by Dawn Witzke
Then what are you doing here?
“Okay. Well, I will need payment upfront. You do understand that I can’t make any guarantees.”
He tossed a stack of bills on the table. “I believe this should cover your efforts. It is imperative that I get these containers back.”
There had to be at least a couple thousand dollars. He really wants those cases back. My first thought was that the items were illegal. Maybe guns or stolen goods.
It was almost certain that this was a wild goose chase, but if he was willing to pay me, I was willing to try.
I walked to my wall of maps, then closed my eyes, emptied my mind and focused on the cases. Hundreds of images flashed through my mind. There was nothing to focus my thoughts on. The cases could be any of the hundred that I saw. My legs buckled under me and I crumpled to the floor.
“What’d you see?” Mr. Smith demanded, shooting out of the chair.
It took me a few minutes to recover. I hate that part.
“Nothing. There were too many places they could be. I’m sorry.”
His meaty hand grabbed my arm dragging me to a standing position. “That isn’t good enough. Find my cases.” His jovial disposition replaced by something dark and dangerous.
“I can’t. Not without more information.”
A low menacing growl came from the door leading to the apartment. Oh, no, Jake.
“You’ve got all the information you need. Now find them.” He shook me like a rag doll.
Jake barked and scratched at the door. I flinched at the sound of his claws digging into the wood.
“And shut that mutt up.” He glared at me. “Or I’ll shut him up for you.” He pulled back the side of his suit jacket to reveal a pistol.
Fear snapped me out of the fog. “Jake, quiet!” I glanced over at the swords decorating the wall above the side table. If I could just reach one.
He placed himself between me and the swords. Crap.
There was a thump against the apartment door. Then another. Mr. Smith spun around just as the door crashed forward. I pushed past him, my hand within inches of the hilt when he grabbed me around the waist and pulled be away. He held me as a barrier between himself and the dog in the doorway.
Jake looked every inch a dog of war. His head was low, ears flat against his head, teeth bared, spit dripping from his fangs, which had extended an additional three inches in length. The information online hadn’t said anything about retractable fangs. He let out a bark that made my blood run cold.
Mr. Smith pulled his pistol with his free hand. “Keep him away from me.” His voice had gone up in pitch.
“I can’t. He’s not my dog.” My voice wavered.
My ears rang as he pulled the trigger a half dozen times. The bullets bounced off of Jake’s black and silver fur and lodged into the walls. What the heck? He was bullet proof too?
I covered my ears as he shot four more times before his pistol ran out of ammo. He tossed it against the wall of maps, then pushed me toward Jake. I stumbled and landed on my knees in front of him. He stepped over me, setting his sights on Mr. Smith.
Jake lunged, knocking to the floor. I watched in horror as the elongated fangs sunk into his throat cutting off his cries, blood spraying everywhere.
I scrambled to my feet and ran to my office. The number for Donovan was scribbled on the notepad by the phone. I was dialing the number, when the bell on the door rang. Crap. Not now.
“Lillyanne? Are you in here? I’ve got reports of shots fired.” It was Donovan.
Oh, thank God. “I’m okay. Mr. Smith isn’t, though.” I stepped out of the office. “Jake stopped him.”
Donovan holstered his drawn gun. Behind him I could see Annie and her crew peering through the glass in the door. Seriously, get a hobby.
I motioned for him to stop, not wanting to take the chance that Jake would attack him too.
“Jake.” My voice quaked.
The dog trotted to me, his tail wagging, blood covering his fur. He sat at my feet and looked up at me. I patted his head.
“See, you should keep him.” Donovan said.
* * *
I collapsed onto my sofa, Jake by my side. It had been two exhausting hours of answering the same questions a dozen times. In the end, it seemed that Jake wouldn’t be hauled away for killing Mr. Smith. Donovan had said it was provoked, which apparently made a difference.
I looked down at Jake. “I think I found you a new home.” With me.
A knock on the back door made me jump.
“Lillyanne, come open this door right now.”
Alma. Great.
I let the old woman in. She was in a bright floral print dress and matching hat that covered her short silver hair.
“Alma, I really don’t feel up to having visitors right now. It’s been a rather exhausting day.”
“I’ve heard. How could you have let someone in like that? You could have been killed, then where would we all be?” For a woman of small frame and only 4’10”, she had the attitude of someone twice her size. Most of the neighborhood was frightened by her. I was usually just annoyed.
“I am running a business. He came in through the front door like every other client. It’s not like I have bad guy radar or superpowers to throw him out.” I was tired and more snippy than I had intended.
Alma glared at me. “And what’s this I hear about you keeping a dog in the house? You know those things carry diseases and fleas, don’t you?”
“I did not know that. Thanks for the information. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to fall down. I’m exhausted. You can grill me about Jake another day.”
“Well.” Alma huffed, but turned and left without any more prodding.
I returned to the sofa with Jake. “It seems I have to keep you now. If only to irritate Alma and the rest of the busy bodies.”
Jake grumbled, then laid his head on my lap, while I leaned back and closed my eyes. Having Jake around was going to be interesting.
~The End~
* * *
Thank you for reading Jake.
* * *
Dawn Witzke is a freelance writer, graphic artist and master level procrastinator. She is the author of Path of Angels and the Relic Hunter Series. Dawn can be found over at her blog, Books & Art, where she randomly posts artwork, book reviews and writing. http://dawnwitzke.com .
She can be found online at:
Facebook @dawnwitzkeauthor
Twitter @dawnwitzke
Check out her book, Path of Angels , a Dystopian Adventure novel.
Dawn loves to hear from readers. You can email her at [email protected] and she’ll reply when she has a break in her writing.
