Yeah, I noticed the car following me for the last 20 miles. I thought I could find a country road to throw them off, but instead I heard the car choking on its last few sips of gasoline. Pulling over, I ran into an apple orchard to escape.
The baying of the hounds confirmed what I had suspected. It was the Mad Dog's goons. When I ran out of orchard and faced a barbed-wire fence, I knew I scarcely had a chance to get out of this with my suit intact. Instead of risking a snag, I turned to face the approaching mob. It was my best $200 suit. It used to go out walking by itself and bring home dates for me.
The leader was Duke, The Dog's right hand man. The Dog trusted him implicitly. As loyal as he was, Duke had a small problem with time. He seemed to be perched out on some edge of it, looking in at us.
He held the dogwalkers back as the dogs strained on their leashes. He smiled coolly and addressed me. "So, Mr. Johnny Rumba, you can make this easy. You can avoid becoming dogfood, something I don't want to see before dinner."
Then he screwed up his face and snapped his head back and forth a couple of times. Just when I thought his face might collapse in on itself, his expression bloomed with the satisfaction of a man with a bright idea. "Rumba, if you find me a good apple, I'll let you go."
The thugs looked at askance at Duke, but were unused to challenging any statement by someone with the slightest bit of authority or intelligence.
I shrugged and picked up the nearest apple to my feet, one which seemed to have no visible bruises. I wouldn't know a good apple from Adam. I tossed it to Duke with an easy arc.
Duke peered at the apple briefly. "This apple's got shit on it, Rumba." He threw the apple back at me which I made no effort to catch. It rolled under the barbed-wire fence into the neighboring cow pasture, directly into a cowpie.
"Get em, boys." Satisfied, they uprooted their big, leaden feet allowing the pups to surge forward. I stood my ground and quickly gave myself after the first pup took the cuff out of my pantleg.
"Ok, Duke, no need to ruin this fine set of stitches."
"Who made this suit?"
"Vinnie Taylor. He ironed some sharp creases in my spiritual pants."
"Well, we're about to take the starch outta you, Rumba."
"I don't follow the thread, what does the Dog have against me?"
"He don't like the way you smell, Rumba. Since when did the Boss need a reason? Tie him up, fellas. I can't watch this."
"What's the matter Duke, got a sour stomach? Here, at least take the jacket."
He grudgingly took the coat and turned his back on the whole business, peering out at the orchard like he was looking for himself out there. The thugs tied me to a tree with colored leashes as best as they could. "All done, boss, one of them announced."
Duke's face contorted yet again and he stood on one foot, clawing at the air with hook-like hand movements. When he was done with the performance, he exploded at the thugs like an angry bird covering rocks with guano. "You let Rumba get away, you fucking idiots!"
A thug gestured at me, almost wordless. "Bu-bu-But he's right here, boss." He ineffectually thumped my chest.
"Oof. Yeah, I'm right here, Duke." I smiled.
"Spread out and find him," he shouted, and quickly shifting tones, said, "But first, you're it." He tagged the thug and ran off into the orchard. The dogs gave happy chase.
"Aww." He ran after Duke and then shifted to one of the slower thugs, who he tagged. The thug stood frozen. "Aww, nuts."