Wanted

by Ho, Jo

  “Did you run away from the people who made you?”

  Another bark. This one more determined. He stared at me and tensed his body as if how I responded would determine his next move. I thought about what he’d just revealed and realized we had more in common than I’d initially thought. I dropped down from my perch and cupped his face in my hands.

  “Just because someone made you doesn’t mean they deserve you. If that was the case, I’d be back in Massachusetts. If you’re worried I’ll send you back, don’t. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  He regarded me solemnly. Then his tail twitched suddenly, swinging from side to side in the biggest wag I’d seen to date. When I smiled, the dog leapt up, and I got my first whiff of doggy breath as he licked my nose to my forehead. Not an inch of my face escaped unscathed. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience of my life.

  “Stop that! Rule number 1, no licking!” I wiped my face on my sleeve, trying to rid it of any excess saliva. “So,” I asked nonchalantly, “are you planning on sticking around, or is this a flying visit?”

  “WOOF!”

  I managed not to smile, but honestly? I felt a huge sense of relief at his answer. It kind of surprised even me.

  “Then we need to call you something other than Muttface. I should warn you, Lassie and Hooch have been used to death.” Several other possibilities ran through my head; Beethoven, Bruiser, and Bingo but none of those felt right. And then I was hit with a spark of genius. And the cherry on top? It was still a B name!

  “How about... Bandit? That means outlaw, in case you don’t know, ‘cept you probably do, seeing as you seem to know a lot for your type…” I was babbling, suddenly nervous, surprised by how much it mattered to me what he thought of my choice.

  Next thing I knew I was on the ground, the wind knocked out of me as a giant tongue slobbered over my face again.

  We probably needed to run through our rules of engagement a few more times.

  CHAPTER 9

  SULLY

  The hands on the antique brass clock revealed it was a little after six in the evening. A freestanding monolith that took up the whole of one wall, it was the one luxury I kept in the practice. A little ostentatious for the simple surroundings of the workplace, but I didn’t care. Besides, there was no room for it upstairs. It was a family heirloom passed down from my father and had sentimental value. That we both treasured it was the only thing we had ever agreed upon.

  I sighed at the time. I had thought I’d be done with work by now. The Red Sox were playing tonight, and I had planned on watching the game, but instead here I was, rifling through the cabinets, compiling a medicine list. Really, this fell under Florence’s job description, but after our earlier altercation, I had avoided her for the rest of the day. Childish, I knew, but I was the boss. I was almost done when the doorbell rang. Irritated by the interruption, I growled down the hall.

  “Unless someone’s dying, we’re closed. Come back tomorrow.”

  “Sul, it’s me,” a familiar voice said. “Open up.”

  I frowned but put down the list and unlocked the front door. Mark Armstrong stood outside. All chiselled jaw line and broad shoulders, he was a regular hit with the ladies, though, unlike me, Mark was a player who cherished his freedom. We had been firm friends since college. Mark worked as a consultant down in Wall Street. I never really understood what his job was, only that it involved ridiculous amounts of money and offshore accounts. Mark had the kind of lifestyle most people envied, and the icing on the cake? He only worked three days a week. Today must have been a work day, as Mark was still dressed in an Armani suit in lieu of his usual shirts and slacks, and instead of a briefcase, he carried a perspex tray of lasagna.

  “Figured you could do with some home cooking.”

  I pulled a face. “Like I haven’t been through enough already.”

  Mark sidestepped smoothly past me, not waiting for an invitation. “Relax,” he said. “I didn’t say it was my cooking.”

  I closed the door as Mark made his way up the stairs. “Then I hope you gave her a good time at least. First there’s mothering, then comes the smothering. That’s your saying, right?”

  Mark ignored me. He stood in the living area, taking in the empty junk food wrappers and general mess. I felt some embarrassment, but I knew Mark wouldn’t make this into a thing. “I keep asking to borrow your cleaner…” I cleared a space on a chair for Mark, but he shook his head.

  “I’ll heat this up, get some beers going. You, my friend, are heading for the shower.” He moved into the open-plan kitchen. Once a safe distance away, he tossed a look back at me. “You’re pretty ripe.”

  I sniffed under my arms and had to agree that I wasn’t at my best. Mark set the dial on the oven and placed the dish inside.

  “Instead of food, I’ll bring you a case of Axe next time.”

  I grabbed a tennis ball from a shelf and aimed it at Mark’s head. Anticipating a comeback, Mark side-stepped. The ball went wide, sailed over his shoulder, bounced off of the kitchen tiles and rolled into the sink.

  “If you could only score like that the rest of the time,” Mark quipped.

  I mumbled something unintelligible as I stepped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

  CHAPTER 10

  SULLY

  When I stepped out of the bathroom fresh from my shower, dressed in a pair of jeans and a cotton shirt, I had to admit I felt almost human again. The rich aroma of the reheating lasagna caused my stomach to flip flop. Real food, I thought. Not something out of a box. I padded barefoot into the kitchen, but was surprised to find it empty. Two beers and place settings were neatly laid out on the table, but Mark was nowhere in sight. Hearing a sound across the hall, I followed it to my bedroom… where I froze in the doorway.

  Having erected several removal boxes, Mark was rifling through the closets at a rack of women’s clothing. He had an armload when the floorboards beneath my feet creaked, revealing my presence. Mark spun around guiltily.

  “What the hell are you doing?” My eyes glittered angrily.

  Mark dropped the clothes onto the bed. “You can’t avoid this forever.” He stepped towards me, palms held outwards, placating. “We hoped you’d arrive here yourself but it’s been ten months. You needed a push.”

  “We?” My breath caught as it came to me. “Florence.”

  “She’s worried about you. We both are.”

  “So you thought you’d ambush me?”

  Mark took a step back, sensing my building rage.

  “Sully, come on. I only want to help. Let me help you.”

  A range of conflicting emotions flickered across my face. Anger, fear, and then pain. Mark made an attempt to continue when his leg knocked against the pile of clothes, sending them tumbling to the ground.

  I reacted like a man possessed. Darting forward, I scrambled around, snatching the clothes from the floor as if they were made of a precious material that would disintegrate if left there a second too long.

  “Sully.” Mark’s voice was pained, struggling to watch his friend’s desperate behavior. He cleared his throat. “They won’t bring her back. Nothing will.”

  But I was beyond hearing, now methodically sorting the clothes into a neat pile. My touch was uber gentle, reverent.

  Mark steeled himself. Clenching his fists, he braced himself.

  “Emma’s gone,” he said flatly. “You need to accept it.”

  I suddenly rounded on him.

  “You think I don’t know that? There isn’t one second of any day where I haven’t thought about her cold body lying in a box instead of with me. I can’t sleep, I can barely function, but her things keep me sane. Having them here keeps her close to me.” My voice cracked, raw with pain.

  But Mark refused to bend.

  “You’re holding on when you need to let go.” He slipped a business card from his wallet, offering it to me. “Look, just… call them. They’re expecting you.”

  I didn’t move. Sig
hing, Mark set the card onto the table. Unbidden, my eyes roamed over the typed lettering. Dr. Philip Grass, Psychologist. Specialist in grieving.

  “Get out,” I said softly.

  Mark hesitated. Then placed a hand on my shoulder.

  It was the wrong thing to do.

  ROARING, I flew at him, shoving him back through the hallway to the top of the stairs.

  “Jesus, stop!” Mark cast a startled look over his shoulder at the fast approaching steps, but my rage knew no bounds. Mark reached for the banisters, fingers closing around the sturdy wood. He held on, anchoring himself even as I continued to push.

  “I want you gone! Leave us alone!”

  Unable to withstand my fury and at a disadvantage beneath me, Mark stumbled down the steps, all the while pleading with me.

  “Can you hear yourself? There is no more “us”.”

  With a determination built of desperation, I forced him through the hallway and out of the practice. No sooner had Mark’s foot landed outside than I slammed the door on him.

  Mark walked slowly back to his car. I waited until he unlocked the car, then I slid open the upstairs. The lasagna flew at Mark with unnerving aim, landing inches from him. Hitting pavement, the dish smashed into a thousand pieces. Meat sauce and glass splashed onto his pants.

  “Nothing wrong with my aim now,” I said.

  Gritting his teeth, Mark climbed into his car and drove away.

  CHAPTER 11

  CHASE

  I woke to find dog hair in my mouth and the smelly beast stretched out by my side. At some point during the night, he must have crawled onto the baby changer with me. He must’ve been cold and needed the added warmth. Note to self: Give him a blanket, or at least a towel, next time.

  I yawned and stretched. Light streamed in through high set windows, showering the bathroom in iridescent sunlight. I blinked, somewhat taken aback. The place was practically sparkly. I was entertaining the possibility of this being our nightly stay when Bandit suddenly sat up and cocked his ear.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Bandit looked towards the door, gave a low warning growl, and bolted into a toilet cubicle. I scrambled after him and had just enough time to climb onto the toilet before a cleaner entered, pushing a cart. Tacky salsa blared out from her cheap headphones. I peeked through the crack in the door to see a Hispanic woman wielding a mop, dancing to her phone. Good. At least she wouldn’t hear us over that racket. I waited until the cleaner entered the first cubicle and signalled Bandit to follow. Quickly, we snuck out, darted around the cart, and escaped into the mall outside.

  A scattering of early morning staff was trickling in. I knew we had to get out before we were spotted - a girl and her dog would stick out like a sore thumb. Seeing a sign for the exit, we started for it, when a gorgeous smell assaulted our nostrils. Practically drooling, Bandit sighed and gave me a pleading look.

  I craned my head for the source of the heavenly scent and found it just a few feet away; a pastry stand, being looked after by one lone worker with his back to us. I was figuring out how we could sneak some of the goods when Bandit darted ahead. I watched in amazement as Bandit slunk closer, always keeping out of sight. Within seconds he had reached the stand. He snatched three pretzels into his mouth and made it back to me, quicktime, before anyone had seen a thing. I beamed at him.

  “You sneaky little thief!”

  I swear he grinned at me.

  Shoving the stolen goods into my bag, we bolted for freedom and didn’t stop until we were at least two blocks away. I found a nice spot by a green and handed a whole pretzel to Bandit. His eyes went so wide with happiness I thought they would explode out of his head.

  Stupid dog.

  CHAPTER 12

  CHASE

  After breakfast, we headed downtown. My newfound companion’s special abilities got me thinking. Like me, Bandit knew a thing or two about survival. Also like me, he had sticky fingers — or paws — and could lift things better than anyone. Clearly we could survive just taking what we needed when we needed it, but I realized we should aim higher. Here was a goldmine waiting to happen!

  Having been broke my entire life, I had always craved money. And right then, I considered the various ways we could utilize Bandit’s skills. Obviously, there was street performing, but that was just one step away from begging, which I draw the line at (there was that small matter of pride). I could enter him into a dog competition, but that would bring too much attention on us. I doubt my mom would care enough to find me, but Bandit’s real owner, that was another story. I knew I still needed the full lowdown from the dog, but somehow I kept putting it off. Some sixth sense told me he or she was way bad news.

  I looked at him now, padding next to me. His tongue lolled out in a sign of contentment, and he seemed for all the world just a normal dumb dog, but I could see he held his posture differently to other mutts. No matter what he was doing — goofing around, resting, or eating — Bandit was constantly aware of danger.

  In my experience there were only two types of people in the world: one’s who had suffered by the hands of others, and one’s who hadn’t. Bandit fell into my camp.

  We arrived outside a grand stone building with an ornate welcome sign that read: “Welcome to Ashdale Library.”

  Perfect.

  I reached up and unwrappred my scarf, then tied it around Bandit’s neck. He cocked his head at me in question, but I didn’t elaborate. As I headed inside, I called back to him.

  “Come on boy, time for some schooling.”

  At the word “school”, Bandit pricked up his ears and bounded after me.

  CHAPTER 13

  CHASE

  I let out an impressed whistle.

  The old stone facade disguised a thoroughly modern interior. A glass ceiling hung over the central chamber. Shelves filled with books formed a maze across the floor. I could make out some familiar sounding titles — The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, Twilight — but I had no interest in those.2 My gaze swept the room until I found what I was looking for… a bank of computers. Happily, there were only a few other webgeeks around. I started towards them when a voice stopped me dead.

  “Young lady, there are no dogs allowed in here.”

  This had come from a prickly looking librarian. I casually studied the name on the badge pinned to her chest. Miss Thorne. How apt. I stared over Miss Thorne’s shoulder and allowed my gaze to unfocus.

  “Even guide dogs? I’m partially blind.” The lie came with no effort at all.

  Miss Thorne blinked at me behind wide-rimmed glasses, her expression horrified. What a terrible faux pas she had just committed! Her face flushed an ugly red. She took a step back and stammered.

  “I’m sorry…I didn’t know.”

  I smiled sadly at thin air.

  “No worries. I get it all the time. Glaucoma,” I explained helpfully. Miss Thorne took another step away from me as if to keep my eye disease at bay.

  “Can I assist you with anything? Our braille texts are on the next floor up?”

  So someone who couldn’t see would have to stumble up a flight of stairs all on their lonesome? Whoever designed the layout of this place should be given an award. I shook my head.

  “That’s very kind of you, but my dog is trained to look after me.”

  Miss Thorne cleared her throat.

  “Excellent. Well, I’ll be here if you need me. You just have to call.”

  I waited patiently for her to go, and after a few moments, she finally got the hint. Spinning on her heel so fast it was a miracle she didn’t snap her ankle, Miss Thorne walked stiffly to the check-out desk.

  Stooping down, I clutched hold of the scarf around Bandit’s neck and spoke into his ear. “Lead the way fella.” Bandit snapped to attention and — quite literally — pranced to the computers, enjoying the charade. I rolled my eyes at his antics. Someone had to teach this dog, less is more. Happily, the computers were out of Miss Thorne’s line of vision, so we wouldn’t b
e getting any questioning looks sent our way.

  The computer was already on, so I pulled up Google and searched for some money-making schemes. Windows popped up with helpful banners like: “Earn $1000 a day working from home!”; “Get paid for surveys!”; and my own personal fav “How to gamble your way to a fortune!” While I was pretty sure I couldn’t get into a casino for that last one, the gambling thing struck a chord in my brain. Poker!

  I looked at Bandit by my side, his back ramrod straight. He was taking this acting thing very seriously. If I could teach him to understand poker, he could be my spy on the inside. I could have him perched somewhere inconspicuous and he could spy on the game for me. I’d just have to teach him a few basic signals… Excitement flooded my body. This could work!

  I cleared the unhelpful pop-up windows and opened YouTube. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without this site. I’ve learned self-defense, the best techniques of dumpster diving, and even how to collage. Yes, I’m an artist. Surprised?

  Although I’d drawn the short straw in most everything else, one thing I had going for me was my photographic memory. Didn’t matter what I saw, heard, or read. Once it got into my brain, it would stay ingrained in there forever. Hence the glaucoma reference.

  I loaded various how-to videos and hit play.

  “Boy, pay attention. You’re getting a quiz later.”

  A whine of excitement escaped his lips.

  Seriously. What a freak.

  CHAPTER 14

  CHASE

  We had been walking now for hours.

  The day had long since disappeared, having been swallowed by the night, taking along with it the green lawns, flower displays, and coffee shops of Nicetown, Connecticut. Here, the streets were littered with trash. Run down properties were boarded up and covered with graffiti. Others fared little better, as decaying stoops and overgrown, over-junked, front yards battled for attention. Scantily clad women crawled the curb, attempting to flag down passing cars.