Page 3 of Race With The Devil

“I’m not on it, you fuckboy!”

The bird trainer, Fox, had been closest to Beetle. He squatted there now, petting the pupper. “Can I pick him up?”

“Sure,” I said. “Just don’t overwhelm him. Stand back. Wolf, you sit there. He hasn’t seen too many people. I’ve acclimated him to other dogs and a few people, but not a crowd of bikers.”

“Yeah,” said Fox, taking his own chair, “acclimate him slowly. Everyone settle down.”

“Oh man oh man oh man!” whispered Wolf, slapping his knees with tight palms. “I can’t believe I’m finally getting a puppeh!”

“Lucky bastard,” said Duji.

“What kind of mix is it?” asked Fox.

“Leonberger Great Pyrenees.”

Fox said, “So he’s a great herder.” He turned to Wolf. “What you gonna heard, Wolf?”

“I’m gonna herd your ass if you’re not careful,” said Wolf, holding out his hands for the giant puppy.

I had to rub my face in Beetle’s fur for quite awhile before handing him over. “Give me some sugar,” I told him. Once I handed him to the new owner, he was no longer mine. Sure, I “owned” plenty of dogs at my St. Louis ranch. For whatever reason I hadn’t been able to find new homes for them, so I’d kept them on. They were dogs for socializing my rescues. That was their job. And once in a blue moon I’d find the perfect fit, the perfect family, for one of my long-time rescues.

And did this Wolf Glaser goofball really seem like the ideal dog parent for what was arguably my cutest, fluffiest, most attentive, most heartbroken lil’ guy ever? Beetle was a Mini-Me with his lonely past, the neglect, the parents who didn’t want him. “Your father doesn’t want you,” my mother had told me once when I’d threatened to go move in with him. I knew it was a lie, but it cut deep. A kid too young to make a decent living but with no home to go to, well he was a prisoner in the making. And that’s what had happened. Imprisoned on a bum rape rap for ten whole years.

Ford was next to me, sinking his fingers into the fluffy guy’s fur. “Slushy set you up with Wolf?”

I nodded. Beetle’s fur was my drug of choice.

“The Innocence Project?”

Again I nodded and took in a big lungful of puppy scent. It was time. “Here you go, champ,” I whispered to Beetle. I handed him over the mosh pit of hands to be delivered to the big goofball, God love him.

“So, this is what you do for a living now, fly dogs around?”

With nothing to hold, I had no choice but to face the Prez. “Basically, yeah. I worked with Puppies Behind Bars in prison. I attracted a benefactor who has, well, fulfilled my dream of getting paid to both fly and train rescue dogs.”

Fox asked, “How do you know which ones are trainable?”

I shrugged. “It’s something to do with an attention, an attentiveness. They listen. Beyond that it’s just a gut instinct. Sure, I’ve had same failures. I give dogs to those most in need. A Navy combat veteran wanted someone to make her feel safer in her house. The dog I trained was too high energy for her. Wound up with someone else. I never did get that woman a dog.”

“Then who’s this?” said the French guy, squatting and clapping.

I soon saw what he meant when a squirmy dog shot into his arms. The little short-haired guy wore a leash, but there was no owner to be seen. I stepped a few steps back into the hallway.

Unity Mitford—I didn’t know that was her name yet, but I was soon to know all about her in painful and joyous detail—strode down the fluorescent hallway in all her inked and pierced glory. Just from the vague glance I had before she dove onto her knees to grab the leash from the French guy, I catalogued a retro military anchor taking up most of her chest, leading the eyes to her ample boobs, and although it was nippy out, one bare-armed sleeve of flowers and vines.

I wondered what her back looked like. When she squatted to grab her dog, I caught a gander. The center of her spine balanced out an Indian goddess with snakes for hair, more roses and leaves. I’d seen plenty of this type in prison. I don’t think the majority of them knew what they were decorating themselves with. I roomed with a guy whose Marilyn Monroe resembled Patrick Swayze. One guy intended to have his newborn inked on his shoulder, but it came out looking like a wise old Buddhist—or a rotten old plum. Another poor sap had inked, “Never Don’t Give Up” on eight inches of his arm. One guy X’d out MEGAN and had someone write, “Oops! I meant Marcy.” One bold fem tattooed a bra over his rather large boobs.

Facial tattoos were the worst. I’d seen a guy with two dolphins for eyebrows. What was that going to look like when he was seventy, eighty? A murderer wrote “Regret (in Chinese)” on his cheekbone. I remember a Neo-Nazi with a Hello Kitty being stabbed through the head smack in the middle of his forehead. Some things are just inexplicable. This is why I have no ink, though I’m former military.

But this voluptuous lass had empty canvas to spare—so far. And she was a dog lover too.

Ford was telling her, “This guy just flew that dog in for Wolf. What’d you say you rescued him from, pal?”

“Tanner Principato.” I shook the Prez’s hand. “He was born to a backyard breeder and had Swimmer Syndrome, where they swim rather than walk. I had to train him for several weeks.”

Unity stood with her medium-sized hairless dog in her arms. “He looks fine now. I’m dying to pet him. I love fluffy dogs.”

“So do I,” I admitted. “And this one’s going to be a beaut. What’s your dog’s name?”

“Oh, he’s not my dog. He was left at my grooming parlor overnight and I can’t get ahold of the owner. Knoxie!” she called to one of the bikers gathered around Wolf and Beetle. “Bellamy’s not down in her shop or office. Do you know where she is? We have to find Lavinia Dock, who left this dog at my place overnight. No answer on her cell or her front door.”

“No shit,” said Knoxie, breaking away from the group and coming toward us. He rubbed his handsome face thoughtfully. “I would say Lavinia might be on her honeymoon ‘cause she married Tutti Morgan just last Saturday.”

Ford finished Knoxie’s thought. “But Tutti was at the sideshow last night, selling fentanyl and killing people.”