Chapter 11

The Savage Dog

Moments later they all had their faces pressed to the living room window, watching Rocky out in the garden. Rocky was mindlessly savaging an azalea bush.

‘Look at his collar,’ said Friday. ‘Those aren’t rhinestones. They’re too sparkly. They’re real diamonds.’

‘He put millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds around his dog’s neck?’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘It’s brilliant,’ said Friday. ‘No-one would think of looking there. If they went anywhere near Rocky, he would savagely attack them. He is his own built-in security system. And if Mr Wainscott ever escaped or was released from jail, he could come by and pick up his diamonds without even ringing the doorbell.’

‘That’s just a theory,’ said Ian sceptically. ‘You won’t know for sure until you have the collar in your hand, and how are you going to do that, clever clogs?’

‘I’ve never understood the origins of that expression,’ said Friday. ‘Perhaps it’s Dutch. Clogs are usually associated with Holland. But how would calling someone intelligent, hand-carved wooden shoes be an insult?’

‘You’re getting off the point, Friday,’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘It is a bit odd that your father would strap something so valuable to something so demented, stupid and bloodthirsty,’ said Melanie.

‘Rocky is brilliantly trained,’ said Ian. ‘Dad knows all about training animals from his time at Circus Skills University. But so that nobody else could order Rocky about, he trained him in Latvian.’

‘Why Latvian?’ asked Friday.

‘His childhood nanny was Latvian,’ said Ian. ‘Dad’s fluent in it.’

‘You speak lots of languages, Friday,’ said Melanie. ‘Is Latvian one of them?’

‘No,’ said Friday. ‘I speak Russian. Surely it can’t be too dissimilar.’

‘The gas-meter reader spoke Russian,’ said Ian. ‘He needed seventy-three stiches in his left calf. And he didn’t get to read the meter.’

‘Who do we know who might speak Latvian?’ asked Friday.

‘Well, actually,’ said Uncle Bernie, ‘I do.’

‘Uncle Bernie!’ exclaimed Friday. ‘You have a hidden depth.’

‘I was briefly a professional hockey player in the Latvian League,’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘I didn’t know that!’ said Friday.

‘You know how it upsets your mum and dad to hear talk about sport,’ said Uncle Bernie. ‘I played for the Riga Raiders for half a season.’

‘What happened?’ asked Friday.

‘I got thrown out of the league for fighting on the ice,’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘But I thought that’s what hockey players do?’ said Friday.

‘Yeah, but I accidentally hit the lady who sang the national anthem,’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘While she was singing the national anthem?’ asked Melanie.

‘No, she burst onto the ice with a bunch of spectators to try to punch our goalkeeper,’ said Uncle Bernie. ‘He’d just let in an own goal and they were feeling emotional. Fists started flying and my fist just happened to connect with her nose.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Friday.

‘It was a mess,’ said Uncle Bernie. ‘They say her high notes never sounded the same again.’

‘Fascinating story,’ said Ian, ‘but, in summary, do you know the Latvian words for “sit”, “stay” and “stop biting my arm”?’

‘I think so,’ said Uncle Bernie. ‘It has been a couple of decades since I’ve last tried my Latvian out. You don’t often bump into Latvians. Especially not Latvians who don’t speak better English than I speak Latvian.’

‘So long as your pronunciation is better than Rocky’s, I’m sure you’ll be all right,’ said Friday.

Two minutes later Uncle Bernie edged out the front door. As a precautionary measure, Ian had helped him gaffer-tape sofa cushions to his arms and legs.

As soon as Rocky sensed movement he spun around and ran full speed at Uncle Bernie.

‘What do I say?!’ Uncle Bernie panicked.

‘I don’t know,’ said Friday from the safety of the other side of the screen door. ‘Try “nice doggie”.’

‘Jauks suns! Jauks suns!’ yelled Uncle Bernie.

Rocky skidded to a halt.

‘Awesome,’ said Ian. ‘This is actually going to work.’

‘Tell him to sit,’ advised Friday.

‘Sédét!’ yelled Uncle Bernie.

Rocky obediently placed his rear end on the grass.

‘Now, slowly approach the dog and take the collar,’ said Friday

‘Do I have to?’ asked Uncle Bernie.

‘Yes!’ said Friday and Ian in unison.

Uncle Bernie slowly made his way towards Rocky. ‘Lūdzu nekož mani.’

‘What’s he saying?’ asked Melanie.

‘Knowing Uncle Bernie,’ said Friday, ‘probably something like please don’t bite me.’

‘I hope your uncle isn’t brutally mauled,’ said Mrs Wainscott as she joined them at the door. ‘He seems like such a nice man. And he knows his veggies.’

Uncle Bernie now had his hand on Rocky’s collar. ‘Labs suns, labs suns,’ he crooned.

Uncle Bernie unclipped the collar, patted Rocky and started making his way back towards the house. ‘I’ve got it!’ he yelled in English.

As soon as the English words were out of his mouth, Rocky snapped to attention, as if awoken from a trance, and launched himself at Uncle Bernie’s bottom.

‘Ow!’ yelped Uncle Bernie.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll save him!’ yelled Mrs Wainscott as she ran to the kitchen and grabbed a dozen rashers of home-cured bacon. ‘Take that, you vicious dog!’ Mrs Wainscott hurled the bacon over Uncle Bernie. Rocky’s head whipped up and he chased after the rashers, giving Ian and Friday a chance to drag Uncle Bernie inside.

‘Did he hurt you?’ asked Mrs Wainscott.

‘Only my pride,’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘And your bottom,’ said Friday. ‘Look, you’re bleeding.’

‘Never fear, I’ve been teaching myself how to sew,’ said Mrs Wainscott. ‘I’ll soon stitch that up.’

‘Maybe I should see a doctor,’ said Uncle Bernie.

‘It wouldn’t be worth the risk of walking past Rocky while you smelled of fresh blood,’ warned Mrs Wainscott. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll soon be right as rain. Although you might not enjoy sitting down for a while.’ She went to get her first-aid kit.

Friday took out her jeweller’s eyepiece and closely inspected the studs in Rocky’s collar.

‘Are they the real deal?’ asked Ian.

‘Please say they are,’ said Uncle Bernie. ‘I’d hate to be having the worst day of my life for nothing.’

‘They’re diamonds, all right,’ said Friday. ‘Fifteen stones. All of them at least two carats. They’re worth over $50,000 each.’

‘$750,000!’ exclaimed Mrs Wainscott as she returned. ‘Why, that means that after we pay off the first and second mortgage, the car loan, the personal loans, the credit cards and your father’s dry-cleaning bill we’ll be …’

‘Rich?’ asked Ian hopefully.

‘Modestly comfortable,’ said Mrs Wainscott. ‘If we mainly eat vegetables and the council lets us keep using the pig manure generator.’

‘So I don’t have to quit school and get a job,’ said Ian.

‘Which is a relief,’ said Friday, ‘because it’s hard getting around those child labour laws. I know, I tried getting a job as a professional gambler once and the police took a dim view of the whole idea.’

‘That and the card counting,’ added Uncle Bernie.

‘Yes, that too,’ said Friday.

‘Thank you,’ said Ian.

‘You’re welcome,’ said Friday. ‘I know that’s hard for you to say because of your irrationally overblown sense of pride.’

‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ said Ian. ‘I was talking to your uncle. He’s the one who got bitten on the bum getting the diamonds away from the dog.’

‘Friday may have the brains,’ said Uncle Bernie, ‘but I’ve got the butt.’