by D. D. Ayres
“Help me gather the Weave poles?”
Scott spread his legs and pulled her in between them. “What do I get for helping?”
Laughing, she pushed against his chest. “You’re awfully sure of yourself today.”
“Believe it.” He was in deep trouble, and about to go deeper. All to protect the woman in the circle of his arms.
“You’ve been idle too long. Want to let me beat you at a game of racquetball later on?”
“Maybe another time. Tonight I’ve got to see a man about a dog.”
Cole’s smile disappeared. “If this is about X—”
He put a finger to her lips. “You need to trust me.”
She frowned. “I do. But—”
He cut off her protest with a kiss so long and deep a couple of teenagers on skateboards passing by started making kissy sounds of derision.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Hey there. Your girlfriend’s up next, gorgeous.”
Jennifer and Lorene waved at Scott as he cut across the grass toward the Agility ring. The two women were again decked out in sunshades, matching floral this time, bright solid tops and khaki capris. As he recalled, Jennifer was the talky one. Great. She’d want to chat.
He tossed a wave in their general direction. In no mood to be social, he increased his pace.
He’d just come from a task force meeting and the news wasn’t good. One further lead had developed in their puppy mule case. One dog had turned up alive. It belonged to a family in New Hampshire who had gotten the puppy from a friend of a friend of a guy who ran into a guy on the street in Nashua selling a box of puppies he wheeled around in a Red Flyer wagon. He was “just one of those anonymous people” who turn up periodically in neighborhoods selling flowers in June, corn and watermelons in July, and extra cheap Christmas lights in October. Lucky break, the puppy had developed an infection at the site of his neutering. The family took him to a vet who discovered a heroin packet had been left inside him.
DEA had got to the vet who reported it and buttoned up the discovery before it became front-page news.
Good result: The smugglers didn’t know they were under surveillance and so could be caught in the act.
Bad result: Puppy mules contaminated with heroin were showing up in homes of unsuspecting families with children who might get exposed to other packets.
Dilemma: Put out a bulletin warning people off buying puppies from unknown dealers, or not? If news of the drug find leaked out, the smugglers would simply quit using that method.
Compromise: Send out a public health bulletin warning people that buying puppies from unknown dealers might expose the buyer to diseases like roundworm, hookworm, and rabies, and hope that people would be more careful.
Meanwhile, Scott and Cole were still point persons in the operation to find and shut down the smugglers. The meeting took two hours. They could have just sent Scott an e-mail. He hated committees.
“Hey. Sweet cheeks.”
Annoyed, Scott refused to look back as he reached the edge of the ring. No way was he going to answer to that name.
The major irritation in his life was X. According to his parole officer, X’s address was a flophouse for street people. Scott checked. The reality was X flopped wherever and whenever the mood struck him. Never the same place twice in a row. And usually during the day. Nights, X was on the prowl.
His parole officer was unimpressed by this minor parole violation. “I should be so lucky all my parolees are like X. He follows the rules. He’s clean. I don’t give a flying fuck where he sleeps. You got no legal authority to know about my meetings with him. You follow me, I’ll have you arrested for interfering with an officer of the court.”
“Hey there.” Jennifer had sidled up beside Scott in hot-pink jelly sandals that matched her top. “Didn’t expect to see you in Baltimore, hot buns. Thought you lived down near Richmond.”
Scott smiled tightly. No way to ignore her now. “It’s Jennifer, isn’t it? Actually, my lady friend lives here in the Baltimore area.”
Jennifer tilted her head back until she stared fully into his face. The gaze in her cherublike face was speculative. “Where do you come from?”
“Philly.”
“That’s where we’re going next. Then back to Maryland for the CPE because my daughter’s competing there. Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
“Maybe.” Wanting to change the subject, Scott looked back over his shoulder to where Lorene, silent as ever, sat and waved. “I see you have your umbrella chairs and ice chest set up.”
“Oh, we’re always here early to pick our spots. The Winnebago gives us the edge. We park the night before and sleep in the parking lot, if they allow it. We’ve got the next three months charted out. Started out in Florida. We’re working our way up the coast to Maine, more or less, depending on the competitions we choose to attend. Won’t be home until fall.”
That surprised Scott. “Where do you call home?”
Jennifer lifted her shoulders. “These days, our motor home is home. We’re retired, you see, me and Lorene, and on a fixed income, which isn’t much considering—”
So sorry he’d asked. To cut that off he interjected another question. “Is your daughter competing today?”
“Not this time.” As she shook her head, rows of perfectly formed cylinder-shaped orange-red curls bobbled. “We got Lorene’s granddaughter with us on this leg of the trip.”
She pointed to a little girl who appeared to be about six years old. She was squatting in the grass in denim shorts and a floral top pulling at weed flowers.
“That’s Mimi. We call her Boo Bear. Her mother works most days and weekends and has to pay a sitter in the summer when school’s out. So we just brought Boo Bear with us. Want a beer?” She pointed to the cooler at Lorene’s feet.
“Maybe later.” It was only eleven A.M. These women started early.
“You know where to find us. Oh, here comes your lady friend.”
Scott turned to watch Cole and Hugo approach the entry to the ring, which was on the opposite side. He waved but didn’t call her name. He knew she was concentrating on the course and didn’t want to break her focus.
“There’s a lot of nervous energy in the contestants today. Bunch of beginners in the first round. Just pitiful, some of them handlers. Several dogs did flyoffs.”
“What’s that?”
“When a dog leaps off an obstacle too soon it’s called a flyoff. Most often it happens on the teeter-totter. What you Yankees call a seesaw?”
Scott shrugged. Chatty people wore out their welcome with him pretty fast.
She pointed to the obstacle on the side of the ring. “Once that high end drops to the ground some of these excitable rookie dogs figure they’ve done their part. But they need to come down the other side and touch that yellow area near the end. If they jump off before they touch yellow they get a penalty.”
“Interesting.”
“Not only that. There’ve been two backweavers this morning. That comes from sloppy teaching technique. You never correct a dog in mid-weave. You let him finish and then take him back to the beginning. If he misses a pole and you stop him and make him go back and catch it while he’s in the Weaves, he’ll do it in the competition if he misses a pole. Backweaving reflects on both the handler and dog. Big fault.”
Scott felt his stomach tighten with something more than a lack of breakfast as he surveyed the ring. He supposed Cole knew about such things as flyoffs and backweaves. He had admired her and Hugo for what they had accomplished so quickly but he was beginning to think he didn’t fully appreciate all that went into it.
“Where’s your dog?”
Scott tried not to let his irritation show but decided he’d answered enough questions for one day. “I’ll bring her by the next time I see you. Bye.” He turned and walked away.
Undeterred, she called after him. “You do that. We make all the big tournaments and lots of the smaller ones.”
“Next up, Hugo.�
� The announcer’s voice rang out over the sunny day as Scott approached the entry gate of the ring.
He was late because he had had to check in with Lattimore, privately, after the task force meeting. Lattimore was pleased with Cole’s ability to form a relationship with their target so quickly but Scott was less enthusiastic. He was beginning to share Cole’s hunch about Shajuanna.
He just wasn’t getting a vibe that said she might be involved with puppy mules. That didn’t let her off the hook for drug use or dealing. But this particular method required a calculated indifference toward animals that he didn’t see in Shajuanna. Whatever else might be going on at chez Collier, Shajuanna was taking good care of her children and her dogs.
Scott leaned his folded arms against the uprights that held up the ring fence. Of course, if criminals all looked and acted like criminals he wouldn’t have a job. The local police could just go out and round up the suspicious on a daily basis.
Hugo was fast off the start, flying over jumps. Scott watched with new interest as Cole ran with him and then ahead, sometimes stopping short as she used both vocal and hand commands to direct her partner through the course. Hugo barked a couple of times in exhilaration, for instance, after he made it through the Weave poles. She had slowed him down and that cost them both points, but he completed it without mishap.
It wasn’t until Hugo shot through the tire jump at the end that Scott realized he had been holding his breath. A little shot of pride sped through him as they completed the course with no major fouls.
This time at the end, Cole turned away as Hugo came racing toward her. When he jumped up on her back, she caught him behind his rear legs. With his front legs clamped over her shoulders, she carried him out of the ring, piggyback style. That earned them extra applause.
Happy to have an excuse to act on his genuine feelings, “Sam” embraced “Noel,” Hugo and all, as they exited the ring. “Great run. You’ve got a real talent.”
Grinning, Cole released Hugo from her back and ran a forearm over her sweaty brow. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely. You and Hugo could become champions.” Scott snatched up the towel sticking out of her backpack and handed it to her.
She shrugged as she toweled off her face and arms. “It’s too much for him to do both, patr—I mean, compete often.” He saw the pain of her almost-gaffe cloud her gaze but she continued. “Because he’s so big, Hugo’s tendons and joints get a lot of pounding in the ring.”
“But you could be champions. Believe it.” He slung an arm around her neck. “You’ll have to show me the different moves next time you practice so I can learn this stuff.”
Cole frowned but didn’t remove his arm. “You don’t need to do all that.”
“You know men and sports. We need to know all the terms and nuances so we can talk the talk with the boys.”
“Don’t you mean the girls? I saw you talking to those women. Weren’t they at the last meet?”
“Yeah. I guess they are like Agility groupies. One even has her granddaughter with her.
“Ah, and here’s your favorite person.”
Scott pointed out Shajuanna and her entourage turning into the parking lot.
What they actually saw was a big motor coach emblazoned on the sides with the Swag-Grr TV show logo in purple and gold and diamonds.
Scott shook his head. “Does she ever go incognito?”
“Don’t hate the playa, hate the game.”
Shajuanna arrived sans cameras this time, Cole noted. Even her glam factor was muted as well, sort of. Shajuanna stepped out wearing sequined basketball shorts and a navy racer-back tank and high-tops that cost, if Cole remembered the ad correctly, half her apartment’s rent. Her cap matched her shorts and her sunglasses covered half her face. She waved high and dramatically when she noticed Cole.
“Looks like you’re on.” Scott slipped his arm from Cole’s shoulders and took Hugo’s leash from her hand. “See you later.”
“But you just got … here.” Cole let her protest trail off. Scott was moving away at an easy lope but she knew he was getting out of her way.
“What’s up with your boyfriend?” This was Shajuanna’s greeting.
Cole smiled. “He’s taking Hugo for a cooldown and a drink. We just left the ring.”
“How’d you do?”
Cole glanced up as her numbers were posted and felt the warmth of satisfaction. They had improved slightly from the week before. “Not bad.”
“You want to come help me decide who I should bring into the ring today?”
Cole fell into step with her as they headed toward the back of her vehicle. “Not Shujaa?”
“Oh, I’ve got a kennel full of dogs. All with the potential to become champions. Today I brought Akita and Mmumba.”
“How was L.A.?”
Shajuanna adjusted her sunglasses. “Sample sale. Snatched from Rihanna’s shopper. You ever been there? No? Then whatever you heard about the place is true. I keep my bags packed from the time I land until I’m home. It’s a drive-thru type place. I make my order, fly through to get what I need, and I come home. But enough of that. Tell me about Leila’s lessons. She talks about nothing but you.”
“Really?” Cole didn’t want to contradict Shajuanna but Leila had been pretty much a handful during the week of lessons. When they weren’t testing each other, Leila was sandbagging. It’s too hard. That’s dumb. I’m tired.
“She showed me three things she learned this week. She knows I’m going to test. Miya said she spent an hour every day after you left practicing what you’d taught her that day. You’re a good teacher.”
“She’s a good student.” More likely she was afraid to disappoint her mother. Whatever worked.
Shajuanna decided to compete with the Argentine mastiff named Mmumba. Without the docked tail or ears, the pure white dog looked almost cuddly, more like a Lab on steroids.
“Mmumba reminds me of my little brother as a teen. Loved him but couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him half the time. Which was bad luck for me since we were so poor we had to share a bedroom.” She stroked her pet. “Male and cocky. Always showing off, trying to have his way. Thinks he knows more than me. Mmumba is a trip!”
Half an hour later, none of that conflict showed as Shajuanna and Mmumba breezed through the course, until the final jump. Mmumba first balked and then walked around it.
Shajuanna was so pissed she didn’t even say good-bye, just climbed in her motor coach and left.
Cole looked at Scott as she pulled out of the parking lot. “I’m ready to head out.”
The child’s cry of alarm didn’t penetrate the noise of the crowd at first. It was the second shriek of terror that dampened the noise.
Scott and Cole reacted as one, turning and running in the direction of the cry.
They found a few people gathering where the competitors set up for the day. A pen of chicken wire had been set up next to a camper to make a dog run. Inside the enclosure a black-and-white border collie had a little girl backed up against the camper wall. The collie was making high yips of excitement. Head held low, ears up, legs braced and teeth bared, the dog made a lunging movement forward every time the little girl tried to move.
“For pity’s sake! Someone get me a stick. I gotta git my Boo Bear outta there!” Lorene stood by the pen, her eyes wide with fright. “That dog’s got my little Boo Bear cornered. Where’s the dog’s handler? Somebody find the handler before my grandbaby gets bit!”
Scott stepped up to the woman, who had never before spoken directly to him, and took her by the shoulders. “I will get her out, Lorene, but you need to get calm. You’re scaring your granddaughter.”
The little girl was crying and dancing in place. “Me maw! Me maw!”
Scott turned Lorene to face her granddaughter. “Tell her in a calm voice that everything’s going to be okay. She’s going to be okay.”
“Hey there, Boo Bear. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Thi
s nice man here,” Lorene patted Scott’s arm, “this nice man’s going to get you out of there.”
“What’s going on here?”
A woman had come running from the direction of the refreshment stands. She had an ice-cream cone in one hand and a leash in the other. When she saw what was going on, she dropped both. “Oh my God! Bebe. No! Bad girl! Bad Bebe!”
Scott looked at Cole. “Let’s lock this circus down. You get Hugo to distract the dog and I’ll grab the kid.”
Cole nodded. She reached out and unclipped Hugo’s leash but held on to his collar.
“Everyone, back up five feet. Now.” Scott’s tone demanded and got obedience. The crowd shuffled backward though those in front did not want to relinquish their positions.
Cole motioned to the owner. “Ma’am, I need you to back out slowly. I’m about to release my dog.”
When the owner was once again outside the fence, Cole opened the gate and let go of Hugo’s collar. “Hugo, wache! Wache!”
Hugo nimbly jumped inside and shot straight toward the dog and child.
The little girl screamed to see another, bigger dog racing toward her. But Hugo wasn’t targeting her.
He slowed at the last minute, ears forward, his stance strained as he targeted the border collie.
The collie had been intent upon the child and he didn’t notice Hugo until the bigger dog was right up on him. Startled, he backed up.
All bulky black coiled muscles and piercing gaze, Hugo moved into the space between the collie and child and swung around, putting his body between them. His head was low and his stance unequivocal. It said: Back off before I bite your ass.
The border collie seemed confused by the sudden change in dynamic. Uncertain if he wanted this particular fight, the dog backed up a few more steps but his ears stayed flat and his eyes remained round with excitement.
“Hugo. Pass auf.” Satisfied that Hugo would only guard and not attack, Cole motioned to Scott to go ahead.
Scott swung a leg over the fencing nearest the camper. The child looked toward him and he motioned to her with a hand. “Hi, there, Boo Bear. My name’s Sam.”
The child looked at him and then at the dogs, her eyes so round with fright it seemed she would never blink again.
