being at least a little impressed at his partner’s ability. But his concupiscence-tinged indignation returned with a vengeance, and he set out to locate his dog.
Bones had watched this entire spectacle from the pigeon-shit-covered rooftop of the liquor store across the street. He had heard the familiar grumble of Billy’s Bronco as it rattled up to the apartment and parked half a block up. But Billy was so engrossed in leaving a message on Mitzi’s voicemail that he hadn’t noticed the animal. A second later, when the window was thrown open, Bones had seen Billy again, this time his face colored by righteous fury.
The cop was soon out on the street, leash in hand, as he glanced down towards the shack Bones used as a stepladder. Deciding a promising lead might lie in the alley, Billy slipped between the buildings and disappeared in back.
Bones waited for Billy to return. When he didn’t, the shepherd got to his feet, stretched, walked to the edge of the roof, and hopped off, descending down a pile of pallets to street level. Waiting for a break in the traffic, the furrier half of the K9 unit trotted across the street towards his building. Climbing on top of the aluminum shack, he leaped to the narrow ledge on the second story, eased around the corner to the front of the building, and disappeared back inside his apartment.
When Billy returned to his apartment four hours later, he found Bones asleep on the sofa. Furious, he resisted the urge to empty his service automatic, a Heckler & Koch 9mm USP, into the shepherd’s torso. He knew the instant he pulled the weapon, his dog’s sixth sense would trip him awake and, maybe, just
maybe
, the animal would tear his arm off before he’d gotten off a single shot.
Some days it was a short walk from “partner in law enforcement” to “that fucking dog.”
“We’re heading out, Bones,” Billy said.
Bones hopped off the sofa and began trailing his handler around the apartment as Billy gathered up Bones’s supplies for the trip. He almost couldn’t find the extra-large pet carrier. It took up so much room in the apartment that he’d been using it as a table, covering it with magazines and mail. Shunting all that to the side, Billy tossed Bones’s blue teddy bear inside, stuffed the paperwork he’d brought home from the precinct into the bag containing Bones’s “handler history,” and picked up Bones’s leash.
“Let’s go.”
It was always a long trek out to the airport, but there was little traffic. Billy allowed Bones to sit on the passenger seat and flipped through radio stations as they went. As much as the sergeant wanted to pretend otherwise, his mind was already well past Bones’s drop-off.
He’d Tivo’d
Thundercats
, hadn’t he
?
The thought made him smile. He accelerated towards the exit for Pittsburgh International.
The United Express flight to Newark lasted only an hour, but Bones fell asleep the moment he’d entered his carrier. And only when the crate was bumping along the ramp out of the cargo hold did he wake up. He knew that he was thirsty and hungry, in that order, but was also curious to see what would happen next.
“Bones?” came a female voice.
Bones moved to the wire cage door of the carrier and saw a young woman looking in at him. She was short, five-foot-nothing, Latina, and had her hair knotted up inside her policeman’s cap tight as a drum.
“Sergeant Marina del Vecchio,” the woman intoned. “I’ll be your handler while you’re attached to the NYPD.”
She moved close enough so that Bones could get her scent. He smelled other dogs on her gloves, including one that was recently in heat. He also picked up the dank stench of human blood, sweat, and excrement. Snorting, he took a couple of steps back.
“Out of the cage or in the cage?” the sergeant asked.
Bones didn’t move.
“I’m going to take that for
in
,” del Vecchio replied.
She unlatched the cage door and reached in for Bones’s collar. Attaching
Bones had watched this entire spectacle from the pigeon-shit-covered rooftop of the liquor store across the street. He had heard the familiar grumble of Billy’s Bronco as it rattled up to the apartment and parked half a block up. But Billy was so engrossed in leaving a message on Mitzi’s voicemail that he hadn’t noticed the animal. A second later, when the window was thrown open, Bones had seen Billy again, this time his face colored by righteous fury.
The cop was soon out on the street, leash in hand, as he glanced down towards the shack Bones used as a stepladder. Deciding a promising lead might lie in the alley, Billy slipped between the buildings and disappeared in back.
Bones waited for Billy to return. When he didn’t, the shepherd got to his feet, stretched, walked to the edge of the roof, and hopped off, descending down a pile of pallets to street level. Waiting for a break in the traffic, the furrier half of the K9 unit trotted across the street towards his building. Climbing on top of the aluminum shack, he leaped to the narrow ledge on the second story, eased around the corner to the front of the building, and disappeared back inside his apartment.
When Billy returned to his apartment four hours later, he found Bones asleep on the sofa. Furious, he resisted the urge to empty his service automatic, a Heckler & Koch 9mm USP, into the shepherd’s torso. He knew the instant he pulled the weapon, his dog’s sixth sense would trip him awake and, maybe, just
maybe
, the animal would tear his arm off before he’d gotten off a single shot.
Some days it was a short walk from “partner in law enforcement” to “that fucking dog.”
“We’re heading out, Bones,” Billy said.
Bones hopped off the sofa and began trailing his handler around the apartment as Billy gathered up Bones’s supplies for the trip. He almost couldn’t find the extra-large pet carrier. It took up so much room in the apartment that he’d been using it as a table, covering it with magazines and mail. Shunting all that to the side, Billy tossed Bones’s blue teddy bear inside, stuffed the paperwork he’d brought home from the precinct into the bag containing Bones’s “handler history,” and picked up Bones’s leash.
“Let’s go.”
It was always a long trek out to the airport, but there was little traffic. Billy allowed Bones to sit on the passenger seat and flipped through radio stations as they went. As much as the sergeant wanted to pretend otherwise, his mind was already well past Bones’s drop-off.
He’d Tivo’d
Thundercats
, hadn’t he
?
The thought made him smile. He accelerated towards the exit for Pittsburgh International.
The United Express flight to Newark lasted only an hour, but Bones fell asleep the moment he’d entered his carrier. And only when the crate was bumping along the ramp out of the cargo hold did he wake up. He knew that he was thirsty and hungry, in that order, but was also curious to see what would happen next.
“Bones?” came a female voice.
Bones moved to the wire cage door of the carrier and saw a young woman looking in at him. She was short, five-foot-nothing, Latina, and had her hair knotted up inside her policeman’s cap tight as a drum.
“Sergeant Marina del Vecchio,” the woman intoned. “I’ll be your handler while you’re attached to the NYPD.”
She moved close enough so that Bones could get her scent. He smelled other dogs on her gloves, including one that was recently in heat. He also picked up the dank stench of human blood, sweat, and excrement. Snorting, he took a couple of steps back.
“Out of the cage or in the cage?” the sergeant asked.
Bones didn’t move.
“I’m going to take that for
in
,” del Vecchio replied.
She unlatched the cage door and reached in for Bones’s collar. Attaching
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