Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
So I made a mistake. I tied his leash to the park railing to deal with the convulsing man. I’d seen him before, lurking under the tree, smoking out of a pipe. He was friendly enough to me, but then, most people are.
After I’d called 911 and stopped the prick from choking to death, I turned and saw a man grab the leash from the railing. I started running so damn fast, even faster than I did overseas, with more fire pulsing through me and rage. The hooded motherfucker was lucky I didn’t reach him in time.
He bundled Loki into the back of a van and drove away. I got the license plate and immediately hired several PIs to chase it up. So far, nothing. The cops don’t care. Or, if they do, they’re so underfunded and overworked, and there’s so much crime, there’s not much they can do.
I’m constantly waiting for my cell phone to ring. Dog thefts and illegal sales have risen recently. I looked it up after they took my dog. All I need is a location. If one of the private investigators called me up and said, He’s here, I’d go in, ignoring the law. I’d get my dog back, and if I discovered they’d hurt him…
Am I willing to go to jail for this? Honestly, yeah, I am. I don’t care anymore. My nights are filled with screaming. I flinch way more often than I should. I’m forty-one, and I feel old. Ancient. My body is fitter than it’s ever been. I punish this mental weakness with physical activity. Workouts that would make some men’s ears bleed. Loki would run hills with me, but even he would sometimes rest at the bottom, watching me with disbelief in his shiny, accepting eyes.
“Evening, Fletcher,” Miss Appletree says, causing me to look up.
She’s a kind, elderly British lady with a mean Chihuahua who hates almost everybody. I lean down, offering her dog my hand as I do my best to smile at the lady. It’s not her fault I’m ready to attack the whole world right now. Rascal, a fitting name, trots over and starts sniffing and licking my hand.
“It’s been a while,” I say.
“I’ve been in London. What a trip! Where’s your little Loki?”
I sigh, then tell her what happened.
“Oh, good Lord,” she says. “How absolutely awful! They just took him?”
“Don’t let this little Rascal stray too much.”
“I won’t. Yes. Thank you. Perhaps I should put a notice up on the message board?”
“The message board?” I ask, scooping up Rascal when he whines. He curls up in my lap. Dogs are so much simpler than people.
“You are funny, Fletcher. I’ve told you there’s an online message board for this park. Of course, the perpetual lone wolf wouldn’t join something like that.”
“Guilty as charged, Miss Appletree,” I say, stroking Rascal behind the ear.
“You’ve got the magic touch,” she replies. “He hates most people.”
I laugh gruffly. “We have that in common.”
“Oh, please. You’re as friendly as they come.”
“With you, maybe. I try to be.”
“What are the police doing?”
“Nothing,” I tell her, “but I am. I’ve hired three private investigators, the best in the city.”
It’s costing me more than one hundred dogs would. That’s what James said when I told him. He had no concern in his eyes. It gets me thinking about the nightmares again, all those years overseas, not there for my son, with his mother twisting him into this entitled shape. Or maybe he was just born that way.
“If you find them, what will you do?”
“If it was Rascal, what would you want me to do?” I ask.
She bites down. Her eyes flash with a hint of violence. Regular people have never had to unlock that part of themselves. They’ve never had to learn just how brutal they can be when the world forces it on them.
“Bad things,” she says quietly.
“Then you’ve got your answer,” I reply. “They better hope if I do find them, they haven’t hurt—”
“Please, Fletcher. I don’t want to think about that.”
Regular people rarely want to think about the darkness in the world, and there is so much of it. So much misery. So much agony. So much abuse. “Fair enough.”
“I hope you find him,” she says, “and don’t worry. I’ll be putting a message up, warning everybody else.”
I can tell she wants to get going. All this dark talk is too much for her, especially when she’s recently returned from holiday. I place Rascal on the ground. He whines and tries to climb up on my leg again, but then Miss Appletree secures his leash, and they go on their way.
I shouldn’t let myself feel bitter about Miss Appletree and her eagerness not to hear about the dark parts of the world. Yet I can’t help but feel a little pissed about it. I should’ve learned to stop this type of thinking a long time ago. Even one-tenth of the hell I’ve glimpsed would send any of these regular people insane. The operations I’ve been on. The monsters I’ve met.