Hello, W0lf Mast3r here! I'm starting a new story line titled Paw Patrol: Snapshot Adventures. It takes place after the events of Pups and a Perilous Plot, which at this very moment in time I have not finished writing. This is a series kinda thing with episodes containing their own plots starring our favourite furry friends. I started so soon because I was being flooded with ideas and I know from experience that if I don't act soon enough, I forget about them. So here you go! Enjoy! Don't get confused! And stay tuned for updates on Pups and a Perilous Plot!
Disclaimer: I don't own Paw Patrol (unless I'm Keith Chapman in disguise as a FanFiction writer so I can publish things outside the mainstream Nickolodeon. Or maybe I'm George Lucas, back from the dead and experimenting with puppy cartoons! You don't know, ooh!)
Breaking Laws
Oh, come on. Nobody's perfect!
Chase reflected on the day as he drove to the Lookout that evening. The German Shepard's Friday had been completely normal, starting with the wake-up call and P.T. All the pups except Marshall and Skye had grumbled and groaned about the early time and chilly spring breeze. Marshall was more of a morning pup than the others, and he genuinely enjoyed the fresh air and exercises. Skye, on the other paw, just wasn't one to murmur against Chase. Besides, she loved the chance to talk in the morning with her boyfriend.
Chase couldn't help but grin at the thought. Ever since late last autumn, after they defeated Harold's grand scheme, the two pups had started dating. The relationship was always a new thing to Chase, and he was extremely careful to maintain it. Though he was very nervous about it, he enjoyed it immensely, savoring every moment with his precious cockapoo. He and Skye had shared some excellent nights out together already, and he was in anticipation of one that Saturday.
Anyway, after P.T., they'd all had their breakfast when the first emergency call came in. After that, 'twas call after call, rescue after rescue. Chase spent all day in the field and had caught two burglars, found a missing cat, handed out four tickets, and directed traffic for two hours until Rocky could come and fix the light on Maple Street. Now, around seven forty p.m., he was finally off duty and heading home.
As he passed Town Hall, he noticed Mayor Goodway outside watering her prized tulips, chicken by her side. Chase honked the horn in a passing salutation. She looked up, and upon seeing the police cruiser, waved.
Arriving at the Lookout, Chase parked his car near the front door. Leaving it running, he hopped out and went indoors. Pups milled about on their business. Talking, laughter, and the smell of food filled the air. Chase knew Rocky and Marshall were in the kitchen, undoubtably crafting a delectable meal, and he was almost sorry he'd be missing it. Almost. He had better plans for tonight.
He traversed the living room, weaving past Captain the black and white Border Collie who was using a first aid practice dummy for boxing. Chase did a baseball slide in front of Rubble's view of the TV, going as fast and low as possible. That bulldog could get downright murderous if anyone got in between him and Apollo the Superpup. Finally, he attempted to sneak past Skye, who sat atop her embroidered pillow, reading a book.
As he tiptoed behind her, she, without looking up, casually asked, "Going somewhere?" He froze.
"Oh, hey Skye!" He said, coloring slightly. "I'm just, you know, going to find Zuma."
She turned to face him, smirking. "Guys' night?"
"Yep," he responded, hoping she didn't ask too many questions. He may have been a good actor, but he was a terrible liar to his girlfriend. Thankfully, she just nodded understandingly.
"I get it, wanna have a little fun with your friends," she chuckled. "I do the exact same thing with Everest."
'Not the exact same thing, per say...' Chase thought, but just nodded and smiled. He walked over and gave her a little nuzzle with his muzzle. She returned the act with a coo and a nuzzle of her own.
"See you later, handsome," she said softly. They parted, and Chase proceeded on his way with a little more energy in his step, strutting a flying trot. He continued his search for Zuma, soon finding him by the bathroom, zipping up an orange striped black duffel bag. A nearly identical one sat adjacent to it, with royal blue stripes instead. The chocolate brown Labrador looked up at Chase, grinning mischievously.
"You ready, dude?" He asked, raising up a paw.
Chase bumped it. "Always, bro."
Zuma looked over Chase's shoulder. "Any problems or looky-looers?"
Chase shook his head. "We're clear to commence the op."
"Perfecto. Let's go." Zuma hoisted his duffel, and Chase fetched his own. They walked to the door, silent and cautious yet casual nonetheless. They almost made it.
"And where do you two think you're going?" They reluctantly turned to see Ryder standing there, arms crossed. Their leader wore a face of suspicion, one eyebrow raised high.
Zuma broke out his signature 'heyhowareyoueverythingisfinejustchill' smile; a very convincing mask that could even fool Chase on occasion. "Yo, Ryder dude! Chase and I are just spending our usual Friday Night Dude time."
Ryder sighed. "That's right, bowling night. You two at least gonna stay for dinner?"
Chase shook his head. "We're stopping by Mr. Porter's. Don't worry, we'll be fed."
Ryder grimaced. "Try to be back before one this time, okay?"
Zuma snorted. "We'll try, but bowling can get totally intense, bruh." The two pups then turned and quickly exited the Lookout, Ryder silently watching them go.
Outside, they both hopped into the awaiting cruiser, piling their bags in the back. Zuma grinned in the shotgun seat. "Alright, dude! Here we go!"
Chase couldn't help but smile, he was just as excited as the Lab. The two pulled out into the evening road.
About two hours after Chase and Zuma left, Skye lay on her tummy atop her pink pillow. She'd just finished a chapter of her book, and with her full stomach from dinner, she was feeling a little drowsy. She thought about the German Shepard; her boyfriend, Chase. It was so cute how he couldn't stop blushing around her, lighting up at even the slightest compliment. He was so kind, caring, and not to mention handsome. Skye always felt like the luckiest girl in the world when he doted on her.
The cockapoo's thought train met an immediate wreck when the yelling began.
"What the heck are you doing?!" Marshall cried as he entered the living room, wearing an apron that said 'Pawsome Cook' and smelling like dish soap. By the shocked look on his face, Skye guessed he was just noticing for the first time that Captain was using his medical dummy as a punching bag. He dashed forward, ripping the beaten and tattered featureless humanoid figure away from the Collie. "This is very sensitive equipment!"
Captain nodded, giving the Dalmatian a large grin. "Exactly!" He said with his strong Australian accent. "That dummy is a crackin' good punching bag, mate. It even says what injuries you inflict!"
Marshall glared daggers at him. "That's not the purpose of those sensors! They're for medical purposes only! And that's another thing; it's not a dummy! It's a high quality, dare I say very expensive medical practice tool." Captain just shrugged it off.
"Hey, dude, stop spitting chips at me. It's not my fault we don't have any good practise... blokes to wallop 'round these parts. Maybe we should get Ryder to dip into those deep pockets of hi-"
Bleep! Bleep! "Paw Patrol! To the Lookout!"
All around the Lookout, pup tags went off, flashing their respective colors as Ryder's voice came over the comms.
"Ryder needs us!" Everyone shouted in unison. Leaving a bookmark in her place, Skye dashed to the elevator with the others. Inside lined up Skye, Rocky, Captain, Rubble, and...
"I'm coming!" Called the Dalmatian, apron flapping in his rush to catch up.
"Watch out!" Rocky cried. They all watched in horror as the billowing white cloth tangled with his legs.
"Whoa!" He pitched forward, hurtling straight at them.
"Hit the dirt! Incoming black and white RPG!" Captain yelled, diving to the left. Skye performed a front flip, barely making it over the fire pup and landing on her feet. Turning, she saw the others weren't as lucky. Marshall had knocked Rocky to the ground and pinned Rubble against the wall. Everyone picked themselves up, the injured groaning. Marshall chuckled nervously.
"Correction, Captain. I'm not an RPG, I'm an RPD; Rocket Propelled Dalmatian!" They all giggled as the elevator ascended the shaft.
When the doors opened at the top, the all leapt out to their lineup positions in front of Ryder and the mission screen. They were all geared up like normal, Rocky in his green recycling uniform and cap, Rubble in his yellow construction jacket and hard hat, and Captain wearing his green and brown camouflage fatigues and helmet, except for Skye and Marshall. A quick self examination showed Skye she was wearing a dark pink hoody and blue jeans made for dogs. A glance at Marshall proved that he wore a similar outfit, but instead of a hoody he had on a black leather jacket and blood red shirt. He also wore a matching red baseball cap.
With Chase out, the Dalmatian stepped up to the plate. "Paw Patrol, ready for action Ryder, sir!"
Ryder smiled at his assembled crew. "Thanks for hurrying over, pups. We've got a late night emergency."
"Uh, Ryder? What's with Marshall's and my new look?" Skye asked, Marshall nodding.
"I'm getting to that, pups," he cleared his throat. "We just got a call from the RCPD in the nearby Redwater, the large port town situated just north of Adventure Bay. I think a couple of you have been there," Rocky, Skye, and Captain nodded. "They called because they've been having problems with the illegal street racers in recent months."
Skye rolled her eyes. Adventure Bay and it's immediate neighbors had been having difficulties with the racers, who kept tearing up the streets in night rallies.
"As you all know, all of the law enforcement agencies, the Paw Patrol included, have been having trouble stopping them permanently or even arresting the drivers. Redwater PD has asked if Adventure Bay's very skilled operatives could offer their legendary skills, to which I said yes," Ryder took a pause, then proceeded. "Instead of rushing out and trying to catch these guys, we're gonna do some recon and undercover work. Since Chase is out, and I don't want to cut down on his well earned leisure time, I need Skye and Marshall for this mission."
The two pups' tag icons appeared on the screen, and they stepped forward.
"You are going in to observe the activities at the race. See who the drivers are, find out who's involved in the operation, and see if you can learn when and where the next one happens."
"Wait, how come I can't go?" Rubble pouted. Ryder smiled at the bulldog patiently.
"Because this isn't a normal race they're gonna be at. This is an illegal event; there'll likely be a lot of shady people and dogs attending. Plus, you're a bit too young for this one."
"Wait, how come I'm going?" Marshall asked with a hint of fear creeping into his voice.
"You and Skye are our most senior members present and have the most experience. Also, I won't be sending you unprotected. Chase gave you two instruction on how to use the tasers, right?"
Both pups nodded, remembering the inconspicuous bracelets that functioned as anti-criminal devices. Chase had taken them aside one day and taught them how to use them, explaining that since Adventure Bay was growing so rapidly, there would likely be more need for the pups to know how to use those kinds of things. The thought was a tad bit frightening to Skye, but she knew it was true.
"Well," Ryder continued. "I'll be sending you out with one each. I hope you won't have to use them, and your first resort should be to escape, but don't hesitate if things go south."
"G-got it Ryder," Marshall stuttered out. The boy walked over to his dog and gave him a scratch behind the ear.
"Don't worry, you'll have Skye with you," he comforted him.
Skye put on a brave face for her brother. "Yeah, don't worry. This will be a breeze."
Marshall smiled. "Y-yeah, let's do this!"
"Good boy," Ryder said, patting him once more. "You two can take Marshall's fire truck. I'll give you the GPS coordinates for the task. If anything happens, contact me. I'll be ready to help. Paw Patrol is on a roll!" The pups howled, and the two selectees ran to the slide. Ryder turned to his screen and began hitting buttons, while the other pups went downstairs.
Marshall and Skye were in the truck when Marshall's tag beeped.
"Coordinates received. Next stop; sixty-two ninety-five Hayden Street, Redwater!" They pulled away into the dark, headlights illuminating the road in front of them.
Rubble watched the pair of undercover pups drive off, gazing through a window from his beanbag chair, longing inscribed on his face. "Too young," he muttered, standing and kicking a stray chew toy. "They get to have all the fun; spying and tasering criminals."
Rocky, noticing the bulldog's gloom, padded over with a large smile. "Hey, how 'bout we watch Apollo the Superpup II, The Spider King's Revenge?" he asked enthusiastically.
"Meh," Rubble said, distraught.
"Meh?" Rocky questioned incredulously.
"Meh!" Rubble exclaimed irritably, turning to face the mixed breed. "How can I watch a movie when my friends are doing something that's actually cool?" Neither of them had noticed Captain who had come up behind them.
"Hey, mates!" They whipped around, startled. "I couldn't help but overhear your griping. How 'bout we do something aside from whinge?"
"Like wha- ah!" Rubble was cut off when Captain tackled him, sending both pups tumbling. "What are you doing?!" Rubble got up, staring in shock as the Collie took out Rocky's paws from under him with a swiping kick.
"You wanna go the fist with crims, right? The best you'll get is a scrap with your mates. Time for a little dog fighting!"
Rubble grinned. "Bring it, Aussie! Rubble is on the double!"
Skye and Marshall walked down an alleyway, following the directions on the latter's pup tag. Skye tried not to breathe in the scent of the few yet large dumpsters that rested against the brick walls. Skye occasionally spotted graffiti, though most of it she didn't give a second glance because of the choice words incorporated. There was one piece she had stopped to admire; a medium sized mural depicting two American soldiers in dramatic poses marching onward, guns slung over their shoulders, boasting light injuries, and with the flag billowing behind them. By their side a German Shepard bounded forth, wearing a combat harness. Beneath it was a caption that read in stylized block letters 'We Remember.' Taking a picture with her tag, she rushed to catch up to Marshall.
The two leapt over a puddle in the middle of their path, got startled by a dashing alley cat, and turned several corners. Finally Marshall's tag beeped once, signifying that they were near the place.
Skye listened. Seemingly just around the next turn, she could hear raucous cheering, loud jeering, and, above all, engines roaring. The two went around the bend and stopped in their tracks.
A huge crowd was massed on either side of the road in the plaza, clapping and screaming. Skye couldn't see over the many human heads, but she could plenty well hear the cars zooming by, tires squealing and engines roaring. A gruff sounding man on a raised platform spoke over the crowd's ruckus using a mic system, announcing the lead racer or things about the bets. A smoky haze floated through the sky, and the air was polluted by the smell of exhaust and tobacco.
Skye wrinkled her nose. To be heard over the noise, she said loudly, "Well, this is-"
"Pawsome!" Marshall yelled, cutting her off. She looked at him, one eyebrow raised high, but he either didn't see it or didn't care. He had a huge grin and his tail was going at light speed. "Oh my dog! I've gotta get close!" Before the cockapoo could object, he took off, weaving through the mass.
Skye sighed as she followed him. She had almost forgotten he was such a huge racing fan.
She made it to the edge of the crowd, finding Marshall gripping the barrier. Cars zoomed by, going at incredible speeds. He was yelling excitedly along with the rest of the throng.
"Wow!" He screamed, head whipping from side to side to follow the vehicles. "I can't believe a Slug Bug is even competing in this kinda thing! Look how tricked out it is! These cars are top notch! What the heck, that was a Marussia B2! That thing was- Dog! A Morspeed V.38?! Where are these guys from?! Dang! Look at-"
Skye had stopped listening at this point. Glancing around, she couldn't help but feel nervous. All the humans, most of them looking like the disreputable types, gave her the creeps. The dogs she saw were no better, many looking fierce or sly. There was a particular Rottweiler that seemed to stick out of the crowd. Something tugged at Skye's gut, making her want run.
"Hey, Pyro?" Skye called Marshall by the fake name they'd agreed upon. He didn't respond. She rolled her eyes and slugged him in the shoulder. "Pyro!"
"Oh, sorry! Yes Sk-Stella?" he said sheepishly.
"How about we move closer to the finish line?" Marshall's grin widened.
"Heck yeah!" He started trotting off in that direction. Skye followed, sparing a glance behind her. The dog was gone.
"Final Lap!" The announcer said, and the crowd rose in volume. Skye watched a large screen on the wall of a building which showed the rear or front bumper camera view, alternating from car to car.
"AW YEAH!" Marshall still screamed as he watched, practically bouncing off the walls that surrounded the plaza.
Skye was just as absorbed into the race as he was, but for a different reason. Every time the cars passed by, she had the distinct feeling that she recognized one of them. It persisted throughout the whole race, but she couldn't tell where she'd seen it before.
"'Scuse me, dude," a pup squeezed by her, moving up against the barrier. She was drawn out of her thoughts as she was startled to recognize the voice. The pup was a chocolate-brown Labrador Retriever wearing an orange striped black racing outfit. Her surprise faded into anger as she moved up to his ear.
"Zuma?!" She hissed, making him jump. His eyes widened when he saw her.
"Oh… dude," Zuma said, wincing. "Hey, Skye. What are you doing here?" He asked, attempting to sound casual.
"What am I doing here?! Ryder sent us here to do recon," she whispered furiously. "What the heck are you doing here?! I thought you were bowling with Chase!"
"We- I mean, I was, but… um," he fumbled for a response, and Skye realized something.
"Is Chase here too?"
His ears sagged. "Yeah."
Stunned, angry, hurt, confused. Those were all adjectives that described the cockapoo at that moment.
"Here we are, folks! The final stretch!" The announcer shouted. The crowd screamed with redoubled effort, drawing Skye's attention to the street. She could see two cars hurtling down the road towards the finish.
She turned back to Zuma. "Where is Chase?" She demanded. He didn't respond, focussed on the cars.
"And the winner is…!"
One of the cars, a sleek blue sports car, suddenly pulled ahead, racing over the checkered line seconds before the other.
"TRISTAN!" The speaker and crowd screamed with one voice, probably waking up everyone in Oregon and maybe Washington.
The car drifted to a stop, and the door opened up. A dog stepped out, wearing a black and blue suit and a royal blue helmet. He shook his head, making it fall to the ground. Skye nearly lost it when she saw his handsome face and smile. Chase let out a loud howl, raising his head high.
"Well," Zuma said gravely, "now you know."
Chase laughed. He had just won! Again! Nobody could beat him, not any pup, not any human. It wasn't because of his high tech car, but because he was such a pawsome driver. All those high speed chases and quick emergency responses really helped with his driving skills.
Chase barked, locking his car. He sauntered over to the barrier, looking for Zuma.
His Lab brother hopped over to Chase's side, walking over. Chase didn't notice the look of worry on his face.
"Hey, Lance, bro!" Chase called him by his fake name. Zuma sidled up close.
"Uh, Tristan," he whispered. "We've got… a problem."
"What kind of problem?" Chase questioned. Zuma gestured back to the crowd. Chase's heart sank to his stomach when he saw Skye and Marshall standing there, looking furious. "Oh, no." Dread pooled inside of him as he walked over.
Skye regarded him with a cold stare. "Hey there, Tristan." Chase cringed.
"Hi Skye," he said softly, embarrassed to the core.
"Oh, right now you can call me Stella." She took a deep breath. "I can't believe this."
"Me neither!" Marshall jumped in, fuming. "You two are out here street racing without me?!"
Skye glared at the Dalmatian before returning her enraged stare to the Shepard. He felt like was going to melt right there, he was blushing so hard. "Let me get this straight. You lied to 'The Boss' and I to come out here to participate in an illegal street race? Is there anything I'm missing?"
"Last call to collect the winner's pot! Bets can now be cashed in!" The announcer said.
"Be right back," Zuma hesitated before dashing off.
"Were you guys betting?!" Skye asked incredulously.
Chase cringed. "I'm not! Lance… is his own dog. I can't always keep him on a leash."
Skye rubbed her face. Chase whimpered. He'd never seen her this mad. She was silent for the count of three. "Tristan… this place, these people, they aren't safe," she said with an effort to be patient. "Why are you doing this? How long have you been going behind my back?"
Chase was quiet, thinking about his silly reason. "It's, well, I… it relieves stress. And it's fun. We've only been doing it for the past seven weeks."
Skye's gaze wandered to Chase's vehicle. "Where'd you get the car?" Her tone sounded like she half expected they'd stolen it.
"I asked our grey tech savvy friend awhile ago, before all this, to add an undercover mode for my cruiser. We kinda did it without 'The Boss' knowing or approving of it. The outside changes, but the inside is exactly the same." Skye was about to say something when an exclamation was heard over the ruckus.
"Dude!" Zuma walked over, grinning. "They're doing a thirty-five lap run. I dropped two and a half grand in and…" he saw the cockapoo's stare of death and wilted. "You know, maybe I can wait-"
"Oh no, you get back here! I can't believe you're gambling!"
Zuma looked wounded. "Excuse me, it isn't gambling when there's a one hundred percent chance of victory."
"'The Boss' told us never to do that!" She shot at him.
"Racers! To your places!" The announcer called. Zuma looked at Chase, but he just shook his head.
"I think I'm done, Lance."
"Well, I guess I have-" Skye cut Zuma off.
"No you don't! I'm not done with you."
Zuma whined. "But Stella, we can't withdraw the money. What are we going to do?"
"You're gonna leave it," Skye said. "It's not yours anyway, right Pyro?" She looked over at the silent Dalmatian, only to find he was gone. "What? Where-?" Chase's car's engine revved. They all looked and saw an excited Dally sitting in the driver's seat, tinted windows rolled down. They had not noticed him sneaking away during the conversation, 'Quiet as a Mouse.'
"Pyro!" The three pups yelled.
"No worries, guys! I've got this!" He called as the lights counted down.
Three!
Two!
One!
Go!
Tires spinning, he took off down the street with the other racers. "WAHOO!" His drawn out, elated cry was heard until it faded into the night.
The group stood in stunned silence for a couple of seconds.
"Well… that just happened," Zuma said.
"How'd he unlock my car?" Chase asked, slightly impressed.
"Doesn't matter much, he did it and he's gone," Skye said. "You should get off the track." The dogs migrated back over the barrier to Skye's side.
Skye stood close to Chase. He heard her voice, softer than earlier. "You said this relieves stress. Have you been okay?" Chase looked into her eyes and saw kindness and concern replacing the anger from earlier. He sighed, head dipping.
"Yeah. I mean, with all the resc- um, jobs going on, it gets hard, you know. Lately there's been so much to do, and not much time to ourselves. To top it off, everyone's always relying on us to get the tough things done; it's a lot of pressure. I'm tired of being the law all the time, if you understand." Chase confessed, hoping it didn't come across wrong. Skye took her boyfriend's paw in her own, looking him in the eye.
"Oh, Tristan," she said softly. "I understand more than you know." She nuzzled him, and he returned the favor, feeling her fur combine with his; the most perfect feeling ever.
Several heads in the crowd turned their way, and smirks were spreading as people made speculations about Tristan and this random female pup, but they quickly returned to their own business when Zuma gave them his other signature look. The 'dudeImgonnakillyouinthemostpainfulwaypossible' look.
They held each other for a couple of seconds before parting, tails wagging in unison. Skye turned to Zuma. "How 'bout you, Lance? Do you have any pent up emotions?"
"Nah, dudette, I'm a hardcore, manly stud. I'm just here with my bro for some fun and to increase mis fundos personalos." Skye smirked at him. "What? The allowance 'The Boss' gives us is small change compared to these shekels." Skye's smirk melted off her face.
"What's wrong?" Chase asked.
"Don't look, but we've got company," she murmured, barely audible over the crowd. "Follow me."
She set off at a brisk pace, the two boys on her heels. They weaved their way out of the mass and into an alley. As soon as they were clear from the crowd, Skye took off at a sprint. Zuma and Chase exchanged a concerned look before dashing off behind her.
"Wait up!" Zuma called, trying to close her lead. Skye went around the corner and shrieked. Chase instantly poured on the speed, taking the turn and skidding to a stop facing three mean looking dogs. Skye was backing up and bumped her rear into Chase's chest.
"I said wai- holy biscuits!" Zuma exclaimed as he halted adjacent to Chase. All thee heard steps behind them and found the way back was blocked off by three more dogs, the lead one a big, growling Rottweiler. He had rippling muscles, a scar on his cheek, and sharp, white fangs. He seemed to be preparing to attack, and all the other dogs snarled or growled at the trio.
Chase was getting ready defend his friends with his life when the Rottweiler stepped to the side and a short, long, dark brown Dachshund walked forward. He was wearing a bowler hat and a black collar with a golden tag and studs. He had pronounced eyebrows above mismatched blue and brown eyes and two spots of lighter fur beneath his nose that looked almost like a mustache to Chase. The Shepard looked down at him, whatever fear he may of had replaced with confusion and even skepticism.
"Here we are, hello, hi, how ya doin'?" The Dachshund said with a vague accent Chase couldn't place. "Now, no need to introduce ya selves, I know all of ya already. Tristan; street racin' legend and lady's man, am I right?" He chuckled and nodded at him and Skye. Chase raised an eyebrow.
The dog gestured to Zuma. "Lance, like Lancelot, like Lancer Labrador. You're the right hand man, the sidekick, the chump, the goon!" Zuma looked slightly confused and annoyed.
"And finally the nameless pretty face. Our pretty boy's little cockapoo coquette, his petting puppy." Skye's face was extremely red, but she was also extremely angry. The guy continued talking.
"Now, I get to tell ya who I am. I am Tony Di Capelli, at your service, except I'm not at your service, it's more like you're at my service, as in you've got somethin' I want, and you're gonna give it."
Chase cleared his throat "Uh, Mr… Capelli, sir? We don't have-"
"Now, now, ya can call me Tony, or Mr. Tony, or Mr. Di Capelli, or actually, whatever ya said is fine." He grinned, looking from pup to pup. "Here's the picture; I made an investment tonight of around one thousand five-hundred dollars. Make that image in ya head. Stack of dough, a lot o' cheddar. Enough dead presidents to fill a graveyard. Got it? Well, one of ya- I'm not gonna point fingers, 'cause I don't have any- one of ya beat my guy in a race, and lemme tell ya that's not a good night. So, I'd appreciate it if ya coughed up my kibble, not literally, unless ya ate it, then I'd have these mooks rip ya apart for it. So, Tristan, ya gimme my cash and boom badda boom! Ya and ya girl leave in peace so you can smooch again another day. And since I'mma generous guy, I'll throw in ya goon too."
Chase wasn't scared of the short dog, but his lackeys had him on edge. They were big, strong, fierce looking dogs. "Lance, give the guy his money, then we can get out of here." He looked at Zuma, who had wide eyes and was biting his lip.
"Yeah, you heard Casanova. Gimme, gimme!"
"Uh… the thing is, dudes. I kinda… don't have it." He said with a sheepish grin, shrinking.
"What?!" Both Tony and Chase barked at once.
"I put it in the pot for the next race! I thought we'd be doing it!" Zuma defended himself. Skye face pawed.
'Great, we're dead dogs,' Chase thought.
Tony shook his head. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. That's unfortunate. Most people are understanding in this kinda thing, but I ain't a people, I'm a dog and I ain't understanding." He looked over the three. "Alright boys, ya knows the drill. Monster, Cujo, ya get the Lab. The Maw, ya make lamb chops outta that Shepard." He turned to the two on his left. "Killer, do me a fave an' do what ya name suggests to Lancer over there. Beast, help in the kitchen with the chops. And Kieth," he turned to the Rottweiler. "Doggone it! Change your name! How is that terrifying? 'Oh, no! Watch out for Keith!' Just get that German and make him into sausages or something. And I'm expecting a side of Labra-kraut with it. I've got the girl."
The three pups backed into each other as the goons converged.
"I'm starting to regret some of my life decisions," Chase said.
"No regrets!" Zuma professed proudly.
"I've only got two regrets," Skye said, turning her head towards them. "And I'm looking at them."
Honk! Honk!
A horn beeped at them, and a pair of headlights illuminated the alley.
"What the-?" Tony began to say when they heard the brakes screech.
"Down!" Chase yelled. The three pups hit the pavement as the blue car skidded to a halt, hitting
the three goons lightly, but hard enough to send them flying over the pups in cover and smashing the other crooks and Tony flat.
Marshall poked his head out the window. "Hey guys! I won the race four laps ahead of the other dudes and got the- whoa! Who are those-?"
"Let's go! Let's go, Pyro!" Chase shouted, dashing to the vehicle. Skye and Zuma came running up behind him.
Zuma dove into the back seat bench, Chase after him.
"Hey! Ya woof brains, ya letting' 'em get away! Get 'em! Get 'em!" Tony was standing unsteadily on his short, chubby legs, his henchmen rising with winces, curses, and growls.
"Go, go! Drive!" Skye shouted, taking shotgun seat and slamming the door.
Marshall grinned like a madpup. "Alright! You're speaking my language!" He leaned out the window. "I am Pyro Dalmatian, Need for Speed, Racing Pup! Eat my dust mutts!" He hit reverse, going backwards at a speed surprising all his passengers.
"Dude!" Zuma screamed as he took a turn backwards, drifting into another alleyway. "Whoa, you maniac!" The car spit out of the alley onto a road. Marshall spun it around, doing a donut, and took off down the road.
Chase tapped on the plastic partition between the cabin and prisoner part. "Marshall, you know you're going seventy-five in a forty-five mile per hour zone, right?"
Skye turned and smiled evilly through the plastic. "Since when did you start caring about speed laws, Tristan?"
"Ha, ha, I deserve that," Chase muttered, slouching in his chair. G-force made him lean as Marshall careened around corners and ran a red light.
"Okay, need for speed pup, that's enough," Skye tapped his shoulder. "Slow up before we get arrested." Gradually, the car slowed until it was abiding by speed limits. Skye spent the next ten minutes filling him in on everything that had transpired, Chase occasionally inputting a detail.
After a minute of silence for Marshall to internalize the story, Zuma worked up the nerve to tap on the barrier.
"Hey, dude? Did you happen to get my money?" Zuma asked through the plastic. Skye glared daggers at him, but Marshall just chuckled.
"You mean my money?" He questioned back cheekily, looking in the rear view mirror. "I did the all driving. All you did was make a bunch of gangsters angry." Skye punched his shoulder playfully.
"Hey! I entered you in! How about we go fifty fifty?"
"Sixty-five thirty-five," Marshall countered.
"Fifty-five forty-five," Zuma haggled.
"Hmm," Marshall thought out loud. "What if I just took you back to Tony…?"
"Sixty-five thirty-five it is," Zuma grumbled. Everyone else laughed.
The blue sports car parked right next to the fire truck in a warehouse lot, out at the edge of town. Skye and Marshall hopped out then let the guys in the back out. Zuma stretched, arching his back. Chase went and sat on the hood of his car, leaning back and looking at the sky. He was counting stars when Skye silently sat beside him, looking up as well. They were silent for a bit, and Skye turned to look at him. He looked back, gazing into her eyes and seeing the stars reflected on them.
"Beautiful," Chase thought. Skye's face flushed. He realized he must have said that out loud.
"I think you're so handsome," she said back. They looked into each other's eyes for a long moment, until Skye suddenly got off the car. "Come on boys, we've gotta get home."
Chase sighed. 'I wonder what Ryder will do when he finds out what I've been doing?' he thought as he got in his car, turning on the engine and transforming it into police mode.
Zuma started for the shotgun seat of the cruiser when Skye blocked him. He looked at her confusedly, and she whispered something in his ear. His eyes widened and he nodded, turning to get in Marshall's truck. Skye got in with Chase, surprising him. "Zuma?"
"Going with Marshall."
Chase nodded and pulled out. With the fire truck right behind, they sped south.
They had finally reached Adventure Bay. Chase and Skye had spent most of the ride in silence, Chase driving and Skye watching outside. It was a little past midnight as the were driving through downtown on their way to the Lookout. Chase was still worrying about his fate, and seeing the familiar streets brought the fears at him with vengeance. He was absorbed in thought when Skye put a paw on his. He looked at her briefly, not seeing too well in the dark of the car.
"Marshall, we'll catch up in ten minutes. I've gotta show Chase something," Skye spoke over the tags.
"Okie dokie! See you back at the Lookout, love birds," he teased.
After she hung up on him, Chase asked Skye, "Where are we going?"
"Go down to Town Hall," she responded.
"Okay," he caught a turn, going in a different direction than the fire truck. "What are we going to do there?"
"It's not 'do,' so much as 'see,'" she said.
Chase smirked. "Fine. What are we going to see there?" He questioned again.
"You'll see," she answered coyly.
In no time, they were parking by Town Hall. After engaging the parking brake, both pups exited the car. Chase could see Skye more clearly now, illuminated by the moonlight, giving her a pale silver color. She looked at him and giggled. "You ogle me a lot."
"Hard not too," Chase teased lightly. "You should be less pretty if you don't want me to stare."
"Come on, Herr Chase the Flirt, I've gotta show you something." She set a brisk pace, traversing the green space that surrounded the building and into the large shadow that it produced. Chase followed her through the dark, chuckling to himself and whistling a song by the Jonas Brothers. He realized soon, though, that Skye had disappeared. In the shadow behind the Town Hall he stood, looking about for the cockapoo.
"So you're a Sucker for me, huh?"He nearly jumped out of his fur when Skye whispered from behind him. She laughed softly, walking up beside him. "Here we are, love."
Chase looked around, still seeing nothing at all. "And…?"
Skye yipped quietly, turning her tag light on. Chase gasped when he saw it shine on the wall.
Graffiti. Town Hall was graffitied. Large pink, blue, red and purple bubble style words floated on the wall, spelling out 'Smash Me!' An artistic representation of Mayor Humdinger's smug face was below it on the background of a target. A painted crane swinging a wrecking ball completed the piece. A stylized STC was signed on it.
"What? Who?" Chase would've kept asking questions but he found a pair of nice smelling, soft, gentle paws on his muzzle. Skye had a naughty smile spread on her face.
"Before I answer those, remember when you said that you were tired of being the law?" Chase nodded, beginning to suspect where this was going. "Well, I get tired of it sometimes too, so," she gestured at the wall, paws leaving his mouth.
"You're STC?" He asked, then it dawned on him. "'Skye the Cockapoo.' I get it now." Her grin widened from ear to ear. "You know, I've been trying to figure out who's been doing this for ages because Mayor Goodway has been livid about her walls being 'defiled,'" he quoted with his paws. "I, at one point, thought it was Tomissen because of the one that said 'Bucket the Chicken!' Assuming STC meant 'Slay the Chicken,' I questioned him for two hours straight last week."
"Well, all the pups think it occasionally," she said breezily. "Anyway, what do you think?" She fluttered her eyes.
Chase sighed. "I must admit, I do like it, especially since it's been clean. But why do you do it?"
She shrugged. "Because it's fun, and I get bored. You gonna turn me in?" Chase thought for a bit, then smiled slyly.
"I don't think I will."
"Why not?" She asked softly.
"Because I'm not a hypocrite. Anyway, this isn't doing any real harm, unlike my street racing almost did."
She nuzzled him. "I don't blame you for earlier, and I won't report you or Zuma. I'm sorry I reacted like how I did."
Chase hugged her. "I'm sorry I lied. I'm done with the street racing for good."
She chuckled. "That's probably a good idea. But if you ever need to let out any stress…" she nodded to the art.
Chase had a sudden devious thought. "Well, we do have a date tomorrow night…" he hinted. They both smiled before kissing in the moonlight.
"Well this is… something." Ryder stood in front of Town Hall on Sunday morning. Mayor Goodway had called him over because someone had graffitied all over the front entryway. The mural showed a tiny eagle being chased by a giant rabbit, a pack of wolves howling at the full moon, two merpups, one brown, the other cream color, kissing, Harold in a pink dress looking extremely displeased, and Chickaletta in a bucket inscribe 'Kentucky Fried Chicken.'
Who did it and why it was done was a mystery to Ryder, but he actually kinda liked it. He chuckled when he heard the mayor complaining on the phone. He ambled off in her direction, hands in his pockets.
He never saw the signature beneath the merpups.
CxS
A grumpy Dachshund sat in a leather office chair behind his mahogany desk. He was brooding over his money he'd lost two days ago.
A knock came at his door.
"What do ya want? Is it about Tristan?"
"Yeah boss, it is," came a deep, muffled reply.
"Then what in Dog's name are ya waitin' for, chowder heads? An invitation? Maybe an RSVP?" Tony barked.
The door opened and a pit bull and a Rottweiler entered. They stood in front of his desk. Tony spun to face the shorter one first.
"Go ahead, Cujo. What's the latest, huh? Gimme the tittle-tattle."
"We got reports 'bout those pups leavin' town south. They left in that snazzy racer and a fire truck."
"Wait. A fire truck? Like 'choo choo, chugga chugga, big red sprinkler with wheels?'"
The Rottweiler produced a photo of a moonlit parking lot, setting it on the desk. Di Capelli leaned forward, examining it. Two cars idled there; a blue sports car and a fire engine. A Dalmatian and a Labrador conversed, while a German Shepard and a Cockapoo lay gazing at each other from opposite sides of the blue car's hood.
"Lookie, lookie! Tristan and his babe havin' a moment. Ya did good, chumps. Cujo, go and see what else ya can dig up, and more than bones, please. And Kieth," Tony smacked his forehead. "Would it kill ya to change the name? Slaughterboy or The Ripper. Maybe Reaper of Dogs? Whatever! Just go an' do more… eh, stuff." They both nodded and left, door clicking shut behind them.
Tony grabbed the photo, left his chair and walked to a board on the wall. He tacked it up beneath a shot of Tristan and that new guy… uh, Phyllo? Pillow? Whatever! The Dalmatian! Also displayed were photos of the cockapoo, Lance, and the sports car. Another paper said 'who's the boss?' and was connected to all the pups' pictures.
"Hmm… who are ya really, Tristan Shepard?"