl stepped back.

"This is the medium," she pointed to the first and smallest cup. "This is the large."

"Wait! So your smallest size is a?"

"Medium."

"Shouldn't your smallest size be called a small? Not a medium?"

"I don't name our drinks," she stepped back to the register. "But I would be happy to hoist the sail of service and give you a large drink for only twenty-nine cents!"

"Sure, fine, whatever," he dropped the cup on the counter.

"Did you want a drink, sir?"

Sparky was busy following Basil with his eyes; he hadn't heard the cashier speak to him.

The cashier raised her voice, "Sir?"

Sparky jumped. "Yes?"

"Did you want a drink?"

Sparky took a moment to sort through the menu and the woman's earlier descriptions. "Yes, um, coffee, Titanic sized."

"Coffee sizes are small and large."

He looked over at Basil, who wasn't paying any attention; he appeared to be speaking to himself. At least Sparky could see that his lips were moving.

"I thought you had medium, large..."

She cut him off, "Those are our soft drink sizes. Coffee is small and large."

"But I want the Titanic size. Is that not possible? Can't you hoist that service sail?"

"The service sail doesn't work like that." He could tell that she was starting to share in Basil's frustration. He decided it would be best to keep it simple.

Sparky leaned a little further forward. "Here, I'll make this easy. Cancel the fries. I just want coffee."

Chapter 78

"You know that I've never sat in a public place with anyone eating just coffee beans. Thank you for making this a reality for me." Basil kept his head low. "What will people think?"

"What people?" Sparky scanned the restaurant, there was no one there besides the cashier and she was reading a book. "The lady?"

"Yeah and everyone else. You don't want to be exposed, do you? No person eats coffee beans."

Sparky looked over at the counter. The cashier flipped the page of her book.

"She's not even looking."

"It doesn't matter. These places are full of cameras." He pointed at the goat with a French fry. "Like that moving place", Basil snapped his fingers, "Llama's!"

"Larry's."

"Yeah, whatever, wall to wall surveillance," he dipped the fry into the greenish side of imitation lobster bisque and shoved it into his mouth.

"That really doesn't look like the photo."

Basil shoved another coated fry into his mouth. "It never does; it tastes great though," he continued to speak while chewing the fries. Bits of potato launched across the table. Sparky pulled back his plate of coffee beans to shield it from the shrapnel.

Basil turned up his nose. "What? You have manners or something?" His mouth was still stuffed with food. "You spit out just as much when you eat."

Sparky tossed a hoof full of beans into his mouth. Basil watched carefully, his eyes tightened on Sparky's lower lip.

"There, there. You got stuff all over the table right there."

Sparky looked down. On the table was a small black fleck. He reached out for it and it took flight. Sparky finished his chewing.

"I think that was a fly."

"Yeah, the fly that just ate all the food that you spit up," he shoved the fish plank into his mouth and bit off a large chunk. "Animal."

Sparky sloughed off the man's comment, he was getting used to the way he talked. It was similar to Frank, but Basil appeared to actually be threatened by his presence. Sparky wasn't completely sure why.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" Sparky asked.

Basil wasn't sure if the question could be dignified with a response. He turned his head, looking out the window as a car drove by, and then back. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"Ha!" Basil chomped off another bite of his plank.

"Is that a yes?"

The jingling of bells interrupted them. Basil watched the door as two policemen entered in uniform. He tucked himself a little lower in his seat. "Shh."

Sparky watched the policemen enter over his shoulder. "Cops?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

Basil had slowed down his chewing, keeping one eye on the men. They looked over and waved. Basil nodded, his cheeks bloated out like a chipmunk on a fish binge.

Sparky lowered his voice. "Do you know them?"

"No, and I don't have a badge so let's just hope they leave."

"Maybe we should just leave?"

"No, no, no. We can't just walk out when they enter, it's too suspicious."

The uniformed men stood at the counter. They watched as the young lady waved the cardboard sign for the special in their faces.

"Well, when can we leave?"

"Now."

Basil grabbed his food and tossed it into the wooden carton. Sparky shoved the uneaten beans into his coat pocket and stood up. The two of them walked directly for the door.

"Hey you!" One of the cops yelled as they hit the door.

Basil turned slowly. "Yes?"

"It's not nice to leave a mess."

He pointed to the table. Basil looked back and saw all the plates and the tray still sitting there.

"Almost forgot." Basil pulled the keys from his pocket and held them out for Sparky. "Honey, why don't you go get the car started?"

"Honey?" Sparky took the keys from his hand.

Basil pushed him out the door and returned casually to the table. He grabbed each item one by one and piled them onto the tray, disguising his guilt with a smile. He casually walked the tray to the trash bin and dumped the contents, waving to the officers as he walked out.

Sparky was in the driver's seat of the car, waiting for him when he walked out the door.

"I said you couldn't drive."

"Get in!" Sparky closed and locked the driver door. Basil climbed in the passenger side of the car.

Inside the restaurant, the two policemen stared at each other and laughed aloud. The young lady requesting their order interjected. "What's so funny?"

"Those guys thought we were real cops!"

Chapter 79

"You are a truly interesting creature. Do you understand your relevance to the theory of evolution?" the doctor had been trying to crack the nut that was Oreo for some time. The goat was as stubborn to speak as he was proud.

"This game is hardly worth playing, my friend. I will either get the answers I need from you or I'll open your warm body and extract them from your DNA. It is truly up to you."

Oreo had been standing as motionless as possible for some time. He had refused to speak to the doctor. He didn't trust Raymond Fudge, not from the moment that he had introduced himself. The man's promise to grind up any goat that didn't cooperate echoed in his mind, but the buck remained strong.

If not for his scene earlier with the large man, Oreo might not be here at all. His cage had been relocated to this smaller room. Along one side stood a small operating table, prepared with various surgical instruments. The goat planned on giving the doctor no satisfaction, no matter what the man threatened.

"You know, I spent a long time trying to figure out why my compound didn't work. It was over a year of constant study," the doctor started pacing around the cage. Oreo didn't move.

"I was finally sent into retirement, labeled as a failure," the man tapped the cage as he circled it. The goat still didn't stir.

"I think it was not so much that I hadn't figured out why the chemical compound was not accelerating the growth of the animals I injected it into, it was the fact that I dissected every single one of them," he stopped and turned, looking directly at the goat.

"Every, single, one."

Oreo kept his eyes open, staring bravely at the table.

"I was prepared though, it never got to me thinking about tearing those families apart, one member at a time. It must have been terrible. Looking back, I wonder if some of them had responded to the treatment. Maybe they were crying inside."

Dr. Fudge continued walking.

"What if every single one of the animals that I hacked to bits had realized that it was going to happen to them? Would they have tried harder to speak? Would they have fought back? Would they have done anything to protect their companions? Their loved ones?"

The man came around to the front of the cage, waving his hand in front of the goat. Oreo refused to budge. "It was only science to me then. Now I've had such a long time to think about it." He placed his hands squarely on the cage. "I am much more excited about pulling you apart."

The doctor screamed at the goat. "Why won't you talk to me?" He shook the cage, kicking at it with his feet. "Why won't you answer my questions?"

He stepped back and brushed his ruffled hair down. The doctor turned to a small monitor and a video player that had been brought in. He played the footage for the goat. It showed him earlier in the main room when they were being sorted. He was bashing at his cage screaming. Oreo could faintly hear his own voice.

The doctor paused the player; the goat's forelimbs were frozen against the cage. Oreo still would not move.

"I wish there was another way. I truly do."

The goat's legs were weakening. He had done his best to keep himself standing, but the aching in his knees was growing more rapidly. He redoubled himself; not allowing his captor to see any ounce of weakness. He had resolved to delay him as long as possible, even if for no other reason than to extend his family's life.

"You know I am going to take you apart. Regardless of if you talk to me," the doctor bent over the TV a moment and pressed another button. The screen changed showing the warehouse that housed his family.

"But if you help me, it might save some of them."

Oreo's knees were tearing at his will far more than the doctor's droning. The goat felt his body start to tremble. Days of malnutrition and little water, virtually no sleep. It was outside of his control. Oreo laid his weary body down on the cage floor.

"Taking this in stride I see," the doctor turned to the table behind him and seized an injection gun. It had already been loaded. He checked the gauge. It read ten cc.

"Well, it's fine. I'll take you each one by one, and get what I need. You are just a small part of the process. It will be a shame to know that the first generation of genetically altered super animals that I constructed will have no quotes in the history books."

Oreo tucked his head down onto his leg and didn't give the man any more of his attention. He was delighted that in his last moments he was causing this horrid man grief. He only wished that he had been able to break free, to liberate the others.

He thought back to the farm, to Sparky. He hoped that at least he would survive. One of them could find some happiness outside of confinement. One of their herd would not be condemned to die in a lab. If there was any chance that his old friend was out there, he prayed that he would find them, and free them, if nothing else, that Sparky would stay free.

"Do you have anything you would like to say before I end this?" The doctor leaned in with the needle. Oreo raised his head.

In the monitor the goat caught sight of Princess. He couldn't see Blossom, but he wished that he could one last time. The camera didn't move; the image stayed static. Oreo looked directly at the doctor for the first time.

Dr. Fudge was so excited that he was starting to respond. There with the needle in hand the goat would have no choice but to speak, the animal must be terrified. Any sentient creature would defend itself to the last. He waited patiently while the goat stared directly into his eyes.

"Final words?" Dr. Fudge threatened with the device again.

Oreo didn't have an ounce of fear. "Mahh."

Chapter 80

"She is the most beautiful lady in the whole wide world. Everything is perfect. The way the sun flecks off the gentle white fur above her brow. She moves with grace and poise, the way she walks, the way her lips move. Oh, I can see her now. And she is an excellent mother, always fawning over the kids, even when they are being little trouble makers."

Basil's food growled from within the confines of his stomach, taunting him. The highway was all but empty in the early morning hours.

"You are talking about a goat?" It sounded like a missing episode of My Little Pony.

"Yes, I am. And let me remind you not just any goat, the best of the best of the best," Sparky caught sight of Frank in the rear view mirror. He was sitting straight up in the back seat and staring at the new passenger.

"Hey Frank, glad you could join us," Sparky said.

Basil turned around to check on the dog from the passenger seat. Frank sprang on him. Basil let loose a shrill cry. Frank went for the weak spots, slapping Basil in the face and biting at his neck. Basil forced Frank back with all his might, safeguarding his jugular. Sparky tried to pull Frank away, but the canine knew no surrender.

"Frank, Frank!" Sparky's shouting did nothing to deter the dog.

Basil became a wild flurry of arms. "Get the hell off my face!"

Sparky veered the car off the highway forcing it to a stop. He seized Frank in his hooves, while the dog struggled for an opening to wound the intruder.

Basil backed against the passenger door, wide eyed and huffing. He touched a hand to his tender face.

"I'm bleeding! You bit me, you bastard!"

Basil lurched over, wrapping his hands around the dog's neck. Sparky lost his hold. Frank shook loose of Basil's grip. The angry dog dove into Basil's lap, biting.

Basil's scream vibrated the car.

Sparky clutched at Frank's front legs and held him at bay. Basil was doubled over in pain.

"Frank, let him be, it's okay."

"What, what?" Frank said between his pants.

Sparky tugged harder as the dog squirmed. "I made a deal with him. He's going to help us."

"He shoots me and you make a deal with him? I didn't make a deal." Frank growled.

Basil yelped and clawed at the window. Frank's face went blank. Sparky eased his grip and set the mutt down. As soon as the dog hit the seat, he exploded in laughter. Basil narrowed his eyes at the dog, aching to avenge the damage done.

"What the hell is so funny?"

"Sorry, it's just the smell of urine. Always makes me laugh."

Basil moved his legs toward the door trying to hide his wet pants. His glare narrowed even more at the laughing dog.

"He's going to help us get my family. He's not going to hurt us," Sparky said.

Frank kept his cold stare on the detective. "You trust him?"

"Yes, I do." Sparky still had one hoof on the dog's neck.

"Well damn, don't ruffle the feathers." Frank shook himself off as if he had been doused with water.

"So you're going to help us? How much did you offer him, two hundred bucks?" Frank asked.

Sparky revisited the agreement in his mind. "Something like that."

"Crooked cop. I get it. Don't think I don't have my eye on you though." Frank extended his right paw at Basil to emphasize his point.

The dog sat on the front seat between the man and the goat, looking back and forth between the two of them for a few moments. Frank wasn't sure he was willing to ride along with Basil. He felt very uncomfortable traveling a long distance with a man who had shot him. It gave him a strong itching, burning feeling deep down under his left hind leg.

As he thought about it, Frank realized that the itching and burning was more familiar than hatred. It was much darker than mistrust. It was much more evil than any man could ever be. "Damned fleas!"

"I thought we used that medicine stuff?"

"Sometimes need, a little, more." Frank was jabbing at himself with his snout.

"You can't be serious," Basil said.

Both Frank and Sparky turned their eyes to him. Neither spoke. From the expression they were jointly giving him, the man knew it was better to leave it alone. He had never owned a pet that carried fleas, nor had they ever accosted him personally. Basil would give them the benefit of the doubt, for now.

"Okay, so can we get going?" Basil wiped at his fur sprinkled pants.

"Not until you're gone." Frank's tone was adamant.

Basil crossed his arms. "I have a deal with your goat here. I'm not leaving."

Sparky put his hoof back on the dog's neck. "If we boot him, he'll expose us. Both of us."

"Blackmail, eh?" Frank squinted at the detective. "Sounds like a reason to kill a man, what do you say goat?"

"I'm not having it on my conscience that I killed a reasonably innocent man. Besides Frank, it might be handy to have a real human along."

Frank sunk in his chair. "Wait, we're a team! You're 'The Goat'! I'm your canine companion! What does this human bring to the team?"

Sparky sighed. "I think you're blowing this out of proportion."

"So all the superhero stuff... was fake?" Frank looked up with swollen puppy eyes. "I, I-"

Sparky was lost for words.

"And the other animals we saved? Were they not important either?" Frank continued.

"Well, that's-"

Frank's emotion was completely genuine. Sparky knew it was something that wasn't common in him.

"Your mutt is crazy," Basil rolled his eyes.

Sparky looked down at the doe-eyed animal and sighed. He looked at Basil. "So, what do you bring to the team?"

Chapter 81

With his passengers finally asleep, Sparky had a few moments of quiet time. Frank's yapping and Basil's complaining had been very detrimental to his stress level. Despite Sparky's kinship with the dog and his deal with the man, it was simply due to the fact that he lacked a killer instinct that both of them were still in good health.

Basil had stretched out in the back seat after losing the argument that his being human was its own benefit to the team. Frank wouldn't hear it. He had insisted that as the new guy, Basil would have to surrender the front seat. Although Basil resisted, Sparky refused to continue until Basil agreed.

The goat looked down and studied the clock. The sun would be up soon. It should be his last day on the road. There was still some time left to drive to reach Montreal, however, and given the problems involved so far, he made himself no guarantee that vindication would be received this day.

But if it could, he would take it fiercely.

Sparky reviewed roadside billboards as he journeyed. Most were of food. Sparky tried to remember when he had last eaten anything but coffee. Sherry's. The delicious waffles she had made him. He hoped she was home by now, safe and sound. He smiled thinking of her. It had been nice to have a lady around, even a human one.

Despite her kindness, it had only made him miss his Princess more. He loved her so deeply, it was an ache in his bones. She was still so far away. And his children were sitting in the back of that terrible truck, or worse.

Sparky shook his head free of the thought. He wouldn't have it. He would hold on to his hope. Hope was something that all creatures should have, and he wished that across the distance his family felt hope, too.

Another billboard. A marketplace. It advertised some of the local goods and a livestock sale on the weekends. Sparky scoffed. Basil turned at the sound, his eyes half shut.

"You coughing up a hairball?"

"No. Hey, Basil. Is it the weekend?"

"Yeah, Saturday, yeah," he smacked his lips together and rolled back over to sleep.

Sparky slowed a little, reading the next sign.

Premier Market Livestock. His eyes narrowed as his thoughts moved over the idea of making a mockery of the animal sale. Families destroyed in the name of good business, it sickened him. He knew he should go on; he should keep to the course.

The car dinged. It was requesting gas.

The next billboard was much simpler. Steak garnished with a delectable green leaf of parsley. Underneath, it indicated the directions to the market. It was across from the Big Tex Gas Station. Sparky looked down at the console and back to the sign.

He yielded to the demands of his machine and turned off toward the Big Tex.

He slid the car along the pump, but the lights were not on. He looked up and down the road. There wasn't another station. The clock informed him of the time: five fifteen. There was a sign on the station door; it wouldn't be open for another forty-five minutes.

He could have driven further down the highway to another gas station. Surely it wasn't too far. But Sparky didn't feel the desire to move. Across the road his eyes had already settled on the large barn with the giant sign reading Premier Market.

Sparky stepped from the car and eased the door quietly so as not to wake the others. He took a few steps around the pump, toward the market. Already he could hear the cries of the animals. He took another step, remembering his last encounter. It had been a tough fight in the end. If not for Frank it could have been his death. Sparky had to consider his own family. He turned around to walk away. Again he saw the sign showing the gas station's hours. He swung back toward the market and slumped.

The car door creaked open, but he didn't turn. Basil would be reasonable. He would talk him away from the livestock. "Sparky, we have to hurry, because I need my money," he would say, and Sparky would listen.

"Sparky," it wasn't Basil, it was Frank. "Why are you still standing here?"

"I was hoping someone would come and stop me. Just tell me it's not worth it, Frank, and I'll be done with it."

"It's not worth it, goat. It's not worth it at all."

"You don't sound convincing."

The dog's eyes were affixed on the structure across the way.

"I haven't had anything to do with myself for some time. I didn't stand up for the others when I had the chance, and I've been on the run ever since. I've just wandered around, Sparks. But you're not like me, you're not like him." He nodded toward the sleeping man in the car. "You're different."

"I'm a goat."

"No Sparky, you are the Goat. And that's what the world needs you to be."

Sparky shrugged. "I wanted you to talk me out of this."

Frank chuckled. "I don't get sidekick benefits if my superhero quits, now do I?"

Chapter 82

Both animals crouched just shy of the fence outside the market. The animals they heard were inside the building. It sounded like cattle, but Sparky couldn't see them. He could see a handful men standing around smoking. A few other guys were unloading some items from a pick-up truck. So far Sparky counted eight.

"Okay, so what's the plan?" Frank's tongue dragged over his drooping lips.

"What plan?" Sparky asked. His adrenaline was quickly spilling in to anxiety.

"You've done this more than I have. You come up with the plans, right?" Frank was eagerly waiting for a cue from his companion; ignoring the rest of the scene.

"I don't really know Frank, I just made it up as I went before."

"I'm losing faith goat, you're supposed to be the mastermind of these operations. Hey, you could use that Goat-Fu stuff like last time, really worked well. We'll sneak up and... bam!"

"Frank, I didn't want to hurt those men. I just defended myself when they attacked me," Sparky wanted to preserve some level of innocence. He had truly tried not to hurt anyone. Hadn't he?

"Whatever, it's very effective. And if you don't have a plan..."

Sparky watched the men working at the pick-up, unloading the supplies. It was cold and they were all bundled in coats, just like his. Maybe they wouldn't notice the extra man? He could get a closer look.

"Stay here."

Sparky flipped up his collar and tightened his hat.

"Hey, Pete!" one of the men called. He waved at Sparky and then returned to smoking his cigarette and conversing with his coworkers.

Sparky nodded and walked to the truck. It was piled with lumber. Mimicking the other workers he grabbed a few pieces and carried it into the building. Three men inside were leaning over the fence that kept in the livestock. It was mostly cattle as Sparky as expected. There were also a number of fat rabbits in a cage near the back wall. Sparky kept his head low and continued to survey the situation.

"Pete? I thought you were home sick, man. Glad you could make it in."

The man spoke from directly behind him.

Sparky faked a cough. "Still not feeling so good."

"Man, you do sound terrible. I thought you had a stomach virus?"

Sparky remembered back to his reading of the old man's medical journals. He couldn't place the symptoms of a stomach virus completely, but he knew coughing wasn't one of them. "I think I've got a touch of the flu."

"Oh man, you should really be home then. You'll get us all sick!"

The man walked away without any more questions. Sparky turned slowly to confirm he was no longer standing nearby. The other three men still stood at the fence, leaning on the gate for the cow pen. He would need a distraction to get them clear of it.

He looked back to the rabbits in the corner. Sparky strolled over and checked the cage. There were easily a hundred rabbits inside, almost piled one of top of the other. Sparky turned and confirmed the men were still at the gate. He opened the cage door and moseyed away as the rabbits scurried.

Sparky returned to the truck and grabbed another few pieces of wood to bring inside. The moment he turned to carry them in, he heard one of the men yelling from the inside.

"There's one over there, Christ they're everywhere!"

"Who opened the cage?" called another voice.

Sparky dropped the boards. He followed the rush of workers into the building. The men had jumped the fence to get the rabbits that had fled in with the cows, and the cows were becoming very agitated. So far, so good.

The gate to the pen was unprotected. Sparky quickly undid the latch. The upset cows poured out of the opening. He turned to exit the building. The men's attention changed to contain the liberated bovines, who were worth much more than the rabbits.

A hand fell onto Sparky's shoulder. He froze in place. The fingers gripped firmly into his neck.

Chapter 83

"We need your help getting these animals rounded up." Mark McTull said. His eyes were on the cows.

Sparky was thinking on his feet. "I'm getting the cow whistle." He wanted to run.

"Cow whistle?" Mark asked confused. More cows streamed out of the market door. He charged at them yelling and clapping his hands.

Sparky jogged away and ducked down into the shadows beside the pickup truck. At Sparky's feet appeared a rotund grey rabbit. Back over his shoulder the men had headed off the rush of cattle and were guiding them back into the pen. Sparky looked back at the rabbit. He had not done enough damage to the operation. A few escaped rabbits were not enough for him.

"Psst," Frank called from the other side of the pick-up truck.

Sparky could only see the mutt's outline. "What is it?"

Frank stood up on his hind legs and made a kicking motion with his feet "Goat-Fu!"

Sparky turned around and looked at the men. There were only a few cows still loose, but the rabbits would take some time to round up. When he looked back, Frank was imitating Lotus style.

"You're not going to get another chance!"

Sparky's heart sank. The goat started toward the barn, intent on solving this with the fight he had tried avoid. In his haste he slammed into a piece of lumber sticking out from the tailgate of the truck, knocking the breath from his lungs. Pausing to get wind back, he steadied himself. Sparky rested his hooves on the truck a moment and centered his breathing.

When he retrieved his hoof, the mutated appendage was hooked to a set of keys. Sparky looked at the truck; it was a heavy-duty pick up. He looked back at the building; a somewhat frail looking wooden barn, not unlike the one on Oliver's farm. A well planned collision would do a lot of damage.

"Frank, can you heard the cows away from that wall? I think I can take it out with the truck."

The canine dropped onto his rear in protest. "Is sheep dog tattooed on my forehead? Why do I have to do that? You scurry around and bark; I'll drive the truck."

Sparky looked down at the dog with a flat face. Frank didn't budge. Sparky leaned in a little and widened his eyes, expectantly.

"Alright, but after this I want to renegotiate my contract!"

Frank launched full speed at the barn. He dove through the fence posts, and sought a place to hide amongst the cattle. Sparky hopped into the front of the truck and turned the key. He shifted into drive and slammed the gas. The momentum caused the stacked lumber to crash to the ground.

The whole workforce had just re-surveyed the gate inside when the truck engine roared. The group rushed out of the building, all of them watched silently as the truck tore off.

Sparky wheeled the truck around with his hoof hard on the accelerator kicking up loose mud and grass. Frank started barking and bouncing to scare the cattle away from the eastern wall as he had been instructed. The cows were anything but stubborn about taking the canine's direction and crammed to the far side of the pen.

Sparky revved the engine to pick up speed and then whipped the truck around lining up with his target. A few of the men started towards the truck, but were too far off to have a chance. Sparky took a deep breath and slammed the accelerator to the floor.

The workers split away, fearing for their lives as the truck blazed past spewing up pebbles and bits. Sparky braced for impact.

The truck tore through the unreinforced sidewall. Sparky's path carved a huge hole. He steered out of his course. More than have the wall and supports on the eastern side had been shattered. The truck front end had held together perfectly.

Sparky looked back. The cows were already dispersing into the field. He turned around just in time to see a large tree directly in front of him. There was no time to change course. The metal crunched together as the truck smashed into the tree, forced to a halt.

The workers had found their way to their feet, dusting themselves off. Confusion was exchanged in several glances. One after another they marched over to check the status of the driver. Mark McTull in the lead. His blood heated as he crossed the distance. Alive or dead the driver was in for an ass kicking.

Mark lifted the handle on the door and it swung open. "What the hell are you..." The scene shut him up. Sparky lay against the wheel, a deflated airbag underneath his head. His eyes closed.

"What in god's name?" Mark gasped.

"It's the creature! I read on the papers!" Earl's face went white.

"Earl, you don't read nothing but them crazy tabloids." Trevor tossed in.

"That's where I read it, the Canadian Menace! Half goat half human," Earl knew it sounded foolish. "Were-goat!"

The men all stood there, seeing no alternative. This goat had stolen the truck. It had driven it through the barn to free the animals, and then crashed into a tree.

"Maybe it's a costume?" Trevor asked.

Mark studied the creature's odd hands. Costume was still more probable than Earl's crazy tabloid fueled idea. "Let's get it off of him."

Mark stepped forward and reached in. Frank sprang up in between the man and the truck cab. The intimidating barking held the men back. The canine was at a loss what to do next, but he would be damned if any of those grubby cowhands would get his goat.

"Damn it all, somebody get some jerky or something," Earl was sweating with eagerness to confirm his discovery, knowing that he would be rich from the reward. He swung his foot at the dog to scare him off. Frank didn't give way.

The passenger side door opened. When Frank turned, he saw Mark climbing in the other side of the truck. Frank tried to jump into the cab, but slipped on the step. The man wrestled Sparky out of his prone position slumped over the wheel. Sparky's grey overcoat fell away into the floorboard. The group was speechless.

Frank jumped up and snapped at the man. A sharp jolt knocked him aside. It was followed by another steel toed kick to his side. The blow took his wind and he rolled over, another kick. He scurried away a few more feet, too winded to bark.

Frank retreated as the men congregated around the cab door. He watched helplessly as the man laid Sparky on the ground.

"Well hell boys, looks like we are going to be rich! Earl I don't know that I've ever believed a damn word you've said before today." Mark poked at the still body on the ground.

"Is it alive?" Earl clambered closer to see any signs of life.

"Don't think so, poor thing must have died on impact," Mark put his hand on Sparky's chest. It was not swelling with air.

Trevor pushed one of the goat's hind limbs with his foot. No response. "Yeah, it's dead." he nodded.

Frank's insides became cold. His heart skipped a beat. His deepest instincts took hold. For a moment, all that could be heard in that field on that early Halloween morning was the lone howl of a Belgian Groenendael.

Chapter 84

Reilly was staring at the limp body of the lady he had shot only a few hours before. Valerie was slumped down in one of the office chairs. Her head drooped over. He had just gotten the final okay from Dr. Fudge to dump the body. It was a fairly standard procedure for him.

Wake up. Check in. Make breakfast. Check in. Kill his rival. Check in. Dump the body. Check in.

It was a little monotonous, but it did save him the effort of thinking on his own. He appreciated the simplicity it afforded him on his yearly performance reviews. He wasn't paid to think, he was paid to act. And his most recent actions were going to smell soon if he didn't get rid of her.

Reilly was still wearing his gloves, still holding the pistol, and every so often still humming his tune. Happy to be rid of her.

"It's such a relief."

He lifted her up and placed her corpse over his shoulder, immediately feeling the blood of her wounds soaking into his shirt. He groaned and dropped her lifeless body on the floor.

"This is a new shirt, too!"

He kicked her corpse, "You couldn't just die in peace, could you?"

There was a knock at the door. Reilly waltzed over, taking care to step on the fallen lady. "Who's there?"

"It is Vero. Let me in, I need to speak with you, Reilly."

Vero worked in the lab with Fudge, odd that the doctor sent a messenger versus a phone call if there was something more to discuss. Reilly cracked the door, "Yes?"

"The doctor wanted me to come with you."

"Huh?" He had just been on the phone with Dr. Fudge, nothing of the sort had been mentioned.

"He sent me down from the lab. He wanted to make sure you didn't need any extra help. Maybe, carrying things?"

"No, I've got it. You can head on back." Reilly held the door firm.

"Look," Vero collected himself as best he could. "He was very specific and I don't mind getting dirty at all. Anything you need."

Reilly stiffened his lip. "Vero? I handle these things best on my own. I don't need the help."

"What's that on your shoulder?"

Reilly looked at his bloody shoulder and then back at the man in the doorway. "Steak sauce."

Vero responded with a quizzical look. "On your shoulder?"

"Well, yes, you startled me when you knocked on the door and I spilled my breakfast everywhere."

Reilly sized up the technician. Scrawny. Pale faced. He must have been one of the doctor's more reclusive aids, Reilly didn't recognize him. He didn't need help. But the doctor had sent him. He was not paid to think.

"Come on in." Reilly released the door.

Vero held back his shock seeing the blood-soaked body on the floor. He forced back the reflex in his throat.

Reilly looked around the room for something to clean himself with. There was nothing in the office. He would need to make a stopover at the bathroom down the hall.

"You wait here. She won't move or anything. Just make sure no one else pops in." Reilly marched off, shaking his head. He closed the door behind him.

"Absolutely." Vero was alone, staring at the corpse. He had spoken with her only a few hours ago. She had been in much better health. Something in the doctor's plan had led to her death. He was sure of it, but that wasn't his business.

Cautiously Vero cracked the door. The hallway was clear, faint sounds of water trickled through from the bathroom down the way. He rushed back to the desk and picked up phone dialing from memory.

The line kept ringing and went to voice mail.

"This is Vero. I have something much bigger than fraud here, boss. I need to know what to do. I'll try and reach you when I can."

He dropped the phone down as Reilly re-entered.

"Who was that?"

"The doctor, he said that he wanted me to accompany you on your person dumping."

Reilly shrugged. Reilly pulled out two heavy black trash bags and handed one to Vero.

"Wrap her feet up."

Vero shivered at the thought of touching the dead body. "Her feet?" He could not control the beads of sweat forming over his brows.

"Yeah, just past her ankles, her feet."

"Oh."

Vero leaned over and slid the bag over Valerie's pumps, avoiding contact with her cold skin.

"Don't be shy about it, she didn't even have feelings when she was alive." Reilly had already wrapped her top half.

With great care, Vero pulled the bag by the top up her legs. The bag slipped from his fingers and her feet slammed into the floor. Vero jumped back.

"Christ, you've not done this much," Reilly took over and finished up.

Reilly gripped the woman's shoulders and nodded down to her feet. "Go on, pick her up."

Vero reached out and wrapped his arms around her feet. The bag crinkled as he did. Slowly the two men raised her from the floor.

Reilly sniffed. "You head down first, I hate going backwards."

"Where are we going?" Vero was now pouring sweat; he was in over his head.

"I've got a truck in the back ready. Take the stairs."

Vero turned his head back and started out of the office, dead feet in hand.

Chapter 85

Frank watched from behind the crowd. The men were playing with Sparky's arms and legs. His eyes watered. His howl became soft and gentle changing to a light cry. Loneliness set in. He wiped a tear from his eye with the back of his paw.

The men had mostly ignored Frank since the mutt had dropped back.

Trevor stepped closer to the dog. "Hey Matt, is that dog crying?"

Matt eyed the dog for a moment, not believing that any dog he had ever seen had cried. "That's not right," he commented, walking away from the dead goat.

As the two men hedged closer to Frank he waved his paw at them, "Leave me alone! Can't you see that I'm in pain?"

The two men's mouths nearly hit the ground.

They exchanged hostile looks.

"That there dog is mine!" Trevor yelled.

"No, I saw him first," Matt insisted.

The men at once came to blows. Their coworkers rushed over and peeled them apart.

Matt had a trickle of blood running from his nose. "It's my dog!" he screamed.

"I saw him first!"

Frank corrected himself at the sight of the men's rage and returned to acting like a normal dog. The others hadn't seen the reason for the fight. The two men in the dispute remained hesitant to give up what they had witnessed to the other men, fearing that the others would only share in their greed.

Trevor lunged, but was held back. "The dog is mine!"

"No mine!"

"I saw him first and there's nothing you can do about it!"

"Well I went for him, you didn't do nothing!" Matt's nostrils flared.

"Damn it, you're such a filthy liar. Just like your damn mother!"

"I'll rip your legs off for that!"

"The dog is mine, gentleman," Sparky stood a good distance off. The two men fighting had been just enough distraction to allow him to recover his hat and coat from the truck. Even with his disguise back in order; he was relying heavily on the last moments of night to mask him. The circle froze, staring at the stranger in the long coat.

"Do I know you?" Mark asked. There was too little light to be sure what he was seeing.

"No," Sparky extended his arm and flipped out Basil's badge, keeping his hoof discrete. The glint of brass put the workers on guard. "Basil Lain, CBI, you mind telling me what you're up to out here?"

"Uh, well." Earl wasn't sure where to begin. He took a step back from the dog.

Frank stood up and trotted over to Sparky's side, hiding his excitement to look the part of an official police dog as much as possible.

"Well, yeah, we just got vandalized by this here goat." Mark's annoyance was clear. "Then we saw these two idiots fighting over this dog. Then you showed up."

Sparky nodded. "A goat and my dog? Is that it?"

"No, that's not it. I got a herd of cattle running loose on account of this goat. Then he crashed my truck here into a tree."

"That's a pretty farfetched tale." Sparky shook his head. "You get horses on motorcycles out this way, too?"

"I tell you, if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes; I'd think it crazy too." Mark motioned for his boys to keep quiet, not sure what the special agent was even doing there in the first place. "What brings you out this way?"

"I was nearby and got a tip about a disturbance out this way. I expect that you boys have been drinking too?" Whether or not they would believe his attempt, Sparky was doing his best referencing all he could from the borrowed novels from old lady Kettle's house. "I'm going to need to call in and get an investigation started. I'm going to need to take all of you into custody until we sort this out."

Mark could only see red. "Are you kidding, we're the victims! It was this damned goat." Mark pointed behind the group. His workers dispersed revealing an empty patch of grass beside the damaged truck.

"What goat?"

The men turned, the body was gone.

Trevor spoke out, "How could he walk away when he's dead?"

Sparky stepped forward, pushing his bluff. "Wait? Who is dead? Are you saying someone was murdered?" Sparky reached into his pocket.

The group went silent. They were unsure what would come out, handcuffs, a gun, but Mark began to worry that with no goat they were all about to be in trouble. His own rap sheet wasn't one he wanted brought up.

"I want my lawyer," Earl moaned.

Mark elbowed Earl in the stomach, "Shh! Look sir, we don't want no trouble now." The morning's events wasn't adding up, and he wasn't about to get hauled in to the police station to sort it out.

Sparky was brimming with pride, his plan was holding together. "Why don't you tell me what really happened?"

"Well," Mark searched his companion's faces. His mind raced to assemble a believable story "You know how it gets in the early morning. In the snow,"

"What snow?" Sparky asked.

"Well you know; wet ground is kind of like snow."

The goat tapped the solid dry ground with his hoof, shaking his head. "I don't know what you mean."

"Never mind that, um, you see Earl here was going to go pick up some more wood, to set up the feeder racks in the barn, and he's been sick, got the flu from Pete." Mark had pointed to Earl, but not to Pete.

"Where is Pete?"

Earl stepped forward, his hands folded across his chest. "Pete's home sick," he faked a cough. "Where I should be," his voice faded out as he stepped away from the phony investigator.

"He started off a little hard on the gas and before you know it, he had taken off with half the barn and hit this tree. Sorry if there was a problem, sir, but it won't happen again," he looked over his crew and they all nodded solemnly.

"Didn't you say something about a goat?"

"Um," Earl looked at his companions. "I'm the goat. It's a nickname from high school."

"Uh-huh."

"We're truly sorry, I, I, we won't make no more trouble, like I said it, won't happen again."

"Let's see that it doesn't, and maybe I won't have another ten investigators out here by dawn. I still need to call in, we'll be right back." Sparky and Frank moved casually across the grass out of the field.

The confused huddle of ranchers grouped together to discuss what had just happened.

Trevor spoke up, "You think he's going to bust us?"

"For what?" Mark asked.

"Nuisances, we're public nuisances." Earl had a hint of panic in his voice.

"He's got nothing to go on, this is my brother's place. As long as he doesn't think we're strung out. We need to find that goat before he gets back."

They each in turned studied that blank grass. There was little visibility in the pre-twilight. No signs of motion anywhere nearby. Even the suspicious agent and the dog were out of sight.

Mark look at Trevor, "You think he was really dead?"

"We both checked him, he seemed really dead."

Earl snapped his fingers. "Maybe it was one of them evil spirits?"

Silence followed the man's statement. They looked around at each other.

"Shut up, Earl."

Chapter 86

"Since when did you learn how to play dead?"

Sparky hadn't tried, the impact had left him mostly out of it. The goat had been able to keep his wits long enough until the chance came to escape. "I mostly just made it up as I went."

"That was good thinking."

Another car pulled into the station. Sparky secured his hat. The car stopped and out stepped a rotund older man with glasses and graying hair. He took a limp toward the goat and his dog.

"Fine animal there," he licked his lips, looking at the dog. "Can I get you something?"

"Who are you?" The goat nibbled at his lower lip.

The man took another limp towards them. "I work here, I presume you were waiting for fuel?"

Sparky let down his guard. "Yes, please fill it up, quickly."

"Paying cash?"

"Yes," Sparky answered.

Sure, sure." The attendant decided he would start his opening duties after he helped them out.

Sparky became entranced watching the man walk. It took him some time for each step, a very long time in fact, but the process was very structured. He would first lift his right leg and then shake his foot out to the side, and then he would plant it firmly on the ground. Next he would move it around at a few angles, presumably to check it for security. Next he would put his right hand on his right thigh and brace himself to lift his left leg. In one solid motion he would drag the leg around the outside and finally swing it forward.

The goat looked over the field. If the men at the market had figured out his ruse, they still weren't giving chase. Sparky watched the attendant's heavy and slow steps at least a dozen times before he reached for the nozzle to pump his own gas.

"No, wait now. This here is full serve and I intend to give you full service."

"It's really not necessary, I can handle it myself."

"Oh," he said, stopping in place. "Well, let me get your windows." The man put his hands on his hips and took a deep breath. "So, so tough sometimes, you know?"

Sparky nodded.

Frank was pawing at the car door to be let in. The man had a smell that tore at the insides of the canine's sensitive nostrils and in his proximity the dog couldn't smell anything else. When Sparky opened the door, Frank dove into the front seat, desperate for a break.

Basil was still asleep in the back. A cow darted across the road under the streetlight by the station. It made Sparky want to laugh that so far they were getting away with it, but not at this moment, not while the attendant was watching him with that wicked smile.

The attendant had made it almost half way around the car. It appeared his breathing was getting more labored. His face dewed up with sweat. He paused and took a break, leaning over his belly and resting his hands on his legs.

He turned his head up. Sparky realized the sky was getting lighter. He checked again for signs of pursuit, nothing still. He tried not to look at the man directly, but it was something in the way he moved that hypnotized him.

"You're not from around here?" The attendant asked.

"No."

"You from, let me guess, um, Saskatoon?"

Sparky held his breath; he wasn't sure how the man had guessed so close to his home. But it was possible that the man knew who he was. The news had been printing a lot on him recently.

"No." Sparky watched the indicator on the pump slowly turn over as the gas flowed into the tank.

"Oh, well, let me see then, I figured with the plates..."

"Plates?"

The man stood and took another labored step. "License plates on your car. Said Saskatchewan on them, and-"

"Oh." Sparky checked the field, there was motion. Two or three men, the light seemed to be increasing with every tick of the fuel counter.

"So, where are you from?" The attendant kept on his mission to clean the windows, but as yet had not even gotten around the car.

"Um, Deneda."

"Oh, you're not too far away then," he took another step; he was almost to the front of the car. "You know ole' Peter Felt? He lived out that way."

"No."

The nozzle clicked. Sparky reached into his pocket and pulled the detective's badge out. He dug in again, pulling out a wad of bills. He handed the man a fifty. The attendant took another step forward; he was now in front of the car.

"You'll have to give me a minute on the windows now," he leaned down again, resting once more with his hands on his legs. "It's just a little-" He couldn't finish the sentence he was breathing so hard.

"Look, don't worry about the windows, they are clean."

Sparky looked over at the dust coated windshield, so did the attendant.

"Are you sure?" The large man grew a small frown.

"Completely sure." Sparky could now clearly count the three bodies across the way coming from the market. It wouldn't take them long to spot him.

The man started around with now his third wind. Sparky waited for him to clear the car. "I'll get your change."

Sparky measured the distance between the man and the door to the station. It was easily three times the distance to the car. "Keep the change. Please."

Sparky jumped in the car and sped off towards the freeway.

The attendant and owner of the Big Tex gas station cracked a smile as Sparky drove away. He kissed the large bill that he had been handed and jogged into the office to deposit it into the register. Already he could tell today would be a good day.

Chapter 87

"I hope you two weren't up to anything illegal."

Basil sat upright in the back seat as the car merged onto the deserted stretch of highway.

Frank shot Basil a scornful look."Of course not, Fatty. Me and my goat don't operate like that."

"Ha, you seem to forget I have the case file on this were-goat you've allied yourself with, and it doesn't agree."

Frank found no fault with their cattle liberation operation. "Keep your filthy human laws, we've seen them in action."

Basil flipped open the file. "That's not what Mark Vestucci would say."

"Who?" Sparky asked?

"Mark Vestucci was in the hospital after what you did to him and his pals at that warehouse," Basil flipped the pages of the file casually. "You're walking a dangerous line, goat."

"Those men were being incredible cruel. I tried to reason with them."

Basil grinned. "I told you before, this vigilante stuff don't fly. We have agencies devoted to keeping the peace by serving justice rationally. We don't beat people up when we see something that we don't like."

Sparky adjusted his mirror to look at the man. Frank turned his head over the seat. "You'll be happy to know the only one that got hurt was our friend here, his plan was so fool proof that this time it didn't come to fighting."

The goat nudged Frank, keeping his arm out of the detective's view. Frank turned and looked at him innocently. "What?"

"So, you were out playing vigilante. Are you stupid? What if they were packing guns? How do you know they won't just shoot you?"

"When they realize what I am, no one wants me dead. You should know that well enough yourself."

"Are you comparing me to them? I'm a law abiding cop."

"Right, and just like every other law abiding citizen, you see a talking critter and want to be rich. No one wants to say hi or ask how I'm doing. People like you."

"People like me?" Basil was still flipping through the pile of papers. "James Harkin, fractured collar bone, dislocated shoulder. He's looking at weeks of physical therapy."

"And so if you brought me in as the mastermind behind these crimes I would be given a trial?" Basil hesitated at the goat's question. "Would I?"

"Goats don't go to trial, goats don't have rights."

"I'm property, right?"

"Yeah, pretty much," even thinking back over his statement, the detective didn't want to change his words, although he did feel a small bit of remorse. It was his first experience having to communicate the laws of the land to a nonhuman, and it may have come off too strong.

"You know that Sparks actually didn't try to hurt anyone tonight? He did everything he could to get out of there without a fight, and he did."

"You're still a dog, and he's still a goat, so what's your point?"

"So, you don't have any problem using me to get rich?" Sparky asked.

"Did you think I did? What part of our deal was hazy to you?" Basil buried himself behind the files, resisting having to go eye to eye with either creature. They both had those looks like they had just been shot and were on their deathbed, completely over-dramatizing the event.

"You're right, here I am saying you are just like those men, and then all the time thinking you might have understood me better."

"I'm helping you get your family. That's heartfelt, right?"

"Yeah, sure," it was everything Sparky had gone through with humans summed up in one conversation, even with the way people treated him when they thought he was a man. Who are you? Why are you here? What can you do for me? Sparky answered the questions over and over and found a very sad feeling realizing the answers always seemed to be the same.

"If you get caught, our deal is off. I'm not fond of someone else trying to take credit for you."

Chapter 88

"Emergency response. This is Trina, can you please hold?"

"Um, I guess, sure," Vero had never once used the service before but he wanted to remain anonymous. He was standing at the payphone now where Reilly had just disappeared into the alleyway. Reilly would be dumping the body as they spoke.

"This is Trina, with emergency response. What's the nature of your emergency? Police, fire, or medical?"

"Um, what are murders?"

The operator paused; no one had ever asked that before. Most people knew the nature of their emergency. Once in a while they would get a prank caller. But this man did sound somewhat serious.

"I'm sorry?"

The receiver shook in Vero's hands. "What is a murder, police or medical?"

"Well, are you reporting the murderer or the victim?"

"Both."

"I'll connect you with the police, hold please."

More hold time. Maybe he didn't have as much time as he thought he would. Reilly could emerge from the alley at any time. Vero had never spent much time dumping bodies so it was a difficult thing to estimate how long he may have. Vero had seen the location where Reilly was going to dump the girl in the sewer and Reilly had said it would take a few minutes to get the cover off. What if he had lied?

"Come on!" he grumbled into the payphone.

"Police emergency line, Trina speaking."

Without a doubt Vero's ears heard the same woman that had just been talking before. "Aren't you the same woman?"

"Sir, this is an emergency line, not a date service. How can I help you?"

"I have seen a man dumping his body in the sewer of an alley. Then he went into a coffee shop on the corner of Glesapi and Motran." Vero's thick accent was even harder to discern through the aged payphone receiver.

"I'm sorry, can you clarify? He dumped his own body in the sewer?"

"No not his body, his victim's."

"Can you describe the man?"

Vero went into detail about Reilly. His physical description almost slipped into personal details Vero had gathered from their conversation on the way, but he caught himself. He was a witness, not an accomplice.

"And who are you sir?"

"A witness," Vero hung up the phone. He wouldn't have enough time to try and check in. Vero knew if he were discovered Reilly would have no problem putting a second body in the sewer. He went back to the van and waited.

One minute passed. Vero second guessed his decision to check in. His hand went to the door handle. At that moment, Reilly strolled out of the alleyway, dusting off his hands.

The hatchet man climbed into the driver's seat of the van.

"You did okay?" Vero asked.

Reilly didn't respond.

"Do you like coffee after a murder?"

Reilly shrugged.

Vero slapped him on the back. "You and me, we'll get coffee at this shop. It's been a long night of goat sorting and killing."

Reilly shrugged again. He honestly didn't like Vero, and couldn't see why the doctor had requested him to come along. It seemed a little too odd. He saw the possibility that Vero could be working on his own motives, but betraying the doctor was a sharp crime, especially in the presence of the doctor's enforcer.

"You like coffee, right?"

Vero led him into the small coffee house on the corner. He held the door open for Reilly.

"You have a seat. I forget my wallet in the van."

Reilly didn't remember his own wallet, either. Regardless, he would rather have Vero pay for the drinks. He certainly didn't like the man enough to pay for his. And he wasn't about to front someone money who he might have to kill at any moment. It just would not be a safe investment.

The large man stepped in and took a seat at the counter. He picked up a menu and started perusing. He was somewhat hungry as well. Since Vero would be paying anyway, he disregarded the prices.

"Ma'am," he flagged a waitress with his arm. The waitress waved, busy taking another order.

Reilly turned around and scanned the front of the shop. Vero was not back yet, he could be up to something. On the way over, Vero had been very inquisitive about his life. In fact, Vero had asked some very personal questions. There was only one possibility. Reilly jumped up, at once realizing the truth.

Vero was planning to ask him out on a date.

"Eww," he shouted aloud. The other patrons looked over briefly and then went back to their meals.

Reilly sat back down. It wasn't what he wanted to go through. It would be a bad end to a really good night. He figured he should try and let Vero down easy. As long as he was careful with the man's feelings, he would be able to maintain a professional relationship. The kind of kinship that would keep Vero close enough so that if there were ever a need for Reilly to kill him, it could be handled expeditiously.

The door opened. Reilly was prepared and spun on the stool to stop the man short.

"I just don't think it will work out, I'm not like that."

His eyes crossed at the sight of a gun barrel at point blank range.

"Don't think you can talk your way out of this! Hands in the air, now!" The man's crisp black uniform was impossible to miss; the light glinted off his badge.

Reilly shrugged.

Chapter 89

Basil had resumed driving after his nap. Sparky sat next to him in the passenger seat. Frank had resigned to the back seat, but not easily. He tried to insist he was as able to drive as Basil, but came up short when he could not reach the pedals and still see.

Despite Sparky's exhaustion, he couldn't sleep. He was too suspicious of Basil's loyalty to their deal. Each turn in the road, Sparky's cautious eyes opened to confirm they were still heading the right direction. It was a long way to go.

"How far now?" Sparky asked, his eyes glued to a fence that stretched this beside the roadway.

Basil looked over. "A few hours, I guess."

Since the earlier argument they hadn't spoken much. Each had tried to strike up a conversation about their respective interests but it was not easy to maintain neutrality. Their conversations always found a way back to their earlier debate on Sparky's rights.

Neither had given up any ground.

In one eruption, Frank had opined that Sparky should betray Basil as soon as possible. Basil would never stay loyal to his half of the deal. And if Sparky waited too long, it would be at the expense of his family.

Basil, of course, argued that he would stay true to the bargain to the end.

Sparky could not betray the arrangement; he needed all the help and hope he could get. When they were all done with the rescue, he would go on to become Basil's stage puppet. It was a small price. It was most important that he find his family and rescue them. Anything after that would be insignificant in comparison.

"Are you getting hungry?" Food was a safe topic, and Basil seemed to bring it up even more than the dog.

Sparky's stomach dropped, they couldn't lose more time. "Didn't we just stop?"

"That was like two hours ago, besides that was for gas. I need food."

"Didn't you get a sandwich?" Sparky asked.

"That was hardly a snack. We can get some real food, some place we can sit down."

"No more delays Basil, we need to get moving."

Basil slowed the car and exited the highway.

"We can stop to beat up a group of farmers any time, day or night. The human gets hungry and we need to press on." He shriveled his nose as he spoke. "Now who's oppressing a species they aren't part of?"

Basil navigated them to a restaurant with a giant waffle on the sign. Sparky missed the name. He thought back on Sherry's waffles, licking his chops. Basil put the car in park and jumped out the side door. Before he slammed it shut he tucked his head inside.

"You want me to bring you something?"

Basil didn't wait for the answer before closing the door. He strolled in front of the car with a smile on his face before turning in through the front door.

"Let's leave him. Get in the seat and drive." Frank pushed.

Basil would have limited recourse. At least he would until he found the goat, which Sparky knew he would. Then he would have nothing to do but finish him off or be eternally his slave. He had hoped that given some time together Basil might actually appreciate him for who he was as an individual, but that was a mistake.

Sparky felt oppressed, overlooked. Basil didn't recognize they breathed the same air. The man had no care for him as a living, thinking being.

Sparky stepped out of the car. He recognized his face in the glass of the restaurant, he was without his hat. He smiled, even more propelled. He slammed the car door shut.

Sparky waltzed into the establishment, pushing open the double doors wide as he entered.

The waitress took a step back and smiled. "Cool costume!"

"Have you seen my, my, my man, I guess." Sparky looked around the room, less sure than before not seeing anyone else in costume.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear, you'll have to be more specific."

"Just came in with a huge grin on his face," Sparky continued to scan the interior. Basil was buried in a menu. "I see him."

Sparky walked straight to the table and slammed his hoof down. Basil looked up at him, wide eyed.

"Why aren't you wearing your hat?"

"Are you ashamed to be seen with me?"

"Ashamed, are you nuts! You're not exactly like everyone else! Now sit down and keep your voice down!"

"No, I'm not listening to you until you see me as an equal in this relationship. I made a deal to give you my life, I am giving up my family and everything I care about to be with you. The least you can do is start respecting me!"

Basil wasn't sure what to do. Every eye in the restaurant was on Sparky.

"You're making a scene, and you know that if they figure you out-"

"Go ahead, let them. Let them figure me out! They're going to be more likely to stick it to you than me anyway. You play it off that between the two of us you're the normal one."

Basil stood and put a hand on Sparky's shoulder. The goat twisted and shook off the unwanted touch. "Sparks, look, we can settle this without the screaming, will you please-"

"Treat me with respect." Sparky put his hooves on his hips.

"What?"

"If you want to spend another minute of time with me, treat me with respect."

Basil leaned into him. "You know if you walk, I'll expose you."

Sparky leaned back into him. "And I'll expose you, evading the process of law to get to your own ends. Ignoring what you're supposed to really be doing."

"Is that what you want? You want me to do what I'm supposed to do, put you in cuffs, ride you in?"

"Cuff me and ride me!"

Basil was beginning to feel a sense of panic. They were getting too much attention. At the next table an older woman was staring at Sparky, her mouth wide. "Look, please sit down. Please?"

"Why should I?"

"Because, I-"

Sparky tapped his foot, waiting impatiently with his hooves still on his hips. Everyone in the restaurant was waiting to hear what would come out of Basil's mouth.

"I-"

Sparky turned to leave. The barometric pressure of the room dropped as everyone inhaled.

Basil jumped up. "I care, okay? Is that what you need? You want respect? I'll try! You want me to care? I do! But don't think that this changes our arrangement!"

Sparky smiled, but didn't turn around. The old lady that had shaken her head at Basil tugged at his coat. "I'm not trying to pry, but you should really give him the chance. I did and I was happy," she leaned back and Sparky could see another older lady sitting right next to her smiling.

"She was a tiger back then, I just didn't know how to handle a tiger."

"You were a tiger?" Sparky asked the other woman.

She nodded.

"Now get over here and sit down." Basil demanded

Sparky sat and picked up a menu from the table.

Basil buried his head behind his menu. He wanted to hide from everyone in the restaurant, especially Sparky who was wearing that ridiculous grin. "And stop smiling."

Chapter 90

Frank could hardly contain himself when the two returned. "You two look like the couple of the century! What happened? Did you make up and start dating?"

Basil glared at Frank.

"We brought you some table scraps." Sparky tossed the box into the back seat as he climbed in to drive. "You sure you don't want to drive, Basil?"

"I haven't paid my insurance in a while, they probably don't care whose driving. Just don't hit anyone."

"What if they are harboring goats illegally?" Sparky asked.

"We'll take it case by case." Basil slammed his door.

"I'm serious, what happened to you two in there?" Frank was speaking with his mouth full of sausages. Sparky had ordered nearly twenty dollars in pig.

"Nothing. Just got some food, that's all. Turns out we were both hungry." Sparky said.

Basil looked out the window and smiled. After everything that they had gone through, he truly hated Sparky more than ever. Deep down under everything else he harbored though, Sparky had finally gained something from him: respect.

Frank continued chewing on his pig.

"So, there should be only about five hours or so left to travel. Do you know where we're going when we get there?" Basil asked.

"I don't know. Ask Frank."

"What?" Frank looked surprised.

Basil turned around facing the dog, his mouth overflowing with sausages.

"Where are we headed Frank?"

"How should I know?" Frank spat sausage bits as he talked.

"Because you were there before, remember?" Sparky asked.

Frank retreated back a bit. "Yeah, yeah, but it's been a long time."

"But you can find it, right?"

Frank bobbed his head side to side and to and fro, tossing the idea around. "Yeah."

"So then, where is it?" Basil asked.

"I don't know."

"What?" Sparky shrunk in his seat. "What do you mean you don't know?"

Frank spoke faster than normal. "Sparky, I ran away so fast. It was days before I stopped to look around."

"You don't remember anything?" Sparky asked.

Frank paused a moment. "Well, I remember what the inside looks like."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Don't get too worked up," Basil said. "This is where I come in."

Basil reached over the seat. Frank growled at him from his Styrofoam plate of sausage. He eased his hand back and then pointed at the pile of papers in the seat. Frank glinted at Basil as he grabbed the stack of papers.

"You had that girl at the moving place pull a trip receipt for you for that Reilly guy, remember?"

"Yeah."

"He came up with no records in the driver information system, meaning he was using fake information."

"Okay."

"Here we go," Basil pulled a sheet of paper free of the file. "Reilly Thompson. Clean as a whistle."

"What's that?"

"It's his criminal record. Whoever this guy is, he took the time to make up a criminal profile that was clean, but forgot to make a driver's record. Seems to me that whoever did it was either a hack or your man wasn't supposed to be behind the wheel."

"So, what does that mean?"

"Either way, Sparky, the man who took your family was not working by himself," Basil reached down and pulled out his phone. "Let me see if I can reach somebody." Basil punched in the number from memory. He was greeted right away.

"Jesus, Basil! Where the hell are you?" Tony was frantic, yet reserved.

"Tony? Hey, just who I wanted. I need some help, Tony."

Tony lowered his voice, not sure who could hear. "I can't help you any more, Bas. They fire you when you completely blow a case, don't follow orders and steal a car."

"This car is on loan, not stolen. Relax. Can you get away from the Captain long enough to pull a file for me?"

Tony huffed in the phone for a minute and didn't speak. "Not this time, Basil. Bring it in or face the music." Dead air.

Basil closed the phone.

"That could have gone better." Sparky said. "I take it he won't help you?"

"Well it's hard to say. He's mostly talk."

The phone rang. Basil looked down. It was Tony's personal cell.

"What took so long?" Basil answered.

"Sorry, Bas. I'm doing the best I can, and I only have a minute. What's up?"

"Look, Tony, I need you to dig a little more on the Reilly Thompson character in the were-goat case. I need anything you can get," Basil looked over at the goat and gave a confident nod.

"Are you really going to arrest a were-goat? This has to be a sham, Bas."

"I will remove all your doubts when I come in, with the goat," Basil looked away while he spoke, but Sparky heard him clearly. "And Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Face the music?"

"Drop dead," the phone clicked off.

"So, he's going to help us?" Sparky asked.

"He better, he's my brother."

"Nice to have family you can depend on." Sparky added.

"Yeah, it is."

Chapter 91

"Doctor, you have a phone call on line one. You need to get this."

Dr. Fudge was leaning over the restrained goat. He had forced the creature to evolve, to speak. It was a great marvel. But he truly was not sure how he had done it; putting the creature under the knife was the only way to get his answers. Answers he wanted more than anything. Definitely more than any phone call.

"Take a message, I am busy."

"Sorry Doctor, you need to get this. It's Carmine."

He looked into the terrified eyes of the goat on the table. Oreo had stopped struggling some time ago. The doctor had taken his time preparing the tools and was ready to put in the sedative. He looked at the needle in his hand and then at the phone.

"Put him through."

Silence filled the room as the call was connected. Dr. Fudge was still looking between the needle and the phone.

"Doctor?" The man's voice always put a chill through his spine. He attempted to remain steadfast.

Fudge straightened himself as if standing taller would make him sound more respectable. "Yes sir, what can I do for you?"

Carmine's tone was all business. It was always business. "I need to see you."

This was highly irregular, Carmine didn't set meetings himself. His secretary would handle such things. Valerie had given him all the files that he had requested. His inquiry into the doctor's work should be covered.

"Is there a problem?" The doctor kept it casual and upbeat.

Carmine bit back his anger. "It appears that Reilly has gotten himself arrested."

"I hardly see that this is my problem. If he has done something wrong, what does that have to do with me?"

"Raymond, you know how delicate these matters can be." Carmine cleared his throat. "Now I have it on good authority that he was on the premises when the crime was committed. I want you to handle this personally. If he's guilty of anything, I'm shutting down this entire operation."

Raymond. No one called him by name; it had been "Doctor" for years. "I am really quite busy with testing and research, Carmine. I simply can't break away."

"Then I'll have you cleaned out of there in a few hours, sending the police first to check for evidence."

The nerve! "Now really, is all that talk necessary? I am sure that whatever has happened is just a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding, is it?"

"Of course, I run a reputable operation. I have made many advancements for your company to market and have done so meeting every quality guideline in the Planet Global handbook."

"We shall see. I don't care what you're doing. Drop it and find out what the mess is with this man in jail. Last thing we need is a smear campaign, the board would have my neck."

"Very well. I will see to it personally. But don't think that this is not at great cost to both of us."

"Raymond, I appreciate your work as a scientist. I've tried to turn my head at some of the things in the past, but this is too much. Please, I need your assurance that this situation is being taken out of proportion. Murder?"

"I am sure it is. I would never hire a criminal into my midst. I have far too many delicate things to leave work to brutes and psychopaths."

"Very well. I trust this is handled."

"Certainly."

He reached over and shut off the phone.

"Looks like you've got some time yet to live. Dreadful, just dreadful. I should have known that he was past his prime," Dr. Fudge waived the needle nearer to Oreo. "I am so curious as to what makes you tick. Do you remember anything? Anything about what happened to you?"

"I have nothing to say to you." Oreo didn't lift his head to view the man.

"Pitiful. You know it's terrible that I must go right now."

"Shameful."

"The good news is, I can go ahead and take some samples and have them run to the lab. Maybe we'll have this whole thing figured out before I get back."

"So, are you going to jab me with that thing or not?"

Dr. Fudge smiled at Oreo. He placed the needle down on the table. "You know, I don't think I need this, it would just be a waste of time." His hand drifted from tool to tool, seizing a scalpel from his tray.

"This should suffice."

"You can't scare me."

"I don't care about scaring you." He wiped at his nose, feeling a drip form as he chuckled. "I just want to dissect you."

~~~~~~

The Doctor emerged hastily from the lab, smears of red down the face of his white coat. In his hands were a collection of vials organized in a small rack. He set it on the table as he exited. His assistant was hovering over the monitor. The stretched body of Oreo was on the screen, unmoving in his harness.

The doctor removed his bloody coat and handed it to the technician. "Take those up to the lab, I want a full work up. Did we get a control group yet?"

The technician nodded. "Yes, sir, on order. They should be here soon."

"Great. I'm running out. Take care of that mess in there."

"Yes, sir."

Chapter 92

"He still hasn't called back yet."

Sparky's lip was raw. The day had stretched on too far as they drove. Basil had stayed calm. Frank had fallen into another nap after devouring the mountain of sausage.

"Don't worry, he'll come through." Basil hoped he would. He knew that what Tony could hope to get on Reilly was just a matter of luck. Bad luck. If the man's ID had been run again or if the hack that put it together had made some mistake, they would benefit. If the person who he was working with was an expert, they were probably not going to have much to work from.

"Does it normally take this long to get information?"

With Frank having no solid memory of his past, Basil's lead was now the only key to Sparky's entire mission in rescuing his family. A feeling of doom climbed over him. It was already taking them too long, they couldn't wait to hear back tomorrow. His family would all be lost, and he would be to blame.

"Look, relax. These things can take a long time."

"Why would it take a long, long time? And how long is that? Days?" They didn't have days. He should have been trying to get this information all along. He should have hammered Oliver for something, or the drunken man with his rocking chair.

"Not days, usually," Basil spoke into his hand to keep the goat from hearing every word. "It's just a matter of getting through the files, checking other police logs, traffic records, old case files."

"Is there a lot of this stuff?"

"Well, look, you go through the files and do your best. That's all you can do."

The phone rang.

Basil nodded as he listened to the reports from the other man. He never even said hello. Sparky couldn't hear what the other man was saying but he knew it didn't sound informative. Within thirty seconds Basil had hung up.

"He said he'll keep looking."

"Keep looking? It's been three hours and he'll keep looking?"

"Look, you had nothing, now I have something: a man working on it. Don't yell at me, I'm trying."

"Ladies, can you keep it down. Some of us are trying to sleep," Frank said.

"Shut up, mutt."

Frank rolled over from his belly and started growling. Basil didn't back down. "And you, where would you be without me at this point? Almost to Montreal and nowhere! What were you going to do, build smoke signals for your tribe? Get a giant goat call?" Basil crossed his arms and turned to the window. "Ungrateful."

"This man has my family," the goat pulled the picture from his pocket. In his haste he accidentally spilled Basil's badge onto the seat.

Basil looked at him, wounded.

"You wanted me to help you? And you were holding out on me? I thought you lost my badge? It was here all the time?"

"I'm sorry, I guess I forgot what was going on and didn't give it back. It wasn't intentional."

"I don't know why I'm even listening to you. You wanted my help. You made the deal. I should have just cuffed you last night and started home. Left your family to die and rot."

Basil bit his tongue.

"I didn't mean that."

Sparky pulled the car over. "Get out Basil. No deal," he leaned over across the man and opened the door.

"You can't dump me. I'm your only lead!"

"I don't need you."

Basil started to get out, but then stopped. "This is my car. You get out."

Sparky's eyes were thin and glossy. "No, you should leave now. This is your only chance to walk away."

Basil put up his hands in defeat. "I'm sorry, I was upset. That's not what I meant to say."

"Well you said it, and I just don't have any more time for you. They need me. You don't."

"You're going to dump me on the freeway?" Cars zoomed by. It was late afternoon and traffic was picking up. Basil felt the cold sting of the autumn air. "I'll hunt you down."

"Not if you know what's good for you."

Basil retreated from the car, holding his badge in his hands. "Look, I didn't mean anything by it. I can really help you."

"You've been great, Basil. I'll make sure and let anyone else that tries to get rich off of me know that they need to contact you first."

"Pimp-man!" Frank screamed from the back seat. "Pimp-man!" He jumped into the front and took over the man's spot. "Shut the door, pimp-man!"

Basil was straining to find the words he wanted to say, but it was hard for him to find a genuine reason. He couldn't bring himself to grips with whether or not he really did like the goat, or if he simply wanted to get rich off of him. Until he was once again at the roadside without the means to get anywhere, he really hadn't thought that it mattered.

"Shut the door, pimp-man," Sparky said.

Basil closed the door. Lost in thought, he really didn't know what was going on. Was he being abandoned a second time? He stood motionless for a moment, expecting the door to open.

As the car sped away, Basil looked back down at his belongings. He consoled himself that even without the goat, he had his credentials. He wasn't stranded naked at the roadside this time. He felt his pocket; the phone was also still there.

He flipped his badge over and found that the picture of Reilly was stuck to the back. The face was familiar. It was hazy to him, and he was still stung about being kicked out and betrayed. Basil scratched his head, looking at the picture. Reilly. Reilly. It was almost chanting in his head.

The answer hit him so hard he almost fell down. The city sign was there to catch him. He read the giant letters. They had reached Montreal, the goat had reached his destination. Basil should have walked away, but looking down at the picture he realized he wasn't about to let him get away twice.

Basil dialed madly.

"Tony, I need your help."

"Hola, Coma estas?"

Basil closed the phone, wrong number. He opened it again and redialed more carefully. "This is Tony."

"Tony, I need your help."

Chapter 93

"You were right to get rid of him. He was going to destroy you. He wanted you to be famous and fame destroys everybody, especially animals," Frank had wasted no time in preaching about society, once again the resident expert on humans.

"Yeah, well I didn't want it anyway."

"You're better off, goat. We should make a pact. No more humans. They are all bad, every last one of them."

"Not all of them, Frank."

Frank settled more comfortably into the seat. "You think it's you? You think you did this?"

"I don't know." Sparky exhaled long and slow. "I thought I was getting somewhere with him."

Sparky had thought that the two of them had been getting along rather well until Basil's uncaring eruption. Sparky shouldn't have been surprised. It was in the man's nature. And he knew about nature. No matter what Sparky had tried to do he had not been able to resist serving justice with the animals that he had found captured. And that was his nature. Basil's was just, something else, something selfish.

"It wasn't you. You, Sparks, are one of a kind. You know that. These people don't get us. We're better off without them."

Frank was comfortable with his explanation. He never questioned his own righteousness. The mutt had been through enough abuse over his lifetime to know that people weren't good for him. Why would they be any better for a goat? "When dealing with people you just half to remember: who are you and what are you going to do for me?"

That was how Sparky felt about people treating him with disrespect. He had to consider that maybe it was universal, even the dog had the same motto.

"I can't think like that. What's to stop me from treating everyone that way?"

"Sparks, that is why you're one of a kind. We should get a bite while the roads are jammed."

Traffic was backing up. Sparky had been so caught up with Basil he hadn't realized they were in the city. The city that he set out to reach. It was massive. So many cars in one place, Sparky became overwhelmed.

"I don't know how to handle all this traffic," Sparky's breathing picked up.

"Calm down, it's just like everywhere else we've been, just filled with more people. Like that lady."

He pointed into the next car. A woman was busy talking on the phone and doing something with her lips. It appeared she was applying makeup.

"Some people." Frank said.

"I don't feel right." Sparky's voice was low.

Frank bobbed his head in agreement. "You do look a little pale."

"How can you tell?"

"Oh, well I figured you look like you would, if you were pale. Except for the fur, I guess."

"Right," Sparky tried to keep calm, but he was boxed in, surrounded by the city sounds and smells. He closed his eyes and strove to imagine the feeling of being home in the open fields and pastures. It seemed to help.

"Maybe you're hungry?"

Sparky wasn't listening; it was easier to envision the pastures. The cars faded away. He was running in the green, green grass. It was quiet except for the occasional bird chirping. His kids were bouncing on the hillside. Playing ball.

"Sparky?"

His breathing slowed. He saw Princess's sweet face. She was smiling at him. His tension faded further, his muscles loosened. Princess playfully nodded toward the barn. He took a step to follow.

"GOAT!"

Sparky turned, shaking free the fantasy. They were still stopped in traffic. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

Sparky felt his stomach rumbling, "I think I need some coffee."

He never once slept and it was catching up to him.

"You need to take a break?"

"No, something quick. No sleep until we find my herd."

Frank panned, looking at the traffic. The car still hadn't moved. "We're not going anywhere fast and you don't know where to go."

Sparky looked over and nodded, "You don't remember anything, Frank?"

"I'm sorry goat; it was a long time ago."

Chapter 94

Sparky was buried in Basil's files, sipping at a cup of hot coffee. Frank was busy wolfing down fifteen dollars in burgers. They were outside on the patio since most places weren't keen on animal visitors, and Sparky was tired of arguing with Frank to stay in the car. Frank's snout was buried in the bag, as he perched delicately on the bench.

Sparky tilted the file down, seeing a little girl with her eyes fixed on him. She was bundled for the weather and looked rather like a pink balloon. She was standing just a few feet from the table, smiling blissfully. Sparky smiled back and tucked his head into the folder.

There was an older couple, sitting two tables away. Their tubby grandson was stuffing his face much in the same manner as Frank. They were exchanging glances with Sparky and whispering among themselves.

"Everybody keeps looking at me."

Frank nodded without slowing the pace of his eating.

Another couple came out with their children. They all smiled when they saw him. Sparky sank in his seat. "Not a lot in here about this Reilly character. Looks like the detective knew about as much as I did."

Frank nodded again. Sparky looked and the dog was staring off past him. Sparky turned and saw a German Shepherd tied up on a newsstand outside the front of the restaurant. Frank had stopped eating, eyeing the other dog blankly.

"You date?"

Frank snapped his head. "Nah, just look."

"Oh well, you know, if you meet the right girl."

"It's not like that. I was a pet before I could talk. I was taken care of."

"Taken care of?" Sparky knew a lot about the human condition, but he was not so keen on his veterinary skills.

"Neutered."

"Oh dear god!" Sparky threw his hoof over his mouth. "That must be awful."

Frank lowered his head, looking down at the scar between his legs. "You have no idea," the dog drove his head back into the bag. His vitality had faded with their conversation. Hidden in the bag he was protected from any more questions about his operation.

Sparky didn't want to know more about it, though. Another lady was standing outside the fence and staring at him. She smiled at him and waved when he noticed her. Something wasn't right.

"I think we should get out of here. Frank?" Sparky was keeping his mouth motions as small as possible.

"Now you're embarrassed because I'm nutless, huh?"

"What? No, no, Frank these people are staring at me."

"Because you're with a neutered canine. Might as well have cut off my lower half and put me in one of those little doggy carts. Add one of those hideous collars that guard my face and I'd be a complete freak-show. Maybe I could get back in the circus?"

"Frank, look around. What do you see?"

"Oh, that hot lady by the newsstand? The one with the sparkly collar? Yeah, I see her; no it doesn't do me any good. Are you done yet?" Frank dropped his head on the table and covered it with his paws.

Sparky reached out to his cohort. But Frank wouldn't take his paws away from his eyes.

"Look Frank, we need to go. Now."

"Excuse me?" A young woman was right over his shoulder. Sparky turned and was staring a camera in the face. The woman was talking in a microphone. "Can I ask you a few questions?"

Sparky stepped back. "What is this?"

"I'm Joanna Jenson with the Evening Edition. You're the Goat, aren't you?"

"The Goat?" Sparky took another step back.

"Yes, the Goat! You are the man that has been traveling cross country acting out against animal cruelty!"

"No, I'm a farmer from out of town. I'm here for a Halloween party. A costume party," he fumbled over his words.

Joanna kept close with her microphone extended. "You're a hero, mister! What drove you to such an extreme?"

Sparky couldn't speak.

Frank stood up in his chair. "He is the goat!"

Sparky grabbed the mutt and his stack of papers. He pushed his way past the reporter, bowling over her cameraman. They jumped out a small gate and dashed for the car. The cameraman struggled to his feet but the two were already slamming the doors shut on the Ford Escort.

Sparky peeled out of the parking lot and rushed away.

Chapter 95

"Don't panic, she didn't say you were a real goat!"

"Frank, they know what I look like, and whether or not I'm a real goat, it's just a matter of time before they do."

"You don't know that. They will find another story before the end of the week. That's how news is."

"We need a place to hide, to stay, where people won't see us."

The car next to them was almost even at the standstill in traffic. A little girl in the back seat was posted against the glass. Her face contorted.

"Some place I can go through the rest of files without interruption."

"Like that?" Frank pointed his paw to a road sign.

Sparky leaned down and read the billboard. Val-You Motel, Three Kilometers Ahead, Pets Welcome. "Perfect," he said.

~~~~~~

They pulled in quietly to the motel and parked the car.

"Just wait here," Sparky instructed. "I'll be right back."

"Get two beds, I'm not sharing with you!"

He adjusted his coat collar and buttoned himself up. The entrance to the motel office was covered in little webs and fake black spiders. Orange paper cut into jack-o-lanterns were taped to the glass door. Upon entering, a slew of bells jangled. A short dark skinned man was sitting behind a sheet of glass watching TV. He didn't turn around to speak.

"You need one room or two?"

It took him a moment to answer the question. "One."

"You have pets?"

"Yes." He was glued to the TV. Sparky tried not to get too close to the counter in case he turned.

"We only take cash. One room and pets, you pay seventy dollars up front or you won't stay here."

Sparky froze as the man spun about, sizing him up. His fame would spoil him. He would not get service. This employee would ask him questions that he didn't want to answer, before calling the news people in on him, and finally the police.

"You got money or are you posing for a trench-coat commercial?"

Sparky started digging around in his pocket. The wadded bills came loose as the screen changed.

"This is Joanna Jenson with a breaking report on Evening Edition. Just minutes ago we briefly tried to catch an interview with a man known only as the Goat. Some say he is a monster; half-man half-goat. But this reporter and others know that this man simply uses a disguise to protect his identity."

Sparky slowly pulled the money from his pocket. "Um, how much did you say again?"

The screen flashed to the young lady sticking the microphone in his face. Sparky watched the scene replay as he slowly laid the bill on the counter.

"What's up with your hand, eh?"

"Excuse me, can I ask you a few questions?" The TV played on. Sparky watched as the camera caught every detail of his face, every angle.

"This is large money. You're not a vigilante killer or something?"

"No, of course not."

The man handed him his change and turned to the TV just as the interview footage ended with the car speeding off. The camera had missed Frank screaming out, even though it could be heard as an off camera voice. Sparky watched as his face was blown up and posted next to the talking reporter who was standing at the restaurant he had just left.

The report concluded with the woman stating they would not rest until they get all the details for their viewers. Sparky sighed as he was handed the key through the small hole in the glass.

"So, what's with the hand?"

"Oh, I was born that way," Sparky was half in a trance.

"Must be tough," the man groaned, turning back to his television. The previous show was back on, and along with it the hollow laughter that seemed followed every line.

Chapter 96

"This is incredible. I got left out of the entire picture!"

Sparky almost fell off the edge of the bed. "What? Since when was it okay to talk in public?"

"Says the guy who is getting all the media attention. I am not even an afterthought. Goat this, goat that. Where is Frank the dog wonder? Where's my fifteen minutes of fame?" Frank's excitement agitated the persisting fleas. He went in for the kill with his snout near his back leg.

"I thought you said that fame destroys everyone." Sparky tried to recall Franks exact words. "Especially animals, right?"

"That was just angry talk. That camera. Those people. It started a warm feeling in my tummy."

"Weren't you also the one afraid of being taken away and chopped up for science?"

Frank scratched under his arms with his mouth, gnawing his loose skin. He rolled over and dug his head into a pillow.

"Look, Frank, we're more public than ever. This is exactly what we have been trying to avoid."

Frank didn't emerge from under the pillow. "Always thinking of yourself, goat! What about my feelings?"

"What about your feelings?"

"What if I wanted to be public? What if I wanted to be a face?" Frank's voice was about as pathetic as he could get it. Years of adoring humans had taught him how to sculpt a whine.

"You told me that you wanted to avoid exposing ourselves to people, you and I both agreed. Why the change of heart?"

Frank sprang up on two legs and bounced on the bed. "The other night, at the club, I was somebody. Somebody special. I felt like a champion! It felt great to be someone like that, to have a good talk with good people."

"You were a midget in costume to anyone who asked. You can't do that all the time. Just like I can't always be a man in a dark coat and hat, or a goat Halloween costume, you have to face that this isn't a place for us Frank. No matter how much you want it." Sparky sighed. "Besides Frank, this is a rescue mission, this isn't for fame or recognition."

The dog settled back down on his rear. "What if it could be, goat?"

"It can't. You know as well as I do, we can't. If we even still have a chance of finding my family and getting them rescued. Then I am going to hide them. Far, far, away from people."

The canine turned away, looking through the narrow window blinds overlooking the empty motel parking lot. "You have a family, Sparky. When this is over, your whole family will be with you again. I'll be back roaming on my own, hoping some yokel farmer offers me some steak scraps!"

Sparky turned to the TV where they were still boasting their exclusive coverage of the goat sighting. The words he had just heard were not surprising. Sparky had neglected to think about it. Frank started alone and would end up alone. He was just along for the ride.

"That's not true, Frank. You're not going to be on the road searching for scraps unless you want to. You have a place to go."

"Sparky, you're great, but-" Frank's voice trailed off as he jumped down from the bed.

"I don't want to, I'm not for-"

Frank wandered into the bathroom. "Oh, who am I kidding?" He dunked his head down into the toilet, lapping ferociously at the crisp cool water.

Sparky stood up and walked over to the bathroom door. "Is there something I should do?"

Frank perked, finding the goat with soft eyes. The little black hairs meshed together on his chin a droplets of water fell one by one to the tile floor.

"You know that you can stay with us, right Frank?"

"Really?"

"Of course."

Frank ran over and wrapped his paws around the goats midsection, squeezing his damp face into the goat's chest. The toilet water sent a shiver through Sparky.

"Hey now, wait ease down." Sparky turned away and swatted the moisture on his stomach. A cold set of eyes met him face to face on the television screen.

"Reilly!"

"Frank! My name is Frank! We have to work on this communication if we're going to be roommates."

Sparky ignored the dog and focused on the broadcaster's voice.

"Police have him in custody this evening as the only suspect in a murder case after an anonymous tip was called in to 9-1-1. Details are limited at this time, but officials say that he will not be released on bail," the newscaster finished her statement before turning to her side. The camera switched to a new angle. "Coming up next we have the weather and Bill Stevens will tell you exactly how cold it's going to get in the next few days."

"That's right Cindy. The forecast is calling for an absolutely punishing night the way things are looking. Stay tuned as we'll have all the details for you right after a few words from our sponsors."

Chapter 97

Basil had gotten a hold of the local P.D from his cell and was able to get a ride into a local station. Linus, the officer that had been dispatched had been flapping his jaw since Basil had gotten into the car. By his count Basil had racked up ten words in the conversation over the past fifteen minutes, including his introduction. The detective wanted to tell the man to shut up, but had enough of being dumped on the roadside for his big mouth.

Linus changed topics as he pulled up to a red light and spotted a sign for a local sandwich shop. "That reminds me, adults get real bitchy. You think it's just kids, but adults whine ten times worse. I swear, I was sitting listening to my co-workers whine about a free sandwich the department bought for a picnic. 'It's got mayonnaise! It's got mustard! Christ, is that an onion!' Like it's being poisoned by rat shit and pissed on by homeless people," the officer coughed into his hand.

He continued, "I've spent a lot of time with my kids and they do the same thing: 'Daddy I don't want to have mayonnaise on it.' Even though the little bastards like mayonnaise, I mean, who doesn't like a little mayonnaise?"

"I don't like mayonnaise-" Basil was cut short and wasn't heard.

"I was raised by people that cared about me, gave me options. But they didn't put up with crap. If I said 'Hey mom, I don't like mayonnaise.' You know what she would have said?"

Basil nodded along.

"She would have said 'Linus, you're a fucking pansy. You eat that mayonnaise or I will spoon it down your spoiled little throat.' And a good mother she would have been for it, too. If I didn't clean my room? Wooden switch. If I didn't say please? Wooden switch."

"Sounds rough."

"I was the luckiest kid alive. When we have work functions and Bob and the other men are bitching about mayonnaise, I've got my pride that I'm not a puss like that. I eat my free food, I don't whine. And besides, like I was saying, who doesn't like mayonnaise?"

"I don't; too slimy."

"You're a god-damn wuss. I hope you choke to death at your next meal," Linus pulled the squad car up outside the station. "Well this is it, welcome to Montreal and enjoy your stay."

Basil climbed out, refusing to make eye contact. "Thanks for the lift."

"No problem. I'd see you in, but I got a date with some ladies. I'm going to show them how romantic an evening can be," he waved his hand level and then made some spanking motions with it.

"Sounds fun," Basil put his hand on the door.

"A little dinner, some wine, a little squatter-bingin', everybody wins," Linus flashed a toothy grin as Basil slammed the door.

Basil flipped up his collar to repel a sudden evening breeze. He marched up the stairs to the police station. The special agent still had much groveling to do but he was able to maintain his job for now. He had done so with the promise of a major arrest, all while avoiding discussing any details of the were-goat. He knew that captain had no interest in that anyway. The agency didn't have any nearby resources to spare and referred him to the local authorities.

Entering the office he provided his credentials to the lady behind the desk. She wordlessly handed the man a clipboard with some forms on them. The first page was a release of liability. Then the others were general information. Basil was hoping he could forgo procedure and get right down to business.

"Do I need to fill these out? Can't I just go in?"

"Errr, je ne sais pas."

"Can I see your captain?" He cleared his throat. "Le capitaine?"

She smiled and pointed to the clipboard in his hands.

"I am here to see the captain, not fill out forms."

"Asseyez-vous et ferme-la!" Her voice was louder and firmer than before.

Basil wasn't sure what she said. He shied back from the counter and looked down at the first form, shaking his head.

"Monsieur?" she extended a pen.

Basil grabbed it and sat down in one of the chairs facing her desk.

The secretary discretely picked up the phone and made a call. Basil couldn't translate the muffled French any better than when she was speaking to him. When she completed the call she set the phone down and gave him a polite smile.

"Vous sentez comme les oeufs méchants."

Basil smiled. "Merci."

He scratched out some quick answers on the provided paperwork and signed by the x's, there wasn't time to waste. After a minute, the rear door opened and a man hardly over five feet tall entered in a decorated uniform.

"Thank you for your assistance, sir." Basil was on his feet, clipboard to the wayside.

"You are nasty dog, but we service you anyway!"

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm sorry, Petra has been helping me with my English, it is good, no?" Captain Jean-Luc pointed to the lady at the desk.

"She speaks English?" Basil suppressed his discontent.

"Yes, but she feels bad to speaks it. I am Jean-Luc."

"Basil Lain," he extended his hand, but the captain didn't reach for it.

"You will shower before we touch, yes?" The captain briskly whipped around and motioned Basil to follow.

Chapter 98

"I have no reason to talk to any of you. I did nothing wrong."

Detective Finion Peters leaned in, giving a stern glare to the accused. Reilly didn't care; he was above talking to these fools. He had sat in enough interrogation rooms that he was unphased by their approach. It was only a matter of time before his release.

"We have your shirt that you were wearing. It's covered in the victim's blood. And there is no reason to talk to us?" Finion looked over his shoulder at Officer Gil Kent that was standing behind him. "I don't buy it."

"He's a lying hoser, aye." Gil echoed.

Finion held up a yellow legal pad with a few short notes. "You say you were at the coffee shop for what again?"

"Coffee."

"And you just happened to be in the area of that coffee shop because?"

"It's along the way to work."

"And where do you work, mister?"

"Reilly."

"I know that, but you haven't given us a last name. I don't have a work, no home. You're not carrying one single piece of ID. As far as I know your name could be Mickey Mouse!" The detective turned to his companion. "What do you think, Gil?"

"I still think he's a lying hoser, aye."

"Watch him, while I get some coffee."

Officer Peters stood up from the table and opened the door to the interrogation room, white mug in hand. Reilly sat still. His cuffed hands on the table, his fingers interlaced. The second policeman, Officer Gil Kent, remained.

"Aye, hoser, aye," he whispered to Reilly.

Reilly squinted as the man stuck his hand into his coat. Gil's arm dug deeper into his coat and then into his pants. Reilly turned away in disgust.

"Aye, you like peanut butter?" The officer pulled out a tiny plastic jar of crunchy peanut butter. "It's fresh, aye."

"You're sick." Reilly scoffed.

Gil dipped his bare hand in the jar. The brown sticky goo was wrapped around his index finger when it emerged. Gil jammed the wad into his mouth and slid it out clean.

"Mmmmm," his delight sounded erotic in nature.

Reilly turned his gaze to the ceiling and started counting the tiles.

The door opened. A man came in that Reilly didn't recognize. Gil shoved the jar back into his pants. He put one hand on Gil's shoulder and shoved him out of the room.

"Aye, what!" Gil shouted as the door sealed.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Um, funny guy number three?" Reilly asked.

He slammed his hand on the table. "No!" He straightened himself out, brushing his hair down with his hand. "Try again."

"You're the bad cop, the other guy was the good cop, and that little guy with the peanut butter is your mutual boyfriend?"

"Let me jog your memory," he said. He was running his finger along the table without looking up at Reilly. "Chester Arrington."

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"Of course not. Why would you remember him? He didn't die from the poison you tried to feed him."

"I didn't poison anyone."

Basil had waited a long time for this. His cold stare had been trained for many years for moments like this. Retribution would be his. "I know. It's those Beagle pups that ended up dead. Too bad for them, right?"

Reilly eyes became a bloodshot pool of restrained tears.

Basil sat down and put his hand on the table. He leaned back in the metal chair and put his feet up. "I've been waiting for you."

"Who are you?" Reilly's voice cracked as he spoke. He swallowed over the lump in his throat.

"Special Agent Basil Lain. Tell me, why did someone go through so much trouble to protect you from a police investigation about puppies? I never got past your corporate attorney; completely stonewalled. And my office had bigger fish to fry than a puppy killer. I hated dropping that case."

"You don't know nothing! I don't know what you're talking about."

Basil had only seen the man for a few minutes at the crime scene, before the PR rep had replaced him, but he never forgot.

"You were Reilly Graves back then. Of course the ID I pulled now says Reilly Thompson. I didn't know it was you until another friend of yours showed me a picture. I assume neither of those are your real name. Moved up from murdering Beagles, I see."

"I don't have any friends." Reilly coughed.

"What, you don't know him? Standing I'd say he's just shy of six feet tall, big brown horns, wild yellow eyes. Chews his lip when he gets nervous."

Reilly didn't speak.

"Where are the rest of them, Reilly? Where are the other goats?"

Reilly gave his glare to the wall. He wouldn't think about the puppies. He wouldn't think about the goats. He changed his mental scenery back to a few hours ago. The fun he had shooting Valerie. Bang.

Basil slammed his hand on the table. "Where are the goats?" The door cracked open behind.

"Detective, your partner's here."

Basil didn't have a partner. Tony was a thousand kilometers away. The only person that would even dare to locate him here wouldn't be crazy enough to get this close to a police station.

Unless he knew about Reilly.

Chapter 99

The grey overcoat, slick fedora and suspiciously long shin hairs were staring Basil in the face. The nerve of finding him here, in this place, among Montreal's finest. The whole thing could explode any moment. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I saw Reilly on the news. I dropped your name out front, didn't know you'd be here. I got nervous too. That lady at the desk has something against you; Frank said her whole odor changed to black licorice just mentioning it."

"Spare me. Sparky, you're not a cop, or an agent. These guys mean serious business, you need to get out of here." Despite Basil's insistence, he could see that Sparky had no intention of surrendering the job to him.

"I'm know what you think and I'm not trusting my family to your judgment. You can help me get in that room over there to find out where they are or I'll happily plow right through you." Sparky's nostrils flared.

"Sparky, I'm sorry about what happened before, but please, you need to settle down. If you stay you'll be caught for sure. I am going to find them."

Sparky checked his hat. "No I won't, I have this friend on the inside. Not worth a lot, but he's greedy enough for me to be his slave that he'll protect me."

Sparky brushed past Basil and started walking down the hall. Sparky would never find where he was going and would likely end up bursting into the women's bathroom causing a large scene. The damned goat had come back at the worst time. Basil shrugged. Sparky was right about one thing: the inside friend would protect his identity, if he could.

"You're headed the wrong direction." Basil came up from behind and put his hand on Sparky's shoulder. "It's this way."

They hurried down the hallway and around the corner. The interrogation room was not far. The hallway was vacant except for one guard sitting at a table reading the paper. He looked up and smiled at Basil and his partner.

"Bonjour."

Basil returned the gesture, rushing Sparky past him and into the interrogation room. Both were ready to get their answers. Sparky pushed past Basil and grabbed the man by the collar. To his surprise, it wasn't Reilly. It was another officer.

He was face to face, knowing the man could see him. Sparky looked down and saw that the man had his finger wedged into his mouth. As the goat eased down on the man's collar the man pulled his finger loose. The man smiled shyly and revealed that his teeth were coated in peanut butter.

"I won't say anything if you don't, aye?"

Sparky watched Officer Gil pull an open plastic jar of peanut butter from his pants and lean it towards him. Sparky stepped back.

"Where's the suspect? Where's Reilly?" Basil demanded.

"He's being moved, special orders, aye. Transferring Officer couldn't wait."

"Where's he being moved to?" Basil asked.

Gil stuck his finger in the peanut butter and pulled it back out staring at the glob with delight. "Can you sign my shirt, aye?"

"This is very important," Sparky said.

"Orders said central processing on the east side. But they do all the transfers down at the dock, aye. I am sure you can find them there." Gil saw his chances to get the goat's autograph slipping through his sticky fingers.

"The dock?" Basil asked.

"Basement level, where they load and unload prisoners for transport from here, aye. They should still be there. It takes a few minutes to check him out, aye," the man jammed his finger into his cheek and slurped on a comforting wad of peanut butter.

"Which way?"

"Take a left at the guard post, but be careful Mr. The Goat. I bet that you wouldn't get caught until November, aye, so you got to avoid the law for one more night, aye. Else I lose the pool, get me?"

There was no time for an answer. Basil led the way out, Sparky followed.

Gil jammed the tiny jar of peanut butter back into his pants. He closed the door behind himself and smiled contentedly, looking at his watch. Provided Sparky didn't get arrested on his way out, he would win the pool. Three hundred dollars would buy a lot of peanut butter.

Chapter 100

Sparky and Basil burst out of the heavy door of the dock. There were no officers at the post. Someone on the inside had paid them off. A gold coupe eased out of the garage. In the back seat, the two caught a brief glimpse of the man they hunted.

The gold car turned out onto the main thoroughfare. Reilly wiped his forehead. Of the numerous times he had been arrested, this had been the longest he had waited for rescue. He had worried that no one was coming. Reilly patted the driver on the shoulder to express his appreciation.

"I know why it took so long, now that I know it was you and not someone less thorough." Reilly's accompanying laugh failed to mask his stress.

Doctor Fudge's teeth clamped like a sprung trap. It was foolish that he had needed to divert any of his attention away from the goats. "Stupid buffoon. I say always no mistakes, what the hell did you do?"

Back at the dock, Sparky and Basil had little time to think. Sparky stripped down and tossed his hat and coat to the detective. "Frank's out front with the car!"

"What are you going to do?" Basil asked.

Sparky took to all fours. His bounding stride impressed Basil, and was not something he could try to match. Basil ran out of the garage to the front of station. The Ford Escort he had been jettisoned from earlier idled by the curb. Frank sat in plain sight in the driver's seat of the sedan, paws on the wheel.

Basil ripped the driver door open. "Move over, I'll drive."

Frank didn't budge. "Hey fatty! You made it here, too?"

Basil didn't wait for the dog to comply. He pushed his way in, receiving a harsh growl. The tires squealed as they tore out of the lot.

Reilly could see Fudge's squinched face in the rear view mirror."You okay, doc? Look, it wasn't my fault. I think Carmine's onto us."

"Of course he is." Fudge hated him more than ever. "Damn you, Reilly. I told you to keep it quiet. Valerie may do more damage to me dead than alive."

The car bumped, there was a loud thud at the rear.

Reilly gave a disapproving shake of his head."Watch how you're driving, we don't want to get pulled over. I'm a wanted man."

Dr. Fudge adjusted his rear view mirror. "Holy shit!"

Staring back at him in the reflection was the dimly lit face of Sparky, pulling himself up over the spoiler of the car.

Reilly looked back; his cheeks went flush. "How the hell did it get out of the facility? And why the hell is he following you?"

"I wasn't followed," Dr. Fudge said.

Sparky pulled himself over the spoiler and steadied himself on the car's winged back end. With both hooves he hammered in the center of the back window. The window was sturdy, but so was his resolve. He struck again, faint cracks appeared.

Reilly looked around. They were in light traffic, but this would be noticed for sure. "We have to drop this thing! What are you waiting for? Shake him off! And speed up!"

The car accelerated, Dr. Fudge's pulse quickened. He was not as used to these escapes as his backseat driver. Sparky fell back with force, but his legs held him firm in the spoiler. He reeled back and struck the glass again. The car swerved right then left. Sparky swayed then regained his balance.

Fudge smiled, his adrenaline surged. He turned and checked the rear. The goat was still there. "Hold on!" The Doctor banked the car sharply. The unfastened Reilly toppled over in the back seat, cursing as he went.

Sparky held on tight as his rear end flew off the right side of the car. He climbed back over the trunk just as a car rushed past. The rear glass showed cracks, but still held.

Behind them, the little Escort darted down the roadway narrowly missing an oncoming SUV. Basil guided the car in and out of the two lanes passing other cars. The gold coupe came into sight. Basil breathing eased when he saw they hadn't lost their target. His mind assembled the picture of Sparky riding on the rear. Panic set in anew. Basil accelerated, unsure how long Sparky could hold on.

"Your friend is crazy," Basil said to Frank, who was fumbling with something in the passenger seat.

"He's not crazy, this is how we operate!" Frank wished he had power windows. He would love to be shooting at the bad guys. It was his job as sidekick. As it was, he had a hard enough time getting the gun ready.

Basil caught a flash of the weapon's metal barrel and yanked it away. Frank poised to argue when Basil offered him a trade. "Take the wheel!"

Frank bounded over with delight, wrapping his paws around the rubber coated steering wheel. Basil rolled down the window and leaned out with one foot hard on the gas. He steadied the gun and fired.

The shot was a terrible miss; the bullet sparked against the road.

Reilly heard the shot, but was unable to see past Sparky. Dr. Fudge peeked at the side mirror and glared at the pursuing vehicle. He swerved out into the opposing lanes, dodging cars head on.

Frank couldn't turn the wheel fast enough and they bounced into another car. Basil fired off balance. The bullet went into the rear glass of the coupe shattering a small section. Sparky followed it up with his own two hooved blow and the rear windshield split.

"Don't you have a gun?" Reilly asked.

"Yeah!" Dr. Fudge reached blindly into the passenger seat and found the icy metal handle of the 9mm.

He tossed the gun over the seat, not looking back. The gun hit Reilly square between the eyes. Reilly fell down against the seat, rubbing his head.

Basil slid down into the car. Frank scampered back into his seat.

"Let me shoot, let me shoot!" Frank panted with a wet tongue.

Basil kept his eyes on the road as he weaved the small car and bobbed to keep up with the villains.

Sparky hit the glass over and over, thinking at any time it would give. The gold coupe darted to and fro through the traffic. Sparky couldn't brace himself to get a solid hit. One hoof wrapped tightly on the spoiler, the other trashing on the broken window.

Reilly pulled the gun from the floor, the scene around him blurred. The banging on the glass behind him resounded in his aching head. He turned around and aimed the gun. The trigger squeezed easily. The glass shattered.

Chapter 101

The Escort bounced as it trampled the broken glass sheet. Basil cranked the wheel left to avoid a small pickup truck. The limp goat hung from the back of the car ahead of them. Basil gasped, Frank put his paws on the dash. The goat's legs wrapped around the spoiler holding him in place.

"Get up, damn it!" Frank screamed.

Basil shuddered. "He can't hear you!" He turned sharply, following the gold coupe down another road.

Reilly climbed up. He held the top of the seat and leaned out of the window. He bent over, trying to wriggle the animal's legs free.

Reilly looked up at the driver of the pursuing Escort recognizing the detective from the station. He drew a line across his throat. Reilly turned back and reached out to yank the goat's left leg out. He was met with a raging yellow glare. Sparky grabbed the man's collar and pulled up.

Reilly threw his hands around the goat's neck pressing him against the trunk. Sparky butted with his horns. The man gripped tighter on the goat's narrow throat. Sparky began to lose sensation in his arms. Staring into the eyes of his attacker, the man who had stolen his family, failure crept into his mind as his eyes blackened.

Sparky couldn't remember where this all started. He couldn't think clearly about Oliver and his herd, even though it had only been a few days since he last saw them. He struggled to picture his lady, his children. He swung his head and caught Reilly in the face with the edge of his horn, but Reilly kept pressing his fingers. The man squeezed harder. Sparky swung again. No contact.

Suddenly the pressure eased and Reilly retreated. He was grabbing his shoulder. The air returned to Sparky's lungs. Sound flooded his ears. Sparky looked over his shoulder and saw Frank leaning out the side of the car, a pistol propped between in his paws and mouth.

The doctor pushed a hard left, the Escort couldn't hold the road. Basil spun the wheel about, slamming the brakes. The car slid to a halt passing the side road, their vision occluded by a convenience store. Basil punched the car into reverse and then back to drive. As he made it onto the side road Basil's jaw fell open. The coupe was gone.

Sparky yanked up on the man's sleeve and crashed his horns into his skull. Reilly fell back inside the car, Sparky still attached. They collapsed in a pile on the back seat. Sparky turned to the driver.

"Take me to the goats!"

Reilly's wound poured blood over the seat. Dr. Fudge didn't slow the car. He checked his side, wrapping his hand around the grip of his loaded sidearm.

Sparky seized the 9mm from the floor. He shoved the barrel against Reilly's forehead. "I said take me to the other goats."

"Don't take him, kill the bastard." Reilly uttered.

Sparky clocked Reilly across the cheek with his free hoof.

Dr. Fudge chuckled. "You won't kill me, and I don't really care if you kill him."

"Who are you?" Sparky asked.

"Why, I should be asking that of you. I'm Doctor Raymond Fudge, your creator."

"My creator?" Sparky split his attention between the man in front and the man pinned on the seat, keeping a solid watch on both.

"Did you think you sprang up from nowhere! I created you. I made you the creature you are today."

"What have you done with my family? Are they safe?"

Reilly snickered. "Safe? Ha!"

"Are they safe?" Sparky demanded again, bashing the pinned man with his fisted hoof.

"No, they aren't. It's too bad for them, and it's too bad for you."

Reilly turned and grabbed for the gun. Sparky fell back and lost his grip on the 9mm. Reilly leaned up putting a hand to Sparky's throat. Sparky threw a quick jab with his right hoof, then his left. Reilly sank down unmoving. Sparky scraped at the floor, looking for the gun.

A sharp pain formed in Sparky's shoulder. His eyes rolled to the pain and saw a dart emerging from his forelimb.

"Too bad for you." Fudge repeated.

Sparky collapsed.

~~~~~~

"Did you see that? I shot him! I shot him!" Frank bounced with delight that Basil had given him the chance to use the gun. It was truly his first time firing a weapon and he wasn't sure how he had done it.

"Yeah, I saw it," Basil grunted; impressed that the animal had made the shot. "I didn't think you could pull it off. Where did you learn to shoot?"

"I don't know how to shoot, but when you took my bet for a six pack that I could hit the guy on the first shot, it just made me focus."

"Great, but we've still lost them."

The Escort continued cautiously down the side road without any sign of the gold car, or the goat.

"You think he's going to be okay?" Basil asked.

"How many times do I have to tell you? He's the Goat!"

"Right, I get it."

Chapter 102

"Wake up you filthy little bastard!"

Sparky found himself at home on the ranch. Why would Oliver be yelling at him? He smiled and stretched his arms, delighted to be at home, awake from his nightmare. He almost wanted to speak, to thank the man for being such a good friend, but he knew better.

"Goddamn son of a bitch! I said wake up!"

Sparky's eyes shot open. Freezing water covered his front. Dr. Fudge lumbered over him in a white coat. Sparky had been restrained with leather straps. They wrapped tightly around his limbs so much so that the bands cut the skin around his hooves.

"Good morning," Dr. Fudge cackled. The man erupted into a full laugh that ended in a snort. "I do hope that you are more willing to talk than your predecessors!"

The doctor pointed to the blood splattered table next to Sparky.

"What have you done to my friends?" Sparky shook against the restraints, they only cut deeper.

"See? We are already doing better. The last one wasn't so ready to talk."

"Who? Who didn't talk?"

"I don't know, since he wouldn't talk he didn't give me a name. Would you give me your name?" the doctor brushed the goat's face with the back of his hand. "My name is Raymond. Doctor Raymond Fudge."

"I remember, you're going to let them go right now!"

"So much to understand, so much to know. You really should share with me. I am a man of science and study."

"Let me go, now."

"My dear goat, there isn't anyone to save you!"

Sparky looked around the room. It was just him, the doctor, and a series of metal tables on the back wall. One along the other side of the room displayed a selection of medical tools. Sparky tested the straps on his arms, trying to wedge even one hoof free.

"Sparky, I told you, there is no way to escape."

Sparky.

Had he spoken in error? No. Maybe in his sleep? No, one of the other goats must have talked. Who had Fudge killed? Who had spoken about him? Was it a friend? Was it his lady?

"Don't look so surprised. Me and Frank are actually quite good friends."

Frank emerged from behind a table, on his hind legs. He had on a black sport coat and a silver tie. The canine trotted over with a beer can in his left paw. Frank took a long drink, watching Sparky struggle.

"I've had him following you for a long time. He is the best informant I could have had; truly a man's best friend."

Sparky 's tongue tangled in his throat. Frank sipped his beer.

"Frank? You wouldn't! We're friends!"

Frank turned the can upside down and shook it. A few drops fell out onto the floor. "It was real easy to get in with you. You are so trusting."

"You can't be serious!" Sparky's heart fell free of his chest, bouncing on the floor where the canine proceeded to step on it. The doctor was right; no one would be coming to save him.

"But, Frank! My, my... family!"

"Always so selfish, goat." Frank threw the can and hit Sparky in the face. It bounced across the floor echoing in the sterile chamber.

"But I thought, you were-" The goat had lost all words.

"Ah, who needs you?" Frank stormed out of the room. The door slammed behind him. The doctor rolled his eyes and his head back to Sparky.

"You really shouldn't struggle, they are very strong straps. I'm sure that Frank told you I am a professional."

"Let me go, you monster! I won't give up."

"Please don't tell me he's fighting with you!" Basil stepped in from the same door Frank had just exited.

"Basil?"

"You think I really wanted to make you famous? I wanted to get you home safe to my dad!"

Dr. Fudge tilted his head to the sky and laughed maniacally. Basil joined in. Their chorus filled the room for what must have been a straight minute or more. The two men stopped in unison and narrowed their gaze on the imprisoned Sparky.

"This was all just an elaborate show! Just for one goat, too! You should feel honored!" The doctor handed a white coat to Basil. "Why don't you help me, son?"

"I'd love to, dad!"

Basil slipped on a long white lab coat and buttoned the front. He lifted a giant circular saw from the table. Basil ran a finger along the blade. "Just relax, Sparks. You don't have to worry about me exploiting you anymore. All I want is to see your insides. To get into what really makes you tick."

Dr. Fudge tapped his son on the shoulder. "Sorry son, you'll have to do this without me."

"Why, dad?"

"I almost forgot, I have a date!" He circled on one foot reaching for the door. "Would you like to meet her?"

Sparky's jaw hit the floor. Princess sashayed in, wearing a tight pink tube top and a short flared white skirt, her lips layered with bright red lipstick. The fine lady swayed her hips as she walked. Princess swooped in and gave Sparky a peck on the cheek, then slowly and went to his ear.

"It's okay baby, maybe you'll be happier when you're dead! The doctor is going to show me what it's like to have a real man around. No more dating from the pasture...it's so last century." Princess waltzed to the doctor.

Dr. Fudge put his arm around her shoulders. The two locked in a strangely inhuman exchange of passion. Fudge pursed his lips and slipped his tongue into her mouth, Princess licked his tongue and bit at the man's lower lip.

"Mahh!" Dr. Fudge belted. The two strolled out the door, Fudge waving over his shoulder.

Sparky's head fell. He turned to Basil. "Please, just kill me. I don't want to see anymore!"

Frank re-entered the room, holding Samantha's hoof in his paw. "Hey, Sparks, you mind if take your little girl drinking?"

Sparky shrieked.

Basil motioned Frank to shoo. Frank slapped Sam on the rear as they scurried out. She chirped with delight.

"Please, just make it quick! I don't want to know how much worse it gets!"

Basil revved up the saw. He looked back and forth between the blade and Sparky.

"By the way, goat, I took the liberty of having that little farm girl, Susan, offed. She knew too much!"

"Sherry?"

"Whatever." Basil cleaved the saw into the goat.

Sparky's body tightened as the screaming whir of the saw pierced his ears. He could feel the blade tearing at his skin. His strength faded, he could no longer feel the restraints holding him, only pain.

Chapter 103

"Wake up you filthy little bastard!"

Sparky found himself at home on the ranch. Why would Oliver be yelling at him? He smiled and stretched his arms, delighted to be at home, awake from his nightmare. He almost wanted to speak, to thank the man for being such a good friend, but he knew better.

"Goddamn son of a bitch! I said wake up!"

He peeked from his left eye. It was the white-coated man: Dr. Fudge. He stood ready with a pail of water. The doctor set it down, catching his open eye.

"You snore."

The room was identical to how it had been in his dream. He looked for any signs of Frank, Basil, Princess, or his daughter.

"So, tell me about yourself. Where did you come from? How did you get here?" The doctor turned away and continued not giving Sparky a moment to speak. "Oh I get it, playing the silent type. You think that you can hold your ground? Thinking 'I won't tell this madman anything.'"

Dr. Fudge wasn't a madman. A little upset that they canceled Perry Mason sometimes, but never mad.

"What is your name, goat?"

Sparky would not easily give in to the doctor's demands as he had in his dream. It was obvious that the man did desire something from him. And for the moment, that made him safe.

"Sparky?"

It had to be a bluff.

"Sparky, from Asquith? The Simms's ranch?" Dr. Fudge clapped his hands together. "Really little one, you should speak up in your defense."

Sparky tested his restraints again, even stronger than he had dreamed they could be. He looked at the man and cocked his head, boisterously.

"So, you figure this all out on your own? Who did you tap? The agent, the dog, the girl?"

"My dear goat," the doctor stepped towards him, "I figured to learn about the child, who better to study than the parent."

Sparky's mother had passed when he was still a very young kid. His father had been a neighbor stud and unknown to him. Both were long gone by the time he could really remember. Back before he and the others in his heard had changed. He had faint memories of his mother, though. Oliver had filled in for her, building a loving relationship with him in her stead. The Simm's Ranch...Oliver!

"Yes, the old man who reported you lost. I know everything about your past. But I want to know what he couldn't tell me. I want to know about your mind, how you operate."

"Where is he? What have you done with him?"

"He's not of your concern. Tell me what I want to hear," Dr. Fudge said. "Tell me about yourself. I am impressed by you in particular. Did you make it all the way from that tiny little farm on your own? It must have been so terrifying in the human world, alone. However did you make it? Please tell."

The doctor produced a large knife from behind his back.

Sparky deliberated his position. Oliver could have met with a terrible fate. Maybe that was the old man's blood on the table. Fudge was clearly unreasonable. Sparky feared not for himself, but for his lady, for his children. If Oliver had been tortured here, would not all their fates be the same?

"Not going to talk?"

Is it his story that the man wants? Does the scientist truly want to hear what happened?

"I woke up one morning and found everyone missing. Oliver was there. He tried to comfort me. He thought he had done something wrong. When I found out about the kidnapping, I left to find them."

"All on your own?"

Dr. Fudge settled in to listen.

"Yes."

What harm could it do?

Chapter 104

"So you fought these men? All of them? Alone?" The doctor was sitting at the edge of his seat.

Sparky had been going on for at least an hour.

"No, Frank pitched in, and we took them down together. But he's not much of a fighter."

"You had some adventure. This is very interesting."

"So what are you going to do with this, doctor? Where is this going?" He had felt that even though the bonds were still just as tight as they been an hour ago, the man's intentions were loosening up.

"I want to study you completely."

"You're not going to cut me open though, on a table?"

"No, I figure not. You are very valuable to me."

Sparky sighed.

"I have plenty of others goats to cut open. Maybe I will offer to let you work with me. Help me bridge the gaps between our races. Someday when I retire again, you can come to my estate as a conversation piece."

If someone only got a glance of Sparky in that moment they may have thought that the goat was indeed a mock statue of a man in prison, possibly Greek in origin, with the head of a satyr and cursed with hooves; encased completely in stone by some angry goddess.

"You look surprised? I don't want to mislead you. It is my intention to use you to further myself. I don't have the luxury of time, being an older man. I need to get as much as I can from you before time tears me from this world."

Sparky's lips pursed as his mind hunted for words, but he found nothing. "Oh."

"So continue your story. I wish to know more about you and Frank. Where is Frank by the way?"

"He, uh, he didn't make it."

"He is dead?"

Sparky nodded slowly. The phone on the table spoke without warning.

"Sir. You have a visitor, doctor." It was a man's voice, one that Sparky did not recognize.

"Who is it?" One eyebrow lifted on Dr. Fudge's face.

"City inspector, here for fire inspection."

"Can't Reilly handle this?"

"He is still recovering sir. I am not sure that he has stopped bleeding."

He dare he! "I'm on my way."

The sourness of Dr. Fudge's lower lip folded into a frown. "Well I'm sure you don't mind if I have someone get a little information from you, while I take care of this?"

Sparky shook his head.

The doctor left the room and then returned, producing another man in a white coat.

"Go ahead and get everything, but don't be too hard on him. He's being very cooperative."

Sparky and the stranger nodded heads courteously with introductions. "Sparky this is my assistant, Dr. Kline."

"How are you?" Sparky asked.

Dr. Kline nodded at Sparky. Dr. Fudge exited the room, the door sealed them in silence. Dr. Kline went to the table by Sparky. There were many sharp instruments laid out, as well as an assortment of tubes and needles.

"You don't have to do the scare thing, Fudge already covered that."

"Wonderful."

Dr. Kline lifted a scalpel from the table, letting the light glint off of it. He set it back down and grabbed another, wiping it down with a white cloth. He steamed it with his breath and wiped it down again.

"Do you want me to continue where I left off?"

Dr. Kline looked over from the table, moving his right hand carefully over each tool, as he scratched his chin with his left. "Excuse me?"

"Didn't Fudge want you to get the rest of the story?"

"You could say that."

Sparky could not see under the doctors hand which tool he hovered over. "So you want me to start where I left off?"

"You might do better keeping quiet. This might not be comfortable."

"Now that you mention it, if you could loosen the straps it would be really great."

The scalpel waved in the air. Dr. Kline picked up a small metal tray with three small plastic strips.

"Now hold still."

The restraints were doing their job nicely. He started to laugh. Then there came a knock to the door.

"That was fast." Dr. Kline opened, expecting to see Dr. Fudge. What he saw instead was a janitor cart.

"What? What is this?" Dr. Kline started to close the door but the cart surged in, blocking the doorway. He took a step back, startled that it had moved on its own.

"Got to work here. Move it."

From behind the cart a small white hat appeared. He wasn't familiar with any short men on the staff. Dr. Kline pushed the cart back outside.

"I don't know you. Besides, this area is off limits!"

"Damn you, I must clean!" The male said.

The cart darted forward, running over Dr. Kline's foot.

"Ouch, what is your problem. Off limits! Get out!" Dr. Kline braced his arms on the cart and pushed back.

"You dirty meat bag! Move your ass!" The cart slammed into Kline's leg. He retreated, holding his leg.

"You shrimp! I'll bait a hook with your corpse!" The man grabbed the cart and ran with it into the hallway. The cart hit with the opposing wall a thud. In one move he had overcome the adversary half his size. Dr. Kline worried he had gone too far. He pulled back the cart and looked for the troublesome janitor. There was no one there.

He checked the other side and again no one. The door to the lab closed behind him and the lock clicked.

Chapter 105

The main warehouse was empty. Staged with new pens for more goats that would be the control herd. Surely the stranger would be kept under watch, not left to wander alone. Where is he?

Dr. Fudge went to the wall panel and rang through to his security staff. No answer. His heart rate ticked up. Fudge trotted to the door to the storeroom for Sparky's herd, there he froze. His ears picked up odd noise coming from the goat store room.

Laughter?

Was it the goats that were laughing? They should be anything but happy. He leaned up and peered through the window on the door. Inside were a handful of his workers, crowding around a stranger. How could they be so stupid?

Dr. Fudge ran his hand over his thin gray hair, flattening it down. He brushed out the wrinkles from his white coat. He would greet the stranger with a smile. He pushed through the double doors. Fudge's assistants chuckled as a young, hungry goat jumped up and down in the cage, while the intrusive stranger dangled a candy bar over it. Fudge could see nothing that pointed to the man being any kind of inspector.

"Wow, they really can dance, can't they?" Basil dropped in a piece of the candy bar and the kid scooped it up in a bite.

"Do not feed them!" Dr. Fudge screamed at the man, breaking his calm exterior.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Little guy looked hungry."

"My animals are on strict diets, mister?"

"Lain, Basil Lain, Ministry of Animal Health." Basil extended a formal handshake.

Fudge did not reach out for it. "I wasn't aware you made visits at ten in the evening."

"I've been on the road, just got back in from Nova Scotia. You should see the ocean this time of year, it's magnificent."

"I'm sure." Dr. Fudge tilted his head. The man appeared familiar. "What can I do for you, Mr. Lain?"

"I was waiting to speak with the man in charge."

"That is myself. Dr. Raymond Fudge."

"Excellent, you must be fully aware that the Ministry of Animal Health is in the business of protecting against the mistreatment of animals."

"My animals are hardly mistreated."

"Doctor, I don't see one bowl of food or water, nor is there ample lighting in here. These animals are living in their own filth. I have seen some bad places before, but this is unheard of."

Dr. Fudge held back his anger, searching for words.

"How do you account for this, doctor?" Basil pressed.

"These animals were only recently delivered to my care." Fudge pointed at his work staff. "My assistants were checking them for any traces of disease and it's imperative that they complete their work before we bring in such things. Surely you are aware of proper procedure, the screening of animals prior to feeding them. Lord knows how quickly disease can spread once there is contaminated food."

Basil looked at the doctor's assistants. They all nodded in accordance with the balding man. "Great, would it be okay for me to watch the screenings? For my report."

"Report?"

"Yes, I can't just do a complete inspection and not turn in a report."

"Of course." Dr. Fudge signaled his assistants to get to work, although they weren't sure what they should be doing.

They five men broke away and dispersed among the cages, looking over each goat carefully. When they approached the cages any of the goats would avoid them completely, except for those too tired or hungry to stand.

Basil watched from Dr. Fudge's side, noting the assistants' ineptness with their assignment. He spotted the truth in the way the men moved; uncertain, shaky. Ex-con was everywhere but tattooed on their foreheads.

"So, I'm sorry, what kind of research do you do here?" Basil asked.

"Product safety."

One of the assistants came to the cage where Basil had made the little goat dance. He stuck his hand in, grasping wildly for the goat. The animal sprang away, darting from one side to the next.

Basil shook his head. "This doesn't look like they really get a good check of the animals."

"Honestly, this is the best way to do this. It allows the staff to bond with them slowly." Fudge propped himself forward on his feet, standing resolute with his words.

"I see," Basil checked his watch. Frank must have found Sparky by now. The two should be out of the building.

"Doctor." Basil knew the familiar voice too well as Reilly pushed in through the doors.

A chill went through Basil's spine. It was not the voice he wanted to hear.

"Yes?" Fudge met Reilly face to face as the large man entered the room. He immediately recognized the Special Agent.

"What is he doing here?"

"He is with the Ministry of Animal Health." Fudge replied.

Reilly charged Basil. Basil reached for his sidearm. The agent unholstered his weapon and raised it free from his belt. Reilly dove. The two hit the ground. Basil and his gun went their separate ways as they crashed to the floor. Basil's shoulders took the brunt on the fall. Reilly pinned Basil to the floor. Reilly's large frame made it easy for him to keep hold over the Basil, despite his wound.

"He's police." Reilly growled, pushing Basil's shoulders to the concrete.

Basil took a deep breath. The cement floor had taken the wind out of him. "CBI actually." Basil strained to roll. He kicked his legs. Reilly drove his head against Basil's. An audible thud was heard by all as Basil's head bounced against the solid ground.

Basil cried out. Reilly stood up. Basil rolled over and lifted himself up on all fours. He hunted for his gun, but it was out of sight; probably in the hands of the doctor's assistants. His eyes met with a young white coated goat in the cage directly in front of him. Reilly kicked him in the side and Basil collapsed again. This was not part of the plan.

"Really?" Dr. Fudge was tickled pink. "Much better! Here I thought Carmine had called in a surprise inspection on us. This will be much easier to deal with. Was there something else, Reilly?"

One of the assistants passed Basil's gun to the doctor.

Reilly kept a watchful eye on the agent. "Wanted you to know the control group is here."

Basil put his arms under him but could not lift himself from the ground. He fell back down gasping for more air.

"Excellent, begin sorting them at once." Dr. Fudge strode over to Basil, placing his foot on the man's back. "Tell me, what does the CBI want with me?"

Chapter 106

Frank backed away from the sealed door. It had locked on its own. He flashed his wagging tongue to Sparky, still standing upright. "Just make sure this scene makes it into the movie!"

"What movie?"

"I was talking with Basil. I might have a place in show business with you. He said I'm welcome to follow you guys to Hollywood. Maybe he's right. Maybe it's time I allowed myself to get famous."

"Maybe it's time you untied me?" Sparky could not believe the dog was back to wanting fame; especially amid their current plight. "Aren't you still afraid of dissection?"

Frank looked over the room intended for just such purposes. "Well, a little, but it would be a small price to pay for stardom!" Frank bounded up onto the table next to the goat and started gnawing on the straps. He bit at the thick restraint around the goat's right foreleg. Thicker than rawhide for sure. Frank gave a second hard chomp then clamped down and twisted his jaw.

"Now you are listening to Basil?" Sparky flinched as Frank tugged at his fur. "Watch it."

The handle on the door jiggled. Heavy pounding followed. The sound reverberated in the room. Frank yanked again, the strap had taken on a mess of drool, but held firm.

"These things are not easy to bite through."

"What about the latch?"

Frank studied the restraint. The strap weaved through two clamps, both of which were tightly latched down with keyholes that Frank could never hope to pick. The reinforced leather resisted the dog's biting.

"No good, need a knife or a key." Frank pulled back.

The banging on the door continued. "Open this door right now!"

Sparky tilted his head towards the table on the other side. "What about those?"

Frank leaned up and spotted the numerous surgical tools. With a quick leap over the goat he hit the floor and then propped up on the table picking through with his mouth. It was a selective process to find a tool that he could wield with only his teeth.

The door rattled once more in its hinges, then stopped. Sparky strained to see the sealed portal, he listened for something more. The outside had fallen quiet.

Frank looked over the table and chomped down on a long narrow scalpel. The slender blade had a slight curve. He slid the knife under the restraint alongside Sparky's wrist. The goat turned away, the long blade looked dangerously sharper than anything he would have trusted to the clumsy dog.

Frank spoke with the knife clenched in his maw. "Try not to squirm or move or breathe or anything."

Sparky felt the slick metal move back in forth over his fur and grate against his flesh. A sudden audible snap and he could move his arm. The stiffness gave way as he flexed his released forelimb. Sparky seized the knife in his hoof and snapped the other restraints. He climbed down from the table and gave Frank a gentle pat on the head.

"Thanks, where's Basil?"

"He's supposed to be looking for your herd."

The handle of the door sprang turned and the door flew open. Dr. Kline charged in. He paused looking over the freed goat and the dog. "Get back on the table, goat."

"What's the plan Sparks?" Frank took a step back from the white coated man.

There was only one way to go now. "Goat-Fu." Sparky raised his hooves.

The doctor drew back his torso and put up his arms with his hands in knife form. "I know Judo."

Sparky nodded his head keeping his eyes locked with Dr. Kline's. He remembered Judo. He was not afraid of Judo.

Dr. Kline grunted a loud kiup. He dashed forward at the goat. Sparky set his horns down to absorb the man. The doctor stopped short of tackling the goat and swept at Sparky's legs with his right foot. Sparky toppled to the ground on top of Frank.

Dr. Kline came down over Sparky with a solid hammer fist striking the goat's cheek. The sting of pain roared across his face. The man stepped back and returned to his fighting stance. He gave a slight chuckle.

"I warned you. Now get back on the table."

Sparky shook off the tenderness in his face. He stood and mimicked the doctor's hands to guard himself.

Frank bore his teeth. "Let's get this guy, Goat."

The goat threw a wide left punch. Frank charged. Doctor Kline slapped Sparky's arm to the side and countered with a knife hand to the face, followed by a jab to the chest. He kicked at Frank and hit the dog squarely in the jaw with his shoe. Frank yelped; Sparky stepped back, both of them dazed.

"Last chance, on the table. Next time I am breaking something." Dr. Kline's eyes flashed and his nostrils flared.

The goat looked back over his shoulder at the table he had come from then back at Dr. Kline and the bloody table beyond. Frank cowered beside him.

"I knew I shouldn't have come back goat. I'm going to get cut up now for sure," The dog retreated back against the table. "Hey I give up, man. You win, just don't cut me."

"What are you doing Frank?" Sparky asked.

"He's making a wise choice." Dr. Kline repositioned his arms in a high block, turning his attention only to Sparky. "What about you, had enough?"

Frank jumped up on the table behind Sparky and started fiddling with the cut straps. "Give me a second, I'll get these on, just please don't hurt me."

"Frank!"

"Sorry Sparky, I can't do this."

Sparky was all alone. The goat stood at a similar stature to the doctor. The man's keen fighting skills were well above any of Sparky's previous opponents. Sparky could almost feel his family on the other side of one of the four walls of the room, but he might as well have been back on the farm. His upper lip dragged across his lower teeth. He couldn't give up.

The goat bent back his knees and sprang headfirst at the doctor. The doctor sidestepped, and thrust a spear hand into the goat' throat as he passed. Sparky collapsed on the ground, his windpipe ached. He drew in a breath and choked. He put his hooves down and tried to climb back up, but lost his footing and was flat on the ground.

"Stupid goat."

Sparky turned his head back from the floor. Dr. Kline pulled back his leg. The foot came straight at his field of vision. Dr. Kline fell back and screamed.

Sparky saw a silver handle extended from the doctor's leg just above the knee. Frank stood on the ground right next to it. The Belgian Groenendael leapt up with his mouth wide and caught the flesh around the doctor's neck. The two fell to the ground, Frank on top.

"I can lie just as good as you humans." Frank barked in the doctor's face and snapped his teeth inches from the man's nose.

The doctor reached down to his leg but couldn't reach the blade.

Sparky came to his feet and stepped up to the man. "Where is my family?"

Dr. Kline sobbed. "He stabbed me." His tiny voice pleaded with the goat.

Sparky had no time to negotiate. "Get on the table, now."

~~~~~~

The two crept free from the lab room having secured the doctor to the bloody table. They felt it was a fitting place for him to wait until they could rescue the others. The hall outside was empty. Frank led the way right then left at the end of the hall. A lab technician stood just beyond the corner staring at a vending machine.

Frank and Sparky ducked back behind the wall.

"We can take this guy, Frank. Together."

"I'm not Frank anymore, goat. Call me Man's Worst Nightmare." Frank whispered.

"Okay, Man's Worst Nightmare, let's go!"

They bolted around the corner. Screaming and barking they charged the man. The modest technician on spotting the ambush, chose to run away rather than fight. He escaped down the hallway and passed through a set of double doors twenty yards ahead.

Sparky and Frank stopped by the vending machine.

"That was odd." Sparky said.

Frank chuckled, wearing his pride on his sleeve. "I am totally scarier than I thought."

Following Dr. Kline's instructions, they galloped down the hallway opposite from where the man had escaped. The hallway turned left. There it branched out three ways. Frank sniffed at each path before sticking his nose straight ahead. The two charged on.

A set of double doors with windows marked the end of the hall. Sparky hopped up, looking out through one of the cloudy glass pains. The warehouse on the other side crowded full of men and goats. The animals were being wrangled into small cages then dragged out of the room on carts.

Sparky's heart jumped. "They're moving goats."

"Your family?" Frank asked.

"I don't see them, these are strangers."

"What do we do?"

"There are a lot of men, Frank. A lot."

Reilly emerged from a set of doors on the far side of the room. Sparky caught sight of him across the warehouse. "Reilly."

"What, that big guy?"

"He must know where they are."

"Are we just going to bust in there?"

"I don't see another way."

Sparky hopped down from the door, back on all fours. In this position Sparky stood just above Frank's head, the two eye to eye.

"You look so...goat-like."

"Well that's what I am, Frank, er, Man's Worst Nightmare."

"You always have the ugly coat on, and you walk upright all the time. It's hard to think you're not a man sometimes."

"I'm just a goat."

"You're not just a goat."

"Yeah," Sparky stood back up and put his front hooves together. "The Goat."

Chapter 107

"Move those damn things, it's not like they can argue! These are just the regular, extra stupid type." Reilly barked orders from the side of the large pen. The workers bumbled around just as much as the first time they had sorted a herd. Dr. Fudge was nearby in the other room keeping watch over Basil. Reilly hoped that the doctor would be kept busy long enough with that shrimp from the CBI he could get this done.

"Hey, Reilly!"

He didn't recognize the call. Reilly looked over his shoulder, Sparky stood with his hooves out. Reilly couldn't help but laugh.

"We've got an escapee guys, get him!"

Many men flooded out from the pen, spilling onto the floor. They surrounded Sparky and Frank. Sparky looked at the group, unable to count their numbers, he could only guess fifteen to twenty. They held their spots in the circle, keeping Sparky and Frank trapped inside.

"What are you waiting for?" Reilly called from the back. "Get 'em!"

~~~~~~

Two of Dr. Fudge's assistants kept a firm grip on Basil's arms while the doctor juggled the gun. Basil's face stung, he could feel his eye swelling.

"I've got nothing else to say to you Fudge. Let these goats go, or-"

"Or what? You think I haven't paid off the CBI before? One little pesky agent is easily disposed of. Honestly, I could feed you to the goats since you're so worried about their health."

"You think I came alone? I've got back up, plus a hundred more agents on their way."

"A hundred is it? Why not a hundred and fifty, or two hundred? Really, Basil," Doctor Fudge laughed, thinking it over. "Your office wouldn't send one man here, let alone one hundred. I bet you're on your own, got some wild hair that you could bring me down. But I'm curious as to why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you here for me?" Fudge passed the fun into his left hand and pointed it at Basil.

"You can't be any cleaner than that behemoth I chased down."

"Reilly, yes, now I see the connection."

"Doctor, we've had an escape!" One of the men burst in from the main warehouse.

Dr. Fudge glared at Basil. "You didn't come alone, did you?"

"I told you Fudge, it's over."

"It's one of the goats, doctor! He's fighting like nothing we've ever seen."

"Sparky," Basil's voice was almost a whisper, but the sharp ears of Mudbubble didn't miss it.

"Did you say, Sparky?" Mudbubble jumped to his feet. The room sprang to life with buzz. Sparky's name erupted from every goat in every cage.

"Sparky's here?"

"He made it!"

"We're saved!"

"Quiet! All of you!" Dr. Fudge threw up his arms.

He fired the gun at the ceiling. Basil shook himself from the guards' grasps and sacked the doctor. The two men fell to the floor in a struggle, the gun caught in both their hands. Basil threw his elbow at the man, but the doctor rolled away and Basil's arm hit the floor. Basil turned, recovered and thrust the man's arm to the ground. The gun flew into the air. The weapon crashed down on top of a metal cage, and slipped down through the bars.

The doctor's team jumped in and restrained Basil, lifting him up before the doctor.

Fudge's rage distracted him from anything but thoughts of vengeance. "The nerve of you! I want him dead!"

~~~~~~

"Watch out, Frank!" Sparky bounced up and head-butted another man. The body fell to the floor and slid. Frank jumped clear, biting at a passing leg. A scream erupted.

Another hand hit the goat. Sparky reeled from the punch.

"Watch it, Sparks!"

Sparky jumped left, trying to dodge the other men, but lost his footing. He collapsed to the ground. Seven men piled up on him, crushing him under their weight.

"Sparky!"

The men seized Frank by his front paws. Two more held the dog's legs. Struggling with all of his might, Frank couldn't shake free. "Sparky!"

The goat didn't make a sound from beneath the human mound. The men peeled off one at a time. The last three restrained the winded Sparky and forced him to his feet. His head dangled on his shoulders.

Reilly walked up to Sparky. "Why did you come here, goat?"

Sparky lifted his head, his strength depleted. His gaze went to Frank, captured and struggling, before shifting to Reilly. The man's smile sickened him. He tried to shake his arms, but was too weak and the men too strong.

"Why, goat?"

"I'm here for my family."

"Ha, you came from that little farm, didn't you?" Reilly's face lit up. "What was that old man's name?"

"Oliver."

"That's right, poor old fool. Looks like you found your family. I'll get you a nice cage right alongside them."

"Sparky, fight!" Frank shook his head, snapping at his captors.

Reilly grabbed the mutt by the chops. "And what about you? Where did you come from? The family pet?"

"No, I'm Man's Worst Nightmare, fat pie. I'm his sidekick!"

"Ha! Sidekick, we'll get you the cage right next to his. I'm sure the doctor's going to love the added research material. Get them into cages!"

Chapter 108

"Not so fast!" Basil stepped into the room, gun pointed at Reilly. The door sealed behind him.

Reilly stroked his chin then let his arm fall at his side.

"Let them go!" Basil motioned toward Sparky and Frank with his gun.

"Hold them tight." Reilly countered. The other men did as they were told. "Where's the doctor?"

"He's tied up." Basil said. "It's over Reilly. I'm taking you down this time for sure."

"Oh, are you then?"

"Shoot him, Basil!" Frank shouted.

"Yeah Basil, shoot me," Reilly took a step forward.

Basil pulled back the hammer. "I said let them go!"

"No." Reilly took another step.

Sparky watched Basil hold his ground, waiting for the man to fire.

"Shoot!" Frank bounced in the grip of his captors.

Reilly stepped closer to Basil. His eyes narrowed. The two men were square, but still a few paces apart. Reilly feigned forward quickly. Basil kept the gun aimed. Reilly inched closer.

"I'll shoot!"

"No, you won't"

"Take him Basil!"

The hammer dropped. Click.

"Nothing! A bluff? Ha!" Reilly bridged the distance to Basil. He extended his hand and Basil surrendered the gun.

"What? No bullets? What the hell are you thinking? I'm getting chopped up because you forgot the bullets?" Frank seethed.

Sparky took in his first full breath. He twisted his torso hard, but with no success at getting free. "I'll take you, Reilly. Give me one chance and I'll-"

"You'll do nothing!" Reilly grabbed Basil by the collar and threw him towards the other men. Three grunts seized Basil by the shoulders. The Special Agent gave no resistance. The men lined up each of the prisoners.

"I win, you lose." Reilly spun the gun around his finger.

He tried to hold back a smile but couldn't. It was too great, spoiling the rogue goat's plan, dropping the agent who couldn't bring him down before. And the dog? Just an added bonus.

"Let's see, Goat Man and the Dog Wonder get a cage. Our guest from the CBI, take him and lock him up until I can dispose of him. Then let's get back to work, we've got lots of goats to sort."

"What happened, Basil? Was that the best you got?" The gun had one fatality even without firing a shot: Sparky's hope.

"Sorry, Goat. He called my bluff on the gun. He got us."

Sparky kicked and bucked. The hands of the men held tight. It was a fight he could not win.

Reilly's pride only grew watching the goat resist in vain. "Really pathetic if you ask me. Although I admit, you did get one up on the doctor. Better go let him out now, I'm sure he'll want to watch you die." Reilly let loose a deep cackle. He marched to the warehouse door, holding his chest high. "Seriously, you guys must hate yourselves!"

Reilly pushed the door wide.

"Remember me?" Oreo didn't hesitate to engage Reilly. His first swing came right to the man's chin. Reilly's head flopped back. The second jab contacted just above the left cheekbone. The large man put up his hands to block his face. Oreo lowered down and leapt off all fours. He locked his neck and rammed his horns into the man's solar plexus. Reilly smashed to the ground. The man's head struck the concrete floor.

Behind Oreo stood the herd, released, weak, but many in number.

Sparky smiled, recognizing the closest familiar face. "Oreo!"

"Sparky!"

Oreo stood, his swollen face bruised and blood stained. "You came."

The other goats flowed out of the open door.

Samantha saw her father, still restrained by the men. "Dad?"

"Sam?"

"Sparky!" Princess called out as she rushed to him.

"Princess?"

Sparky shook free of his captors. Tears streamed down his fur. The men backed up as more goats filled the room. Basil and Frank were let loose.

The back door to the warehouse exploded open. The goats dropped down on all fours. A horde of men in black and green vests filed into the chamber. The unarmed grunts working for doctor fudge surrendered without protest. They were quickly secured against the wall by the army of CBI agents.

A man in a silver suit entered behind the team. He surveyed the mix of half-panicked goats and men.

He walked straight to the plainclothes special agent standing by a panting Groenendael. "Basil Lain?"

"That's me. Who are you?" Basil gave the dog a good rub on his head scratching Frank behind the ears.

"Carmine Tillworth, C.E.O. Planet Global, Inc. Is that wacko Fudge still here?"

"Yeah, he's here. He's tied up in the other room."

"What are all these goats doing here?" Carmine kept a fair distance from the creatures.

"Fudge was performing experiments on them."

"Any idea why?" Carmine asked.

"I take it you didn't have a lot of oversight on this one." Basil shook his head. "Not a clue, I was more interested in that one over there." Basil pointed to Reilly, now handcuffed, but still on the floor.

"Who is he?"

"A murderer under the paid contract of your corporation."

"Never in my life." Carmine's face turned white. "I assure you Special Agent, we run an ethical business. Only tonight had any of the details of Fudge's operation come to me. I am here personally to ensure full cooperation with your office."

"I see." Basil looked over at Sparky. The goat nestled together with his kids and Princess.

A young woman in a green and black vest approached Basil, "Special Agent! Phone call for you, it's the captain."

Basil clutched the phone in his hand. "I need to take this." Basil stepped past Carmine.

Carmine looked over the goats who seemed as bewildered by his presence as they were by his. "What am I supposed to do with all these goats?'

Basil looked at Sparky. The goat had nestled in with his children. "They belong to a farmer in Saskatchewan. His name is Oliver Simms. Fudge had them taken illegally, seems the proper thing to do would be to get them back home."

Chapter 109

The grass never smelled so good, even for early November. Planet Global spared no expense in delivering the goats back home to their owner, and added a small cash incentive to quell Oliver's desire to sue.

Oliver spent the money buying treats of alfalfa and fresh hay bales. Together, the goats and their owner celebrated the event to its fullest. They didn't let the man in on their secret, and Oliver continued his swearing. Everything was back to normal.

Exactly one week after the great showdown, a familiar beaten Escort pulled into Oliver's driveway.

Oliver had been tired out running after the little ones on the hillside earlier that day and was taking a nap. Basil hadn't come to see him. The special agent strolled up to the fence and leaned over on the railing. He watched the animals play quietly from his vantage.

Sparky had noticed him right away, but was busy playing. He waved his hello before finishing up playing soccer with Mythias. He had Mudbubble break away from snuggling with Snowball and step in for him. Mythias fired the first shot directly past the replacement goat, Mudbubble cursed about it under his breath. Snowball laughed. He turned and smiled at her, hoping that it wouldn't be long before they had their own kids to play soccer with.

Sparky made his way up to the fence. From the distance Basil caught sight of Princess. She watched from the hilltop.

Sparky cleared his throat. "Didn't know you were coming so soon. I thought I might have a few more days."

"Oh." Basil looked to Princess, her eyes already streaming.

"Did you tell her?"

Sparky nodded. He looked around before hopping up with his front hooves over the fence.

"She wasn't happy."

"But she understood?"

"Yeah," Sparky nodded, looking over his shoulder. "She understood."

"She's a great," Basil paused for a moment, finding the right word, "lady."

"Yeah, she is."

"I think that's really great, to have that with someone."

"How did things go at the office?"

"Good. Small probationary period, but after that I'm getting a promotion. Fudge and Reilly are looking at some serious time, and PGI is being very cooperative."

"What about us?"

"The doctor worked alone on his research. PGI doesn't have any records of whatever he wanted from you. And even if he speaks, he'll sound like a lunatic."

"That's great." Sparky nibbled at his lower lip.

"Yeah, you're all safe." Basil said.

"And all yours?"

"Well-"

Sparky cut him off. "So, are you bringing me in or are we going straight to Hollywood?"

"Well Sparky, the problem is that the deal had certain provisos. If you didn't meet them then I got your family."

"Now hold on!"

"If I didn't meet them, then I got nothing."

Sparky stared at the detective. He was watching his lips, waiting for the next words to form.

"I never got you to Montreal. You dropped me just outside the city limits. I'm just saying that-"

Sparky threw his arms around Basil. He reluctantly put his arms around Sparky, patting his back.

"Now hold on," Basil said, breaking free of the goat. "There is more."

Sparky could not contain his excitement. His tail jumped about. He bounced in place, eager for more news.

"It's Frank."

"What about him?"

"Well he got involved in a bar fight with some guy who called him a midget. It wasn't pretty. The cops beat me to the scene, but there wasn't much I could do."

"Is he dead?"

Basil shook his head. "Worse."

"Worse? What's worse? Did he get eaten too?"

"He needs to get out of the city. It's just too much temptation for him. He keeps telling me that you invited him to live here? I tried to tell him that he heard you wrong, but he was so adamant that well..." Basil turned around and waved at the car.

The door popped open and Frank hobbled down. He was walking upright with a crutch under one arm. In his free hand he clutched a can of beer.

"Frank!" He almost hopped the fence seeing the mutt again.

"Hey, goat!" Frank took a heavy swig of the beer. "How's the family?"

"Great! Are you moving in?"

"I'm weighing my options." Frank looked out over the pasture, green and lacking in bars.

"He's too high maintenance to stay in the city with me. Besides, he drinks all my beer."

"Should you be drinking anyway with that cast?"

"Hey, I see you have your kids back!"

"Yeah, you should come meet them. When you're not drinking."

"Save the daddy talk for them, this beer is mine," Frank belched as he emptied the can. "Can you pick me up another six-pack before you go, Bas?"

"Told you it was worse," Basil said.

"I'll manage," Sparky said. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I've got to get back to work on Monday so I have to head out. I just had to get rid of this thing before he drove me insane."

"Thank you, Basil. I couldn't have done this without you."

"Yeah, yeah," Basil grunted, walking away from the fence and back toward the car. "You take care, Sparky."

Sparky waved as he drove away.

Frank stood holding the empty can, upset that it was his last. "Don't you still owe me a beer?"

"I don't have an I.D., remember?" Sparky said.

"I'm sure there is someone around you can beat up and steal one from."

Sparky turned away and started back across the yard. Frank scrambled through the fence posts and hurried to catch up. "I was just kidding."

The goat strolled down the hill, the nagging mutt's words fading from his mind. The little ones were all scattered about the pasture: one, two, three, and four. Sparky approached Princess and the two exchanged loving smiles. His lady's arms came up, welcoming him into her embrace. Everything finally back to the way it was before.

"Sparky, I don't see a TV here. We need to discuss this as this complicates the no beer thing."

Almost.

