The Calling of

theProtectors

The Legend of Chief

Louis Paul DeGrado

THE CALLING OF THE PROTECT ORS

THE LEGEND OF CHIEF

Copyright © 2016 Louis Paul DeGrado.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-8811-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-8812-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-8813-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016902109

iUniverse rev. date: 2/9/2016

Contents

Chapter 1: The Dawn Patrol

Chapter 2: A Saucy Chase

Chapter 3: The Smallest One of the Bunch

Chapter 4: Power Sliding

Chapter 5: A Canary Told Me

Chapter 6: Never Try; Never Fail

Chapter 7: Paggs’s Pad

Chapter 8: Hide-and-Seek

Chapter 9: Bragar’s Diabolical Deeds

Chapter 10: Battle

Chapter 11: The Rat, the Lab, and Stealth

Chapter 12: Despicable Acts and Desperate Times

Chapter 13: The Calling

Chapter 14: A Tale of Tails

Chapter 15: Bravery

Chapter 16: Yes, Sergeant Major Carl

Chapter 17: Fabulous Little Friend

Chapter 18: A Protector Is Born

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Make a Difference

Chapter 1

The Dawn Patrol

C hief crouched in the predawn hours, ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble. He was out before any of the guests would awaken. He scanned the concrete sidewalks and pathways of the Dollar Inn, the three-story motel he guarded, and listened for scratching or scurrying sounds. He sniffed the odors of cigarettes, day-old microwave dinners, damp laundry, and sweaty socks. One smell previously on the menu was missing: the wet, hairy stink of rat.

He approached the corner that led to an alley between the buildings. His heart beat rapidly, and his tail flicked back and forth, keeping time until the moment arrived. He jumped around the corner to surprise his prey. But …

Nothing! Chief said to no one in particular. He knew that people couldn’t understand what he was saying anyway. Sam seemed to understand him more than anyone, though, and would follow him if Chief indicated the need.

His lean muscles flexed and worked in harmony as he continued his patrol route and ran up the staircase; he would start at the top row of rooms and work his way down. He reached the third floor and ran down the halls checking for anything out of place. He stopped at a vacant room and peeked inside. Nothing.

Instinct overtook him as he raced forward, examining each of the three levels of the motel. Then he went back to the alley, checking each Dumpster and crawl space along the way. Senses beyond sight and hearing, those of the mind and inner sight, reached out in front of him like sonar guiding his lightning-like moves. They were the senses of the Protectors, those who were called to protect humans against all that is evil.

After running around for hours, he stopped at the doorway of the only place he hadn’t checked—the basement. His nose twitched at the smell of moldy, dusty air coming up the stairwell. He looked back. At one time, his owner, Sam, would have been right there to back him up, and every patrol would have been a fight. Now all was clear. It had been that way for months, as Chief had driven all the vermin off the property.

Chief casually trotted down the steps. How rats can live in such places is beyond me, he thought. Sam had said the owner was coming by today, so Chief was going to be thorough about this and make sure nothing was out of place.

Suddenly, Chief stopped in his tracks. The hair on his tail thickened and stood on end, making his tail look twice as big. He pointed his ears forward and peered out across the distance, noticing something new. Humph, he said, relaxing his stance. Someone put a water jug down here. He continued down the stairs toward the jug. He recognized it as a replacement for the water dispenser in the lobby.

Okay, tough guy, want some of this? Chief flexed his front claws and bared his teeth. You weren’t around when I took care of those rats down here—were you, tough guy? They don’t call this the Bronx for nothing. You gotta be tough to hang down here.

The water jug didn’t reply as Chief kept his eyes fixed on it. He could make out his reflection in the water as he approached. He reflected back to a time when the place hadn’t been safe, remembering the day he’d scared the rats away.

Chief had hissed and jumped high, dodging a shadowy attacker. He’d flung his right paw across his body, followed by his left as he’d rolled and came back to his feet. Pearly white teeth had flickered in the single phosphorus bulb that had remained on in the four-bulb fixture.

Not so fast, he’d called out as he’d jumped across the landing in front of the stairwell. He’d turned, teeth bared, and pounced on the invisible attackers. Then he’d stepped back and put his right paw up. Tell all your friends, he’d said through his teeth while extending his claws, there’s a Protector in this motel, and this will be the last thing they see. He’d swiped his right paw across his front like a sword cutting through the air. That is, if they venture here.

Chief remembered the rats quivering in front of him. They hadn’t dared to move. "This is the last warning. Next time I see any of you, I’ll be cracking skulls. Now get!" The rats had scurried up the stairs, and Chief had taken a swipe just over the head of the last one, causing it to squeal and run over the rat in front of it in panic. One rat had gone down a drainpipe that Chief looked at now. Since then, Sam had capped the pipe so no rats could crawl up it.

Nothing here now, Chief said, but a bunch of boxes. And you. He pounced, landing directly in front of the water jug. I guess I’ll let you live. He started walking away and then swung back around, admiring his profile in the reflection.

Chief? Sam called, his voice traveling across the parking lot and down the steps. Chief headed outside and ran back to the small single-bed room he and Sam called home. The sun had risen, and as Chief approached, he recognized the fancy black sedan parked alongside Sam’s rusty faded-green pickup truck as that of Bill Ryan, the owner of the motel.

Ah, there you are, Sam said, patting Chief on the head as he entered the apartment. Chief rubbed up against his leg. This boy’s always hard at work, Mr. Ryan, Sam said from under a raggedy brown felt cap in which he shoved the mats of his curly black hair. His thick shoulders and callous hands were that of a working man. He stood nearly six feet tall. His small brown eyes looked about sharply but were often aimed at the floor.

Chief looked at Mr. Ryan, his blue suit, city shoes, and thin necktie. He thought the tie would be fun to play with.

Sam, that’s exactly what I’m here to talk to you about, Mr. Ryan said. You and that cat have done wonders for this place. And that’s no easy task down here in the slums.

Mr. Ryan waved his hand, motioning for Sam to follow, and looked outside the large single window. The curious thing is since you fixed up the place and had your cat drive out all the mice and rats, we’ve enjoyed a better clientele. And we made the environmentalists happy because we used what they would call a ‘green’ alternative to poisons and traps.

Environmentalists? Sam rubbed his chin.

Don’t worry about that right now.

Mr. Ryan reached into his suit pocket and pulled out two cigars. He handed one to Sam. He patted his pants pockets, checked his coat, laughed, and then looked at Sam. I guess I forgot my lighter. I don’t suppose you have some matches?

Chief don’t like it when I smoke, Sam said.

Chief’s ears perked up, and he stared at Mr. Ryan, who looked at him and smiled.

Well, that’s probably better for the both of us. He put the cigar back in his pocket. He’s a smart cat.

Thank you, Mr. Ryan, Sam said, peeking out from under his cap. My boy Chief is as tough as they come. Chief purred a little as Sam patted him on the head.

That’s why I think you and that cat of yours deserve a promotion, Sam. Mr. Ryan looked directly at Sam, whose mouth stood wide open, revealing two broken teeth. That’s right. I have a new apartment building uptown, and, well, I have some problems. Wires are shorting out, stuff’s missing in the basement, and people are reporting noises in the walls.

Sounds like rats to me, Sam said. Chief walked over and curled up on an old towel he used for a bed.

The building wasn’t cheap to build. It’s in a nice part of town, a part where people don’t expect there to be rodents. We charge a higher rent and have clients that live there on a permanent basis. If I can’t keep it occupied, I can’t pay for the costs. Today is a new age, and folks are turning back the clocks, looking for more environmentally friendly, down-to-earth ways to handle stuff. Exterminators, poisons, and traps just won’t do. How would you and Chief like to move to a better place?

Chief lifted his head, and his ears perked up.

Sam removed his hat, scratched his head, and looked over at Chief. We’re pretty comfortable here, Mr. Ryan. I couldn’t afford no rent uptown.

Mr. Ryan laughed and patted Sam on the shoulder. You’d have your own apartment, Sam, two bedrooms that are bigger than this room, rent-free, and an office that would read ‘Maintenance Man.’ He gestured widely in front of Sam, outlining the imaginary sign. I can’t very well keep you at the same salary if you’re going to be the maintenance man at a classy, new uptown apartment building, can I? Oh, and you’ll be carrying double your current salary. Whaddya say? He put his hand out in front of Sam. Job starts tomorrow if you accept.

Chief got up, went over to Sam, and rubbed against his leg. He thought it would be great to explore somewhere new. Sam seemed to get the message and shook Mr. Ryan’s hand, saying, I guess the Chief here thinks it’s a good idea. Thank you, sir, thank you.

He’s a Siberian breed, isn’t he? Bill Ryan said. I can tell by the muscular tone and size.

I don’t know much about that, Sam said. Found him wandering about as a kitten, and we’ve been together since.

Well, he’s quite a prize. They’re known to be good hunters. My wife’s a cat fan and has a Persian herself. I would prefer a good guard dog, but that’s hard when you live in the city. Now, we’ve made some modifications to the complex; there are pet doors in the storage rooms and select apartments to accommodate the cat’s patrolling. You’ll be in one of three buildings on site. Report to Ms. Sorenson tomorrow, Bill Ryan said. She’s the manager of the complex. He raised one eyebrow and nodded. She’s a stickler for procedures and rules and a little particular about details, but you two should get along fine. See you, Chief. Mr. Ryan saluted with two fingers in Chief’s direction and left the apartment.

Chief heard the large engine of Mr. Ryan’s car start and pull away.

Did you hear that, boy? Sam said, whistling through his two broken front teeth. We’re going to the big time. He went to the refrigerator and opened the door. Chief jumped on the table and went to his place where Sam fed him.

Sam took out a can of cat food, popped it open with his knife, and poured half of it into a bowl. Then he smiled at Chief, winked, and poured the rest. No limits tonight. He pushed the bowl in front of Chief and took a seat at the table. He reached down and stroked the yellow-and-orange stripes on Chief’s back as Chief ate.

This will keep you strong, boy. You and me, we’re a team. That’s what we are. No more cleaning bathrooms and laundries for Sam. No, I’m gonna hire someone to do that. That’s right. Sam sat back in his chair, crossing his hands behind his neck. He grinned, showing several fillings among the teeth that remained. Maintenance man—that’s what Mr. Ryan called me.

Chief ate half of the food and then stepped away. What is it, boy? Sam asked. Chief licked his paws and groomed his face. Oh, that’s right. Don’t want to get too full. Lean and mean, that’s it, isn’t it? Chief continued his grooming ritual. Well, better start packing, Sam said and went outside.

Later, as Chief drifted off to sleep, he could hear Sam packing. He thought about where the move would take him but didn’t worry. He trusted that Sam would always be there for him.

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The next morning, Chief took one last lap around the three-story motel. The place remained free of any vermin. He didn’t bother going in the basement this time. Chief, Sam called in the distance, and Chief headed back to the apartment.

Chief ran around to the front of the motel and spotted Sam’s truck. In addition to the dents and peeling paint, the truck now bore all the possessions Sam had acquired over his thirty-seven years of life. The bed overflowed with multiple tools and toolboxes of all sizes, an old orange lounge chair, a table, a television, and Sam’s favorite lamp. Chief jumped in the passenger side, put his paws up on the dash, and looked over at Sam.

This is it, kid, Sam said. Our chance at the big life. Hold on.

The old engine sputtered to life, and with a puff of exhaust, the two headed down the road. Chief looked back and watched the motel fade into the past. It wasn’t long before he noticed changes. The road lacked potholes, and instead of being parked on the side of the road, cars lay neatly tucked away in garages. The homes were bigger with neatly trimmed lawns and painted fences, and the trash cans had lids. All the dogs in the neighborhood were fenced in, and those being walked had leashes.

Sam whistled a fast, happy tune, nodding in approval. Whoa, look how clean everything is, Sam said as the houses gave way to taller and taller buildings. He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, and looked down at it. This is the one. He pulled into the parking lot of a tall apartment complex and found a space at the front. Wow, Sam said. Must be fifteen stories tall, maybe more.

Sam parked the truck and opened the door. Chief jumped onto his lap and held his head high in the air. He sniffed. Fresh, he thought. He jumped down and turned back to Sam.

Stay close, Sam said, until we know what we’re dealing with here.

The two walked through the double doors into a lobby that was twice the size of the old motel’s lobby. There was a receiving counter, mailboxes, and a sharply dressed lady behind the desk. Chief looked at the lady in the gray suit and slacks and then at the counter. He didn’t see the bell he had been accustomed to seeing on the desk at the old motel. Several sets of eyes stared out from behind papers and magazines at Chief as he trotted alongside Sam, who introduced himself to the woman behind the counter. Chief took the opportunity to look around the lobby area.

All leather chairs and couches with wooden legs with no place for mice to hide. Good, he thought. He reached out with his senses. He heard the chattering of tenants and spotted some motion, mostly adults and no children. No scent of dogs or other pets. The lobby was well kept.

The sitting tenants were engaged in business, and those walking about moved with purpose, as though they had places to be. It looks organized, Chief thought.

Wait! His nose twitched as the smell of sanitizers and perfume gave way to something more distinct. Smoke! Chief jumped up on the counter where Sam waited, executing a perfectly balanced turn as he landed and pointed in the direction of the smell.

"What is it,