by Rozsa Gaston
"I'll go. You stay here." Brian started to get out of the car.
The man was brave. Jack had to hand him that.
"No, wait. I'll go. I know what Percy looks like. You stay here in the driver's seat. Just keep an eye on what's happening. Got it, man?"
"Got it." Brian was now leaning into the window of the passenger side of the car, his arm muscles rippling. "I'll come 'round."
Jack hopped out and Brian took his place in the driver's seat.
The sidewalk teemed with life. Kids were everywhere, running and playing, while elderly men and women sat in lawn chairs. Jack craned his neck to look for the man who might be Harry. Several adult males stood in front of the bodega. All of them checked him out as he approached.
"I'm looking for Harry. Anyone know him?" he asked the nearest one, a light-skinned Afro-American, perhaps in his thirties.
"Don't know a Harry. He go by another name?" the man asked.
"I don't know. But he found a lost dog. Know anyone here who's found a black and gray stray dog?"
The man conferred with his friends. After a long moment, another adult male addressed Jack. "He's upstairs. Third floor on the right." He pointed to the doorway of the building whose ground floor was occupied by the bodega.
"Thanks." Jack walked to the building entrance then stopped. This could be a setup. Why wasn't Harry downstairs, as he'd said he'd be on the phone? Flipping open his cell, he hit the number for the second most recent incoming call after Hint's.
"Yeah?" a gruff voice answered.
"Harry?"
"Who is this?" the voice demanded before identifying himself. The Jamaican accent was unmistakable.
"Jack Whitby. I'm here outside the store. Can you come down?"
"You the lost dog man?"
"Yes. Can you bring the dog with you?"
"Can't, mon. The dog's taken poorly. He's lying down. You come upstairs. Third floor. Wait on the landing."
"Listen, I can't. My car's double-parked. Can't you carry the dog downstairs?"
"He needs a doctor, man. A vet. You need to come up right away. Bring the reward."
Jack thought for a moment. He wasn't going up there by himself. Not without backup help like Brian O'Connell, ready and willing to get in on any action.
"I'll go park my car. Be up in a minute," he told the man called Harry.
Jack strode back to his car, full of purpose.
"Listen, we may or may not have a situation," he told Brian as he leaned into the passenger side window.
Brian's ears literally perked up. "What's up?"
"The guy's upstairs on the third floor. Says the dog's taken ill. He wants me to go up to meet him. With the reward."
"What reward?"
"I don't know. Hint mentioned a reward on the poster, and the guy's been asking about it every other sentence."
"So that's how it is." Brian looked thoughtful. "Jump in. We'll park the car and go up there together."
"You sure?" Jack was relieved, but he still wanted to seem tough in front of Brian.
"There's something fishy here. I can smell it."
"Yeah, let's hope not."
"We'll prepare for the worst and, uh, how's that line go?"
"Hope for the best."
"Yeah."
Circling the block, they found a parking spot that didn't look entirely legal, but it was a toss up between partially blocking a driveway or parking next to a hydrant. Jack guessed that the traffic cops around there had better things to do on a Friday night than ticket him. They were probably at their own block party right now, popping open a cold one. He wished he was doing the same.
Jack made sure he locked the car after Brian got out. The chain in the superintendent's right front jeans pocket made a large bulge. A small section of it hung out at the top.
As they approached the cluster of men in front of the bodega, Brian's stride slowed down to a swagger. Taking a cue, Jack imitated the other man, walking deliberately and solidly, as if he owned the sidewalk.
Pausing just outside the downstairs doorway, he caught Brian's eye. "Ready, partner?" He gave the super a steely-eyed stare.
"Ready."
If the glance Brian returned him was any indication, he had chosen the right accomplice for the task ahead. His opinion of Brian O'Connell was improving by the second. He would hook him up with a nice girl as soon as he had a chance. Maybe Hint knew someone.
Jack entered first, Brian behind.
"Got your back, mate," the superintendent said in a low voice.
"It's my front I'm worried about," Jack muttered back, as they climbed the dank staircase.
At the third floor they stopped. A door stood on either side of the landing. Just as he was about to knock on the one nearest, it opened a crack. He listened as someone removed the inside door chain. A dog barked from inside. It didn't sound like Percy, but he wasn't one hundred percent sure.
"Yeah, mon?" A stocky, ruggedly built man of about forty stepped out onto the landing.
"Hi. Jack Whitby. My friend, Brian." He gestured to his sidekick, who stepped forward, arms akimbo. Jack was sure Brian had positioned them deliberately, to display well-defined biceps and triceps in the dim fluorescent overhead light of the stairwell.
"Yeah. The dog's inside. You come in." The man's eyes widened at the sight of Brian. "You stay here."
Jack caught Brian's eye. "That okay with you?"
"Like I said…"
"Okay." Brian had his back.
"You Harry?" Jack asked the stranger.
"That I am," Harry introduced himself. He stepped into the apartment to make way for Jack.
Jack walked slowly into the hallway of the apartment. A strange, cloying smell permeated the air around him. Was it the smell of recently cooked drugs? He hoped that behind him Brian had found a way to insert his foot into the doorjamb. To the left was a room with large windows. It was filled almost floor to ceiling with TV sets and stereo equipment, including CD players and speakers. There were dozens of unopened boxes. Then he spotted a large cutout box in one corner. An animal lay in it, covered with a dirty gray blanket. As Jack gingerly approached, he saw that its sides heaved in and out as if breathing alone was an effort.
"Percy? Is that you, boy?" He hunkered down in front of the box, leaning over the dog. In the dim light, he could barely make out the lines of its body.
The dog growled softly.
Jack wasn't about to put his hand anywhere near the canine. He peered at him closely, trying to remember what Hint had said about ears and the tail.
"That your dog?" Harry asked, behind him.
"I, uh, just a minute." Jack examined the animal as closely as it would allow.
It growled again, faintly.
The dog appeared to be more gray than black. It had a long, mangy coat, with what looked like wiry, curly hair. Jack thought it might be a terrier, rather than a schnoodle. But he wasn't sure. He looked at the ears.
They were intact. Both stood straight up. Hadn't Hint said something about one of Percy's lopping over?
"You don't know your own dog, mon?" The West Indian man sounded annoyed.
"Does this dog have a tail?" Jack asked.
"He got a tail. It's under there somewhere."
"Can I see it?" Jack asked.
"See for yourself, mon."
Jack wasn't taking any chances on touching the dog. It appeared to be injured and in no mood to be handled by a stranger. He sat back on his heels, thinking a minute. As usual, his mind wandered back to Hint. Then he remembered the liver treats she'd given him. He pulled one out of his pocket.
"Here, boy. Look what I've got for you." He dangled a strong-smelling treat over the dog's head.
The canine perked up instantly, sniffing above him. Jack moved back his hand. The dog's nose stretched toward the treat. Struggling, it got up.
Jack put the treat on the floor, about two feet away from the dog. It slowly limped toward the source of the good smell. Jack watched as a long wiry-haired tail
appeared at the hind end of the canine.
"It's not him." Jack stood up, disappointed but relieved.
"You sure?" Harry studied Jack, as if assessing him.
"Yeah. The dog I'm looking for doesn't have a tail."
"So that's it, then?"
"I'm afraid so. This isn't Percy."
"And what am I supposed to do with this one, then?"
"Keep trying to locate its owner. And feed it. It looks really hungry."
"Feed it with what, mon? I can barely feed myself, never mind the dog."
Jack wondered if he should suggest taking the dog to a shelter or animal hospital. Wouldn't they just euthanize an animal as badly injured as this one if no one claimed it? He shuddered.
"Look, you did the right thing to pick him up off the road. You saved his life. See it through, man. Someone is going to be really grateful to you when you hook them up with their dog."
"That's then and this is now. I need help feeding him now. I got no more money to look after him."
Jack reached into his pocket and fished a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet. He was careful not to pull out the wallet itself.
"Here. Use this to buy some baby food to feed him until he feels better." It was a tip he remembered from childhood, when his neighbor's dog had gotten hit by a car. Jack had helped them spoon-feed the dog baby food jars of pureed vegetables and meat until it had gotten stronger.
"That won't do it, mon. He needs to go to a vet."
"Listen, this isn't my dog. I wish I could help you, but I can't." Jack's scam radar went off loud and clear. It was time to go.
"What's going on there?" Brian O'Connell's voice called out. As he had hoped, Brian had had the good sense to plant his foot in the doorway to the apartment while he had checked out the dog.
"It's not Percy, but our friend wants a contribution," Jack announced, his voice gruff.
"You want a contribution? For what?" Brian asked the West Indian man.
"For my time," Harry snapped back.
"It's not our dog," Jack said.
"The dog's going to die, mon, if it don't get help. I can't take care of it no more."
"That's too bad. It's not our dog." Brian repeated Jack's words, glaring. Then he turned to Jack. "Let's get out of here." His hand was on his right front pocket, his thumb looped under the chain peeking out at the top.
Suddenly, two men appeared in the passageway from the kitchen. The shorter one addressed Harry with a question Jack couldn't make out. It sounded like some sort of island patois.
Harry responded in the same dialect. Both men silently eyeballed Jack and Brian. They began to move down the hallway toward them, the shorter one leading the way.
"Give me something more for the dog," Harry demanded.
"Look, I gave you something already. It's not my dog." Jack edged toward the door, every muscle in his body alert and twitching. He sensed Brian beside him, also twitching. In a cold sweat, he recognized the sour smell around him as the scent of his own fear.
In less than the blink of an eye, pandemonium ensued. The shorter man reached for Jack and grabbed him around the neck, slamming him up against the wall. Brian O'Connell's fist shot out, punching Jack's attacker in the face. Enraged, the short man released Jack and went after Brian, who pulled out his chain, and fiercely swung it toward him.
Jack didn't really know what happened next. Suddenly, a Fourth of July fireworks display exploded in shades of red inside his head. When he opened his eyes, the taller man was pinning back his arms while Harry had his hand on his front jeans pocket. They were clearly about to relieve him of his wallet. Jack kicked out as hard as he could.
"Aaargh!" The tall man crumpled over in pain.
With a distinctive snap, a switchblade glinted in Harry's hand. Looking wildly for the door, Jack spotted it and ran. "Run!" he yelled.
His companion ran out behind him, and together they sprinted down the stairs and stumbled out onto the street.
"Don't stop. Just get to the car," Brian shouted.
Throngs of people watched as they raced down the sidewalk. Jack couldn't tell if they were being pursued, but he doubted it, with all the potential witnesses on the street. He fished in his pocket for his car keys and hit the remote button to unlock the doors.
Jack jumped in the driver's seat and rammed the key in the ignition. He hit the total lock button to lock down the car from the inside as Brian got in.
He gunned the engine and backed up then peeled away from the curb. Kids playing stickball in the street jumped aside to let them pass. As they sped past the bodega, Harry and his henchmen threw something at the car. It hit the back with a loud thud. No doubt there would be a dent, an impressive souvenir of their adventure that evening.
The light was turning yellow at the corner, but Jack gunned through it, wheels squealing as he took a right up the Grand Concourse. He wove his way through traffic, changing lanes like a New York City cab driver. Within two minutes, they were on the Mosholu Parkway, on their way back to Westchester County.
"Close call, man," Brian finally said.
"That was a shakedown. You okay?" Jack glanced at the super. Thank goodness for Brian O'Connell.
"Yeah. I got dusted up, but I'm fine." Brian studied the side of his face. "You've got a shiner, man."
"No way." Jack glanced in the rearview mirror. His left eye was swollen almost shut, with a nasty red and purple bruise underneath it.
"Whoa."
"You need some ice on that right away."
"You got your wallet?" Jack asked.
Brian patted his pockets. "Yup. All here. What were those morons thinking?"
Jack patted his front pockets with one hand, locating his wallet. He remembered the slimy feel of Harry's hands on his jeans pocket. Banging on the steering wheel, he imagined it was the Jamaican man's head. "Thanks again for getting my back, man. I owe you one," he said to Brian.
"No worries," the brawny superintendent replied.
They drove the rest of the way back in companionable silence.
****
Hint tried to make good use of her time while the men checked out the lead in the South Bronx. She wandered down to the dog run then circled around Bronxville, whistling and calling for Percy, not caring how odd she looked to the passersby on the sidewalk. Fingering the remaining dog treats she had in her pocket, she pulled them out from time to time, hoping the smell would attract the schnoodle.
The thought that Jack had overheard her cousin's message on her answering machine gnawed at her. She would clear it up with him as soon as he got back. Kim had a way of implying things that rivaled Brian O'Connell.
As dusk fell, she decided to go home. It would be a good time to review her drawings in preparation for the meeting with Derek Simpson the following day.
Back in her apartment, she pulled out the portfolio she had already put together for Punta Cana. Would her choices look as good to her now that the meeting would take place in New York City? She covered her work desk with all twenty illustrations she had chosen to show the head of Story Tales Press. Looking them over, she took out a few, leaving only the best. Now all she needed to do was pick out something to wear.
But then an idea came to her. She quickly gathered up her drawings and stuffed them back into her portfolio. Then she laid out a large blank sheet of drawing paper on her desk and picked up a pen. Perhaps if she could visualize the dog, she could find him.
Humming to herself, she shut her eyes tightly and imagined the schnoodle. Soon her hand began to move over the sheet. Within five minutes, she had conjured up Percy's affectionate and intelligent personality in the image she'd created. There he sat — bedraggled, forlorn, and looking for love. His large, expressive brown eyes stared mournfully at the viewer. She would add this drawing to the ones she'd show Derek Simpson the following day.
She looked at her watch. It was now half past nine, and the men were not yet back. She dialed Jack's cell phone and got his voicemail.
&nbs
p; She stepped out on her balcony, breathing in the summer night sky. Only two hours earlier, Jack had kissed her for the first time. Her body was afire, but guilt reined her in at the thought of the still lost dog.
The buzzer for the downstairs door interrupted her thoughts. She quickly pressed it then went out into the hallway. Brian came up the stairs first, then Jack. Both looked scruffy and sweaty, but at least they were safely back.
"Any luck?" she asked.
"Nope. It wasn't him," Brian replied, giving her a wide smile.
Then Jack's face came into view.
"Jack, what happened to you?" She rushed into the hallway, brushing past Brian as if he were a dried-up dog treat.
"Just a little run-in," Jack replied. She saw his eyes light up as she put her hand to the side of his face.
"Who punched you? Let's get some ice on it." She hung onto his arm, looking closely for more cuts and bruises.
"We had a scuffle," Brian told her, as they trooped into her apartment.
"Harry turned out to have some friends," Jack added, leaning heavily on Hint's kitchen counter.
"I can't believe it. Wasn't this guy a good Samaritan, taking home a lost dog?" She shook her head, disbelievingly, as she surveyed Jack's black eye.
"He was, more or less, but when he asked for money to help him feed the dog, he didn't like what I gave him."
"You gave him money, then he beat you up?" she asked, astonished.
"I guess he thought a twenty wouldn't do it. The dog was injured. And seemed hungry."
"But he wasn't your dog. What did this guy think you were supposed to do about it?"
"Sweetie, it had nothing to do with the dog. He had no money. I had some. It was more or less a social leveling experiment that didn't work out."
Blushing, she ran to open the freezer to retrieve one of the ice packs she kept for occasional sore muscles after a jog. Had he just called her sweetie? It had sounded so natural. She hoped Brian O'Connell would start doing some math and figure out that one plus one did not make three. But he had just helped Jack get out of a lot of trouble. She couldn't get rid of him right away, could she?
"Hey, you got anything to drink around here? It's been quite an evening," Brian asked, as if reading her mind.