Derailed (15 page)

I'd been gently facing Corky's head toward the front of the apartment so she couldn't see where Estelle had gone. I let go, and Corky looked up at me, smiling, tail wagging.

“See, she ain't doin' nothin'. This is a crock. I'm outta here.”

“No, no. You wait right there. Harry, what's the deal?”

My mind was spinning like a wind-up top. I'd hoped beyond hope that my son was getting his life straightened out. And now this! Could I . . . 
should
I press the point? Maybe I should let it go. Except . . . if he was still dealing or even using, we had an impossible situation on our hands. We couldn't keep him in our house where he'd undoubtedly influence DaShawn.

I bit the bullet. “Corky, seek!”

Corky jumped up and trotted around the room, sniffing the furniture, the bookcase, the TV, and the cabinet below it. Then she went to DaShawn, Estelle, and Rodney.

“See, I'm clean. She didn't do nothin'.”

“Hold on. Let her work.”

Corky trotted excitedly into the kitchen, and we all followed to watch as she sniffed at each cupboard door, under the refrigerator and under the stove and dishwasher. Satisfied, she came out and
circled the dining room table, then went toward the back of the apartment, zigzagging the floor with her nose. Nothing of interest until she got to that back alcove and the coats. She immediately zeroed in on Rodney's coat. She sat down, tail still, nose and eyes as immovably focused on the jacket as if she were made of stone.

“She's doin' it!” DaShawn yelled, amazed by the demonstration. “Oh no,” his voice sagged. “She found it.”

“No she hasn't!” Rodney's voice had lost its belligerence and was appealing, almost crying. “Ya gotta believe me, son. I'm done with that life. I'm clean. Ya gotta believe me. I haven't touched nothin' since before I was locked up in the Atlanta bastille.”

“Corky, free.” The dog looked up at me, expecting a reward, but I didn't have one. A more important thought had entered my mind. “Rodney, did you have this jacket when you were arrested in Atlanta?”

“No.”

“So, how do you have it now?”

“Went by the apartment where I was stayin' and picked it up along with some other stuff I'd left.”

“So it was with your friends the whole time you were in the joint? Well, it's dirty now.” I grabbed it from the coat hook and took it to the dining room table, reversing each pocket. A gum wrapper, a crumpled-up tissue, an ‘L' ticket, a couple of fuzz balls, but nothing incriminating.

“Here, let me see that.” Rodney grabbed it out of my hand and flipped it open to reveal an inside breast pocket I hadn't noticed. He zipped it open defiantly, dug his hand in, then slowly pulled out a crumpled joint. As soon as he saw it, he flicked it onto the table as though it were a hot coal. “Hey, that ain't mine. I never rolled filters in the end of my joints. I swear. Somebody else must have borrowed my jacket and left this in it, but this ain't mine.”

Hmm
. Good story. But how did I know he never rolled filters? How did any of us know?

“What were you arrested for in Atlanta?”

“A packet of crack. They don't bother you for a little weed.”

I walked over to the back window and looked out without seeing. How I wanted to believe the best of Rodney. Wanted to believe he was straight now and would stay that way. It was a reasonable explanation, but . . . was I being naïve? Then the words came to me, “Love . . . always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” We'd studied that passage in my men's Bible study, and the Bible was never naïve about sin, but the guys had shown me it also encouraged us to give one another the benefit of the doubt. Surely, if Rodney wasn't straight, we would discover it soon enough.

I turned back to my family and took a deep breath. “All right. But you saw what Corky can do. She's amazing, absolutely amazing. Let this be a lesson—no one, and I mean
no one
, can enter this house with any drugs. She'll detect 'em. It's her job.”

Rodney looked at me, his eyes betraying a mixture of relief and skepticism.

I picked up the joint. “I'm gonna flush this. Estelle, you think this jacket's washable?”

She checked the tag on the collar. “Says, ‘Cold water wash. Tumble dry warm.' ”

I handed it to Rodney. “Why don't you take it on down to the basement and put it in the washer, son. And when can we eat, Estelle?”

Estelle's smile seemed to stretch ear to ear. “As soon as DaShawn sets the table.”

Rodney and DaShawn were on dish duty
Wednesday evening, so after supper I used Corky as an excuse to slip out for a walk. The moment I was out the back door and hit the cold air, I sighed so deeply, it was as though I'd been holding my breath ever since I'd come home. “What have we gotten ourselves into, Corky?” I said once we were in the alley. She hunched up and backed into a bush. Her embarrassed eyes said she didn't want me to watch, so I looked away.

The door of the garage next to ours was open, light shining out into the alley, and from within came a loud banging. Once I'd bagged Corky's recyclable contribution and dropped it into our trash can, I wandered over and looked into the open garage.

The big lawn-service pickup was nosed into the garage and someone was underneath beating on the snowplow attached to the front. When the banging stopped, I said, “How's it goin'?”

“Not bad,” came a strained voice. In a moment our neighbor scooted out from under his vehicle and stood up. He transferred a two-pound sledge from his right hand to his left and extended his hand to shake mine, then realized it was dirty and pulled it back.

I extended mine a little farther. “No problem, man. No problem. I'm Harry Bentley. Just moved in on Saturday.”

“Farid Jalili.” He gave my hand a good shake. “Yeah. Saw the truck and all those people. Sorry I couldn't help, but I had to go to work.”

He had a slight accent, not Spanish or Indian, so I figured that my earlier guess of Middle Eastern was right. “Ah, that's okay,” I said. “Had a bunch of folks from church helping us.”

“Church, huh? What church?”

“SouledOut Community, over in the mall on the corner of Howard and Clark.”

“Hmm.” His eyebrows went up. “Didn't know there was a church in there.”

“Yeah. It's a storefront, pretty big but tucked back in the corner.” I'd seen his wife wearing one of those scarves over her head, so I didn't want to push the church thing too much and moved on to a safer subject. “I've seen your truck out front. You own your own business?”

“Oh yes. I got tired of working for other people, so I took the—how do you say it?—the plunge.”

“Great. Bet you had lots of work with the storm.”

“Ha! More than I could manage, and I hit a curb and bent the blade a little.” He held up his hammer. “Unfortunately, this won't do it.”

“Hey, I got a hydraulic jack somewhere. It might do the job if you can get an angle and find something to push against.” I shrugged. “That's if I can find the thing.”

“Oh no, no. I would not want to bother you. A jack's a good idea, but I can rent one from Home Depot.”

“Hey, what are neighbors for?”

He nodded and smiled broadly. “Right now I have to go in the house. My wife has already come out twice to retrieve me to eat.”

“Oh yeah? Well, see ya around, then.”

I gave him a wave and walked on down the alley. “She's gonna
retrieve him to eat
, huh? Whaddaya think of that, Corky?” But Corky was more interested in sniffing who had been down the alley before us.

The next morning I took Gilson's advice and stayed home long enough to go to PetSmart and outfit Corky with a nice bed, a couple of pans, some treats, and bags of food. Creston had told me that all
the dogs were on a very strict diet. Estelle had complained about Dandy, that yellow dog at the shelter, stealing things out of the garbage in her kitchen, but I knew I'd have to watch that she didn't slip Corky treats here at home.

After I'd arranged everything for Corky in our apartment, I went downstairs to see how Rodney was doing with painting the bedroom, Corky following my every step.

“Hey, Harry,” Rodney said when I stood at the door to the bedroom. “I should finish this today. You said there was a bed out in the garage?” His tone was cordial enough, but there was still a gulf between us.

“Yeah. Bed's out there. I can help you bring it in this evening, if you want.”

“Nah, don't worry about it.” He dismissed my offer with a wave of his hand. “I can manage. Or DaShawn can help when he gets home from school. I want to get everything set up so I can get back to the job hunt tomorrow, if that's okay with you.”

“Sure. Best of luck.” I started to leave but turned back. “Oh, that reminds me. I meant to speak to one of my Bible study buddies. He owns a business, could ask if he has any jobs open. I'll try to give him a call today. Hey, you oughta come with me next Tuesday. You might like it.”

Rodney just nodded and went back to painting. I snapped my fingers for Corky and headed out the back way and stopped to inspect the kitchen. It was looking beautiful—counters and sink in, mosaic tile backsplash installed, ceramic floor down. “Hey, Rodney,” I called toward the bedroom, “those guys say when they'll be back to finish the kitchen?”

“This afternoon. They're pickin' up the appliances.”

Wow! Those guys work fast.

Corky and I went on out to the SUV and headed down to the Loop. It took me an hour to get three uniforms from the store on Wabash, but I arrived at work in time to check in with Gilson just after he got back from a late lunch. I spent the rest of the day getting acquainted with the other APD officers and exploring the station
with Corky. I didn't attempt the blind man cover but wore my shield prominently on my belt and kept Corky on a standard leash.

In the middle of the afternoon, Corky sat down and signaled one of the backpacks carried by three college-age kids who were sitting on the floor next to the wall in the boarding lounge. For a moment, I didn't know what I should do. Corky and I had at least a week of training before Gilson expected us to be on duty.

Wait a minute! Why was I hesitating? They were breaking the law.

I flashed my shield. “Any of you carrying dope on you?”

“Who? Us? No way, man. We're clean.”

“Corky here doesn't think so.” When the guy started to get up, I held up my hand. “Stay put. And all of you keep your hands where I can see 'em.” I studied all three—a long, lanky kid with blue eyes and dark-blond hair so limp it simply fell straight down from where it grew. At least it was neatly cut. One arm was through a strap of the backpack Corky was identifying as dirty. The two girls appeared younger and embarrassed, a flush rising up their necks like matching temperature gauges. Their intentionally ripped jeans were offset by a stylish pea jacket for one and a high-end ski jacket for the other that probably cost daddy over a grand.

“Where you headed?” I asked.

They looked at each other until the girl in the ski jacket said, “Urbana. Heading back to the university after spring break.”

I glanced up at the board. “So you'd be taking the Illini, huh?”

All three nodded.

“Well then, you got a little time here. Mind if I search your backpack?” I ask the guy.

“Huh?” He pulled it a little closer. “What for? You gotta have a warrant first, don'tcha?”

I gestured at Corky with my thumb. “She's my warrant. Law says I don't need a warrant for drugs in plain sight.” I waited until he got a smug expression on his face. “It also says that identification by a certified drug detection dog is the equivalent of seeing them in plain sight. Corky's got a badge. You want to see it?”

He didn't know whether to believe me or not.

“So, you gonna let me look in your pack?” We were attracting an audience. “Hurry up, man. Open it up before I take you into custody.”

“Hey, I ain't got nothin' in there but a little packet of grass. I swear.”

“You better hope that's all I find. Now unzip it and hand it up here to me. No, you stay on the floor.” I reached down to touch my dog's head. “Corky, free.” She took a step back, watching and wagging her tail vigorously as though she'd cornered a rabbit in its hole.

The kid unzipped his backpack and handed it up to me, a sour look on his face.

I fished around in the compartments until I found a packet of marijuana, just a baggy with an ounce or two in it. “Is this all?” I shielded it from the onlookers.

“Yeah, man. That's it. I'm tellin' ya.”

I dug around a little more without finding anything else that appeared suspicious. “All right. Hang on a minute.” I pulled out my radio and called for a couple of uniforms to come and help me.