Derailed

by Jackson Neta

  No rush? Ha! I was beginning to feel like I was riding a roller coaster. “Tell me, Gilson—Captain Gilson, that is.” I gave him a formal-looking face. “Are you aware of anyone who has actually disguised a drug detection K-9 as a guide dog?”

  “Never heard of it. But that’s its beauty, don’t ya think? It’ll take everyone by surprise.”

  “But can she do it? Corky, I mean. Can she do it?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who’s worked dogs before. But why not? It’s not like we’re asking her to become a dual-career animal. She doesn’t have to actually become a service dog, just look like one. Who’ll know whether she’s guidin’ you or you’re guidin’ her? I mean, you’re the key to the cover. If you look like a blind person, people’ll assume Corky’s your service dog. Right?”

  “So I’m the actor, huh?”

  “Well, yeah, but think of it this way, Harry, most people feel awkward around handicapped people and tend to avoid them. They expect them to be somewhat eccentric. All that favors your cover. Don’tcha see? You’ll be fine.”

  Now I’m the eccentric actor? “Okay, but do you think Corky can work with that stiff guide handle on her?”

  “Don’t see why not. We’re puttin’ K-9s in bulletproof vests these days, when necessary, and it doesn’t seem to hinder them. You gotta know I’ve been thinkin’ about this for a while. Even ordered one of those special harnesses with a stiff D-handle like blind people use. It’s with Corky’s gear, so don’t forget to take it with you. C’mon, let’s go see your partner.”

  I followed him to the kennel, and Corky recognized me the moment I came in the door and came bouncing over to me. I dropped down onto one knee and pulled her head into my chest, giving her a good rub and pat. It was really good to see that girl. But Gilson kept talking like there was nothing special going on. “Now my idea is, when you’ve identified a suspect, you make every effort to maintain your cover. Turn the case over to other Amtrak police, the locals, or the DEA and get the heck outta there. And we’ll do our best to keep you outta court too, to preserve your cover for as long as possible.”

  Yeah, well, we’d see. In my experience, police work’s like war. Nothing ever goes the way you plan it.

  I stood up, and Gilson held out his hand to me, conversation obviously over. “Get back over to my office about two or a little after, and bring Corky with you.” He turned to the trainer who was sitting at his desk reading a magazine. “Hey, Creston, fill Bentley in on Corky’s care—diet and anything else that she likes. Wanna make sure she’s as comfortable as possible.”

  “Ah, there you are!” Captain Gilson got up from his desk when I came in. “And you’ve brought Corky. Great! She needs to be here for the ceremony.”

  “Ceremony?” Always the production master. I couldn’t keep up with this guy.

  “Of course a ceremony!” He flung his arms out to the side, eyebrows up, and eyes wide. “We heard from HR; they’ve signed off on you, so we can get you sworn in today.” He collapsed his expansive stance and bent over to punch a button on his phone. “Phyllis, could you snag a couple of uniforms and come in here with them to witness this? And see if you can scare up a camera from somewhere. We need to document this too.”

  I had no idea why he thought this event needed documentation, but instead of questioning Gilson, I leaned down and gave Corky a good scratch on the rump. She responded with an enthusiastic tail wag and an eager look toward the door.

  A few moments later the secretary knocked and came in with two Amtrak police officers. “Sorry, sir, but I couldn’t find a camera.”

  Gilson threw out his hands as though the absence of a camera aborted the whole plan. He stood there with such a blank look on his face, I almost felt sorry for the guy. I reached into my pocket. “Uh, here. Use my iPhone. Is that good enough?”

  Gilson dropped his hands. “Works for me. Give it to Phyllis, and let’s get this thing done. Okay, Bentley, raise your right hand.” He did the same. “And repeat after me.”

  Moments later, I was officially an Amtrak police detective.

  “Here’s your shield and ID.” He glanced at his secretary as he posed in the act of giving me my shield. “Take the picture, Phyllis. And here’s Corky’s shield too. Of course, she won’t be wearing hers when you’re undercover. And—” He handed me a pistol in a clip-on holster. “—is a SIG subcompact okay with you? I could probably scare up a revolver, if you’d prefer.”

  “No, no.” I glanced at the piece—a P250. “No, this is fine.” I clipped it on my belt, recalling the last time I’d worn a service weapon, when I’d been under Fagan’s command. A weapon gives you a sense of personal power and protection, but it hadn’t protected me from unintentionally contributing to Fagan’s corrupt abuse of civic power. That’s why I’d made the career-ending move of crossing the thin blue line. Certainly hoped I’d never have to face that choice again. I lifted a silent prayer, God, protect me from ever havin’ to use this SIG against any human being.

  Maintaining my cover sounded better and better to me.

  “Maybe tomorrow you can grab a little time on the range.” Gilson looked at the other people in his office. “Well, I think we’re done here. Phyllis, get their witness signatures on those forms, and back to work, everyone.”

  When they’d filed out, he turned to me. “Harry, as far as I’m concerned, take Corky and head on home.”

  “But . . . I don’t have anything set up for her yet.” That’s what I said, but what I was thinking was, Estelle is gonna have a conniption fit if I walk in the house with this dog. We hadn’t yet discussed the details, like where she’d stay, what were the house rules, how others should relate to her, all that kind of stuff. I stared at Gilson, hoping he couldn’t see my panic. “Maybe it’d be better if—”

  “No problem. Take whatever time you need tomorrow morning to get her squared away.” He put his hand on my shoulder and gently ushered me toward the door. “Creston told you all about her feeding and care, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah. But—”

  “Then you’re set. See you tomorrow.”

  Corky already had her nose at the door, wagging her heavy tail against my leg as if to say, “Come on, partner. Let’s get away from this crazy dude and have a little fun!”

  Chapter 13

  First day on the job, and I was on my way home in a smooth-running Dodge Durango SUV with a first-class K-9 carrier in the compartment behind me. The rush-hour traffic on Lake Shore Drive ground to a stop, and I glanced back through the grate. “Hey, Corky. How you doin’, girl?”

  Thump! Thump! Thump! went her heavy tail as she looked at me and panted her eagerness to get wherever we were going.

  “Yeah, this traffic’s a bi—I mean, it’s a real mess, ain’t it? But we’ll make it. You just hold tight.”

  While we were stalled, I texted Estelle: B home sn. We crept forward two car lengths and stopped again. I laughed at myself. Perhaps I should’ve texted, B home when we get there.

  It was six twenty before I turned onto Beecham Street, and immediately I heard Corky stand up, her hot breath on my neck as she whined a little woof. I looked back. How’d she know? Perhaps she sensed my anticipation.

  I drove to the end of the block and did a U-turn in front of the McMansion so I could park on our side of the street. Corky was so excited when I clipped on her leash, she exploded out the door and hit the ground sniffing everything as she pulled me up the walk, catching my latent scent from who knows when. “Corky, heel.” She immediately dropped back to my side, but she was nevertheless trembling with excitement. At least the snow was gone and I wouldn’t have to clean off muddy feet.

  I unlocked the front door and noticed the lights in the downstairs unit were off. Rodney must be done for the day. And then it hit me. I should’ve warned Estelle that I was bringing Corky home tonight.

  I laid a hand on the dog’s head as we ascended the stairs. “Calm down, girl. You gotta be on your best behavior. First impressions are lasting,
ya know.”

  I opened the door to our unit. “Estelle, I’m home. And we’ve got company.”

  She peeked out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a dishtowel with a welcoming smile on her face. Always the gracious host, even if I was surprising her. And then her eyes dropped to the wagging, panting bundle of black happiness at my side. “The dog? You brought the dog home tonight? But . . . we don’t have a place set up for her!”

  “Yeah, I know. Gilson kind of pushed her on me, but she’ll be all right. She can curl up on that little throw rug on the floor by our bed—”

  “In our room? Can we talk about this, Harry Bentley?”

  “Oh, sure. No problem. We can find another place if you—”

  “I just want to talk about it.”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Corky had sat down by my side and seemed content to wait patiently, sweeping the floor with her tail and smiling at Estelle, then up at me, like a child waiting for her parents to agree to take her to the movies.

  Estelle stared at the dog for a moment. “What’d you say her name was?”

  “Corky.”

  Immediately alert, Corky looked up for the next command. And then to my utter amazement, Estelle bent over, hands on her knees. “Come here, Corky.”

  Corky glanced at her, and then looked back at me. I dropped the leash and nodded. Up off her haunches, Corky approached Estelle with a sideways gait, head low in submission while her tail swirled circles.

  Estelle patted her head as Corky leaned into her. “You’re a good girl. Good girl, Corky.” My wife glanced at me. “Gotta admit, she seems sweet enough.”

  I could hardly believe what I was seeing. Thank God for little miracles . . . or maybe it wasn’t so little.

  When DaShawn came in from playing with the kids across the street—with permission, this time—he immediately plopped down on the floor and gave Corky a royal welcome. Every boy should have a dog at some time in his life, though I realized it would be a little different with Corky, given the fact that she was a working dog and had to go with me every day.

  Estelle headed back into the kitchen. “Where’s Rodney?” I called after her.

  “Asked him to go down to that little market on Touhy to pick up some milk and coffee, and bananas, if they’ve got any. Don’t know how we ran out before shopping day, but we did.”

  Ten minutes later I heard his footsteps on the stairs, and Corky growled. “It’s okay, girl. Just lie down.” But when Rodney came in, Corky still watched me closely until I nodded. Then she got up and went over to greet him. I held my breath as Corky sniffed around.

  “Well, well, what’s this?” Rodney took his jacket off and tossed it onto the couch. “Didn’t know we were gettin’ a dog.”

  Corky was no longer interested in Rodney. She’d gone over to the couch, sat down, and was staring intently at Rodney’s jacket, not three inches from her nose.

  My heart sank.

  “Free, Corky.”

  She came back over to me and sat down, tail going wildly as she looked up, expecting a treat. I didn’t have anything to give her, so I went into the kitchen and got a small corner of bread crust and rewarded Corky, using the moments to think what I should do.

  As I turned back, it didn’t appear as though anyone else had noticed what Corky had done, but I knew I had to take the bull by the horns.

  I picked up a dining room chair and took it into the living room, turned it around backwards and threw my leg over it as I sat down. “I don’t know if you all noticed how Corky followed Rodney’s jacket over to where he tossed it on the couch. Did you see that?”

  “Yeah, what was that about?” Rodney asked.

  “Good of you to ask. Corky’s part of my new job—”

  “So you got the job, Pops?” DaShawn said. “Awesome! Guess God answered your prayer, Miz Estelle.”

  “Yeah . . . I got the job. And the job I got,” I looked over at Rodney as he sat down on the couch by his jacket, “is in drug interdiction. That’s what Corky’s all about. She’s a drug detection dog.” Rodney’s face went blank as I continued. “She can smell the slightest amount of most illegal drugs, and when she does, she sits down and points with her nose to the place where it is. Nothin’ gets past her.”

  “Oh, man, that’s cool, Pops. I saw that on CSI once. This German shepherd found a whole car full of weed.”

  None of us said a word as the implications of our recent demonstration sank in. Rodney’s blank face became steely hard. “You tryin’ to tell me this bitch says I got drugs in my jacket?”

  My heart was pounding hard. “That’s what it looked like.”

  “All she did was come over here and sit down for a moment. Don’t mean nothin’! Look, she’s sittin’ down by you now. Maybe she thinks you got drugs on you!”

  “Not the same. See, she’s lookin’ all around, not signaling a thing. Just because she’s sittin’ here doesn’t mean anything. Shall we try your jacket again?”

  Rodney snorted. “What difference does it make? You obviously want me outta here. This is a bunch of bull, ’cause I’m clean. I haven’t touched anything since I went to jail in Alanta. And that’s the truth.”

  He stood up, grabbed his jacket, and started looking around as if to collect his stuff and clear out. “I was hopin’ for a second chance, Dad!” He snarled the word with disdain. “But I see I ain’t gonna get one around here.”

  DaShawn’s eyes were darting from his dad to me. “What—?”

  “Now just hold on a minute here,” Estelle broke in. “You sit back down, Rodney. I believe God brought you here, and I believe God gave Harry this new job. We just gotta figure how the two go together.”

  “Not with him thinkin’ I’m still dealin’. I’m determined to go straight, but can’t do it if I’m bein’ falsely accused.”

  Estelle’s eyes were hopeful. “What about that, Harry? Could Corky be making a mistake?”

  “With a signal that clear? I don’t think so.”

  Rodney was still glaring. “Whaddaya mean? She just wandered over here. Maybe she wanted to climb up here on the couch for a snooze and my jacket was in the way.”

  “We’ll see about that!” Estelle marched over. “Gimme that jacket.” She grabbed it before Rodney could object. “Turn that dog’s head, Harry. Don’t let her see where I’m going.” She took the jacket through the dining room to the little alcove by the back door where there was a row of waist-high coat hooks on the wall and hung it on one. It was within sight of all of us. Estelle returned and said, “Okay, let her go.”

  I’d been gently facing Corky’s head toward the front of the apartment so she couldn’t see where Estelle had gone. I let go, and Corky looked up at me, smiling, tail wagging.

  “See, she ain’t doin’ nothin’. This is a crock. I’m outta here.”

  “No, no. You wait right there. Harry, what’s the deal?”

  My mind was spinning like a wind-up top. I’d hoped beyond hope that my son was getting his life straightened out. And now this! Could I . . . should I press the point? Maybe I should let it go. Except . . . if he was still dealing or even using, we had an impossible situation on our hands. We couldn’t keep him in our house where he’d undoubtedly influence DaShawn.

  I bit the bullet. “Corky, seek!”

  Corky jumped up and trotted around the room, sniffing the furniture, the bookcase, the TV, and the cabinet below it. Then she went to DaShawn, Estelle, and Rodney.

  “See, I’m clean. She didn’t do nothin’.”

  “Hold on. Let her work.”

  Corky trotted excitedly into the kitchen, and we all followed to watch as she sniffed at each cupboard door, under the refrigerator and under the stove and dishwasher. Satisfied, she came out and circled the dining room table, then went toward the back of the apartment, zigzagging the floor with her nose. Nothing of interest until she got to that back alcove and the coats. She immediately zeroed in on Rodney’s coat. She sat down, tail still, nose and eyes as i
mmovably focused on the jacket as if she were made of stone.

  “She’s doin’ it!” DaShawn yelled, amazed by the demonstration. “Oh no,” his voice sagged. “She found it.”

  “No she hasn’t!” Rodney’s voice had lost its belligerence and was appealing, almost crying. “Ya gotta believe me, son. I’m done with that life. I’m clean. Ya gotta believe me. I haven’t touched nothin’ since before I was locked up in the Atlanta bastille.”

  “Corky, free.” The dog looked up at me, expecting a reward, but I didn’t have one. A more important thought had entered my mind. “Rodney, did you have this jacket when you were arrested in Atlanta?”

  “No.”

  “So, how do you have it now?”

  “Went by the apartment where I was stayin’ and picked it up along with some other stuff I’d left.”

  “So it was with your friends the whole time you were in the joint? Well, it’s dirty now.” I grabbed it from the coat hook and took it to the dining room table, reversing each pocket. A gum wrapper, a crumpled-up tissue, an ‘L’ ticket, a couple of fuzz balls, but nothing incriminating.

  “Here, let me see that.” Rodney grabbed it out of my hand and flipped it open to reveal an inside breast pocket I hadn’t noticed. He zipped it open defiantly, dug his hand in, then slowly pulled out a crumpled joint. As soon as he saw it, he flicked it onto the table as though it were a hot coal. “Hey, that ain’t mine. I never rolled filters in the end of my joints. I swear. Somebody else must have borrowed my jacket and left this in it, but this ain’t mine.”

  Hmm. Good story. But how did I know he never rolled filters? How did any of us know?

  “What were you arrested for in Atlanta?”

  “A packet of crack. They don’t bother you for a little weed.”

  I walked over to the back window and looked out without seeing. How I wanted to believe the best of Rodney. Wanted to believe he was straight now and would stay that way. It was a reasonable explanation, but . . . was I being naïve? Then the words came to me, “Love . . . always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” We’d studied that passage in my men’s Bible study, and the Bible was never naïve about sin, but the guys had shown me it also encouraged us to give one another the benefit of the doubt. Surely, if Rodney wasn’t straight, we would discover it soon enough.