Page 14 of Beware of Dog

“You owe me fifty bucks,” Kat said, and typed something into his phone. Shep heard the whooshing sound of a sent text message.

He set down his burger and twisted on his stool to frown at the side of the guy’s impassive face. “What?”

“You owe me fifty bucks,” Kat repeated, and lifted two fingers to the bartender.

“For what?”

“Pain and suffering.”

The pub’s door swung open and Pongo entered in a rare temper, his scowl undermined by his freckles and mop of curls.

“You asshole.” He jabbed a finger Shep’s direction and then stormed toward him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Three guys playing cards over beers in the corner peeked up with interest. The bartender was drying glasses, but turned to watch the show.

Shep adopted a bored face and rested an elbow on the bar. “What’s got your panties in a twist, Spot?”

“Oh no,” Pongo said, far too loudly in front of witnesses. “Oh hell no. Not today, asshole.” He reached Shep’s stool and his pointing finger stabbed at Shep’s face, nearly clipping the end of his nose.

“You’re gonna want to pull that finger back before I bite it off.”

He might have been a mouthy little shit, and smart as a bag of hair, but he was savvy enough to remove the finger. He jammed his hands on his hips and projected anger in a hilarious, uncharacteristic way.

Kat let out a theatrical sigh when the bartender passed him his drink. “Just tell him already,” he muttered, slid off his stool, and melted away into the pub’s deeper shadows.

Pongo put on a falsely sunny smile…that was still pretty damn sunny. The guy just wasn’t ferocious; or, at least, he couldn’t pull off looking like he was. Not in Shep’s estimation. “Ask me where I spent the morning.”

“Your girlfriend finally let you on the bed? Did you get your own pillow?”

For a split-second, real anger flared in Pongo’s big, baby blue eyes; it tightened his jaw, and Shep was forced to admit to himself that, okay, yeah: Pongo could get spooky when he wanted to. Forhim. He was up to Lean Dogs muster, at least.

Maybe, Shep thought, it was shitty to take pot shots, even in a roundabout way, at a man’s old lady.

“Alright, fine,” he said, in lieu of apology. “Where’d you spend the morning?”

“In an interrogation room,” Pongo said, teeth gritted, “being questioned about my ‘brother’ who thought it was a good idea to pistol whip some college kid from the Upper West Side.”

The half a burger he’d eaten turned to lead in his stomach. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah. I’m the only other guy who lives fulltime in the city, which meansyou”—he made a move as if he meant to poke Shep in the chest, but thought better of it, and put his hand back on his hip—“were the one some rich chucklefuck was all worked up about. The guy tried to claim he recognized me, which he didn’t, but he had security cameras and said I beat the shit out of his son.Which I didn’t. I had to get Dixie involved. She had to come to a precinct that isn’t hers, and demand to see the tape, and clear my name. Which—”

Shep held up a hand. “Okay, I get it. It was a pain in the ass.”

“The uniforms who picked me up—off the street, man; I was on my way to get breakfast and a patrol car pulled up and they shoved me in the back ‘cause I was flying colors; thank God I wasn’t armed, holy shit—tried to lean on me to give up the guy they were really after. Which isyou.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Things have finally calmed down—”

“What do you want me to say?” Shep said. “I hear you. I fucked up.”

Pongo glared at him a moment, then climbed onto the stool Kat had abandoned. “You could say sorry,” he grumbled.

Shep twisted back around so he faced his plate. The rest of his burger looked heavy, and greasy, and gross, now, but he picked it up anyway. If he didn’t finish the thing, he’d be hungry again in an hour. He took a bite, chased it with a slug of water, and said, “Sorry.”

Pongo’s head whipped toward him. “Wait. Did you just—”

“Accept it and move on,” Shep instructed, and took another bite of burger.

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