by Rozsa Gaston
"Where are we going?"
"Your pick. Dog run, Nicole and Tom's place, downtown Scarsdale, somewhere new—"
The phone rang. It was her landline in the living room.
"Aren't you going to pick it up?" Jack asked.
"Let me see who it is." She paused, suspecting it might be Brian O'Connell again. She was fed up with his false leads. He had left a message earlier in the day alluding to something important he needed to tell her in person. She didn't understand why he couldn't just spit it out in the message he'd left.
The outgoing message ended.
"Huge news, Fairy Girl," a female voice announced. "He's coming to New York tomorrow. The Algonquin. You're meeting him in the lobby lounge at seven. I found out he's single, by the way. He saw your—"
"Hello… hi. Kim, are you there?" A dial tone sounded in Hint's ears as she finally found the phone receiver she'd left under the coffee table when she'd made calls earlier that day. She'd forgotten where it was, and now Kim had hung up.
"Jack, I need to make a call," she said. "Do you want to start looking for Percy? Just circle around the neighborhood. I'll come find you when I'm done." She needed a moment of privacy to talk with Kim. Even if she went in her bedroom to call, Jack's presence would unnerve her. Their recent kiss hung in the air. She couldn't think about business with him present. She couldn't think with him present, period.
"Sure. I can take a walk." His face looked uncertain, his jawline hard. She would explain everything to him once she spoke with Kim.
Rushing into her bedroom, phone receiver in hand, she closed the door behind her. Seconds later, the front door shut with a bang. She scrambled for the piece of paper on her night table with Kim's cell phone and hotel numbers on it. She called the cell phone first. The wait was interminable. Finally, she hung up and dialed the hotel instead.
"Room 431, please."
After endless clicking then silence, her cousin's voice sounded at the other end. "Hello?"
"Kim, is that you?"
"Yes," the voice at the other end practically screamed. "Honey, I got Derek Simpson for you. I went to your scheduled meeting and told him you had an emergency with a lost dog and were devastated not to be there or because the dog's missing or something, and he was totally sympathetic. Turns out he has two poodles and said he'd have done the same thing. Then I showed him your website and a few of your new drawings that I had on my laptop, and he liked them. He's coming to New York tomorrow, and he wants to meet with you."
"I… that's great."
"Can you get to the Algonquin Hotel by seven?"
"I… yes. I can be there. Is this a confirmed meeting?"
"Yes. You can't imagine what I had to do to get him to agree to it."
"What do you mean?" She wondered what Kim had meant by "I got him."
"And don't wear some stupid, boring business suit."
"I wasn't planning to." It was annoying the way some family members knew her so well. "What do you suggest I wear — a lampshade?"
"No, darling." Massive giggling mocked her on the other end. "That's my style. Just wear one of your wispy, fairy outfits. Be what you draw. He'll love it."
"Does he look like his photos?" Hint had seen Derek Simpson's photos a few times in trade publications. She'd never met him in person.
More giggles. "He's better looking than his photos. Like I told you — I found out he's single."
"What did you do to get him to agree to meet me?" Hint asked.
Tinkling laughter was the only answer she got. "I have to go. Felipe is picking me up for dinner at eight."
"Who's Felipe?" Her cousin was a pistol. At least it wasn't Derek Simpson taking her out to dinner. There were times when Kim's sense of adventure took her to places Hint didn't dare follow. Or ask about later.
"Gotta go. Love you, sweetie." Her cousin clicked off.
A million thoughts raced through Hint's head. She needed to pull out her portfolio and review it one more time before showing it to the head of one of the foremost children's book presses in the publishing industry. And she decidedly needed to choose something to wear that would announce to the world and to Derek Simpson that she was a talented artist with a signature style.
Then she caught herself. Percy. If she went, she would lose at least half a day in their efforts to find him. Her heart tugged again. Jack. Outside, waiting for her. Probably wondering what that message had been all about. Her future was rushing toward her, and she wasn't sure if she was ready for it. Why wasn't it Percy rushing toward her instead? Without him back, she couldn't move forward. But she had to. Life was messy and imperfect. She was a graphic artist, as fussy and fastidious as they come. The world outside her was fast colliding with the world she strove to create around her. She was nervous, scared, and a teeny, tiny bit exhilarated. Grabbing a light jacket and her cell phone, she shook her shoulders and headed out the door.
Chapter Nine
Fairy Girl. Jack's head spun. He'd circled Hint's block twice, looking for the dog, but his heart was looking for an explanation for the message her cousin had just left. It sounded as if Hint had intended to meet a man in Punta Cana, who was now coming to New York. She had referred to a business meeting she'd had to cancel, but what kind of business? The woman on the phone had said, "He saw your—" something. What? Her photo? Was this some sort of first meeting for an online dating match?
Would she go meet this guy the following evening? Did she consider her options to be open, or had he closed some of them with the kiss he had just planted on her lips? He would know if she told him she had plans for the following evening. It would be their final one to look for Percy before their friends returned. If they didn't find the schnoodle, would it ruin whatever had begun between them? Or would this new mystery guy get in the way?
He had thought of asking her to his place Saturday evening to join him for a light barbecue on his patio after they'd dropped by Marguerite's party and looked some more for the dog, of course. Now he wasn't so sure.
His cell phone rang. "Hello?"
"Yeah. I'm calling about a lost dog."
"Did you find one?" Jack sprang to attention.
"Yeah, mon." The caller's accent was lilting. Jamaican, he'd guess. "I found a black and gray yesterday on the side of the road. He's pretty beat up, but I've got him with me now."
Jack shuddered. Hint would be beside herself if Percy was hurt. And so would Tom and Nic. He was beside himself just thinking about what the vet bills might be if the dog had a broken limb or worse.
"How big is he?" Jack asked.
"Not so big."
"How many pounds, would you say?"
"Who knows, mon? He's small. He could fit in my lap if I let him, but he's dirty."
"What's your location?"
"I'm off the Grand Concourse in the Bronx. You can come by?"
"Yes. I can get there in about forty-five minutes. Give me your address."
"Slow down, mon. What about the reward?"
The reward? Had Hint mentioned something about a reward on their lost dog posters? Jack's scam radar switched on. Suddenly, it was a mon-to-mon conversation.
"We'll discuss the reward when I get there. I don't know if it's my dog yet."
"Well, if it is, how much is it?"
Jack was taken aback. Was this the way a dog lover would return a pet to its owner? His muscles tightened, thinking of what he might be getting into, traveling down to the South Bronx to find out if this tough-sounding caller had found Percy.
"It's good enough, okay? What's your address?" he asked the caller.
"There's a bodega store at the corner of 189th and Grand Concourse. I'll be out front."
"With the dog?"
"Sure, mon. But the dog stays unless you got the reward."
"Yeah, okay. Listen, what's the name of the store? And what's your name?
"Name's Harry. I don't know what the store is called. You'll see it. Lots of people out front. We'll be there."
"Wait. Is it on 189th Street or the Grand Concourse?" Jack knew the general area from his days running with the Van Cortlandt Track in the Bronx. But the Grand Concourse was enormous, sort of a South Bronx version of the Champs Elysées in Paris.
"It's on the side street. Bring the money or no dog." The caller clicked off.
Almost immediately, the phone rang again. "Jack?"
"Someone just called about finding a dog," he told Hint excitedly, relieved to hear her voice despite his worries.
"Where? What kind of dog?"
"A small black and gray one. I've got to go down to the Bronx now to check it out."
"I'm coming with you," she said without hesitation. "Where are you now?"
"I'm standing in front of the post office. And I don't think it's a good idea for you to come, too. It's not the best neighborhood."
She had already hung up. In a minute she was beside him, her face expectant.
"I hope it's him. Did the caller say if the dog was hurt? Where did he find him?" she fired off excitedly.
"Slow down." He furrowed his brow. "Don't get your hopes up. The dog was found by the side of the road in the Bronx." He didn't want to tell her the caller had mentioned he was in bad shape.
"The Bronx? Where in the Bronx?"
"The South Bronx. And I don't want you coming with me."
"Why not?" She looked hurt, as if he'd pushed her away.
"You don't understand." He reached for her arm. "It could be dangerous. The caller asked about a reward."
Her eyes widened. "A reward?"
"Did you put something about a reward on the flyer?"
"Yes, I guess I did. I was following a template I found online on a lost dog website."
"Did you put an amount?"
"No. It advised specifically not putting any amount. Just to say 'reward.'"
"Well, this guy seemed pretty interested to know what the amount was."
"Hmm," she said. "If it is Percy, what should we offer him?"
"A hundred?"
"What if he says it's not enough?"
"Two hundred?"
"Sure. But it's strange. Why would someone who cared enough to pick up a lost dog by the side of the road ask about money?"
"That's my question," he told her. "And that's why I can't let you come with me."
"That's ridiculous. You can't go alone. It could be too dangerous," Hint argued. "Besides, there's nowhere to park in that neighborhood. You'll need someone to stay in the car while you meet the guy."
"Both good points. But that someone shouldn't be you," Jack reasoned. "It's better if you stay here and keep track of what's happening in case things don't go well."
"I can't just sit home while you're down in the South Bronx possibly walking into a frame-up. Who's going to go with you?" Hint looked distressed, her usually almond-shaped eyes now round.
Across the street, the muscular figure of Hint's superintendent caught Jack's eye. The man looked as if he were hurrying toward Hint's apartment building, coming from Bronxville's village center. For once, he was glad to see him. Hint appeared to be, too.
"Brian, hey. I got your message," she called out.
Jack guessed the same thought had occurred to her that had just popped into his head.
"Hey, Hint." Brian crossed the street to join them, nodding to Jack without speaking. It was clear the only person he wished to address was his cute, auburn-haired neighbor.
"Brian, what was that call about?" she asked, leading the way back toward her building.
"What call?" He looked puzzled, staring at Hint, to Jack's annoyance. "Oh that. Turned out to be nothing." He shrugged.
"Listen. We've got a lead on Percy. But I need your help." Hint looked up at Brian with imploring eyes.
Jack wanted to throw up. The stuff females had to go through to get things done. But they were on the same track now. Brian would be the perfect sidekick to accompany him down to the South Bronx. Harry, the West Indian, would take one look at Brian's muscular build and tough face and drop the price of his anticipated reward on the spot.
"What can I do to help?" The superintendent looked adoringly into Hint's eyes. "Anything, Hint. You name it."
If he used her name again, Jack would haul off and hit him. Why did there have to be so many oily characters in the world? And why did they have to come in so handy at times? He was beginning to understand why Hint didn't just blow off Brian O'Connell once and for all. There were times when she needed a muscle man. Like now.
"Brian, Jack has to go down to the South Bronx to check out a lead on Percy. Someone just called to say he's found a black and gray stray."
"Oh yeah? The South Bronx can be a pretty tough neighborhood. You sure this is legit?"
"No. We're not sure. That's why I need you to go with Jack."
"I'm game," Brian said. "But you need to stay here. In case anything goes wrong."
Hint rolled her eyes.
"Okay. I will. And let me make sure you two have all the details about Percy. I don't want you coming back with the wrong dog."
Jack couldn't believe it. All of a sudden, he and Brian were blood brothers on the same mission. Whatever happened, he wasn't planning on coming back with the wrong dog.
"I think we've got Percy's number down," he said.
"Okay, does he have clipped ears or not?" Hint asked.
"Umm. What do you mean by clipped?" He wasn't exactly a dog expert.
"He doesn't. His ears flop over, especially the left one," she said. "And what about his tail?"
"Chopped. I remember that one," he answered.
"Good. What about the spots on his tummy?"
"What spots?" Jack hadn't been that intimately acquainted with Tom and Nicole's dog. And what self-respecting male dog would expose his belly to any male other than his master? Jack wouldn't have, if he'd been a dog.
"He has big spots, like black polka dots on a white dress, on his belly. You should turn him over to check it out before you pay any reward."
"Awesome, Hint. How many spots does he have?" Brian asked.
Jack wanted to shove him into the street, but held off.
"Let me see. Maybe four or five. They're big and sort of faint. Maybe grayish black instead of really black. But you can see them clearly on his tummy if you lift him up," she told him.
"His tummy, huh?" Brian continued, looking as if he was about to drool over her word choice. Jack was sure Brian would like Hint to stroke his tummy too, if given a chance. Before that ever happened, he would stroke the side of Brian's head. Hard.
"Yes," Hint replied. "And give me the plate number of the car you take. In case I need to call the police."
"We'll take my car," Jack said.
"We can take my car," Brian challenged him. "It's right here in the driveway."
"No. We'll take mine," Jack brushed him off.
Both men looked at Hint.
"Why don't you take Jack's car?" Hint mediated. "That way the person whose number is on the flyer will match the person who owns the car. It makes more sense."
Score. Jack was elated to see Brian's face fall.
"That's right. It's a Honda Civic. NY license plate YXN 463," he said. "Got that?"
"Hang on. I'm writing it down," she said, pulling out a scrap of paper. They were now outside her building. After she finished, she handed Jack a few dog treats she fished out of her jacket pocket. They smelled like liver. "Here. Take these in case you have trouble getting him to come to you. He'll be confused. Do you know where you're going?"
"Yes," they both said.
Jack wasn't pleased to play Lancelot with competition from Sir Gawaine, but he'd take the help if it meant getting the dog back. Hint wasn't going to let her feelings for him progress until they made progress in other areas. Find the dog, mon. Just find the dog, he told himself as he motioned Brian toward his car.
****
The drive down to the South Bronx was uneventful. Jack drove fairly fast. He wanted to get the business over w
ith before it got dark. Brian O'Connell had fiddled with the radio dial the entire way, finally settling on a contemporary rock station that played mostly Irish music. It seemed fitting for a trip to the Bronx, with its sizeable Irish-American population.
Once they got onto the Grand Concourse, it was as if they'd joined a Mardi Gras parade. Salsa music played, mingling with accents from all over the world from the crowded sidewalks. After the rain of the night before, the denizens of the neighborhood had taken out their lawn chairs and orange crates and were enjoying the approach of evening in the warm, dry June weather.
"There's 189th Street. It's one way, so let's take the next one that goes left," Brian suggested.
"Sure." Jack didn't see any convenience store at the corner of 189th and the Grand Concourse, but it was hard to focus with the busy panoply of shops, double-parked cars and trucks, and people milling about everywhere he looked.
He swung left onto 188th Street. Here there was less confusion, although a similar landscape of double-parked cars and drivers in idling vehicles talking to friends on the street made it difficult to get through. It was a festive atmosphere, practically a block party.
"How's your Spanish?" Brian asked.
"Nonexistent." Jack shrugged. Why hadn't he studied Spanish in school instead of French? His French was pretty nonexistent too, due to lack of any opportunities to practice it. "I think the guy's Jamaican or something."
"That so?" Brian began toying with something he'd taken out of his pocket. Jack glanced over and spotted what looked like a short piece of two-inch metal link chain. Brian idly slapped it against his leg. Was the super expecting some sort of gang rumble? He hoped not.
Pulling into 189th Street, he cruised down a block filled with crumbling tenement buildings, and a few two-family houses with wire mesh fences surrounding them. Some had barbed wire at the top. Driving slowly, he looked for the convenience store.
"Maybe that's it." Brian pointed out the passenger side of the car. "Bodega Martinez?"
Jack peered in the gathering twilight, looking for a place to pull over. Finding none, he decided to follow the time-honored New York City tradition of double parking.