Car Chase

“All dogs agree; the world must be going to hell if for the greater good a car must be left unchased.” - some mutt

The sun was cruel as it made furred things sweat and popsicles drip. It was so hot that the dog didn’t know whether to use his tongue for panting or to enjoy the popsicle that was quickly disappearing in his paw. Dressed in a brown trenchcoat, dark blue pants, and a black hat, the bloodhound detective spent his break fuming by the side of the road; thinking horrible thoughts about his boss. She always insisted, in that specific annoying tone of hers, that “employees should always look professional when on my time.” With the once-solid grape popsicle mushing around in his maw as he sweat furiously beside the quiet city street, Caesar Kynigos rolled around in his skull comebacks he could have slung at his boss, even though the time for such things had already passed.

And then the hit and run happened.

A horrible crunching sound. Cars always make a horrible crunching sound when they hit something. It’s unnatural. The sound made when such a mobile thing faces an obstacle. 

How awful that Caesar could hear every small detail of it.

The screech of tires. The deafening thud of impact. The screams as everyone bears witness to it. But nothing could compare to the ripping of flesh and shattering of bone. As sinew and tissue part ways and leave geysers of blood in their wake. As bones meant to last a lifetime crack and crumble after taking an attack that no living thing should ever suffer. And the splatter. What would stick with Caesar for the rest of his days was the near lifeless splat of the body hit the ground after being turned inside out by metal and flung into the air. Who was crueler? The car, the ground, or gravity itself?

Caesar had no time to ponder such things as he ran to the victim, letting his popsicle hit the ground as hard as his shoes slammed across the asphalt. When he reached them his nose was assaulted by the stench of blood and fumes of exhaust. With one arm he held the victim up, hoping to give them comfort. With his free hand, he fumbled for his phone and called for an ambulance, then for the police. And as he hung up, all that was left for him was a heavy air. People chattered nearby, clicking their phones, wondering how they could help. Some ran after the car even though it was clearly out of sight. 

Caesar’s car was nearby and he could see where the tire tracks lead. All the witnesses that he could question were present. Small pieces of the car were laid across the ground. As the first official unfortunate enough to grace this scene, Caesar had an abundance of detective work that could be conducted at that moment. Yet. He stayed by the side of an unconscious victim, hoping to give some feeling of safety to the abused body that lay in his arms. His duty as a detective was to deliver justice. But to support people. To hold them while their down. To give the hurt some semblance of safety. Didn’t that come first? 

White fur now covered in crimson. Eyes glazed out from the shock. An arm bent in ways it shouldn’t be and a leg that looked beyond repair. His face was young yet it was contorted from the burning agony; it was a snapshot of the accident, frozen on his face. 

A cat no older than 17, thought Caesar, far too young to go through something like this.

The hellish eternity condensed into 10 minutes ended when Caesar heard the first signs of help. As an ambulance sped the young adult away for help, two officers ran around in circles gathering as much information as possible. Blood soaked arm tucked in his trenchcoat pocket, Caesar was told to follow the ambulance to give the doctors a rundown of the tragedy. Caesar was happy he wasn’t in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. He didn’t know how much longer he could take hearing such haggard breathing.

Compared to the cruel sizzling heat outside, the hospital had the stall chill of a refrigerator. With patients coming in and out the hospital always had a subtle melody of suffering playing like a broken record. It perpetuated through the voices of nurses and beeping of monitors. Truly, hospitals were a place where the incessant symphony of agony never ceased to play dimly.

Stuck on the 5th-floor waiting room, Caesar didn’t know what he was waiting for. Was it his place to know the condition of the victim? Should that information only be given to the family? Caesar should be down in the city searching high and low for the driver. But his body was stuck to the seat. It felt like the universe was holding its breath. All Caesar wanted was a sigh of relief from the cosmos.

A few rooms down you’d find a weeping mother and trembling father getting the news first. Once again Caesar’s great hearing subjecting him to things he didn’t want to hear. Hospitals just aren’t good for dogs. Try as they may to dull their senses, the weeping, the suffering, the stall stench, and sickness that could be tasted through the air always got through. Caesar tried to do common courtesy and not eavesdrop but over the whimpering children and last breaths of elders, he heard a mother’s yelp. Caesar knew it was her because he’s met her when she crashed through the doors as he was giving the report. What could the doctor have said to make her yelp like that? Pain, confusion, denial, and anger was contained in her voice.

Caesar jumped out of the chair. He couldn’t stay any longer. He didn’t know the condition of the victim. Dead or alive? He didn’t want to know. All he knew was that at this moment a family needed a name. At this moment a family needed an explanation. At this moment a family needed Justice. And Caesar would deliver.

Hit and runs can take more than 10 days to solve. Caesar decided he’d track down the offender in 10 hours.

These hot dog days keep tracks warm. And the fire lit within Caesar’s soul made sure he wouldn’t dare let this case run cold.