14

The next morning Sid went to work and Matty went to work. Sherri went to work and Ben went to work. J went to work too, it was just much later and he surmised that he liked it much less.
He surmised incorrectly.

After work, J and Sid met to discuss the dog tracks.
“This is really one Sherri would love,” J said as he pointed at the gold star on the Cinncinati map. “Mistreatment of animals, mismanagement of money, general recklessness with the human spirit,” he continued. “This is up her alley. Where is she?”

“Not here.” Sid answered.

“Sid. You’re really getting sarcastic lately.” J commented. “I know she’s not here, that’s why I asked where she is.”

A knock at the door cut off Sid’s chance to make further sarcastic remarks, which was fortunate because he wasn’t prepared to defend his sarcasm with sarcasm. He hadn’t realized that might be necessary. The sarcasm game was really a new realm of passive-agressive behavior for Sid. It was still very much in the experimental stages, but he was enjoying the early tests.

J answered the door to find Ben looking falsely happy. J could tell he was falsely happy because he was showing all his teeth in his smile. Ben wasn’t a full-tooth smile guy. He was a smirker. He had a devilish smile to go with his devilish good looks.
“What’s wrong with you?” J asked.
“What?” Ben answered snippily, the full-tooth smile wiped clean off his face.
J waited with an accusing look on his face; it was a little trick he picked up from Matty.
“Sherri and I had a fight,” Ben whispered.
“Please.” J guffawed. “Was there yelling?”
“No.”
“Then it wasn’t a fight. A lover’s quarrel at best. Nothing some flowers and candy won’t cure.” J said with a dismissive wave. “But I’m hopeful that you aren’t here just because you didn’t have time to write ‘Dear Abby’ about your love life?” J asked.
“We haven’t been out on the streets in ages,” Ben said as if an ache came from deep inside him.
J slapped him on the back and ushered him into the kitchen. “Sid and I have a plan.”
Sid turned and stared at J. “Had he just given him credit for part of a plan?” Sid wondered.
“It’s too bad Sherri isn’t here. She’d eat this up.”

Another knock prevented further ponitification. “Did you order pizza, Sid?” J asked with a knowing smile as he opened the door.
“Sherri. Sherri. Sherri. Just the woman we hoped to see.” J purred, charm spilling into Sherri’s helpless ears. The poor girl stood no chance against J’s flattery. She may have come to try to find Ben to make amends, but she was now butter ready to be sculpted into a tiny replica of an activist saving mistreated greyhounds.

With his team reassambled and the distractions of love momentarily minimized, J felt a surge of energy rush through him. He was Frankenstein and this collection of the finest activists in Greater Cincinnati were his lightning. J felt the power in his veins as he ran through a preliminary plan.

“The dog tracks,” he said with both flair and foreboding. “The dregs of society make their homes at the dog tracks. We save the poor helpless dogs. By default we clean up the area, both morally and physically. The city of Cincinnati will practically beg us to speak at the next mayoral event, but respectfully we will decline. Mr. Mayor, we didn’t do this for the accolades, we merely saw a blemish on this fine city and we sought to fix it. It’s what we do. Please. Please. Your thanks are enough,” J said with great pomposity.

The three stared at him captivated, thrilled, itching for action.

“Sherri you and Sid are going to be in charge of freeing the dogs and getting them off the premises, even if that involves chasing them on Sid’s Vespa.”

Sherri started to look disappointingly toward Ben, but J nearly shouted to keep her focused, “BEN and I will have to figure out some way to shut down the concessions and create a diversion for the two of you. I think I have an idea, give me a day or so.”

The group broke up to pursue various reconnaisance. Sid and Sherri went down to check out the race track, while Ben and J called various concession companies trying to figure out who was supplying the track. J also placed a few calls to local pet shops, which Ben didn’t understand, but didn’t question.

Sid and Sherri immediately realized that they were going to have their work cut out for them. The pre-race area was almost non-existent. It appeared that most owners kept the dogs in their trailers until moments before the race. That meant J and Ben were going to have to be especially distracting since they’d have to free the dogs one by one.

By Friday, the activists were ready. Ben had located the concessions organization that supplied the race tracks’ food. With a brilliant impersonation of a panicked marketing director who had strict orders from the catering manager, Ben had convinced the company to replace the usual concession items with earth-friendly and vegetarian-friendly fare. The dog track hot dog lovers were in for a real treat on this night. Nothing says a night at the races like a Veggie Dawg!

Sid and Sherri were packed and loaded for some serious roping and riding Eastern Mid-West style. Sherri was even decked out in a striking ten gallon hat. It was probably five gallons, but on Sherri it looked ten. Ben noticed her cowgirl attire with a smile, which pleased Sherri to no end. Sid had washed and waxed the Vespa and dusted off some old ropes. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use them because he hadn’t a clue how one might lasso much of anything, but he had them just in case. They helped the aesthetic immensely. Both Sid and Sherri were packing dog treats and dog whistles for both enticing and repulsing as needed. Sherri had holstered her mace too, in case there was a shootout. When they were ready to go, Sid pulled up on the shiny clean Vespa, and tipped his Expos baseball cap in Sherri’s direction. “Ma’m” he said with a twang. Sherri giggled and climbed aboard their little red Italian stallion. They headed off to the track, while Ben and J ran what J would only call “an errand”. They’d borrowed a truck for the errand, but only J seemed to know where they were going and he wasn’t telling.

J and Ben lurched to a stop outside of Peppy’s Pet Mart. J ran in and quickly came out followed by two gentleman carrying boxes with holes in them. The efficiency and seriousness of it all reminded Ben of a drug deal, if the drugs were teeny-tiny puppies. Or as he’d come to find out after stops at both Ted’s Pets and the hole in the wall, but always popular Mexican restaurant Mi Casa Rulz, rats.

“Rats” J said as if he were in a musical of nearly the same name, jazz hands and all.
“Rats?” Ben asked with one eyebrow arching to the heavens.

“Rats” J said again complete with jazz hands and maniacal smile.

Ben waited for an explanation but he didn’t get one until they had arrived at the race track.

“Take a box and follow me,” J said.

It wasn’t an explanation, but it was direction. It had always amazed Ben how easily he and others he knew confused the two.

J made his way quickly to the edge of the staging area, the spot where owners/trainers/and tiny invisible jockeys made the last minute preparations before letting the dogs chase the mechanical rabbit. In that moment the staging area reminded J of the subway system from his days in Washington DC. The Subway was the staging area before mankind was released out in the world for another day of chasing mechanical rabbits. Poor sorry souls. If only they had his rats to fill in for the poor sorry working dogs they had become. Maybe that’s why they call it the rat race he thought to himself, but then realized that he was mixing metaphors. His head started to hurt, so with a glance to both sides, he motioned for Ben to put the box down and return to the truck for another. When they had the rats positioned, J gave the signal. He barked three times. Unfortunately, his barking was drowned out by other barking. He needed a new signal and fast. Considering his options, he told Ben to guard the rats while he alerted Sherri and Sid of the new signal.

As he was walking to the dog trailer area, a man from the stands leaned over and spit out the chewed remains of a hot dog, just missing J’s shoes. “What the hell?” he said as he made both the most obscene and most beautiful face J had ever seen. J had to look away lest his giant smile provoke the man.

J spotted his cowpokes at the far end of the trailer area. They looked nervous and he could tell Sid was listening for the signal. He gave a little cough which got Sid’s attention. Then he gave Sid the thumbs up. The thumbs up in J’s mind signalled “release the hounds”. Sid’s mind interpreted things differently and he flashed J a thumbs up back and then stood dumbly.

J walked briskly over and said, “That was the signal.”
Sid looked at him and replied, “No. The signal is three barks.”
J made a clicking noise with his tongue. “The plan has changed. The thumbs up is the new signal.”
“Who changed the plan?” Sid asked feeling very confused.
“I did.” hissed J losing patience.
J walked away. As he turned to leave he noticed Sid still standing not moving to free the animals. J thought for a moment, started to head back toward Sid and then flashed a thumbs up instead. It was all Sid needed. He sprang into action. And so did J.

Just outside the staging area, J faked a psychic episode. His eyes rolled back in his head and he stuck his hands into the air. He spun around wildly and began chanting dogs names. “Kitten Kaboodle, Big Gray, Pantsless Fury, Dalmation 9, Barker’s Millions,” A crowd started to gather around him as he halted suddenly and said, “Win. Place. Show. HOLD IT. It’s coming.”
Ben meanwhile worked through the crowd whispering, “it’s a psychic episode.” and “he’s psychic.” The word spread like pollen in a field of bees. Soon nearly the whole crowd and the owners had gathered around J. J screamed at the top of his lungs, “RABBIT CHASER, 3 DOG DAYS, FAST FIDO” and then he collapsed in a heap in the middle of the crowd.
“Rats” he whispered, “I lost it.” His eyes returned to normal and the flush from his cheeks departed. A few people asked him if he needed medical help, but Ben strode to the center of the crowd and announced that he was an RN and would see that “this man was ok”. He said it very regally. It was hard not to believe him. It’s not like dog race people really want to deal with medical problems, they’ve got addictions to contend with. They were more than happy to let Ben take control. Ben pulled J to his feet and they made a quick exit to the staging area and their boxes of rats. J left Ben with instructions to ready the boxes for release. He had a rabbit to chase out of its hole.

While J was in the midst of his insane frenzy, Sherri and Sid had been letting the dogs out.
Incredibly, getting the dogs out of their trailers had been as simple as popping 25 latches and letting the dogs charge out like mad hounds. Whatever J was doing, it must have been attracting a crowd, because no one seemed to be around. The dogs milled around for a moment, confused by their freedom. Sherri grabbed a steak from her bag as Sid fired up the Vespa. They took off like a shot. Sherri was waving the steak and Sid was gunning the little Vespas engine. At the sight and smell of fresh meat, 25 really fast dogs took out after the little red stallion and its too passengers. The dogs were barking like mad, but they were on they had already spilled into the back parking lot. A few cars were pulling in and a few drivers stared on in awe, but nobody seemed to grasp what was taking place. Sherri handed the steak to Sid as he slowed down to let her off the scooter. He gunned the engine again and continued to head as fast and as far away from the track as he could go. Sherri worked back through the lot, whistling at dogs and rounding up those that had been distracted by a whole new world of toilet space.

Within a mile of the track, the dogs had lost interest in the scooter-propelled meat. Sid was just happy they hadn’t mauled him. As they dispersed, Sid dropped the chop and turned back to go collect Sherri.
She had been running and the excitement of freeing the dogs and the wind in her hair, gave her an air Sid had never noticed about her before. It was like the open space, the freedom, gave her a glow. Sid couldn’t explain it and he wasn’t likely to try, but he liked the smile that accompanied the glow. He knew that much.

Back at the track, soon after the dogs had gone off chasing meat, J had found the room he was looking for- the control room. It wasn’t empty, but when J shouted “Fire!” into the room, the two old guys waiting for race time ran out long enough for J to take care of some business.

He located the gate starter button and then quickly located the PA system. “And they’re off!” he screamed like a real race announcer as he pressed the gate-starter. The mechanical rabbit took off like a shot and the gates opened up to reveal nothing, and then slowly suddenly, hundreds of rats began pouring out where everyone had expected dogs. The high pitched screams were better than ice cream to J. The two men had returned to the control room, but J had literally pushed right by them as he took off in a run. They were so confused they didn’t follow.

After Ben released the rats, he ducked into the stands and quickly made his way back to the truck. He and J had arranged to meet at a spot about half a mile from the track, near a large oak tree. Ben drove around a little bit to give J a chance to get there, but he didn’t need to drive long because J’s run was fueled by a new sense of optimism and enthusiasm. “They were off to the races!” he practically cheered of their latest attack. “If only ‘they’ could agree on a name.”

J hopped in the drivers seat as Ben slid to the passenger side of their borrowed white truck. They lurched away from the oak, smiling with their success.

Triumph felt so good. It’s too bad these things never last.

When they all returned to Sid’s kitchen late that night, there was much celebrating. Both pairs had avoided returning directly to the “office” in case they were followed or somehow under suspicion. Ben and J returned the truck to its owner and then walked the long way to Sid’s.
Sid and Sherri cruised around on the Vespa for a few hours, Sherri still delighting in the wind blowing through her hair. Sid was delighted to share his Vespa.

That night, Sid’s promises of no more chocolate syrup and Vodka were quickly forgotten as he drenched himself in liquid euphoria. The four partied well into the night, only sorry that they had missed the news coverage. The local stations had eaten the story up, “RAT RACE!” they chanted and “This world is going to the RATS!” and unfortunately but expectedly, “Who let the dogs out?” For all its faults, the worst in J’s mind was the way the media could beat its puns and gags to death.

Sometime around sun-up the shots had ended. The celebration grew tired. Sid had long since passed out on the kitchen floor, and he was once again the canvas for a chocolate temporary tattoo artist. The work had grown more intricate, as a miniature poodle (the size, not the breed) was now at home between the nipples of Sid. It would be a mess to clean, but the howls of laughter it created were well worth it in Ben’s opinion. J collapsed next to the couch. Sherri and Ben considered Sid’s bed, but the dirty clothes near it, suggested that sharing the couch might be a better option. They drunkenly and loudly managed to intertwine their bodies in ways that only inebriated couples in love can manage.

Saturday would be non-day filled with non-activities like drinking lots of water and vomiting. Sunday would not fare much better. Monday however was a new week full of new possibility. As J slipped in and out of conciousness that Monday morning he wondered if he’d remembered to call Matty at all during the weekend. He had the sinking suspicion that he had not.

15 and keep the change