Tucker

by Dale Mayer

  “And never did pretty matter to you before,” she said. Once again she shot him a long look. He pointed at the highway and said, “Keep your attention on the road. You’ll have lots of time to stare at my scars later.”

  She shook her head. “See? You were always like that,” she said. “Even if there weren’t any scars, you’d say that.”

  “Well, the scars are there,” he said. “No doubt about it. I’m no poster boy.”

  “You are, though,” she said. “You’re a poster boy for courage and bravery.”

  “I don’t think anybody gives a shit,” he said. “The world’s very much about me, me, me.”

  “I’m sorry you see it that way,” she said. “Because we haven’t been through your experiences, it doesn’t seem the same for us.”

  “I wonder,” he said. “Your soon-to-be husband might have a different take on that.”

  “He might,” she admitted. “I’m glad you came for the wedding,” she said impulsively.

  “Well, I’m combining it with another trip too,” he said. She raised her eyebrows. He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m here to also help a War Dog,” he said.

  “But we’ll still see you in Saint Pete’s Beach tomorrow?” she asked. When he nodded, she added, “I’m just so glad that you survived all of it and that you’re here,” she said.

  “Well, I wouldn’t miss my only sister’s wedding, particularly when she has no other family.”

  “And I appreciate that,” Molly said mistily. “And you’re still okay to walk me down the aisle?”

  “That too,” he said, wincing ever-so-slightly.

  “You don’t have a suit, do you?”

  He looked at her and frowned. “I thought I could rent one today.”

  She snorted. “On such short notice? I’m not sure that you can,” she said, “and I highly doubt any suit you rent will look any good.”

  “I’m not that hard to fit. I still take a standard forty-two long off the shelf,” he said.

  She hesitated and then shrugged. “As long as you show up on time,” she said, “I’m fine with whatever.”

  “Meaning, I could show up in Hawaiian shorts and a big T-shirt?”

  “Please don’t,” she said with a wince.

  He laughed. “Okay, I’ll try not to.”

  She gave him a weepy smile. “It’s really good to see you.”

  “Hey, stop the maudlin theatrics,” he teased, “and I appreciate the ride.”

  “I wanted to spend more time here with you,” she said, “but just so much has to be done right now.”

  “You’re getting married in two days,” he said. “You know that you’re expected to be rushed off your feet, but you’re supposed to have a lot of help for it.”

  “I have help,” she said dismissively, “but I wouldn’t let anybody else pick up my brother.”

  He smiled at her. “And, once again, I appreciate the ride.” They pulled into the hotel he had booked.

  She looked at him and said, “You know you could stay with us in Saint Pete’s.”

  “I could,” he said cheerfully, “but I can’t deal with the dog here in Miami that way.”

  “I don’t understand the dog part,” she said, “but I’m grateful that you’re here. I was afraid you would find an excuse not to come.”

  He winced at that because, of course, he had been half planning that. Only as the dog came to the forefront did he decide to grab the late flight to Florida. He’d been waffling over it the whole time. He hated to let her down, but he didn’t like crowds and particularly not weddings. As he grabbed his bag that he had kept on his lap, she looked at it and frowned. He said, “It’s fine. I’ll go shopping, and I’ll rent a suit this afternoon.”

  She looked at him, grinned, and said, “Everything at the last minute, huh?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve needed a suit for the last few years.”

  Her smile fell away. “And it wouldn’t fit anyway, would it?”

  “Nope, sure wouldn’t,” he said. “I’ll rent a vehicle, rent a suit, and I’ll be at St. Pete’s Beach tomorrow afternoon in time for the rehearsal and afterward the dinner.”

  With that, he hopped out, lifted his hand to wave, and walked into the hotel. He registered and then asked about a rental vehicle. Thankfully the hotel had arrangements with one of the big local companies, and he quickly arranged for a small truck. If he freed the dog, he needed a way to carry it. The hotel itself wouldn’t let him take the dog inside. That was a concern. But he could do some legwork throughout today—both wedding-related and dog-related—stay here tonight and then hopefully figure out what to do after that to rescue the dog tomorrow. He walked up to his room, dropped his bag, quickly searched on his phone for a suit rental, realizing that his procrastination had caused him some last-minute issues.

  When he couldn’t find anything via a quick internet search, he headed back to the reception desk and asked someone there. The guy quickly sent Tucker down two blocks. As he walked into the store, everybody was friendly and happy, until he said he needed a suit in two days. At that, they stopped and looked at him in horror. He shrugged and said, “If you can’t help me, I’ll find somebody who can.” He added, “I don’t need anything but a black suit.”

  Apparently asking for that was akin to asking for a full-on tux. But thankfully that wasn’t the requirement for this wedding. His sister, although she wanted a nice wedding, hadn’t required all the stops being pulled out for it.

  By then the manager came out and said, “Let’s see if we have something in stock for you.”

  Sure enough, they did. And what could have been a horribly painful and difficult exercise was settled within an hour. They arranged to send the suit to his hotel, which was also good because then he didn’t have to pick it up and bring it back. With that taken care of, he carried on back to the hotel, where he asked for directions to a pet store and the pound holding the dog. With directions programed into his phone, he headed out to the rental car area, picked up his truck, and drove to the pet store, just for food and treats. He didn’t take long, as he wanted to get to the pound as soon as possible.

  It had a large parking lot and was one of those depressing cement buildings. He stared and frowned. “Talk about a lousy place for a War Dog to end up.”

  He walked inside and approached the woman at the front desk. She looked up at him with a frown. He smiled nicely and said that he was inquiring after the War Dog.

  “Ah,” she said, “you mean, that shepherd cross.”

  “Yeah, that shepherd cross, who’s won several awards for her bravery in defending our heroes and saving military lives,” he said quietly.

  She flushed ever-so-slightly.

  He realized he was taking his ire out on the wrong person. “Where is she?”

  “She’s in the back,” she said, but she hesitated.

  “I’d like to see her,” he said firmly.

  Again she hesitated.

  “Are you telling me that she’s not allowed to have visitors? Even prisoners on death row are allowed visitors.”

  “I just know that this case is being put to sleep,” she said.

  “Which is exactly why she should be allowed visitors and exactly why we are working hard to get a stay order on her being killed.”

  “That just extends our expenses to keep her alive,” she muttered.

  “Meaning?”

  “The bill to release her will be high.”

  He stared at her. “Are you telling me that a dog who risked her life and saved several soldiers many times over isn’t entitled to a fair deal?”

  She didn’t know what to say to that. She got up and hurried into the back office. She returned, following a big strapping male with a huge beer gut on him. He looped his thumbs on his belt loops and said, “What do you want with the dog?”

  “First I must positively identify that she’s who we think she is,” he said, “and then I’ll pull a DNA swab from her and get it match
ed to the bite,” he said.

  “The victim already has refused that,” he said.

  “Good, I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “We’ll see what she says to me when I talk to her.”

  Immediately the man frowned. “I can’t have you harassing her.”

  “I’m sorry. Did you imply that I would harass somebody?” he asked sharply. “Did I, at any point, say that this woman would deal with something like that?”

  “Hey, now, let’s just get along here,” he said. “We’re just following orders here.”

  “Good,” he said. “Then you’ll follow US Navy Commander Cross’s order right now, which will allow me to see the dog and to confirm identity,” he said.

  “Do you have something in writing?”

  “Do I need it?” he asked in astonishment. “Are you seriously telling me that I can’t get in there and confirm who she is? Abuse of animals is a federal crime. Are you not aware of this?”

  He just looked from him to the receptionist and back again, and then the manager shrugged. “I guess there’s no problem in letting him see her.”

  “Thank you,” he said with exaggerated politeness. He followed the man through a double door to the back of a long hallway, where cages were stacked upon each other. Just seeing the animals caged like this made his heart hurt. He knew most of them would be put to sleep within the week. He just couldn’t imagine how a country that was so great and so huge and so wealthy hadn’t found a way to solve the lost and abandoned animal problem without trying to kill every single one of them.

  As he stepped down the hallway to the second-to-last cage, he saw a large Malinois-shepherd cross curled into the corner, but her eyes were bright and glistening, and her ears were up. She watched every movement the manager made. She stopped, looked at Tucker for a brief second, and then dismissed him, before narrowing her gaze back on the gatekeeper.

  Tucker almost felt insulted by that and then realized that she didn’t consider him a threat, whereas the gatekeeper was a known threat. “So how badly have you treated her?” he asked quietly.

  The manager flushed with anger. “I haven’t treated her badly at all,” he said. “Why would you even say that?”

  “Because of the way she’s watching you. She knows you as a threat, somebody who’s already caused her a lot of pain.” Tucker texted Badger. Need K9 military trainer ASAP here at the pound. Got anybody local? “You will see my navy rep soon on this matter. No more mistreatment of animals will be allowed here by you. And I’ll alert the other animal shelters, your local government, including the mayor and the governor.” Tucker tilted his head. “Naming you specifically.”

  He flushed again. “She wasn’t cooperative,” he blustered. “We had trouble getting her in the cage.”

  “And you wonder why?” Tucker said, shaking his head. “I need to find out how she ended up at this woman’s house in the first place.”

  “The family adopted her, but they didn’t have any idea that she would be a danger to the daughter.”

  “I want to see your file and the daughter’s statement.”

  The beer-belly guy looked shock. “She told me. Verbally.”

  “Are you a profit or nonprofit organization here?”

  The manager’s eyes went wide.

  “Do you have no idea about the records you are required by law to keep in relation to each and every animal that comes through this shelter?”

  “Well, uh, …”

  “Obviously not. I’ll be reporting you on that issue as well.”

  He stammered about and then finally found his voice. “But her parents took off and left the dog with the daughter.”

  Tucker stared at the sad excuse of a human being and said, “There are strict rules and restrictions for adopting War Dogs.”

  “You take that up with them,” he said. “They left the dog with the daughter, but the daughter couldn’t handle her.”

  “There’s no handling required of a well-trained War Dog, other than food, water, shelter, and love,” he said. “Unless the daughter did something to hurt the dog. In which case it doesn’t matter if it’s a War Dog or any dog, dogs under attack will defend themselves.”

  “Anyway,” the gatekeeper took a step back and said, “there she is.”

  “I’d like to inspect her, please.”

  “What good will that do?”

  “She’s microchipped,” he said, once again with that same exaggerated patience in his voice, “as anybody with any knowledge of most dogs would be aware of.” In the meantime, he saw the look in the dog’s eyes, one of broken trust and fear. “It’s okay, girl. The bad man won’t hurt you again.” Tucker glared at the abuser.

  The manager hesitated. “Well, it’s your neck,” he said. “If she bites you, it just gives me a better reason for putting her down.”

  With the cage open, Tucker waited for the manager to step back. Tucker stepped inside the cage and closed it and then stood and waited for the manager to leave.

  The manager hesitated, and then he shrugged and said, “Hell, if she rips you apart, makes it even easier too.”

  “She won’t,” he said with complete confidence, “because I don’t abuse animals.” Then he turned to sit down at the corner opposite Bernie and said, “Hello, girl. It’s been a pretty tough ride these last few months, hasn’t it?”

  Addie Rottenheim walked into the living room and looked at her sister, Bernie. “What’s the matter now?” Addie asked in exasperation. Her sister lifted a languid hand and brushed back a few tendrils of hair from her forehead. “I’ve got a headache,” she said.

  “You’ve got a headache from the mess you caused,” Addie snapped. “What were you thinking?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” she said. “That dog’s a menace.”

  “That dog never hurt a fly,” she said. “I’m not even sure how the hell you got her to bite you. You must have been intentionally cruel to Bernie. This has got to stop.”

  “I hate that dog,” she said. “Better that it’s long gone. I wish they’d already killed it.”

  “And I never understood that about you,” she said, staring at her younger sister with loathing. “Why would you hurt an animal like that?”

  “I’m not hurting it,” she said waspishly. “She needs to be put down.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because she’s a danger, and I proved it,” she said with a smirk.

  “So this all goes back to Mom and Dad getting it for you, and then you not wanting it, huh?”

  “They didn’t get it for me,” she protested, pouting.

  Addie shook her head. “You’re the one who convinced them that they should adopt this K9 dog because it had the same name as you. What did you think it would do? Come with a handsome soldier at the same time?” she said, staring at her sister. She never really understood what made her sister tick, and it seemed as soon as she did understand one little bit, something changed. “Or was that just because, at the time, you had a military boyfriend, and you thought he’d be impressed that you had a War Dog?”

  Her sister glared at her. “It has nothing to do with Ivan.”

  Addie rolled her eyes. “Right. Of course it doesn’t. It has everything to do with you. Always about you.”

  Bernie huffed in dismissal. “Besides, Mom and Dad wanted a dog. Remember?”

  “Sure they did, but they were looking for a chihuahua. And somehow you managed to convince them, like you always manage to convince them, to get something that you thought they should have. It’s called manipulation. That’s something else that you need to stop doing. To your own parents. To me.”

  “So what?” she said. “And now we know that that dog was a big mistake. It’s not my fault. They made their own decision,” she said with a sneer. “Everybody likes to blame me for everything,” she said, “but they’re the ones who made the decision.”

  “And they also make those decisions sometimes under pressure, under duress,” she said, glaring at her si
ster. “Bernie, you need help. Professional help.”

  Again Bernie just ignored that which she didn’t want to hear.

  Addie knew most of her tricks. Here, as usual, she changed tactics. It’s called diversion. Addie knew all the terms.

  “Well, it’s dangerous. They should have shot it weeks ago.”

  And, for that, Addie almost hated her sister. Bernie was a beautiful dog. She stared at her sister and said, “I want to see the bite. I can clean it for you. I am a nurse, you know? Plus we need to watch out for red striations up and down your leg, which are markers for infection. But don’t worry. I bet it’s not even bad.”

  “It is so,” she said. “Besides, it doesn’t matter how bad it is. The animal’s dangerous.”

  “Not if you’re the one who brought about the attack.”

  “I didn’t bring about any attack,” she said. “You’re always determined to think the worst of me.”

  “It’s not hard.” She shook her head, headed out to the kitchen where her purse was. “I’m leaving,” she said.

  “Wait, wait,” she said. “I don’t have anything for my headache.”

  “I guess you’ll have to get up and get it then, won’t you?” she said callously. And she stormed off, out the front door. She’d come over because their sister had been whining about being in extreme pain, and it hadn’t taken very long to realize that her sister was up to her usual games and just wanted somebody to coddle her. It was not a game that Addie played well. But then, with their parents gone on another trip, not too many people were available for Bernie to play her usual games with.

  At her car door, Addie stopped for a moment, taking several long deep breaths of fresh air. Her whole family struggled with Bernie. Something was definitely mentally wrong about her. She’d somehow ended up being the most selfish person Addie had ever met.

  At twenty-six, Bernie was so spoiled their parents didn’t know how to deal with her. It’s the reason they took all these long trips. To get away. They hated coming back, and, when they did, they immediately started planning the next one. Bernie had shown no sign of leaving the nest, so their parents left to get away from her. It was a terrible situation, and Addie had argued with Mom and Dad several times about it, but they were helpless because ultimately they still loved Bernie, even if she was the kind of person you didn’t like and didn’t want to have around.