Chapter 25

RYDER:

The leader of the Paw Patrol left the neighborhood, eyeing the side mirror as he watched his two pups and friend fade out from view. As he told the three, the boy found the getaway driver's SUV by tracking its license from the security footage of the convenience store and concluded that Michael Duke lived fifteen minutes from his original spot. As he was driving, Ryder pulled up a small monitor that supplied information of the suspect. It read that Michael was in his mid-thirties, owns two vehicles (the SUV and sedan), and was freed from prison a couple years ago. It also read that his criminal record consisted of drug use, public display of drinking, speeding, robbery, and assault.

"Jeez, this guy's been busy," he muttered. As he continued the drive, the only sound was coming from the motorcycle's engine, and the cars buzzing by, he started getting an exhilarating feeling. He'd never delt with an arrest with such a strong criminal record before, not even an arrest in general, so he was anticipating getting to the suspect's home as soon as possible. Not like he LIKED having to arrest someone but the responsibility and importance of the mission threw that thought out the window. The boy had finally arrived at the suspect's home. He turned off the engine, hopped off the bike, and pursued to the front door. As he did, the ten-year-old examined the building. It was small and looked decent, it's light beige color combined with the neighborhood with their dark trees surrounding the area. And as he thought, they're parked in the driveway was the black SUV with the same license plate. He tapped his near-to-invisible vest and pulled out his revolver, remembering to be prepared to handcuff this guy. He also put his pup pad to record the audio in case the suspect wanted to admit what he'd done. Putting his pup pad back, Ryder got in position (to the side of the door) and knocked on the white pine door.

"Police! Open up Michael, I know you're in there," Ryder demanded. Though he was met with silence, so he tried again. He knocked on the door. "Police! Open up or I'm coming in!"

Still nothing. He was about to bust in, he heard rustling inside the house. It wasn't exactly at the door but deeper into the home, proving that Michael was indeed in the house. So, moving in front of the door, Ryder kicked down the obstacle, slightly surprising himself by how weak it was. He raised his weapon and scanned the area. The inside was slightly respectable. The only messy about the place were the empty bottles of alcohol and ashtrays that lay around the living room, which is where he was standing. He shook his head slightly, his mission was to capture the suspect not to criticize his living arrangements. He slowly walked around the room, checking any place where this guy could be hiding, but so far found nothing. So he moved on to the next room: the kitchen. There weren't that many places to hide so he checked it pretty quickly. He then checked the bathroom and laundry room, they too didn't need a thorough search. He was about to move onto the next room but something hard hit against his head, making everything turn black as he fell to the ground.

"Ugh," he groaned. Ryder opened his eyes and noticed multiple things straight away. First, he was tied to the coffee table leg by his wrists then he realized that, by the position of the sun, a few hours had passed, including that he still had his handcuffs in his pocket. And the most obvious thing that he noticed, his revolver was on the kitchen counter along with a pocket knife. He groaned again, but this time in frustration. Can't these villains do anything else BUT time him up? It's getting old! His ears perked up slightly when he heard footsteps coming his way. Soon enough, a thirty-four-year-old man came in with a bottle of vodka placed the drink on the coffee table. He left for two-shot glasses and his knife that was originally on the kitchen counter, then sat on the couch and placing the glasses on the table. The man got into position and stared at the tied boy. Then he spoke. "You're not a cop are you?"

"..." Ryder didn't respond. The man sighed and switched his knife open and pointed it at the boy's eye. "You should respond, boy. It's rude and you should show some respect."

"Why should I respect you?" The ten-year-old spat. "I'm here to apprehend you for contributing to the murder of Pedro Gonzalez. I may be tied up but I plan to arrest you."

"Sure kid, whatever you say," Michael rolled his eyes and put the knife away. He started pouring the vodka from earlier into the two shot glasses, pushing only one of them toward the boy when he was done. "You drink?"

"I'm ten!" He exclaimed, dumbfounded that the suspect thought such a thing.

"No duh, but if you're such an age, how do you have a gun?" Michael inquired, honestly curious as to why it was. The boy hesitated.

"I-It doesn't matter," he ended up saying. The man tilted his head, then got up from the couch and walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed the gun, then return to his original position.

"Hm… Well by the looks of it, this gun wasn't made for such a kid to carry," he said while examining the revolver. "So that means that you stole it."

"I didn't steal it, I just found it and thought it would be useful one day so I kept it," he retorted with a glare. The murder nodded then he removed all the bullets from the weapon then tossed it in the trash can. After that, he grabbed his shot glass and drank it. After he was finished, he turned to the still glaring boy. "I suggest you should drink it."

"Why should I? I'm still ten remember?"

"Because life will be easier if you do. No matter what age you are," he advised. Then he pointed the knife once more. "Drink it if you know what's best for you."

"No," Ryder responded stubbornly. Michael's eyebrow twitched. Unexpectedly, the man lunges forward, grabbed the shot glass, gripped the now startled boy making his mouth open and poured the drink in. He roughly closed his mouth and made his swallow. Satisfied, the man moved back on his couch and watch the boy scrunch his face in disgust. "See? Isn't that better?"

"Ugh, that tasted terrible," Ryder commented with a frown. Now he was 100% sure that he needed to arrest this guy. But then a question popped into his mind. "Why did you assist in the murder? What did the victim ever do to you?"

"Well, this is Foggy Bottom, if you haven't noticed. If you want to get by anywhere, you need supplies. And when you need supplies, you need people who have the items for sale. Let's just say Pedro was a customer who didn't fulfill his payment so, a way to show dominance and not let other people get the idea that it's okay to cut payment, we had to get rid of him," Michael explained. The boy questionably watched the guilty man pull out a small bag with some white powder, a piece of paper, and a lighter. He placed the paper on the table, poured some of the powder in a line, rolled it up, held it up to his mouth, and lit it with the lighter, creating puffs of smoke afterward. "Ever smoked crack?"

"No, and I don't ever plan to," was his short answer. The man shrugged and got up then left the room. The boy was left alone. He started to check how light the table was, concluding that it was not heavy but needed some weight to be pushed upwards, a way to free himself from the cuffs. He tried to do that but the man came back, a trail of smoke coming along with him. He set his makeshift cigar on an ashtray and picked up his knife then knelt down in front of the boy, eye to eye.

"Sorry you had to live a short life kid but I need no witnesses," he shrugged. Michael was about to stab the boy but was instead caught off guard when Ryder headbutted him. Stumbling back, the man tumbled to the floor. While he did that, Ryder quickly with all his strength pushed the coffee table up and freed his hands - sort of. He still had his hands tied so his arms were temporarily out of commission, but that didn't stop him. The two guys stared at each other, standing tall and puffing out their chests to show as much intimidation as possible. They agreed the same thing in their thought: let the fight begin. Micheal, with a battle cry, charged at Ryder with his knife swinging. Ryder did the same cry but dodged instead. The boy roughly pushed the man to the coffee table, when he was turned away, making it break on impact. Groaning, he got turned and grabbed the child by the legs making him fall down too. Somehow, Ryder's binds came undone so he now had a fighting chance. On the floor, they kept hold of each other by the shoulders, swinging each other back and forth. Eventually, Michael managed to throw the boy further, giving him a chance to get back up. He kicked the kid in the ribs, getting an 'oof' as a result. Ryder, in pain, saw that he was laying a distance away from Michael's dropped pocket knife. Trying to hold onto consciousness a little longer, he reached for the pocket knife but failed to do so. Michael kept kicking him in the ribs and legs. Although the leader of the Paw Patrol had his bulletproof vest on, he was defenseless against the powerful boot beating his chest. All at the same time, the man raised his leg and aimed for the head while Ryder managed to grab the knife. Michael let his heavy foot fall but was stopped when the boy stabbed his leg with the knife, causing him to fall back and clutch his hurt calf. Acting quickly, he got up, pulled his handcuffs out, and apprehended the man.

"HA!" Ryder cheered as he fist-pumped the air. "In your face!"

"Not bad kid, not bad," Michael respected with a slight nod. Still keeping his face full of pride, Ryder called the police to apprehend the man. He stopped the recording he had running the entire time as well, feeling successful in completing his mission. He then got a call from Zuma, so he picked it up. "Ryder? We found something that could give us a bweak."

"What did you find?" The boy listened intently to what the pup and friend had found. After he was finished, the leader started telling him the plan. Once Zuma exclaimed his catchphrase, they hung up. Ten minutes later, the police arrived and dragged the man away. The boy also sent them a copy of the recording to be used against him. After he was thanked, they all left. Slowly, he moved to his motorcycle and sat down, then lead against tank cover. He was tired, the beatings he received taking a toll on his draining energy and his headache didn't make it better, caused by being hit in the back of the head and the strong alcohol. The boy knew that he has a concussion and, most likely, cracked ribs because every time he moved, his torso hurts. Knowing he received a call from one pup, he still hadn't gotten one from the other causing him to worry so he decided to call himself. "Chase? Where are you? You hadn't been back in hours!"

"Oh hey Ryder," Chase giggled. "Whacha doin'?"

"Uh, looking for you," he responded, confused. It made him unnerved by the way Chase spoke to him. After the strange call, he could definitely confirm that something was wrong with his pup and by what Michael was smoking earlier, he was almost positive that Chase inhaled the same thing. So quickly doing what he promised he'd do, Ryder tracked Chase's pup tag via pup pad. Forgetting his injured state, he turned on his motorcycle and raced off to save his pup from the trouble he found himself in, but first he needed to get to Zuma and Sebastian. They met up, converted the two bikes into one solid car, turned in the suspect, and zoomed off to find the missing pup.

PRESENT TIME:

'Ironic how Chase and I tried two different things today that will affect us eventually' the boy thought humorlessly. They managed to find the house Chase was in, his cruiser signaled him down. Getting out of his vehicle and telling the others to stay put, he ran into the house and found the police pup sprawled on the floor, rolling an empty bottle on the ground. He looked up when he heard footsteps then started wagging his tail when he realized it was his owner and leader. "Oh hey Ryder. How's it going?"

"It's been a heck of a day Chase," he responded. He searched around the house and found what the pup had earlier: the hanging body. One word that popped into his head was 'horrifying'. Calling the police once more, he waited for them. As he explained the situation to them, he saw some white powder spilled on the floor. He automatically assumed that it was the same thing as his pup sniffed. Now knowing the danger of the situation, he told the police through the phone that he has to leave the evidence to take his pup to the hospital, which they agreed. Grabbing Chase, he ran out to his car and told Sebastian to hold him in his lap. He knew Chase was no fit to drive his vehicle so he decided to have Zuma tow it, which he agreed. Going into the driver's seat, he zoomed off to the police station (to drop off the suspect that was waiting in the back seat) then off to the hospital. Hopping for the best that the drugs Chase inhaled did not affect him in any way.

To be continued...