The Dog Squad

coming back.
And that means she could be going to the cellar right now, and she could be about to find the Cat, who will end up stuffed, on a wall.
“Mr. Maysmith,” I say, “please go there right now. And also stop in at Brendan’s next door. I think he’s helping them. I saw him with a dog cage.”
The police detective just stares at me.
“Oh, Rory, Rory,” he says, smiling fondly. “The days have long passed since police officers could go busting into houses based on the obscure tip-off of a young boy . . . These days we need warrants, forms, evidence.”
I can’t believe it. I see he’s not going to go. So then I do what they tell you to do at school . . .
I tell the truth.
“Mrs. Welkin’s dog, Wilkins, has been taken,” I tell him. “And I think that Cassidy has gone to Dale’s apartment to find him . . .”
(I do say: I think Cassidy has gone over there . . . So I still might not get in trouble for sending her.)
“Well,” says Maysmith, “I certainly HOPE she has not. Because that would be a very SERIOUS offense.”
He doesn’t seem to have taken in that Cat’s in that apartment. I can’t think how to make him go. I think I might cry.
“Oh, Rory,” he says fondly.
And just from his face I can see that he’s about to tell me some long, boring story, and I think, if he does, my head will explode like a bomb.
But it just shows how actually you should never judge a book by its cover. Because then Stephen Maysmith tells me the most interesting thing anyone’s ever said.

CHAPTER NINE Someone Actually Tells Me Something
“I always feel protective toward you,” says Maysmith. “Because it was me who actually found you on that day.”
“What?”
“On the day your dad ran off,” says Maysmith, “and you were left alone in the car . . . remember? It was me who found you.”
I just say, “My dad . . . left me alone . . . in a car?”
And as I look into Maysmith’s eyes I am realizing he is talking about a very important memory that I had completely forgotten. But I now remember it . . .
I am seeing me and Dad in a car. Then Dad runs off. But where did he go?
As I stare at Maysmith’s eyes now I’m thinking: I cannot believe it. For the first time I’ve realized there was a WITNESS on the day when Dad ran off . . .
And it was me.
As Maysmith looks back at me HE is realizing he has said something that he should NOT have.
“Does your mom not talk about this?” he asks.
“No!” I tell him. “She definitely does not!”
He looks really uneasy. “Well, probably best not to mention this,” he says.
“Anyway, I’m glad to see you’re on the mend,” he continues, coughing and passing over the cookies. “I’d better get going!”
And he goes.
Moments later, I am looking at my open bedroom door and thinking: What did he just tell me?
And one second later I am thinking: And if Maysmith won’t get Cat, WHO WILL? I’m thinking: Who could I tell?
I’m thinking: I could tell Mom. But she would KILL me.
I’m thinking: I can’t tell my brother. That would be like telling Mom.
I could tell Mrs. Welkin, I think.
But then I think that if Mrs. Welkin went to Dale’s, there might be a big FIGHT . . .
I could tell Mrs. Welkin, I’m thinking.
But then I think that, if she went to Dale’s door, there might be a big FIGHT to get Cat out of that cellar and past Bizmo. And I’m thinking: Mrs. Welkin is great if you want someone to make you hot chocolate.
But I’d say she’d not be much good in a fight.
If ONLY my dad was here, I’m thinking. I could tell HIM.
He’d bang on Dale’s door. He’d karate-chop Bizmo . . .
Two seconds later, he and Cat would be walking home along the wall being cool . . .
But Dad’s not here.
I think it all through, like Napoleon. But the more I think, the more I can only see one possible plan, and I don’t like it at all . . .
I must send myself into battle.
And I can see so many problems with this plan. They start hitting me like cannonballs . . .
I’m thinking . . .
How will I get Dale to open the door?
Corner Boy’s cookies!! I’ll pretend to be selling them. He’ll open up!
But they’re DISGUSTING!
Doesn’t matter! They took our hedgehog. They DESERVE to eat maggots!
Arming myself with cookies, I head off to war.
But there are still SO many problems, and the next is my badly sprained leg. Just leaving the room I clunk my surgical boot against the doorway. It lets loose an EXPLOSION OF PAIN!
But I’m not scared of a little pain. I keep going.
As I reach the bottom of the stairs I can see Mrs. Welkin through the living-room door. “Rory,” she calls, “Country Wide is about to start!” (She knows I LOVE Country Wide, because I love watching the badgers and the voles!)
I’d love to be sitting on the sofa watching TV with Mrs. Welkin. But I don’t think Napoleon would stop, even for voles. I keep going.
As I go through the kitchen the biggest problem is going BOOM in my head . . . BIZMO.
Even if I can open the cellar door, how will Cat get out without being KILLED by the HUGE LETHAL ROTTWEILER?
And I can’t think of a solution to that one.
But as I head through the garden I think of something I learned from Napoleon . . .
There’s a time to make plans.
There’s a time to STOP making plans.
There’s a time for ACTION.
I figure that time is now. And I set off into battle. But I go in by a way Napoleon would never have gone . . .
I am shuffling on my bottom, like a little dog with