Unleashed

by David Rosenfelt

  Things were not going well, and to make matters worse, it was starting to rain.

  He debated whether or not to drive until he got cell service but decided not to. First, he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to identify the location when he got back. Second, the animal was fairly close to the road, and there was a chance, albeit remote, that another car could drive over it.

  So he stepped out into the road to flag down a passing car. In the steady rain it was somewhat dangerous, but the road wasn’t curved there, so Sam felt that oncoming drivers would have enough time to see him.

  Unfortunately, there weren’t many cars, maybe one or two a minute. The first six cars passed him by, barely slowing to avoid him, but the seventh slowed to a stop. By then the rain was coming down hard.

  He went to the passenger window, and when it opened he was surprised to see that the driver was a woman. She was at least sixty years old, and Sam wanted to tell her that she was nuts for stopping.

  “Car trouble?” she asked.

  He shook his head, which was by then soaked. “No, I hit an animal. It’s alive, and I was trying to call the police, but there’s no cell service.”

  “Oh…” she said, apparently upset on the animal’s behalf. She took out her phone and looked at it. “I’ve got two bars. Let me try.”

  And she did just that. He heard her tell the dispatcher that she was on the Canyon Road, three miles south of Kinnelon. She asked Sam his name, and told them that Sam would be waiting for their arrival. His nod confirmed that he would in fact be doing just that.

  When she got off the phone, she asked Sam if he wanted her to wait as well. The truth was that he did, because she seemed competent to handle anything that arose, but instead he thanked her profusely and sent her on her way.

  She was barely out of sight when he realized he had made a stupid mistake. He should have asked to use her phone to alert Barry to what had happened and explain that he would be late.

  It took almost fifteen minutes for the police to arrive, during which time the rain got even more intense. A single squad car pulled up, and two officers got out.

  “You Sam Willis?” one of them asked. Before Sam could even respond, he asked, “Where’s the dog?”

  “I’m not sure it’s a dog, but it’s over here. And it’s alive.”

  Sam led them to the spot, and the officers shined a flashlight on the wounded and drenched animal. Sam saw it and said, “It’s a dog.”

  The other officer frowned and said, “We’ll take it from here.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” he asked, afraid that they might shoot it on the spot.

  “There’s an animal emergency hospital about two miles up the road. That’s where it’s going.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Sam asked.

  “No,” he said, and then seemed to soften. “Don’t worry about it, pal. It’s dark here; you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  The incident had left him shaken, and the look on the dog’s face would stay with him for a while. Sam got back in his car. It was only about seven minutes from where he was to Barry’s house, and rather than call he decided to just drive there.

  It was an exclusive gated community, and a guard had to call Barry to get authorization for Sam to enter. Sam had gone through the same process the night before, at the party.

  Each house in the development was impressive, and Barry’s might have been the nicest of all. The previous night there had been valet parking for all the guests, but when Sam pulled up this time, only Denise Price was there to greet him. Shielding herself from the rain with an umbrella, she went to the passenger window, and he lowered it.

  “Hi, Sam. I’m sorry, but Barry asked me to tell you he couldn’t wait any longer and that he’d call you tomorrow.”

  “Damn. There was traffic on the highway, so I got off the road and wound up hitting a dog.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “He’s alive but hurt pretty bad. Anyway, please apologize to Barry for me.”

  “I’m sure he’ll understand,” she said. “Would you like to come in and dry off? Maybe have a cup of coffee?”

  He laughed. “I don’t think I’ll ever be dry again. But coffee sounds good.”

  “Come on in.” She looked in the backseat. “Your seat is all wet.” She opened the back door and wiped the seat down a bit.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “The advantage of buying plastic.”

  She laughed and closed the door. Sam got out of the car, looked up into the driving rain, and asked, “Barry’s flying in this?”

  She nodded. “He’s a very experienced flier.”

  “Good.”

  Mine is a simple life. I don’t clutter it with rules, and I refuse to be bound by rigid preset routines.

  Of course, there are certain things I do and others I don’t do. I think that in the last televised NFL game that I missed, the players wore leather helmets. I will never turn off a Seinfeld or Honeymooners rerun, and if Daniel Day-Lewis is in a movie, I’m there opening day.

  Conversely, I have never been to a ballet or an opera since someone was foolish enough to invent them, I will neither read a Russian novel nor eat their soup, and you couldn’t strap me into a chair to watch a soccer game.

  But there is one thing I do religiously, not because I’m obligated to but rather because it gives me immense enjoyment. I cannot remember the last day I didn’t take a walk with my golden retriever, Tara.

  I do it because I enjoy spending time alone with her; it clears my mind and lets me focus on that which is important. I also do it because she so obviously loves it, and it’s a pleasure to watch her.

  The only thing better than taking a walk, just Tara and me, is taking a walk, Tara, Laurie, and me. They are my two loves, and living under the same roof as them, and sharing walks with them, make every day the best one of my life. The only obvious exceptions to that are the two days that the Giants beat the Patriots in the Super Bowls.

  Laurie and Tara are waiting for me on the front porch when I get home. It’s only forty-five degrees and raining lightly, but they don’t seem to mind. Within ten minutes we’re ambling along in Eastside Park, near our home in Paterson.

  Once we get in the park, we take Tara off the leash. The leash is a device that I find demeaning to her, and not using it lets her roam at her pleasure, always remaining within our sight.

  The park is not well lit and is said to be dangerous at night, but I’m not worried because Laurie is with us. She’s a former Paterson cop turned private investigator, and between her and Tara, I’m protected enough.

  “Edna was working late tonight,” I say.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, not exactly working. She was in the office until past seven thirty, preparing for a crossword puzzle tournament.”

  “Wow,” she says. Then, “What were you doing in the office?”

  “Sam has a friend he wants me to take on as a client.”

  She shakes her head in amazement. “Edna working late and you having a client. It’s a strange world we live in.”

  “I told Sam no. I said I was retired.”

  She nods. “Order is restored.”

  “Maybe I should make it official. You know, close the office. That way I won’t be tempted to work.”

  “Are you tempted now?’

  “Not at all.”

  “The removal of nonexistent temptation doesn’t seem like it should be a priority.”

  “But that way people would stop trying to lure me back in.”

  “What about Edna?”

  “She’ll be fine; I’ll give her plenty of severance. And Hike has as much work as he wants.” Hike is the lawyer who works with me on the rare occasions that we have a case.

  She thinks about it for a moment. “Whatever makes you happy, Andy. It’s not like you’re working now anyway, so it won’t change your day-to-day life. You can focus on the foundation.”

  “Right.” She’s talking about the Tara Fo
undation, a dog rescue operation that Willie Miller, a former client, and I are partners in.

  “So what’s the downside?”

  “I’m not sure,” I say, since for some reason I’m not.

  “Let’s talk about it when I get back.”

  She says it casually, but it feels like a two-by-four hitting me on the head, even though I’m not sure exactly what a two-by-four is. I know it’s wood, but two feet by four feet? Two inches by four inches? Neither seems right.

  I had forgotten that she was leaving to spend two weeks in her hometown of Findlay, Wisconsin. It is something I’m dreading, since the last time she went back there she wound up taking a job as the local police chief, and it split us up for six months. Those were six long months.

  “Do you really need to go?”

  “No, I don’t need to, I want to,” she says. “I want to remain connected to my friends there. You know that.”

  “It could snow.”

  She nods. “Yes, there’s always that danger, scary as it is. So I’ll bring boots, and maybe even gloves.”

  “When are you going?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

  “Wednesday morning.”

  “I’ve got an idea; I meant to talk to you about it,” I say. “Let’s get married on Tuesday night. We’ve been putting it off long enough. And there’s no Knick game that night, which is God’s way of telling me that it’s the perfect time.”

  Laurie turns to Tara, who is busy sniffing her way through the park. “Tara, have you ever heard anything as beautiful as that?”

  Tara doesn’t say anything; she might well be too choked up to bark.

  “It’s every girl’s dream, Andy, but it might be a little spontaneous for me. Forty-eight hours isn’t much time to send out the invitations, rent the hall, plan the menu, get a dress … all that would take at least three days.”

  “Okay, you’re absolutely right, forget the wedding. Been there, done that. Let’s just go on a honeymoon instead. We’ll go south where it’s warm, lie on the beach, drink piña coladas with little umbrellas in them, do that thing where you sneak under that bar … what’s that called?”

  “Limbo.”

  “Right, limbo. I’m not sure if I told you, but I came in third in the state limbo finals in high school. I’ll teach you how to do it.”

  “So not Wisconsin?” she asks.

  “I’m not ruling it out, as long as they have sunny beaches, piña coladas, little umbrellas, and limbo.”

  “I don’t think Wisconsin is going to work. They don’t have any of that, especially in March,” she said.

  “I’m willing to be flexible,” I say. “The little umbrellas are not a deal breaker.”

  “I’m going to Wisconsin, Andy. But I’m not going to stay there this time. I’m coming home to you.”

  “That’s what you said last time.”

  She grabs my hand and says, “Come on. Let’s go home and you can give me a going-away present.”

  Barry Price did very well for himself. Sam had already known that, but sitting in his home, he realized it then more than ever. The previous night at the party, the large crowd of people seemed to prevent him from getting the full scope of the place. It was spectacular.

  So was Denise, who seemed to get better looking every time he saw her. Combined with smart and funny, as it was in her case, it formed a deadly combination. Being with her didn’t seem weird at all; it was like they picked up right where they left off, but without the making-out part.

  She seemed like she wanted to talk, and every time Sam mentioned something about leaving, she poured him another cup of coffee.

  At one point, she said, “It’s amazing how much time has passed, Sam. It’s like we knew each other in another lifetime.”

  “You were the first girl I kissed,” Sam said. “And I haven’t gotten any better at it since.”

  She laughed. “I doubt that’s true. And you taught me a lot.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, you taught me how to drink beer.”

  He smiled at the memory. “You were a quick learner.”

  She got up and went to the kitchen, but this time instead of coming back with more coffee, she brought two open bottles of beer. She handed him one, and they clicked bottles and toasted “old times.”

  There seemed to be a loneliness about her, but Sam could have been wrong about that. Judging women’s feelings was not really his specialty.

  A couple of times she made vague comments that led Sam to believe that all might not be perfect between her and Barry, which was far from a surprise.

  The previous night at the party, they had a rather public argument. It was over something insignificant—Sam thought it was about which wineglasses Denise was using—but even though it was a brief flare-up, it was uncomfortable for the guests.

  Altogether, Sam and Denise spent a couple of hours laughing about old times, which always seem a hell of a lot more fun than when they were new times.

  It was close to eleven o’clock when Sam finally stood up to leave. A moment later the doorbell rang, and Denise looked worried. “Who could that be?” she asked to no one in particular. Then, “Must be a neighbor. I didn’t buzz anyone through the gate.”

  Denise went to the door, and Sam was maybe twenty feet behind her. She opened it, and Sam thought he could see two men standing there, one in a suit and the other in a police uniform.

  They were talking softly; Sam couldn’t hear what they were saying. But suddenly Denise shrieked, a piercing sound that Sam instantly knew he would never forget. She then slumped to the floor, sobbing.

  Sam ran to her and, along with the two men, helped her to her feet and onto the couch. “What happened?” Sam asked, more of the men than of Denise, who was crying uncontrollably.

  The man in the suit answered, “Her husband’s plane crashed.”

  “Oh, damn,” Sam said. He wanted to ask if there was any chance that Barry had survived but didn’t want to do so in front of Denise. In any event, based on her reaction to what they had told her, it seemed highly unlikely.

  “Who are you?” the suit guy asked.

  “I’m a friend of hers and her husband … of Barry. We grew up together.”

  “Do they have family nearby?”

  Before Sam could answer, people started coming through the door. They must have been neighbors, and Sam figured they had heard Denise’s scream. A total of seven people arrived, and it was left to Sam to tell them what had happened.

  They immediately went to Denise to console her, though that seemed impossible at the moment.

  Sam felt like he had no role to play there; he clearly was not as close to Denise as the people who had come in. The guy in the suit went over to Denise on the couch and tried unsuccessfully to talk to her. He finally gave his card to one of the neighbors and said something to them that Sam couldn’t hear.

  So Sam decided to leave, wishing he could do more but realizing that he couldn’t. He got his coat from the hall closet and walked out without saying anything to anyone. As he got into his car, he saw that the two cops were leaving as well.

  The mind sometimes works in strange ways. It wasn’t until Sam was halfway home that he realized he was supposed to have been on that plane.

  “Andy, I’ve got to talk to you.” Through my sleep-induced haze, I recognize that it is Sam’s voice.

  “Sam, what time is it?”

  “Six o’clock. I’m sorry, but I’ve been up all night.”

  The stress in his voice is obvious, and I half sit up on one elbow. I can see Laurie do the same. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I almost died last night.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at your house,” he says.

  This is not making any sense. “What are you talking about? I’m at my house, and I don’t see you anywhere.”

  “I’m in your living room. I didn’t want to ring the bell and wake you up.”

  “I’ll meet you down
stairs,” I say. “Thanks for not waking me up.”

  I quickly update Laurie on the phone conversation, throw on some clothes, and go down to find out what’s going on with Sam. He’s sitting on the couch petting Tara, whose head is in his lap.

  “You should lock your door,” he says.

  “Not necessary,” I say, pointing to Tara, who seems annoyed that Sam has momentarily stopped petting her. “I’ve got a vicious guard dog.”

  Laurie comes down, and we go into the kitchen to get coffee. Sam tells us the entire story from the previous evening. It has clearly left him shaken, and I can’t say that I blame him. Just hitting a dog would be enough to freak me out. But after that he had a friend die, and then a kind of near-death experience that would be the emotional icing on my cake.

  I’m not quite sure why Sam is here this early in the morning; maybe he just needs someone to talk to, and he couldn’t wait.

  But that turns out not to be the case. “Andy, that dog saved my life.”

  “In a way.”

  “No, literally. If I hadn’t hit him and stopped, I would have been on that plane.”

  “I guess that’s true.”

  “Where is the dog now?” Laurie asks.

  “At a vet’s office near where it happened.”

  “How badly was he hurt?” I ask.

  “Pretty bad. I’m not sure if he made it.”

  I already have the car keys in my hand. “Only one way to find out.”

  We drive out to where Sam thought the accident had taken place, though he couldn’t be sure that he was right. “They said it was a couple of miles up this road,” he says, so we head in that direction. Sure enough, it’s on the left side, a small place called Williams Animal Hospital. A sign in the window advertises “Low-cost spaying and neutering,” and another reveals that they have a twenty-four-hour emergency staff on the premises. That is no doubt why the police brought the dog here.

  We go inside, and Sam explains to the receptionist that he had hit the dog, and we want to know its status. The young woman agreeably says that she will check with the veterinarian, and we wait while she goes in the back and does so.