‘Nah,’ Lenny said after a few moments’ thought. ‘ ‘E couldn’t smell it with the mug over the top.’
‘I dunno, it’s pretty strong — peppermint.’
‘O.K., O.K. Let’s see what else we’ve got.’
The men rummaged through their pockets but came out with their hands empty. ‘Just a minute,’ one of them said and turned towards the Granada. He opened the driver’s door, reached across the front seat and delved into the glove compartment. He came out with a half-eaten bar of chocolate. ‘Keep it in there for the kids,’ he said self- consciously. ‘Keep the wrapper on so it don’t smell so much.’ He handed it to Lenny.
My mouth watered at the sight and I had to be firmly held back.
‘Fair enough. Let’s do it again.’ Lenny made sure the wrapping covered all the exposed end of the chocolate and placed it careful beneath a mug. The mug had a nasty-looking grease smear on its base.
The fourth man rejoined the betting and, once more, Lenny’s lightning hands went into action. Of course I made straight for the grease-smeared mug.
The chocolate was pulled from my mouth before it could be devoured, but Lenny was more generous with his praise. ‘I could make a fortune with this dog,’ he told the others, breaking off a tiny square of chocolate and popping it into my mouth. ‘ ‘E’s got brains, ‘e’s not as daft as ‘e looks.’ I bridled at this but the thought of more chocolate kept me sweet. ‘ ‘Ow’d you like to come back to Edenbridge with me, eh? Connie and the kids’ll love you. I could make a bomb out of some of the locals with you.’
‘That’s the Guv’s dog, ‘e won’t let you ‘ave it,’ the one called Ronald said.
‘ ‘E might. ‘E’s got two.’
‘Anyway, I still say it was only luck. No dog’s that clever.’
Lenny raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘You wanna’ see ‘im do it again?’
Ronald was a bit more reluctant this time and the sound of a car pulling into the yard saved him from deciding whether to risk another pound or not. A sleek Jaguar stopped behind the Granada and the Guvnor stepped out; he changed his cars with more frequency than most people checked their tyres. He wore a heavy sheepskin coat and, of course, a fat cigar jutted comfortably from his mouth. The men greeted him with a friendliness born out of respect more than liking.
‘What you lot up to?’ He stuck his hands deep into his coat pockets as he swaggered his way round the Jag to the group.
‘Just ‘avin’ a game with the dog ‘ere, Guv,’ said Lenny.
‘Yeah, it’s a clever little bugger,’ said one of the others.
Lenny seemed hesitant to tell the Guvnor just how clever he thought I was; plans for me were beginning to grow in his mind, I think.
‘Nah, it could never do it again, never in a thousand years,’ Ronald piped up.
‘Do what, Ron?’ the Guvnor asked affably.
‘Lenny’s done ‘is ball-and-cones trick and the dog’s guessed right every time,’ another of the men said.
‘Do me a favour!’ the Guvnor scoffed.
‘Nah, straight,’ Lenny said, the thought of making some more instant cash overriding his future money- making plans.
‘It must ‘ave been a fluke. Dog’s ain’t that bright.’
‘That’s what I said, Guv,’ Ronald chimed in.
‘Yeah, and you lost your money, didn’t you, my son,’ Lenny grinned.
‘ Ow much you made so far, Lenny?’
‘ ‘Er, let’s see, Guv. Eight pounds in all.’
‘All right. Eight more says it don’t do it again.’ He had style, the Guvnor.
Lenny hesitated for only a second. He chuckled and went down to the mugs again. ‘Now then, boy, I’m relyin’ on you. Don’t let me down.’ He looked at me meaningfully. For myself, I was enjoying the game; I liked pleasing this man, I liked him knowing I was no ordinary dog. I wasn’t really grovelling for titbits. I was earning them.
Lenny shuffled the cups, even faster than before under the Guvnor’s level gaze, but this time he’d placed the chocolate beneath the mug without the grease smear. He finished his intricate hand movements and looked up at the Guvnor. ‘O.K.?’ he asked.
The Guvnor nodded and Lenny looked across at me. ‘O.K., boy, do your stuff.’
And at that moment Rumbo trotted into the yard.
Curiosity drew him over to the group, and when he saw me being held by the collar and the twin mugs set on the ground before me, he screwed up his brow in a puzzled frown. In an instant he had guessed a trick was being performed for the benefit of the men and I, his protege, the mutt he had taken under his wing, the scruff in which he had tried to instil some dignity, was the star performer. Rising shame burnt my ears and I hung my head. I looked dolefully up at Rumbo, but he just stood there, his disgust apparent.
‘Come on, boy,’ Lenny urged. ‘Get the chocolate. Come on!’
My tail drooped: I had let Rumbo down. He’d always taught me to be my own dog, never become a pet of man, never become inferior to them; and here I was, like some circus animal, performing tricks for their entertainment. I stepped towards the mugs, kicked the empty one over with a paw and trotted away in search of a dark hole in which to bury myself.
Lenny threw his hands up in the air in disgust and the Guvnor chuckled. Ronald, chortling loudly, stooped and picked up the Guvnor’s winnings and handed them to him. As I disappeared round the corner of the hut, I heard the Guvnor say: ‘I told you it was a fluke. Yeah — fluke. That’s a good name for ‘im. ‘Ey, Georgie,’ he called out to one of the yard workers. ‘Get the pup’s collar and put its name on it. Fluke! Yeah, that’s good!’ He was pleased with himself: the money meant nothing, but the scene had made him look good. He was making the most of it. I could still hear him chuckling as he unlocked the office door and the group of men disappeared through it.
So, I had a proper name. And like I say, it was appropriate: Fluke by name, fluke by nature.
Ten
Rumbo never mentioned that incident again. He was a little distant with me for a few days afterwards, but my final action had at least saved me some grace and, because of our need for each other (which Rumbo himself would never have admitted), we were soon back to our old relationship.
Lenny had lost interest in me, his plans for making money out of me dashed by my contrariness. Apart from a rueful grin now and again, he really didn’t take much notice of me anymore when he came into the yard. The breaker called Georgie took my collar from me and returned it later. Rumbo told me there were scratch marks on the small metal nameplate and I assumed ‘FLUKE’ had been inscribed there. Anyway, that was what they called me in the yard now, and so did the people who petted me in the street once they’d looked at the collar. I was thankful I was no longer known as Horace.
The winter froze on and times for Rumbo and me got leaner. We still made our daily trips to the fruit-market, but our pickings in the shopping-zones had become increasingly more hazardous. The shopkeepers now knew us by sight and would chase us away as soon as we came sniffing around: the cold weather made the housewives more guarded, less friendly. I was fast losing my puppy cuteness (I suppose I was around seven or eight months old by then), and people are less inclined to stop and stroke a gangly mongrel than a plump, furry bundle, so I had become next to useless as a decoy for Rumbo. However, the hardship made us more cunning, swifter in our attacks, and more resourceful in our methods.
A wild dash through a supermarket usually proved fruitful, provided there was a clear exit. One of us would knock stacks of cans over or generally cause a disturbance while the other would sneak in and grab the nearest edible item at hand. That was always very exciting. A romp around a school playground at lunchtime would inevitably yield a sandwich or two, or perhaps an apple or some chocolate. The pandemonium was lovely. A visit to the local street-market never failed to bring us replenishment for our greedy stomachs. The threats and curses our thieving from there caused was, nevertheless, a little alarming. Moreover, we had become too adventurous, and that led to our downfall.
One day Rumbo and I had marched boldly into a backyard, encouraged by our noses which had been enticed by delicious cooking smells. An open doorway stood before us and steam billowed out from within; we were at the
