Laying Down the Paw (3 page)

Dub had three burglary convictions and a felony drug offense on his record, and he knew the men had taken a chance taking him in. Both were in their late thirties. With no kids of their own eating up their money, they'd been able to buy some nice things. A house in the historic Fairmount neighborhood. All kinds of exercise equipment, including an adjustable treadmill and a universal gym, which they'd set up in the converted attic. An enormous high-def television and a state-of-the-art stereo, a thief's wet dream. They even had season tickets to Bass Hall and the Dallas Mavericks basketball games, plus matching sapphire-studded cuff links to go with the tuxedos they wore to charity dinners.

The two had once dragged Dub to one of the dinners. Before they'd left, Wes had schooled Dub on manners and the right way to use silverware.
Salad fork on the outside, dessert fork up top.
Wes had learned all of this stuff when he was a kid at something he called cotillion. The only things Dub had learned as a kid were how to pack up and flee in the middle of the night, and to never, ever cry, no matter how bad you wanted to. Oh, yeah. He'd also learned never to talk to cops or lawyers. They only heard what they wanted to hear.

“You stink, kid.” Wes wiped sweat from his ruddy face with a white hand towel, then used it to snap Dub's butt. “So do I. Let's hit the showers.”

Dub followed them to the men's locker room, bouncing in his brand-new basketball shoes. They'd come with a $130 price tag, by far the most expensive shoes Dub had ever owned. Trent said Dub needed good footwear so he wouldn't end up with blisters or bunions or fallen arches. Dub didn't even know what a bunion was. And Trent hadn't stopped at the shoes. He'd also bought Dub the latest iPhone, a closetful of new clothes, and a laptop computer. He signed them all up for a YMCA membership so Dub would have a place to play basketball, too. What more could a fifteen-year-old boy ask for?

It was the first time in Dub's life that he wanted for nothing.

Well, almost nothing …

Wes said he and Trent had been “blessed.” Until now, Dub had been nothing but damned. But he was beginning to feel blessed, too.

Despite all the money they'd thrown around, Dub knew Trent and Wes weren't trying to buy him off. They were only trying to make his life easier, help him fit in at Paschal High School and focus on his schoolwork. Not that it was easy to do, especially with girls like Jenna Seaver around. Dub had been held back once and none of them wanted that to happen again. But flunking sixth grade hadn't been all his fault.
It had been a really bad year …

After showering at the rec center, Dub put on jeans, a blue sweater, and his basketball shoes. He slid his wallet into his back pocket and clipped the attached chain to his front left belt hoop. He probably didn't need to secure his wallet like this. After all, he no longer lived in the ghetto where someone would be looking to jump him or pick his pocket. But, you know, old habits and all that. Besides, he liked the badass look of the chain wallet.

The three of them packed up their gym bags and headed out to Trent's Hummer.

“Can I drive us home?” Dub asked when they reached the car. He gave Trent what he hoped would be a convincing smile. “You'd be the coolest dad ever if you let me drive this.”

Wes had signed Dub up for driving school and taken him to get his learner's permit. He'd even taken Dub out for practice sessions every afternoon in his Honda Civic. But the Hummer? That car was Trent's baby. Dub knew his chances of ever getting to drive the Hummer were low. But no harm in asking, right? The worst Trent could do was say no.

To Dub's surprise, Trent turned to Wes. “Whaddya think?”

Wes looked at Dub before turning back to Trent. “He's been doing real well, doesn't go too fast, obeys the rules. If he practiced here in the parking lot first, got a feel for the car, I think he'd be okay.”

Dub's heart began to pound in his chest.
Could this really be happening? It is!

Trent pulled his keys from his pocket and tossed them to Dub. “Don't make me regret this.”

“I won't!” Dub said. “I swear.”

A minute later, Dub sat behind the wheel of the Hummer. He started the engine and put his foot to the gas.

For the first time in his life, he felt in control.

 

FOUR

HOUSE HUNTING

Megan

At three o'clock, Seth pulled his car up to a small but cute house on Wabash Avenue in southwest Fort Worth.

I took in the one-story, wood-frame house with bright blue shutters. “Not bad.” Though certainly not
quaint
, as it had been described in the ad.
Mental note: quaint
=
old.

Seth raised a finger off the steering wheel and pointed down the street. “There's a greenbelt that runs through this neighborhood. You'd have a nice place to walk Brigit.”

We climbed out of the car, bringing the dogs with us. Even if she couldn't speak, Brigit should get a say in where we moved, shouldn't she? We met the property manager, a fortyish blond in a plain navy pantsuit, on the steps.

After Seth and I introduced ourselves, she looked from me, to Seth, to the dogs. “Would all of you be living here?”

“Just me.” I lifted my end of Brigit's leash. “And my shepherd.”

A wary look crossed the woman's face as she gave my partner a thorough once-over. “She's much bigger than I had expected.”

I wasn't sure if the woman was scared of the dog herself or simply of the destruction a huge beast like Brigit could cause, but either way it couldn't hurt to allay her fears. “She's a police K-9,” I told her. “We're both officers with Fort Worth PD. She's very well trained.”

Trained to sniff out drugs and chase fleeing suspects, that is. When it came to her off-duty time, the dog was a loose cannon, chewing my shoes, knocking over the garbage can and spreading trash all over the place, clawing open the pantry door and helping herself to dog treats. But this woman didn't need to know all of that. I normally believed in honesty, but in this case honesty would only keep me and Brigit from securing a lease. Better to keep my mouth shut.

The woman's lips pursed as she seemed to consider the information. “Well, let's take a tour, shall we?” She pulled a huge key ring from her purse and flipped through the numbered keys until she found the correct one. She slid the key into the dead bolt and turned it, giving it a little jiggle when it fought her. “There we go,” she said when the bolt slid home. She pushed the door open and raised a palm, inviting me to lead the way.

I stepped inside and found myself in a small living room with dark wood paneling and mottled brown carpet designed to hide stains. Not exactly the bright, cheery home I would have hoped for, but not too bad, either. Seth, too, glanced around, lifting a shoulder in an
it's okay
gesture when my eyes met his. Brigit and Blast snuffled along the floor, checking things out.

An open doorway to our right led to two small wood-paneled bedrooms and a single bath with a pedestal sink. No room to set out my hot rollers or makeup. Not a deal-breaker, though. I could always add some shelves or a little table.

We continued on into the kitchen. Unlike the dark front room, the kitchen was bright. Outdated, though cheery, yellow tile covered the countertops and backsplash. The cabinets were painted a slightly lighter shade of yellow. Daisy-print wallpaper covered the walls, curling up at the edges and seams. A window over the sink looked out onto a backyard that wasn't large by any stretch of the imagination, but it would at least give Brigit a place to relieve herself and a little room to sniff around and enjoy the outdoors.

While I opened the cabinet doors to assess the shelf space, Seth opened the cabinet and peeked under the sink. “No evidence of a leak.”

I stepped to the sliding glass door, unlocked it, and slid the heavy panel open. The concrete patio was cracked and uneven but, again, not a deal-breaker given my limited price range. The shallow yard was enclosed by a four-foot chain-link fence that provided a clear view into the adjoining yards and very little privacy. On the upside, the back of the yard looked out onto a small grassy hill. There was no house behind the rental. One less neighbor to deal with.

The woman, Seth, and Blast stepped outside after us.

While Seth meandered over to check the outside faucet, the woman turned to me, ready to get down to business. “We've had quite a bit of interest in this property,” she said, probably lying to get a quick close to this deal and have the rest of the day off. “If you're interested,” she continued, attempting to wave us back into the house as a rumbling sound began off to our right, “we should get a credit check started as soon as—”

Clack-clack-CLACK-clack. Clack-clack-CLACK-clack.

The woman's words were cut off by the rhythmic chugging of an oncoming freight train running up the rails that ran at the top of the incline.
Clack-clack-CLACK-clack. CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK!
The orange metal of a BNSF engine roared into view, forcing us to cover our ears lest our eardrums burst.

While Blast yelped and darted back into the house, Brigit lowered the front half of her body, raised her head in the air, and began to howl.
Arooooooooooo!

The outdated kitchen might not be a deal-breaker, but the train tracks were. I couldn't subject the poor dog, with her superior hearing, to this kind of noise on a regular basis. It would be cruel. Besides, I feared a derailment. What if a tank car carrying some type of toxic chemical rolled down the embankment and into my bedroom?

Woooooooo-woo!
The engineer laid on the horn. Probably some idiot up ahead who thought he could beat the train by ignoring the warning lights and bells and crossing the tracks. At least I wasn't on duty if the idiot got splattered. I'd been on the force for just over a year, and had somehow been lucky enough so far to avoid a dead body. I'd seen some mangled ones, sure, including a guy with his arm bent the wrong way after a motorcycle–school bus collision—
freaky!
—but I'd yet to see a dead person. Of course I knew my luck would run out at some point, but was it wrong to hope that any dead persons I encountered would be old folks who'd died peacefully in their sleep with a smile on their faces?

“Come on, girl!” I hollered, my words lost in the noise. I tugged on Brigit's leash and we ran back inside, the manager and Seth on our heels. Seth shut the door behind us but the glass only marginally muffled the intense train sounds. The house vibrated like a nightclub playing techno music on a Saturday night. The motion was unnerving.

When the last
clack-clack-CLACK-clack
had clacked, I shook my head. “Thanks for your time,” I told the woman. “But I'm going to keep looking.”

“It's your decision.” Her tone was snitty now. “But this place will go fast. You better call me right away if you change your mind.”

I wouldn't, but no need to irritate her further by saying it.

Seth, the dogs, and I headed back out to his car. We climbed in and he cranked the engine.

Sliding on his aviator-style sunglasses, he cut a glance my way. “Where to now?”

“Crowley.”

“That's awfully far, isn't it?”

“We'll see. I can probably get more for my money if I'm willing to sacrifice a little convenience.”

Seth drove to the I-20 entrance ramp and took it, heading east until exiting on I-35 south. Thirty minutes later we headed past an elementary school and drove slowly down a suburban street, careful to avoid the abundance of children taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather to ride their bikes or skateboards. Or perhaps their mothers had forced them out of the house, needing a break. Brigit let out a
woof
and wagged her tail when she spotted a golden retriever lying in a driveway. The dog stood and wagged its tail in return as it watched us drive by.

We pulled up in front of a house made of red brick and ivory siding. An orange and black
FOR RENT
sign was stuck in the center of the yard. Though bigger than the house on Wabash, this house was nonetheless a relatively modest starter home. The structure appeared to be only about twenty years old and in good shape.

“Not bad,” I said.

A middle-aged couple stood in the open garage, waiting. Seth and I climbed out of the car, retrieved the dogs from the backseat, and met the couple in the garage. After we'd introduced ourselves, I again explained that my dog and I would be the only tenants.

The woman bent down and scratched Brigit under the chin. “Dogs are always welcome. A house isn't a home unless it's got a dog in it.” She cupped her hands under Brigit's chin. “Ain't that right, girl?”

Brigit wagged her tail as if in agreement.

“Jack and I lived here when we first married,” the woman said as she led us inside. “We outgrew it when we had our second child and moved to a bigger place in Burleson. It's been a great investment property. We've never had any problem finding tenants.”

I could see why. Despite being modestly sized for a suburban house, the place was open and clean and bright, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The living room had a nice brick fireplace, the backyard a swing set and built-in sandbox, as well as plenty of shade provided by two mature Bradford pear trees.

“What do you think?” the woman asked as we stood on the back porch.

Brigit rolled on her back on the grass. It was clear that my partner liked the place.

“It's very nice,” I told the woman. The couple seemed like they'd be easy landlords, too. But I wasn't quite convinced yet. “Mind if I t-take a second look?”

“Be my guest.”

Seth and the husband stayed out back talking sports as the wife and I went back inside so I could make a more thorough assessment. The bathrooms had decent counter space and the closets, though not walk-ins, had more than enough room for my limited wardrobe. You don't need much in the way of work clothes when you wear a uniform every day.