The World According to Vince - A romantic comedy (Gym or Chocolate Book 2)

by Stuart Reardon

  He then called a fingerprint expert who confirmed that Vince’s prints were found inside the shelter in a number of places; I had no questions for him. Then Barclay called the police officer who had arrested Vince at the scene, and after several minutes, I had the opportunity to cross-examine her. I had her pegged for a Vince fan, so I was hopeful.

  “Officer Sharon Tomás, you arrested the defendant at Barkalaureate Animal Shelter on the night for January 4th, is that correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the officer, studying her notebook although it was obvious that she had no need of it, the unusual events being clear in her mind, especially when Vince couldn’t help himself and winked at her.

  The officer smiled back then remembered that she was in court and her expression hardened.

  “Let me be clear, Officer Tomás, you arrested the defendant inside Barkalaureate Animal Shelter.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Had any of the dogs been removed onto the street outside the shelter?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Had any of the dogs been removed from the offices inside the shelter?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “No more questions.”

  Barclay stood at once.

  “Officer Tomás, had any of the shelter’s dogs been removed from their kennels when you arrested the accused?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How many had been removed from their kennels, Officer?”

  “Seventeen, sir.”

  “Seventeen! And was that not, in fact, all of the dogs at the shelter?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And how many of the dogs were puppies?”

  “Six, I believe, sir.”

  “And how many puppies did the defendant have about his person at the time of his arrest?”

  “All of them, sir. All six.”

  “Thank you, Officer,” Barclay said with a smug look at me.

  I cursed Barclay. I’d hoped to establish that none of the dogs had been removed from the shelter and therefore no theft had taken place; now he had completely demolished my line of questioning.

  “Re-direct, Counselor?” Judge Herschel asked me.

  “No, your Honor. No further questions for this witness.”

  I could almost hear the prison door slamming behind Vince.

  Vince

  We all sat in silence at the breakfast bar as I watched Tyson racing laps around my tiny backyard. I’d taken him for a run first thing this morning before court, but he was long overdue for another walk.

  I glanced over to see Cady leaning against Rick’s shoulder and him with his arm around her. They’d postponed their honeymoon to be at court every day—I had fookin’ awesome friends. But I wished I didn’t keep screwing things up for them; I just couldn’t seem to help it.

  My eyes were drawn to Gracie, and she was never far from my thoughts. At this moment, she was furiously scribbling notes and frowning, pausing only to push up her glasses when they slid down her nose. She was dressed in a pair of my old sweatpants and an NYU t-shirt, having changed out of her power suit as soon as we’d all arrived home. Her hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail which I found sexy as fook, but that frown was now permanently etched between her tired eyes.

  I stroked Tap absentmindedly while Zeus snored loudly on the sofa. I couldn’t help smiling at the racket he made. My dogs had always been there for me during my darkest hours, and now was no exception. If you’ve never been comforted by a warm ball of fur curled up on your lap, or a heavy furry head resting on your knee, trust me, you’re missing out on one of the greatest sources of comfort since the first wolf decided that bunking down with a well-fed human seemed like a smart move.

  But I was worried about Gracie. She looked worn-out, and worse than that, I could tell that she hadn’t been eating, and that was a punch in the gut. I’d done that to her, and I knew better than most people that once someone who suffered from anorexia stopped eating, it could become a dangerous habit and hard to re-start a healthy relationship with food again.

  Determined that she wouldn’t go any longer without something nutritious, I pulled up the website for my favorite vegan restaurant on my phone and ordered pretty much everything on the menu. I’d make sure Gracie ate even if there wasn’t anything else I could do to help her.

  Tomorrow, she was calling Greg Pinter, the Central Park Zoo Director, to be a witness. She’d already warned me that Barclay would be yelling, ‘objection’ and ‘relevance’, leaping up and down like a kid who’d dropped a turd in his pants. I didn’t dislike many people because it’s a waste of energy, but that smug bastard had definitely made it onto my shortlist.

  The food arrived in a mountain of steaming boxes and spicy aromas that made my mouth water before they even reached the coffee table. The dogs all looked hopefully at Cady and Rick as they started unpacking the food immediately, and I walked to the breakfast bar, taking the opportunity to massage Grace’s shoulders.

  She moaned softly and my Johnny-cum-lately stood up and paid attention. I shrugged. He was lonely and lacking the touch of a good woman. Well, he had the choice of my left hand or my right hand until Gracie decided to make an honest man of me. I hoped it wouldn’t be too long. Could I die from blue balls? Or maybe the question I should be asking was: Could I get married in prison?

  “Oh, that feels wonderful,” she sighed.

  “You’ve got knots in there like a brickie’s biceps,” I murmured, pushing my thumbs into the tight muscles at the base of her neck.

  “I’m not sure what that means but don’t stop.”

  I kneaded those tight muscles until Cady and Rick had unpacked all the food, and Grace was soft and relaxed, leaning backwards against my chest.

  I kissed her cheek.

  “Grub’s up! Time to eat.”

  Her muscles went rigid again, and she shook her head while grabbing her notebook and pen.

  “No, I have to work.”

  At which point, I didn’t bother arguing, but picked her up bodily and carried her into the living room, chucking her on the sofa and narrowly missing Zeus whose wounded eyes haunted me as I apologized to him.

  “Vincent! What the hell?” Grace shrieked, as she untangled herself from a pile of dog blankets.

  “You have to eat, Gracie,” I said gently. “You need protein and carbs and just some fookin’ food. I don’t want me lawyer fainting on the floor.”

  She grumbled a bit but I ignored her while I put tiny portions of a little of everything on her plate. I knew from experience that anorexics can’t stand to stare at a full plate of food—it has to look manageable.

  We all tucked in while Rick inhaled his food, and Cady looked pretty enthusiastic, too. Gracie picked at hers but I didn’t comment because at least she was eating. I tried not to watch her either, because that can cause performance anxiety in anorexics, and I didn’t want her to think I was judging what she ate (or didn’t eat). I wouldn’t let food be a battleground.

  “I need to make the jury aware that Pinter wanted to recruit you as the zoo’s animal advocate,” she said, making a note with one hand as she pushed food around with the other. She glanced up. “He still wants to, right?”

  “Yeah, don’t worry,” I said. “He thinks I’m the dog’s bollocks.” I paused as she gaped at me. “He thinks I’m the mustard, the sliced bread in the supermarket, the sparkle in a tart’s vajazzle.”

  “Riiiight,” she said slowly. “Vincent, promise me you won’t mention a dog’s, um, bollocks anywhere in front of the judge or jury.”

  “Oh, gotcha,” I grinned at her. “Be Saint Vin. Yup, I can do that.”

  My grin became wider as she shook her head. But if I was being honest with myself, I wondered what tomorrow would bring.

  And I’d never tell Gracie, but I was worried, too.

  Grace

  “It’s not going well, is it?” Vince said quietly, not looking up as he stroked Tap.

  Understatement. Day three of t
he trial had been a disaster.

  Barclay had yelled ‘objection’ and ‘relevance’ so frequently during my questioning of Zoo Director Greg Pinter, that my planned narrative had lacked coherence, and the jury became confused and bored. I had just about managed to get across the two important facts: that Vince had been offered a role (unpaid) as the animals’ advocate, and that he’d returned Jabari to the zoo.

  Barclay had been quick to point out that Vince hadn’t yet accepted the advocacy role, and dismissed the second point as ‘a cheap publicity stunt’. I wished he could have seen the way Vince had been with Jabari at Cady and Rick’s wedding.

  I could tell that Vince had been furious, but all credit to him, he kept his peace in the courtroom just like he’d promised me.

  Cady had gone home in a towering rage, swearing to turn her radio show into a ‘free Vince’ show, if the worst happened. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to thank her for her support for Vince or suck up the knowledge that she thought I was going to lose the case.

  I watched Vince stroking Tap, with Zeus asleep next to him and Tyson laying on his feet, drawing comfort from his dogs

  “No,” I admitted with a soft sigh. “It’s not going well.”

  He nodded, but didn’t look up.

  “If I don’t make it home from court tomorrow, you’ll take care of me dogs, won’t you, Gracie?”

  He looked so sad and defeated, and I felt like the worst lawyer in the history of the world, the worst friend, the worst almost-girlfriend ever.

  He raised his head, meeting my eyes, then gave a wry smile and squeezed my hand, not an ounce of blame in his deep blue gaze.

  We sat hand in hand as tears gathered in my eyes.

  It was just plain wrong that this amazing human being, this crazy, kind, generous man could be facing prison. It was wrong! It wasn’t justice, even if it was the law. How could someone so sweet and genuine end up behind bars? Someone who only wanted to do good? A man that others had named the Canine Crusader?

  How could he…

  Wait…

  WAIT!

  Just wait a doggone minute! I was having an idea…

  No, not an idea, a genuine epiphany … a revelation—not the kind with choirs of angels and baby cherubs shooting me with arrows of love—but an honest-to-goodness belief that we could still win this case.

  Fascinating factoid: the phrase ‘doggone’ has nothing to do with dogs—it actually is a derivation of the more profane phrase ‘goddamn’.

  “No!” I yelped, shooting up from the sofa and pacing the room.

  “No?” Vince stared as his furry trio watched me with worried eyes. “You won’t look after me dogs?”

  “No!” I laughed out loud. “No, I won’t look after them because you’re going to look after them!”

  “I am?”

  “You are!”

  “I am!” he yelled, standing up with Tap under one arm and Zeus under the other as Tyson barked with surprise and joy.

  For several minutes it was adorable mayhem with Vince chasing the dogs, catching them and kissing them, and receiving a thousand licks in the process, while I jumped up and down on the sofa, yelling like a Banshee, yelling like we’d already won.

  Vince lifted me off the sofa, whirled me around and planted a firm kiss on my lips that turned soft and sweet and far too sensual.

  “Put me down,” I said in a muffled voice, and he obligingly dropped me back onto the sofa, laughing as I bounced.

  Then his beaming smile slipped slightly. “So, eh, a minute ago you thought we were going to lose, and now you think we’re going to win?” he asked carefully. “I know I’m not the sharpest mallet in the kitchen drawer, but how’s that work?”

  “I know how we’re going to win,” I grinned at him. “I have a secret weapon!”

  “You do?”

  “I do.”

  “Fookin’ fab!” he grinned at me, while I continued to laugh like a lunatic. “Okay, are you going to tell me what it is?”

  “You,” I said with a wide smile.

  “Me, what?” he asked, a puzzled frown marring his handsome face.

  “You!” I laughed. “You’re my secret weapon! I’ve been doing this trial all wrong! I’ve told you to behave, be quiet, be a sensible and sober citizen. It’s all wrong!”

  “Hang on a minute, being sensible and sober ain’t cutting the French mustard?”

  “No! Because you’re not sensible and sober! You’re the kind of … of … adorable tosser … who breaks into animal shelters to save dogs from being euthanized! You’re the kind of hero who donates half a million dollars to help re-home dogs across the whole state of New York! You’re the giant jerk who breaks into Central Park Zoo to help an elderly lion find his way home! You’re completely crazy, and half of Manhattan is in love with the Canine Crusader!”

  “Does that include you?” he asked with a hopeful grin.

  “I refuse to answer that on the grounds that I could incriminate myself,” I said primly. “I’m pleading the Fifth. But ask me next week.”

  “You can bet your bra and knickers on that!” he smirked. “So, what’s the big plan to win the case?”

  I took a deep breath. “Be yourself.”

  He blinked, a look of confusion that was completely adorable. “Be meself?”

  “Yes! Be your own wonderful, crazy self in court. Let the jurors see the real Vincent Azzo, the real Canine Crusader. Let them see your passion; let them see the man who puts his own freedom on the line to ensure that unwanted dogs, scrapheap dogs, are wanted by him. Show them the real you, Vince.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “One hundred per cent.”

  He scratched his head, his smile starting slow and growing bigger. “Be meself. I can do that,” he grinned. “I can definitely do that!”

  “And wear your Canine Crusader suit.”

  “Really?”

  “Truly.”

  “With the cape?”

  “Yep.”

  “And the tail?”

  “Definitely.”

  “And the floppy ears?”

  “Heck, yeah!”

  Then he swept me into his arms and we kissed passionately, happily, lovingly, while the dogs barked their approval.

  Vince

  “Are you completely crazy?!” shrieked Cady. “Are you certifiably nuts? Maybe the stress of the case has gotten to you at last. Or maybe alien bodysnatchers have taken over your mind!”

  She grabbed Grace’s shoulders and shook her.

  Grace laughed and turned to smile at me. “I think Vince looks wonderful.”

  I stood tall, glowing with pride in my Canine Crusader costume of gold Lycra body suit with my logo on the chest, the long green and red cape that flowed behind me, and a furry tail that peeked out below the cape. I wasn’t wearing the hood right now, but I had a thing for those floppy dog ears. So did Gracie, just sayin’.

  “Do you want him to go to jail?” Cady cried, her hands still clamped on Grace’s shoulders, still shaking her until Rick peeled her off.

  “Of course not,” Grace snapped, her eyes flashing. “But so far the jury have only heard words, so much hot air from the witnesses, from me, and from Barclay—I need them to see Vince; they have to understand that he’s not like the rest of us,” and she swept her hand in front of me the way P.T. Barnum introduced a new elephant-on-a-bicycle act.

  “Yeah, I’m unique,” I grinned. “They broke the mold when they made me.”

  “I always wondered if the mold was broken before they made you,” Rick mumbled in the background.

  “Oh, man! And what the freakin’ hell did you do to your hair?” Cady wailed.

  I glanced in the mirror at the tufts of hair left on my bald head that showed two interlocking letter ‘C’s and a paw print, my Canine Crusader logo.

  “Cool, innit?”

  “I helped,” Gracie said proudly. “The paw print was the trickiest part.”

  “But, why?” Cady groaned.
<
br />   “I told him to be himself and he wanted to have his head shaved with the logo, so…” Grace shrugged.

  “But, why are you listening to Vince?” Cady groaned even louder. “He’s a giant jerk! He’s a knob-head idiot! No offense.”

  “None taken,” I laughed.

  “Exactly,” Grace said calmly. “I’ve been trying to portray Vince as a sane and sober citizen when in fact he’s adorably nuts. So far, it’s just been another case for the judge and jury—they need to see who Vincent really is.”

  Rick scratched his beard. “Could work.”

  “Or Vince could end up going to jail!” Cady yelled.

  “Aw, I didn’t know you cared,” I teased.

  “Not that much, jerkoff,” she growled. “But Grace is my best friend and I care about her. She’ll be devastated if she loses.”

  Grace took her hand. “Thank you for saying ‘if’; I love you too, hon. Now, we need a favor. Who’s sitting in for you on your radio show this week?”

  “Dude named Ragin’ Rob. He’s pretty good.”

  “Can you gatecrash his show for ten minutes before court this morning?”

  Cady perked up. “I sure can,” she said, her eyes gleaming.

  “Great! Talk up the case. I want as many Canine Crusader fans as possible outside the Supreme Court. Use your contacts to get TV and press there, too.”

  Cady barely waited to hear the end of Grace’s sentence before she was ordering an Uber to take her to the radio station.

  “Vince, get on social media and put a call out for your fans to come to the Supreme Court—banners and placards preferred. If they can’t be there in person, I want them tweeting and posting, using the hashtag #Justice4CanineCrusader.”

  “On it!” I grinned, grabbing my phone and sending out an SOS to my 500,000 followers.

  “Rick, you have some high profile gym members, would you send out an email to them asking for their support?”

  Rick nodded and pulled out his phone, concentrating on typing.

  “What have I forgotten?” Grace muttered to herself, peering at her notes.

  “You forgot to kiss me,” I whispered in her ear, making her jump.