Super serial, p.14
Super Serial, page 14
7:25 Tired Mom glides by with the German shepherd. Looks at her watch then jogs faster. It’s almost dark and she’s probably heard the rumors about the park.
Today was Ziggy’s last opportunity to survey his suspects before the predicted attack. He scoured the path for anyone who looked out of place. His chest buzzed nervously, like a nest of hornets slowly waking up. As Floyd predicted, the sweaty mole man walked by with his corgis. Their puffy paws and stubby legs pitter-pattered on the sidewalk, and Sweaty beamed down at them with pride. Something was definitely off about him. Why was he so sweaty when it was cool out?
Ziggy shook his head. “Sweaty is passing by,” he said in a low tone, concealing his face behind his sketch pad. “Are you nearby, Steve?”
“I’m in the trees,” Steve said. “Already on his tail.”
“Let me know what you find,” Ziggy ordered. “And don’t approach unless you’re sure you can sneak a tracking tag onto him or one of his dogs.” They couldn’t afford another fiasco like they’d had with the Stamp Collector. This time, they had to leave the district with a killer in custody, or Alexia would likely send him straight to prison.
“He’s headed north across the park. Toward the hill,” Steve said.
“Stay on him,” Ziggy replied. “If you can’t get the tag on, watch him from a distance to see where he goes.” Sweaty seemed a lot more likely to be a closeted weirdo than a killer, but Ziggy couldn’t take any chances.
“The dog walker is passing,” Floyd told Ziggy. “She’s headed out of the park, though. She’s got a lot of dogs today. Two labs, two poodles, one golden retriever, a Pomeranian, a bulldog, and a fluffy black and white dog I don’t recognize.”
“Ziggy?” Pepper asked through his earpiece.
“Follow her,” he affirmed. “Same as Steve. Stay hidden. Don’t approach unless you’re sure you can tag and keep me in the loop.” Ziggy knew it was a long shot, but the dog walker had access to a pack of dogs and it didn’t make sense to leave such an obvious loose end. Pepper would be safe, and they would know for sure they didn’t miss anything.
“Where’s she headed, Floyd?” Pepper asked.
“It could be an Old English sheepdog,” Floyd mused, “or a poodle mix of some kind.”
“Floyd!” Pepper barked.
“She turned south on Park Road past the university campus.”
“I’m on it,” Pepper said, and Ziggy heard the Honda Civic rev to life.
He breathed in the crisp twilight air and let it coat his lungs. His own chase could begin soon. He was saving the most likely suspect for himself.
“The couple is back,” Floyd said. “The one with the Boston terriers. They’re holding hands. The man and the woman, not the terriers. I took their picture again. Do you want me to follow them and see where they go?”
“Negative,” Ziggy said. He’d ruled the couple out as potential suspects. Duos of one type or another were common as a Super Serial category, but they were as rare a find as Centennial killers. Besides that, yesterday, the couple had gotten lost on the trail on their way back from the bathrooms. They didn’t know their way around the park and no longer fit the profile.
“Sweaty is still on the move,” Steve updated Ziggy. “I haven’t found a good opportunity to engage without seeming obvious.”
“Keep your distance,” Ziggy said. “Don’t try to tag him if it will draw suspicion. Find out where he’s going. We’ll figure out how to surveil him later.”
“The dog walker went east on Tyburn,” Pepper said. “I’m still in the car, but traffic is slow. If I lose sight of her, I’ll park in the street and follow on foot.”
“I see the tall guy with the Rottweilers,” Floyd said. “He has another pitbull today, too. Four dogs in total. He’s headed in your direction.”
Ziggy fought the urge to bolt to his feet. Instead, he crossed his ankle over his knee and feigned interest in a nearby bed of bright green tulip shoots just coming out of the ground. He stealthily removed the monitoring tag from his shirt pocket and tried to prepare himself. Chasing down a potential murderer, especially a runner like Dickladle, would require exercise. He’d been drinking less and moving more since he started at DipShip, but tagging the suspect with a tracker was the better option by far.
“Stay in the park, Floyd,” Ziggy said. “Take pictures of anyone who looks out of place, and if Muddy Shoes goes by, follow him. We need to find out why he’s limping and where all that mud came from. I’m going after the guy with the big dogs. Pitbulls and Rottweilers aren’t hellhounds, but close enough.”
“Okay, Ziggy,” Floyd responded.
Ziggy stood from the park bench and moved east down the inner circle, walking the path toward Primula Hill. He walked a few hundred feet before turning to walk back in the direction he came from. His heart pounded heavily in his chest. He couldn't put his finger on exactly why, but Dickladle repulsed him. He was cocky, tan, and handsome—everything Ziggy wasn’t—but it had nothing to do with that. Ziggy couldn’t forget the look on the man’s face when he’d smacked his Rottweiler on the nose after tripping over it. His face had twisted into a snarl that made him look more like a hellhound than his dogs.
“The dog walker went into one of the apartments off Daventry,” Pepper said. “It’s pretty high-end, so I doubt it’s hers. It probably belongs to the owner of one of the dogs she’s walking. Either that or dog walking is a lot more lucrative than I thought. I didn’t tag her, but I saw what apartment she went into—number thirty-seven.”
“Keep watching,” Ziggy muttered as Dickladle approached on the path. The dogs were panting to keep up with his running speed, and his sleek black trainers glided down the concrete in perfect rhythm. Ziggy was grateful the darkening sky hid the look of what could only be disdain on his face. Dickladle would be the perfect candidate for Super Serial. The public always loved a handsome killer. His face and body alone would put DipShip on the map. Alexia would have more publicity than she knew what to do with.
“Muddy Shoes is here,” Floyd broke in. “I just saw him. He’s limping even worse than usual. I’ll follow him like you said, Ziggy.”
“I lost sight of Sweaty in the trees,” Steve added, huffing into his earpiece. “It’s getting too dark to see, so I put on my night-vision goggles. I’ll find him.”
Ziggy cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he said to Dickladle when he was only a few feet away. Dickladle’s jaw clenched, but he pretended not to hear Ziggy.
“Excuse me!” Ziggy shouted, waving his arms for attention.
Dickladle slowed this time, and when he stopped, one dog growled low in his throat, baring his teeth at Ziggy. Ziggy had stashed his stun baton and tranquilizer gun in a holster against his back. He could have them out in seconds if the dogs attacked, but his hands were still shaking. He smiled politely, gripping the tracking tag in his fist.
“What is it, mate?” Dickladle asked, clearly irritated. He shuffled the dog leashes into one hand, then used his other to check his pulse.
“Do you happen to know if the zoo is near here?” Ziggy asked as if he were a curious tourist.
“How come your shoes are so muddy?” Ziggy heard Floyd ask Muddy Shoes through his earpiece. “And why are you limping?”
“Way to be subtle, Floyd,” Pepper said with a sigh.
“I work here,” Muddy Shoes said, sounding taken aback. “We’re repairing a bridge near the boating lake. I take my dog, Willow, on walks through the park whenever my knee locks up. It’s an old injury.”
Ziggy tuned out the rest of the exchange. Muddy Shoes wasn’t a suspect.
Dickladle rolled his eyes at Ziggy. “You stopped me to ask about the zoo? I’m trying to keep pace here, chum.”
“Pace?” Ziggy stalled, eyeing the salivating dogs, wondering how much it would hurt to have their jaws clamped around his neck.
“Yeah, like for runners. You heard of running, haven't you?” He smirked at Ziggy’s jelly-roll middle.
“I was thinking about bringing my son,” Ziggy lied past the insult. “He likes the monkey exhibit.”
“It’s pitch black out,” Dickladle snapped. “You’re barmy if you think the zoo would be open at this hour.” He redistributed the leashes in his hands, already preparing to leave Ziggy in his dust.
“What a beautiful dog,” Ziggy remarked before Dickladle could disappear. He stepped forward, pretending he was scratching the smallest pitbull’s thick muscled neck, and covertly attached the monitoring tag to its collar.
“Bugger off,” Dickladle spat, yanking the leashes when the dogs lunged at Ziggy, barking and growling. “Trying to get your hand bit off?”
Ziggy stepped away before he lost a hand, reaching behind his back for his stun baton. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, stepping off the path to let Dickladle and his hellhounds go by.
Dickladle glared, but didn’t sic the dogs on Ziggy as he’d expected. He just sniffed, cursed at Ziggy some more, and jogged away. Ziggy watched him until he turned the corner.
“Pepper, do you have him?” he murmured.
“I have him,” Pepper confirmed. “The signal is strong. Great work, Ziggy.”
The knot in Ziggy’s stomach eased by a fraction. If everything went as planned, they’d have a Pet Lover’s candidate in custody by morning.
“Something’s wrong,” Steve said through the earpiece. “I doubled back on the trail to track the suspect, but—” There was a breath of silence. “Oh, God. I need backup. It was a trap!” Steve’s sudden scream rang through Ziggy’s ears, reverberating off his brain and bouncing around his skull. “They’re everywhere!”
Snarling and barking overloaded Ziggy’s earpiece. “What’s everywhere? Where are you?”
“My legs! My legs! Get off of me!”
“What’s happening?” Pepper screeched.
“Sweaty!” Steve cried, his breath coming out in choppy gasps. “It’s Sweaty!”
“The man with the corgis?” Floyd broke in. “Are you sure?”
Steve didn’t answer. Instead, his screaming was drowned out by what sounded like hundreds of sharp, high-pitched howls and barks, punctuated with growls and yelps.
“Fuck, it’s the hellhounds!” Ziggy was already moving through the trees. “Give me Steve’s location,” Ziggy ordered Pepper. “Now!”
“Head south on the running track,” Pepper blurted after a moment. “He’s near the Winter Gardens in a copse of trees. I’m on my way!” Ziggy heard the Honda peel out.
“Sorry,” Floyd told Muddy Shoes. “I’ve got to go help my friend. He’s getting attacked by some hellhounds. It was nice to meet you, Oliver. Good luck with your bad knee.”
Ziggy ran down the jogging path, his mind racing toward Steve’s tortured screams. A stitch grew in his side, and he pinched it as he trotted, swearing to Jeremiah the bullfrog and Jesus that he’d never eat another pastry again. He pulled his tranquilizer gun and stun baton from his holster and held one in each hand, praying he would get to Steve before it was too late.
“Help! I can’t take them all by myself!” Steve bellowed, and this time Ziggy heard him through both his radio and the shadowy trees. He hurried off the path toward the sound of Steve’s voice as branches whacked him in the face. When he emerged on the other side of the brush, he saw Steve writhing and twisting as he swung his stun baton like a broadsword. At first glance, Ziggy’s mind produced an image of Steve wearing a thick fur coat, but then he realized he was covered in a blanket of snarling, rabid corgis.
They swarmed, jumping and biting every bit of Steve they could reach on their fubsy legs. He roared like a bear, jerking back and forth until a few corgis flew off, sailing through the air like furry bread loaves and flopping to the grass in a heap. In seconds, they were back on their paws to attack again. Steve was battered and bloody from fighting off the corgis for so long. He groaned, stumbling under their weight. One corgi had latched onto the stun baton and yelped as it was shocked. Seconds later, another dog bit down hard on Steve’s arm, thrashing its thick head back and forth.
Ziggy planted his feet, aimed his tranquilizer gun, and pulled the trigger. The fat tan corgi attached to Steve’s thigh went down first, yelping as the dart hit, then slipping to the ground in a limp pile with two other corgis Steve had already tranquilized.
“Corgis!” Ziggy rasped to warn Pepper and Floyd. “Dozens of them. Trained to attack. Pull your tranq guns. Hurry!”
“I’m almost there!” Floyd called as Ziggy fired another shot, this time hitting a corgi swinging from Steve’s forearm.
“Did you say dozens?” Pepper screeched, but no one answered.
“Argh!” Steve yelled, kicking his legs like his pants were on fire. Corgis clung to him like a bizarre fringe, whipping their tiny wombat heads back and forth as they ripped at Steve’s clothing and skin. Even the ancient corgi in the dog wheelchair was part of the fray, nipping Steve’s ankles and squeaking away every time Steve landed a kick.
Ziggy tranqued it next, and it yelped before slinking into its chair.
“I’m here!” Floyd barreled through the trees opposite Ziggy, his tranquilizer gun held aloft. He fired three shots in quick succession.
“No, Floyd!” Ziggy yelled too late. The darts missed the dogs by miles and sank into Steve’s neck.
Steve’s eyes grew into giant orbs and his mouth dropped open. A sick, gurgling sound filled his throat as he crumpled to the ground. The corgis pounced, ripping into him like they would a deer carcass. Blood sprayed through the air, splattering against the grass.
“No!” Ziggy burst into the fray. He swung his baton like a battle ax, swiping at any corgi he could reach. A tri-colored one yelped and a tan one went down like a sack of wet fur.
“Ziggy, watch out!” he heard Floyd call, and there was a sickening crunch as a fat furry corgi clamped its jaws around Ziggy’s crotch.
All the air in the world was sucked into outer space and Ziggy felt like he was going to vomit his guts up and shit his kidneys out at the same time. His mind went blank and for a moment, he wished he had no balls at all, so pain like that couldn’t exist.
There was a thud, then a yelp as the corgi dangling from his crotch fell to the ground. Ziggy turned to see Pepper’s blurry form in the distance, holding out her tranq gun like a scrotum-avenging angel.
“Stay on your feet!” Pepper screamed at him just as a high-pitched whistle cut into the air.
The corgis that weren’t tranquilized or stunned snapped to attention, then bolted away into the trees, their muzzles coated in Steve’s blood.
Ziggy’s hands dropped to his knees as he tried to remember how to breathe. “He’s getting away!” The words came out as a tortured groan.
“Want me to chase him?” Floyd asked as he approached, but Ziggy shook his head. Floyd was a terrible shot. He’d either accidentally kill the killer, or wind up inviting him for dinner.
“I don’t think the man with muddy shoes was the killer,” Floyd told Ziggy, patting his back. “I’m pretty sure it was the sweaty guy. He had a lot more of corgis than I realized.”
“Steve!” Pepper had rushed to Steve's side. “I’ll call the district for help,” she said, pulling her cell from her pocket. She frantically called MingAir Security as Ziggy leaned against Floyd to limp to Steve’s side.
Steve’s eyes were open but glazed from the tranquilizer darts. Jagged, gaping wounds covered his neck and head and his left ear had been torn off. The corgis had chewed into every part of him they could reach, and most of his clothes had been ripped from his body. He coughed and a thin stream of blood ran down his mangled cheek.
“D-did... Did we get h-him?” Steve sputtered the words.
Ziggy’s stomach dropped as he knelt to pat Steve’s shoulder. “We sure did,” he lied. “And it was all because of you.”
Floyd looked at Ziggy sideways. “I don’t think—”
“Pipe it,” Ziggy ordered before Floyd could finish. Ziggy clasped the security guard’s bloody hand.
“T-tell... my...daugh-ter,” Steve whispered, and blood bubbled from his mouth. Ziggy tried not to look at the security guard, or what was left of him, at least.
“My baby... I... love... her,” Steve finished. His hand went limp and a crackling last breath escaped his lungs.
“Help is on the way,” Pepper told them, her voice quivering. “Hang in there, Joe.”
“Steve,” Floyd reminded her, his nose wrinkled as he pulled his shirt collar up over his face.
“Stay here with Joe,” Ziggy said to Pepper. “I have to go after the killer. We can’t miss this chance.”
“Steve,” Floyd repeated. “Joe had a goatee, I think.”
Ziggy tucked his chin in a grimace. It didn’t matter what his name was. The security guard wouldn’t make it. He looked like raw meatloaf mixed with raspberry pie.
“Which way did he go? The killer?” Ziggy asked, knowing Sweaty was probably long gone by now. Unconscious corgi bodies littered the ground. Maybe there was a clue to his whereabouts or a fingerprint somewhere.
“I didn’t see which way he went,” Pepper said, sounding as if she were on the verge of tears, “but I managed to get a tag on one of the dogs that was partially stunned. We can follow the signal.”
Ziggy looked up at her as Steve took his final ragged breath. A waft of piss hit his nostrils and mixed with the metallic tang of blood as Steve’s bladder released with a final death shudder. How many more urine-soaked and shamed innocents would need to die to fill the boredom cups of the ultra-rich?
Ziggy’s eyes burned; this couldn’t be the end of his saga. “You got a tag on one of the dogs? One that ran off with Sweaty?”
Pepper nodded as a fat tear dropped onto her cheek.
“Good work,” Ziggy said, trying not to think about his aching balls. “Stay here with the dogs until help arrives,” he told Pepper as he staggered to his feet. At least he hadn’t been shredded apart by the vicious pack of corgis. “Tranquilize anything that moves. Floyd and I are going after him.”
“Get the dogs into kennels if you can, Pep,” Floyd added. “Or tie up their legs with these.” He produced a packet of zip-ties from his rumpled backpack. “We need them to qualify the killer for the Pet Lover’s category. The more dogs we can keep alive, the better off we'll be.”
