Derailed (13 page)

“
Hmph
! That's what I'm sayin'! Dandy was nice enough—okay, I admit it, he was real sweet—but dogs are dogs, and he was all the time sneakin' into my kitchen, stealin' chicken bones out of the trash. It's just what dogs do.”

I shrugged. “Gotta train 'em.”

“Uh-huh. But who'd walk her and clean up after her? And what about dog hair and mud?”

“Ah yes, there's that.” We sat in silence, staring straight ahead for several moments. Chickadees flitted in and out of the bare trees. “I'd walk her, do all the caretakin'. It's part of the job.” I hesitated. “But there's another plus side to bringin' a dog like Corky into the house. Gilson had mentioned the K-9 idea earlier when he phoned me, though he hadn't put it all together with the detective piece. But I got to thinkin' the other night when I couldn't sleep. One of the things that's concerned me 'bout bringin' Rodney back into the family is his influence on DaShawn. Right now, he seems to be doing pretty good—”

“Now that's an answer to prayer,” Estelle said.

I paused for a moment. Yes, it was an answer to prayer. So maybe God was listening, even though he'd seemed kind of distant lately.

“Anyway,” I went on, “this dog is trained to detect drugs. She can smell 'em under any circumstances. With Corky in the house, we'd always know whether or not Rodney was clean—or even DaShawn or any friends he brings home, for that matter. Because, let's face it, he's gettin' to the age where he'll be tempted.”

“Lord, have mercy,” Estelle murmured.

“Think about it, Estelle. Most parents are between a rock an' a hard place these days when it comes to drugs. They can't be naïve about what their kids might be experimenting with, but on the other hand, no one can build a good relationship if they're constantly suspicious.”

She turned to me with a frown. “You sayin' Corky would solve that problem?”

“No question. We'd always know our house was clean . . . or the moment someone tried to bring in a controlled substance.”

“But wouldn't that be kinda sneaky, like we're spying on 'em?—almost like diggin' through their dresser drawers or eavesdropping on phone calls.” She slowly shook her head. “I don't know, Harry. That could destroy trust.”

I felt a little frustrated. Couldn't she see the benefit? “No, it wouldn't be sneaky. I'd explain everything right up front—that Corky is a drug detection dog, part of my job. I'd even demonstrate what she can do and tell 'em to never invite anyone home who might have drugs on 'em because Corky will detect even the slightest amount. Everything would be up front, don'tcha see? That's not sneakin' around.”

She seemed to ponder that. “I guess not, but . . . I'd like us to pray about it.”

“Well, sure!” I looked at my watch. “Oh no! It's seven thirty, and I missed Bible study with the guys.”

“Oh! I'm sorry, Harry. You could still go and get in on most of it.”

“No . . . no, it's okay. We need some time to just pray together.”

I was thinking we'd do that at home, maybe before bedtime, but Estelle took my hand and started praying right there. As she asked God to show us what to do about this job offer, I felt something stir inside me. Could I really put this decision into God's hands with confidence he'd work it all out? Could I believe he wouldn't jerk us around again? But what other choice did I have?

When we were done praying, I still wasn't sure about the job, but I did feel settled in my spirit about Rodney. I let out a deep breath. “Estelle, I think we should ask Rodney to move downstairs, just as soon as we can get a room set up for him. I don't think it'll complicate how long he stays with us. But even if it does, we can deal with that when the time comes. Right now, we need our apartment.”

She threw her arms around my neck and planted a big kiss on my lips. “Amen to that! Don't mind if he still eats with us, but I agree, we should set him up downstairs.” She stood up and shivered. “Brrr! I'm cold. Let's get on back to the house.” Then she winked at me. “Maybe tonight I'll cash in my rain check on that little ol' fire you had goin' on in the kitchen.”

“Great news, Bentley! That's great news! Say,
would it be possible for you to come on down this morning so we can start getting the paperwork and all the testing out of the way?” I could just imagine Gilson leaning back and putting his feet up on his desk.

“Uh . . . 
testing
?” By this morning, both Estelle and I felt I should tell Gilson I was interested. But . . .

“Yeah, you know, I'll sign off on the formal interview and the written test based on me knowing you at CPD, but HR insists on havin' a current medical and drug screening, polygraph and psychological exam—liability concerns, you know. But I'll try to expedite everything, and maybe we can get you sworn in tomorrow afternoon.”

It'd been so long since I'd gone through a formal job application that for a moment all the red tape threw me. Gilson seemed to be doing his best to cut that tape, for which I should be grateful. But was he the captain precisely because he was the can-do guy who didn't fiddle around when he thought all the lights were green—or was he going helter-skelter on me again?

When I didn't answer right away, he prodded, “So, think you can make it?”

“Well, yeah. Guess I could.” It was already nine thirty.

“Hey, I'm not tryin' to squeeze a free day out of you. We'll count this as your first day on the job. And between all that rigmarole, we'll get you some more face time with Corky too. Okay?”

I shrugged, forgetting for a moment he couldn't see me over the phone. “Guess if Corky and I are gonna be partners, we better get to
know one another. I've got a couple things to button up here first. Could probably make it by about noon, though. Will that do?”

“Whatever works. Oh, and Bentley, can you bring in your K-9 certification papers? And you had a degree in law enforcement, right?”

“Yeah, Northwestern Center for Public Safety.”

“That's what I thought. You know, I checked you out pretty thoroughly when you dropped the hammer on Fagan. Had to know where you were comin' from before we prosecuted the guy. Anyway, bring your degree and documentation for any other training, citations, whatever. We'll photocopy what we need to satisfy the bureaucrats in HR and make this thing work. Okay?”

My mind scrambled to visualize where those records might be in the stacks of boxes we hadn't yet opened. “I'll see what I can do. We just moved, ya know, but I think I can dig up most of that stuff. See you 'bout noon.”

“Outstanding! Oh, and I'll have to check with the motor pool, but I think Sylvia Porter's vehicle is good to go. Hopefully by the time we get you sworn in tomorrow, we'll have some wheels for you.”

Sworn in tomorrow
 . . . My head was spinning.

I ended the call with Gilson, slid the phone into my pocket, and took a deep breath. That sly fox had played me, interspersing things he wanted out of me—stuff a little above and beyond—with incentives to reward my extra effort. Not many people get paid for the time they spend applying for a job. And a vehicle too? I'd just assumed since it was a train job there'd be no vehicle even though I'd be coming on as a detective.

It was all good—or at least seemed that way—but it was happening so fast. The night before, after getting back from my walk with Estelle, I'd joined Rodney watching March Madness as Kentucky trounced Indiana. When the final buzzer sounded, I said, “Hey, can we talk a minute?”

“Yo!” He clicked off the widescreen. “So what's up?”

I tried to ignore the fact that he'd commandeered the controller and carefully suggested that our next project downstairs ought to be a bedroom so he could have a space for himself.

“For sure, man.” He patted the cushion of the couch beside him. “To tell you the truth, Harry, I appreciate your hospitality and all, but I don't sleep all that well on this here thing. A night or two, that's cool, but my back's killin' me when I get up in the mornings.”

“Well, I got an old bed out in the garage that did me just fine for several years. We can bring it in for you. Should do until you can get your own place.”

Not much gets by Rodney. He picked up on my meaning and gazed at me for several moments, his expression unreadable, then he shrugged. “Well, yeah, if that's where your head's at.”

What did he think I wanted? Somehow I hadn't said it right. I tried to fix it by explaining it was great having him around and good for DaShawn, but we needed to rent the unit as soon as possible to meet our budget, and it'd probably be too much for him, surely more house than he needed.

We'd gone back and forth and pretty much smoothed things over, though I think he still suspected we wanted him out of our lives altogether. Guess we'd have to work on that.

Then Estelle woke up this morning feeling confident the job with Amtrak was a godsend. She even mentioned the job when she blessed the bowls of cereal the four of us had for breakfast. By then I was feeling right about it too, so later the two of us prayed more seriously. Estelle told God we were going to take this first step in faith, and we were going to trust him to show us the next step. I still wasn't sure how much weight to put on the notion that we'd “heard from God.” Maybe we should simply accept it as
our
best plan—given the options we faced—and hope he'd go along with the idea.

Gilson took all my documents and handed them to his secretary to photocopy. Then he turned me over to an HR person to walk me through the medical and psychological stuff—which lasted the rest of the day. So much for spending more time with Corky.

I didn't see Gilson again until Thursday morning when he personally took me to the motor pool. When he indicated an unmarked, slate-gray 2008 Dodge Durango, I thought,
All riiight! This beats my RAV4 all to pieces
. But then I opened the door. The darkly tinted back windows concealed a transport kennel that filled the entire back-seat compartment. So much for replacing my RAV4.

The plush carrier included a thermostatically controlled fan, air conditioning ducts, water and food cups. I turned to Gilson. “Not bad. Back in the day, we carried our dogs around in the back of a slick back. Then, about the time I transferred out, they got SUVs with cages in the way back, but they were still marked vehicles, nothing like this.”

“Well, you don't spend ten grand training a partner just to make 'em miserable. But these dogs earn it. Believe me, they do.”

Back in Gilson's office, I signed a bunch of papers for the Durango, and he handed me the keys. “HR said they'd be finished with you by about two o'clock. Make sure they set you up with uniforms for when you work the station. Then when you're done, report back here, and we'll get you sworn in . . . unless you wash out.” He grinned broadly. “Just kidding. I'll have a couple of Amtrak manuals you'll need to digest, and by then I should have your training schedule with the dog.”

“Training? Will that be here?”

“Nah. Corky was trained at Lackland Air Force Base, of course, but for a brush-up like this, I thought we could use the CPD training center out in Des Plaines. I've signed you two up for a five-day refresher next week. But we can extend it if necessary. And then”—he held his arms out in front of him like a zombie and grinned—“
the blind man cometh
. But no rush.”

No rush
? Ha! I was beginning to feel like I was riding a roller coaster. “Tell me, Gilson—
Captain
Gilson, that is.” I gave him a formal-looking face. “Are you aware of anyone who has actually disguised a drug detection K-9 as a guide dog?”

“Never heard of it. But that's its beauty, don't ya think? It'll take everyone by surprise.”

“But can she do it? Corky, I mean. Can she do it?”

“Hey, you're the one who's worked dogs before. But why not? It's not like we're asking her to become a dual-career animal. She doesn't have to actually
become
a service dog, just look like one. Who'll know whether she's guidin' you or you're guidin' her? I mean, you're the key to the cover. If you look like a blind person, people'll assume Corky's your service dog. Right?”

“So I'm the actor, huh?”

“Well, yeah, but think of it this way, Harry, most people feel awkward around handicapped people and tend to avoid them. They expect them to be somewhat eccentric. All that favors your cover. Don'tcha see? You'll be fine.”

Now I'm the
eccentric
actor? “Okay, but do you think Corky can work with that stiff guide handle on her?”

“Don't see why not. We're puttin' K-9s in bulletproof vests these days, when necessary, and it doesn't seem to hinder them. You gotta know I've been thinkin' about this for a while. Even ordered one of those special harnesses with a stiff D-handle like blind people use. It's with Corky's gear, so don't forget to take it with you. C'mon, let's go see your partner.”