Wanted

by Ho, Jo

  Things were changing though. I was beginning to find the odd moment to be grateful for: the scent of freshly cut flowers, a traffic-free Route 83 during an emergency callout. Little by little, I was learning to cope… but as soon as my head hit the pillow, the demons would come.

  Placing one foot in front of the other, I stared up at the stars and wondered how much longer it would be before I would get used to sleeping alone.

  CHAPTER 5

  CHASE

  The sun had barely risen, but I was already on the hunt for breakfast. Like they say, it’s the most important meal of the day.

  It had taken me all night to shake off the druggie incident. I knew I was lucky this time, but I couldn’t afford another slip up. In future I would stay away from trees, bushy or otherwise.

  From experience, I knew Monday mornings were the most fruitful, with restaurants tossing whatever hadn’t sold from the week before. It was with this promise of delectable treasure that I jogged into the backend of a strip of restaurants and climbed into the dumpster behind The Blessed Palace, a popular Asian establishment. The place was kinda tacky looking, covered with gold and red dragons that looked more like distorted fish then those epic mythological characters, but they do a weekend buffet that never failed to impress, judging by the length of the waiting line that curved around the block on a regular basis.

  Sadly for me, Lady Luck hadn’t just left the building, she’d taken a slowboat to China, as a deep dumpster dive only delivered some decomposed fish heads (seriously gross), half a fortune cookie (semi gross, and empty, so no good fortune for me — figures) and something I’d prefer not to examine in closer detail. All you need to know is it looked like Swampthing’s illegitimate lovechild with a roach.

  Enough said.

  I sighed with irritation. Damn greedy staff must have taken the leftovers home with them. That’s the problem with Asians. Never waste a thing.

  Shoving the cookie into my mouth, I picked my way over the remaining mess of empty cartons and boxes. As I grabbed hold of the skip to haul myself out, I heard a sound and froze. Someone had just yelped. Loudly. In a that-really-hurt kind of way.

  I raised my head and peeked over the edge of the dumpster. A mangy dog, some kind of collie mix, was backing away from a man. There was a bone in his mouth, but the guy had one hand on it. He wore the uniform of The Blessed Palace and struck repeatedly at the dog with a wet dishtowel.

  THWACK! The towel made a whipping sound as it connected with the collie’s flank. The dog whimpered, but didn’t let go. He didn’t attack either, just kept backing away. It’s like the thing didn’t know he had two rows of sharp teeth.

  My eyes narrowed into slits. From the collie’s thin frame, I could tell he was starving, maybe even more so than me. It could have been my own lack of food, or the injustice of it all, but I felt a sudden rage building.

  Stealthily, I crawled out of the dumpster and dropped silently, landing behind the guy on my Kmart sneakers. He twirled the towel, readying another strike. Neither of them had noticed me yet, so I took full advantage of the situation. I reached for the nearest trashcan, snatched the lid off, and HURLED it at the guy’s head. The dull sound it made on contact made us all wince. He dropped like a hot spring roll. I looked at the dog. “RUN MUTT!”

  And took off. I only glanced back when I reached the end of the block, so it was a shock to see the dog panting right behind me.

  “Shoo! Scram!” I waved my hands at him, but he just cocked his head at me. Seeing that we were alone, I slowed my running to a jog. Clearly Angry Chinese Man wasn’t after us. Which, come to think of it, was weird.

  I suddenly stopped. What if I’d hit him too hard? Heads are pretty soft and not the best defense against steel. What if I’d... killed him? My life didn’t flash in front of my eyes so much as my mugshot.

  Muttface suddenly dropped his bone. That alone was shocking enough, but then he clamped his jaws around my wrist and started tugging.

  “Hey, dufus! I just saved you! What kind of gratitude is that?”

  And then I heard it. Furious shouts. Furious foreign shouts. I glanced back and saw Angry Chinese Man was not dead after all, but alive and kicking — and he had brought friends. With cleavers. The dog and I stared at each other, the same expression mirrored in our eyes… holy crap.

  Muttface tore off, stopping a few meters ahead of me. He looked at me and barked once before tearing off again. Didn’t need a membership to Mensa to figure out what he meant. Having no plan b, I sprinted after him.

  The dog ran fast, but never in a straight line. It was like he had experience evading capture. Already light-headed, I was becoming dizzy with all the twists and turns we were taking. I had no idea where we were anymore so Angry Chinese Man and chums had no chance. I followed Muttface down a side street.

  And suddenly I collapsed.

  One minute I was running, the next I tasted tarmac. I felt a wet, sandpapery tongue on my face.

  And then there was darkness.

  CHAPTER 6

  SULLY

  Staring moodily into a mug of black coffee, I stifled a yawn. I sat at a kitchen table, eyes staring blankly at a newspaper open in front of me. My next client was due any second, but I found it difficult to care. While the late-night workout sessions meant my body was in its prime, my mind felt groggy, and I wished I could sleep the day away. But duty called.

  “Your eleven thirty cancelled,” came a shout from the next room.

  Or maybe not. It was Florence, my elderly, no-nonsense receptionist-come-assistant. This was a small practice that didn’t require many staff, so multi-tasking Florence was a Godsend, though her domineering attitude wore me thin on occasion. Her long floral dress made slapping sounds against her legs now as she marched into the kitchen. An image of Florence doing a Hitler salute flashed into my mind before I shook it guiltily away. When I caught the determined look on her face however, I steeled myself, ready for trouble.

  “Since there’s nothing in the diary until three, now would be a good time for you to do some spring cleaning. Clear out anything you don’t need,” she suggested. She gestured upstairs, at my house above the practice. Her eyes bored into me, but I refused to take the bait, lowering my gaze to the paper.

  “Another time. I’m busy.”

  She glared at me, but not without some sympathy. It was quite the feat and a Florence special. With a sigh of impatience, she snatched the paper away, grabbed my chin, and raised it to meet her gaze. But when she spoke again, it was unnervingly soft.

  “It’s unhealthy, dear.”

  I swallowed. I knew she was right, but just the thought of clearing her things away caused my chest to constrict. Experience meant I knew Florence wouldn’t be dropping this any time soon however. With no energy for a fight, I nodded meekly.

  “I’ll make a start,” I conceded, and made my way slowly up the stairs.

  At the top of the stairs, I shut the door that separated work from home and walked into the living area. The room was decorated eclectically, the result of many happy weekends perusing the local flea market, but right now, it seemed as if a tornado had left its devastation in its wake, with empty microwave trays and beer cans littering the floor. I stepped over them and turned the television on, finding comfort in the inane infomercial chatter. Tossing a crusty pizza box from the sofa, I lay down and shut my eyes. I’d get to it, but first I needed a snooze…

  CHAPTER 7

  CHASE

  I don’t know how long I was out for, but it was the smell that woke me. My mouth was as dry as parchment, and my eyes felt like they were stapled shut, but I forced them open. I had to see what was causing the delicious aroma wafting towards me.

  There was a something on the ground. It took a second for my vision to clear, but when it did, I thought I must still be in La La Land. There, in front of me, lay a carton of STEAMING DUMPLINGS! I blinked. The dog sat next to them patiently as if waiting for me to react. When I gaped stupidly, he nudged the carton
towards me and grinned. I spotted the Blessed Palace logo on the side of the box and pulled what can only be described as a comical double take.

  No way…

  I forced myself into a sitting position, dusted the street scum from my face, and reached for the food. My fingers closed around the edge of the box.

  It felt real enough?

  Muttface woofed and pawed the ground as if to say get a move on. I needed no further urging and shoved a dumpling into my mouth. Holy taste bud explosions! Turns out, those lines were onto something! I inhaled the box of scrumminess, even giving a few pieces to my new best furry friend, surprised to see how delicately he ate them. Clearly I could learn a thing or two. Together, we woofed them down. In no time at all, the carton was empty. I tipped it upside down, just in case there was another sucker hiding in there but nada. C’est finito. I looked at the dog.

  “That was the best meal I’ve had in… just the longest time. If only we had some fritters too, huh? I could die and go to foodie heaven.” Muttface cocked his head like he was actually considering my words, then suddenly took off without a backwards glance. I felt a pang of crushing disappointment. “Thought we had something going here,” I called after him — but I was talking to thin air. Littlest Hobo was long gone. Feeling kinda bereft, I thought about how I was humanizing the dog. Me. Miss Anti-Dolittle. Eight months on the streets could sure change a person.

  As a kid, the only pet I’d ever had was a baby duck, and that lasted for all of a week. One day, as a treat, I decided to let him swim in the gutter (The Paper City = Poor = No Paddling Pool for Ducky), only he got swept away by the current and into a drain. I’d lain on the sidewalk, ear pressed to the drain, listening to his cries until they were all but swallowed by the gushing water. I cried for months after. OK, I was five, but still.

  Back to my present situation. Muttface is just a dumb animal. So, somehow, he brought me food from the same restaurant we ran away from. Ironic, but hardly rocket science. Maybe he’d already stashed them some place when Angry Chinese Man caught him. And while I was having my tarmac nap, he’d fetched provisions. It made sense. Kind of.

  I could stay here waiting for Big Trouble in Little China to eventually happen, or I could move on and find a bed for the night. It was a no-brainer. I staggered onto my feet, swaying a bit, my blood sugar still low despite the recent meal. I’m one of those annoying girls who can eat whatever she wants without putting on a pound, but that also meant my high metabolism required more sustenance than the average girl of my size which, being homeless, sucks big time.

  I made my way back onto the main street, and spotted a bus shelter on the other side of the road. It wasn’t great, but it might do. I just needed to check if it was water-tight —nothing worse than waking up to a mouthful of rain.

  Expensive cars roared past, not in the least concerned by my bedraggled state. Car-jacking was low in this part of town, but these guys weren’t going to risk a higher insurance premium just to test out that statistic, especially for pungent moi. I wasn’t counting, but it’d been at least five days since my body had seen any water, and that was even before the dumpster dive. I waited for a break in the traffic.

  “Woof.”

  The sound came from behind. I took an involuntary gasp and spun around — but a bit too fast. Balance and co-ordination fled me as my foot slipped from the curb. I caught a brief glimpse of my furry best friend before I felt myself tumbling backwards into the sea of cars.

  Time slowed to a crawl.

  When you’re about to die, adrenaline pounds through your body, and details fly out at you in what can only be described as supersonic vision. Like Muttface’s eyes, which I only just noticed were an emerald green with gold flecks. And the see-through plastic tub he gripped in his mouth containing banana fritters, covered in sesame seeds that formed the initials BP.

  While I was in slo-mo, the dog, conversely, seemed to be moving in super speed. In one quick motion, he dropped the fritters and lunged for my chest, snagging a mouthful of T-shirt. I hung there, suspended over the road, just inches away from my demise, anchored only by this animal’s teeth and a prayer that the cheap polyester fabric wouldn’t give out. A car horn blared to tell us to quit messing around. As if.

  And then the dog pulled me to safety.

  I sank to my knees, shaken, gasping for the breath I hadn’t known I was holding. I couldn’t believe it. I wasn’t dead. I was alive. The dog had saved me.

  Muttface tapped his paw on the tub of fritters, which had landed unscathed on the sidewalk, and chuffed softly, like he was inordinately pleased with himself.

  My jaw hit the floor.

  CHAPTER 8

  CHASE

  I admit I was freaked.

  Too much was happening, and I wasn’t prepared for any of it. A million questions swam through my already taxed brain. I found myself eyeballing the dog constantly. There was no other logical explanation than the conclusion I’d come up with for his talents, and trust me, I’d exhausted all the possibilities in the hour since my near miss with the reaper.

  Muttface was an alien disguised as man’s best friend.

  Which was kind of brilliant if you think about it. What better way to spy on a different species than to camouflage yourself as the number one pet in America? Just look at him: head swiveled around, sniffing his butt like a real dog. He couldn’t be more disarming. Or gross.

  We’d discarded the bus shelter idea due to both our discomforts of it being so overlooked (well, I’m assuming Muttface had objections; he was definitely restless) and we were now camped out in a shopping mall’s mother and baby room, which to me felt like The Hilton.

  I was trying to ignore Muttface — who had suddenly taken a great interest in sniffing each of the toilet stalls — and turned my attention to the room instead.

  There were marble walls, a glass domed ceiling and hanging baskets overflowing with dried flowers. Opposite the stalls stood a floor-to-ceiling mirror etched in gold, while the far wall was covered with posters of upcoming movie in steel frames. An entire area of the room was kitted out with sofas and bean bags. I mean seriously, why would anyone put sofas in a restroom?

  I was hoping the security guards would forget to check this place so we could stay the night. I’d gotten lucky previously once or twice, though they were never as nice as this. I was pretty sure I could fit on one of those gigantic baby changers if I rolled my legs up. Could probably fit on there with the dog. I figured that along with mansions and cars, rich people must have bigger babies.

  Feeling uncustomarily light-hearted, I plucked a flower from a basket and tucked it behind my ear. Turning to the mirror, I meant to mock my own reflection. Instead, I was shocked at how I’d taken dirt to a whole new level. Quickly, with Muttface guarding the door, I gave myself a flannel wash (one of the things I always carried in my trusty backpack) and dried off using an airblade dryer thingy. There was even a classy hand cream dispenser--

  --Which promptly disappeared into my bag. It’s not like I condone stealing, but this place wasn’t going to miss it. Besides, it smelled like coconuts. Then I turned to my furry friend, who was busying himself with his own version of a bath. I’d put things off for as long as I could, but I knew it was time to get some answers, whether I was ready for them or not. I perched on the edge of a baby changer and cleared my throat.

  “Hey dog. Could you stop that? We need to talk.”

  Muttface immediately ceased licking and fixed his intelligent eyes on me. Then he waited, head tilted. It was disconcerting to tell the truth.

  “I’m going to ask some questions. I’m assuming you can’t actually speak?”

  He barked. I heard the chastisement in his tone.

  “Correction, you can speak. I just don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  He barked again and wagged his tail.

  “We’re going to need to establish some rules for this to work. How about I take one bark as yes and two for no?”

  “Woo
f.” His butt shook with excitement. I grinned in spite of myself, pretty sure we were making history here. Shame about the restroom though, nice as it was. Maybe, in years to come, they’ll rewrite this whole event and make the setting more palatable. I heard they change things all the time. Cos like, Jesus wasn’t White, but you knew that, right?

  He pranced on his feet before settling back down.

  “Let’s begin. Are you... an alien?” I waited expectantly but he said nothing. I suddenly realized the possible flaw of my questioning. “You know what that is right? Creature from outer space? Not of this Earth? Little green man? Or furry in your case?”

  One bark.

  “So, you’re not an alien, but you know what one is.” I felt the need to clarify, for my own sanity if not his.

  Another bark. Hmmm.

  “But clearly you’re super intelligent.”

  The resounding “WOOF!” was obviously something he was very proud of. And who could blame him?

  “Were you born that way?” The question was greeted by two barks. Our first no. I tried to decipher what else it could be. My eyes landed on one of the movie posters. Some sci-fi thing to do with DNA splicing. I felt the hairs raise on the back of my neck.

  “Did someone make you like this?”

  “Woof.”

  This time, his bark was somber, like he was remembering something deeply sad. The ramifications of this hit me pretty hard. If he was made, it was for a reason, and I don’t think it was to perform at Rocco’s Travelling Circus. I reached out and stroked his head. He leaned into me, pink tongue hanging out in a goofy expression. Honestly, you’d think he’d never been petted before.