Page 13 of His Jersey

She waves her hand dismissively. “Rescued him.”

I start to shake my head when she plows forward for a group hug, sandwiching the animal between us. “As I said, I thought we could start a?—”

Just then, sirens blare. Lights shine off the damp tarmac as official vehicles approach.

This week has not pulled any punches, so if I somehow got involved in an international dog trafficking ring, I wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised.

Cass shoves the dog into my arms. “Uh-oh. Technically speaking, I’m not supposed to be here and may have bribed someone for access.”

The mutt scrambles as if scared of the noise and activity—or from being stuffed inside Cass’s sweatshirt.

She pulls her hat back on and runs away, shouting, “Come visit me in jail and bring Mark.”

“Mark isn’t a dog’s name either,” I mutter, but it’s lost in the wailing of sirens.

I stand there dumbly as the security cavalry whizz across the open space—where my plane should be taxiing for takeoff. A cop stops in front of me and I recognize him from a call I made when I found a woman wearing nothing but her birthday suit and pointed hat with a pom pom on my condo’s balcony.

He asks, “Pressing charges this time?”

Giving my head a shake, I figure it’s not worth it. “No, but you can give her this dog back.”

“Sorry, you’ll have to call animal control. I’m not allowed to have animals in the patrol vehicle.” He skids away before I can say more.

The dog? Puppy? He’s medium brown and has a bit of white around his muzzle. I can’t tell the breed or age, but he looks up at me with big brown eyes.

The assistant crew member pokes his head out of the plane’s door. “Sir, are you ready to depart?”

I look around and the runway is now clear with the flashing lights at the far end of the fenced-in property.

“Yes, but this dog.” I point to the animal and tilt my head, then chuckle.

He bears an uncanny likeness to the actor Mark Wahlberg with a certain wry look across the brow and a tough expression.

“She busted you out of the pound, huh? Sounds like you’ve been kicking around these mean streets awhile.”

He lets out a pathetic little whimper and intensifies the doggy-eyed look.

Shaking my head, I say, “That’s not fair. You can’t do that. Don’t even try to pierce my cold heart.”

I set him down, deciding that he can do what he wants. Ifhe runs, he’s on his own. The police will likely come back and call the dog catcher. If they locate the animal, they can bring him to a shelter.

However, he remains glued to my side, looking up at me with incredibly expressive eyebrows, you know, for a dog.

“Go on. You’re free.” I gesture into the night.

He doesn’t budge.

“Someone will spot you and give you a good home.” I feel like a monster, reminiscent of a book I had to read in high school. I promised myself I’d never turn my back on a dog. Yet here I am.

Wow, Jack. You’re really winning at life lately. A real pro.

I rub my hand down my face. Looking around as if for an assist, none comes. I guess I’m on my own. Well, not really because as I mount the stairs to board the plane, the dog remains glued to my side.

“Jackie, go home.”

He lets out a sharp bark that sounds a lot like disapproval.

Well, okay then. “Mark?”

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