brief telephone calls, ending his lease and turning over his practice to another veterinarian. Neither the landlord nor the other vet was surprised by this action, or its nominal abruptness. Clinton had been barely eking out an existence. The rundown acres and tumbled down house, rented furnished, had discouraged far more resourceful and tenacious tenants than he.
After taking Rudy's temperature again and urging him to rest, Clinton drove away in his ancient jalopy. He had more than three thousand dollars of Rudy's money in his wallet. His destination was a nearby city, where the cash purchase of a car would arouse no suspicion.
Fran Clinton waved him a loving good-bye from the doorway of the barn, then sauntered back, hips swinging, and resumed her stool opposite Rudy. "Well," she smirked, "how'd you like the way I handled stupid?"
"The doc, you mean?" Rudy crooked a finger at her. "Come here."
"What for?"
Rudy stared at her steadily, not answering. The knowing smile on her face wavered a little, but she slid off the stool and came across the aisle. She started to step up into the stall where Rudy lay. Without the slightest change of expression, he kicked her in the stomach; watched unwinking, as she landed floundering and groaning in the straw of the aisle.
She staggered to her feet, gasping, eyes tear-washed with anger and pain. She asked furiously just what was the big idea anyway? Just who the hell did he think he was anyway? Then, weakly, as he continued to stare at her in silence, she began to weep.
"I d-didn't do anything. I-I tried to be n-nice, and do what you wanted me to do, and y-you…"
She was overwhelmed with self-pity. Blindly, as though drawn by a magnet, she came close to Rudy again. And he hooked her, stumbling, into the stall with his foot, brought her down on her knees with a yank of a viselike hand. The hand went to the back of her head. Her mouth crushed cruelly against his. She gasped and struggled for a moment; then, with a greedy moan, she surrendered, squirming and pressing her softness against him.
Abruptly, Rudy pushed her away. "You get the idea?" he said. "When I tell you to do something, you do it. Fast! Think you can remember that?"
"Oh, yes," she said, eyes glowing softly. "Anything you say, Rudy. You just tell me and-and whatever it is-I'll…"
He told her what she was to do. Then, as she looked at him, face falling, he pointed up the command with a twist of her arm. "Now, hop to it," he said. "Get that red paint off your claws. It's making me sick."
9
Doc followed the thief through the gate to the train, then down the winding ramp to the loading platform. The man was nowhere in sight when he emerged from the tunnel. But Doc had not expected him to be. Stepping behind a nearby pillar, he waited watchfully. And after a minute or two the thief edged out from behind another pillar and started back up the platform.
Doc confronted him abruptly. "All right, mister," he said. "I'll just-" His hand grasped for the bag, almost gripped the handle. The thief twisted it, yanked, and trotted back down the platform. Doc strode after him.
He had made a mistake, he knew. Back there in the station he should have shouted at the thief, shouted that he was a thief. In which case the man would certainly have dropped the bag and fled. But he had been afraid to call out, had even believed that it wouldn't be necessary. Caught red-handed, the thief would-or should-hightail it.
Unfortunately, the man was as unobliging as he was discerning. He had stolen this tall gent's bag, or his wife's bag. The wife had been nervous as all hell about it, and now this guy, her husband, was making no outcry at all. That must be because he couldn't.
So the thief made off, taking the bag with him. More than a little hopeful that Doc would not risk pursuing him. As much exultant as dismayed when he saw Doc was right after him. This must be something big that he had latched onto. And with Doc unable to squawk, he
After taking Rudy's temperature again and urging him to rest, Clinton drove away in his ancient jalopy. He had more than three thousand dollars of Rudy's money in his wallet. His destination was a nearby city, where the cash purchase of a car would arouse no suspicion.
Fran Clinton waved him a loving good-bye from the doorway of the barn, then sauntered back, hips swinging, and resumed her stool opposite Rudy. "Well," she smirked, "how'd you like the way I handled stupid?"
"The doc, you mean?" Rudy crooked a finger at her. "Come here."
"What for?"
Rudy stared at her steadily, not answering. The knowing smile on her face wavered a little, but she slid off the stool and came across the aisle. She started to step up into the stall where Rudy lay. Without the slightest change of expression, he kicked her in the stomach; watched unwinking, as she landed floundering and groaning in the straw of the aisle.
She staggered to her feet, gasping, eyes tear-washed with anger and pain. She asked furiously just what was the big idea anyway? Just who the hell did he think he was anyway? Then, weakly, as he continued to stare at her in silence, she began to weep.
"I d-didn't do anything. I-I tried to be n-nice, and do what you wanted me to do, and y-you…"
She was overwhelmed with self-pity. Blindly, as though drawn by a magnet, she came close to Rudy again. And he hooked her, stumbling, into the stall with his foot, brought her down on her knees with a yank of a viselike hand. The hand went to the back of her head. Her mouth crushed cruelly against his. She gasped and struggled for a moment; then, with a greedy moan, she surrendered, squirming and pressing her softness against him.
Abruptly, Rudy pushed her away. "You get the idea?" he said. "When I tell you to do something, you do it. Fast! Think you can remember that?"
"Oh, yes," she said, eyes glowing softly. "Anything you say, Rudy. You just tell me and-and whatever it is-I'll…"
He told her what she was to do. Then, as she looked at him, face falling, he pointed up the command with a twist of her arm. "Now, hop to it," he said. "Get that red paint off your claws. It's making me sick."
9
Doc followed the thief through the gate to the train, then down the winding ramp to the loading platform. The man was nowhere in sight when he emerged from the tunnel. But Doc had not expected him to be. Stepping behind a nearby pillar, he waited watchfully. And after a minute or two the thief edged out from behind another pillar and started back up the platform.
Doc confronted him abruptly. "All right, mister," he said. "I'll just-" His hand grasped for the bag, almost gripped the handle. The thief twisted it, yanked, and trotted back down the platform. Doc strode after him.
He had made a mistake, he knew. Back there in the station he should have shouted at the thief, shouted that he was a thief. In which case the man would certainly have dropped the bag and fled. But he had been afraid to call out, had even believed that it wouldn't be necessary. Caught red-handed, the thief would-or should-hightail it.
Unfortunately, the man was as unobliging as he was discerning. He had stolen this tall gent's bag, or his wife's bag. The wife had been nervous as all hell about it, and now this guy, her husband, was making no outcry at all. That must be because he couldn't.
So the thief made off, taking the bag with him. More than a little hopeful that Doc would not risk pursuing him. As much exultant as dismayed when he saw Doc was right after him. This must be something big that he had latched onto. And with Doc unable to squawk, he
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