Page 72 of Chubs

“You need a shower but don’t get that wet,” I advise. “Any dizziness? Double vision?”

“No, just the headache. I’ll be careful.”

The next day is spent going through the laptop and phone we took from the safe house. As with the others we’ve acquired, I made sure to disable location tracking and GPS. We find nothing that indicates the two men were working with any of the crime families, and that’s a relief. Except for the fact that I shot a legit federal agent, that is.

“What’s our next move?” Les asks as I flip on the TV to the local news station.

My attention is immediately caught by the ongoing report and videos currently onscreen.

“Apparently, the war has escalated between the known crime families in the Chicago area. Our crime reporter has stated that there are several members of the Vero crime family that haven’t been seen in several days, a few for weeks now. Late yesterday, four bodies washed up on shore and yet were not identified as those of any of the missing men. The four were instead identified as members of the Bianchi family, a long-time known enemy of the Vero family. Authorities are questioning whether these murders are in retaliation for the missing men. Also, lending credence to this line of thinking is that there were two fires yesterday at Bianchi family businesses. Completely destroyed, the cost was in the millions of dollars.”

I watch as videos of the damage flash on the screen, followed by surveillance-type pictures of various members of both families. Things have heated up, and knowing the mentality of crime families, I know neither side will back down.

“They’re doing our work for us. I appreciate them for that,” Les states dryly. “If nothing else, mobs are full of predictable responses to anything that upsets their lives.”

“Yep, and we need to exploit that as much as we can,” I agree. “Let’s eat first, though.”

Chapter 20

Lucy

When I moved to Lisa’s condo, I knew it was temporary. I love my sister, but I like my independence and my own space. Today, I made the decision to look at properties and homes for sale. I haven’t decided if I want to buy a home that’s ready to move into or build, but I’m taking the first step. I’m hoping that doing so will pull me out of the funk I’ve been in the last couple of days.

I spent the day with Lisa, but I’m not overly intrigued by anything we viewed today. When we leave the last home, she leaves for her office, and I sit in my car for a moment, wondering if I’m really ready for this step. I jump in my seat when there’s a knock on my window. Looking up, I see James looking back at me. I had totally forgotten he was shadowing me today. Lowering my window, I start to apologize when he cuts me off.

“Follow me.”

“Okay,” I answer, confused.

Several minutes later, tailing James on his beautiful dark green Harley, I stop my car in a familiar parking lot. FurEver Homes Animal Rescue, with its sprawling barns and land, sits in front of me. Getting out of my car, James meets up with me, and we walk inside.

“Why are we here?” I ask.

“Fur therapy,” James says in a serious tone.

He speaks with Dale, an employee that is more than a little creepy. Then we skirt our way around the offices to the barns that house the various animals. Opening a door, James waves me inside.

“Let’s walk through and see if anyone calls to you. If so, we’ll hang with them for a while, then go to the next barn. I know it seems odd, especially since Snots is such a psychotic little mutt, but hanging out with him always improves my mood. I don’t tell Livi that because why ruin my fun of picking on her dog, but he’s calming when I need it the most,” James says with one of his blinding smiles.

I nod in agreement, so we stroll the aisle, giving attention to the various dogs in their kennels. It breaks my heart to see so many unwanted pets and makes my anger rise at their owners. The rescue has cards on the door of each kennel with information about the dog or puppy and a warning if needed. Some huddle at the back and shy away from eye contact. Others bound to the front and beg for attention. Some, sadly enough, have been here so long they don’t even use the energy to look up anymore.

“Hello, little one. How cute are you?” I ask while crouching down and extending my hand.

The medium-sized dog of questionable heritage approaches cautiously then extends his neck to sniff my hand. When nothing bad happens to him, his little tail gives a wag, and he inches closer. I wait patiently until he licks my hand, then nuzzles his head into it. I look up at James and find him smiling softly at the mutt.

A volunteer I haven’t seen before approaches and explains that the dog has only been here a few weeks. I look up at the information card, but breed is listed as unknown.

“I thought they DNA’d the dogs when they came in,” I say while pointing to the card.

“The tests are kind of expensive, and we’re running low on them, so he hasn’t been tested yet. Hopefully, he will be soon. He’s been very shy since getting here, but if you want to let him into the aisleway, you can,” she answers.

I open the kennel and sit back down on the floor. Within a minute, the dog inches out and then moves quickly into my lap. I cuddle him for a moment, then stroke his soft, thick tan-colored fur. He burrows his head into my stomach, and his tail starts wagging like mad. James laughs, then takes a seat next to me, reaching over to pet the dog. When the dog turns his head enough to give James a side-eye look, he pulls his hand back slowly.

“I think he prefers women,” James jokes as the dog circles a few more times before finding his perfect spot. He lays in my lap, the side of his head against my belly, and he can keep James in sight.

“I’m going to let you get some therapy time in and go wander some more,” James says as he stands, then walks off.

I sit quietly with the dog and realize quickly that James was right. Fur therapy was exactly what I needed. Looking around, I realize I’m alone in the dog barn, so I tell the dog all my concerns, problems, and fears. I would put money on the fact that while he may not understand my words, he definitely understands my mood. A tail wag or nuzzle. The little mutt seems to know what I need most and when.

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