Lemour arrested me as I unlocked my front door Friday afternoon. He flung me against the stone railing and yanked my purse from my shoulder. A Du Page County deputy sheriff who was with him tried to calm him down and was thrust roughly aside.

When Lemour had the cuffs locked, he flashed a warrant under my nose for the arrest of one Victoria Iphigenia Warshawski, acting upon information and belief that she did unlawfully and without the permission of the parents seize and hold against his will Robert Durant Baladine, a minor child not her own.

Mr. Contreras erupted with the dogs. Mitch broke away from him and launched himself at Lemour. The detective punched his head. Mitch yelped and huddled on the ground. Lemour started to kick him, but I threw myself between his foot and the dog. We went over in a heap of leash, detective and me, with Peppy joining in to mew worriedly at her son.

“That’s it, Warshki,” Lemour panted from the pavement. “I’m adding resisting arrest to the kidnapping charge. You’ll be lucky if you’re home in time for Christmas. And I’ll have this dog put to sleep for assaulting me.”

Homebound commuters began to crowd around to see what the show was. One young woman said she thought it took a lot of nerve to beat a dog and then threaten to put it to sleep.

“He’s obviously perfectly friendly and he’s on a leash, aren’t you, good doggy.” She scratched his ears, carefully avoiding looking at me.

“Shut the hell up unless you want to be arrested for interfering with the police,” Lemour said savagely.

She backed away as the sheriff’s deputy once more muttered an ineffectual intervention.

My hands were cuffed behind me. I’d fallen hard on my side and lay there on the walk, the wind knocked out of me, my right cheek smarting from grazing the concrete. Mitch climbed to his feet and shook himself like a boxer who’s taken a bad blow but is ready to go back in the ring. Peppy licked him anxiously. He’s a big ugly dog, half black Lab, half golden Peppy, and I’ve never been crazy about him, but right now his attempts to grin, wag his tail, show there were no hard feelings, made my eyes smart.

I rolled forward onto my knees. Mr. Contreras anxiously helped me up, keeping one eye on Lemour, who was brushing concrete crumbs from his suit, his face patchy–red with rage. When he got to his feet the dogs started toward him.