Page 27 of The Criminal

I rinsed out my mouth and rested my hip on the countertop. Mission Critical K9 Academy’s website loaded on my phone. A picture of a dog latched onto the arm of a man in a bite suit filled most of the page. Below the image, a scrolling banner advertised today’s open training day. The public was welcome to bring their dogs and train on the course.

The public was welcome. Well, shit, I’m the fucking definition of the public. If only I had a dog. As an idea took shape, I felt a stupid grin on my face.

I touched the contact in my phone for John. He had a phone number I needed.

I rushed through getting dressed and drove like a man possessed over to meet Lamar Hendrix at his house. Lamar had been the head K9 officer for the Miami-Dade Sheriff’s office. He started his private training business as soon as he’d put in his twenty years and retired. Lamar was our guy when The Smith Agency needed a guard dog for a contract.

I parked in front of the low gray building that housed Lamar’s kennels. I could hear a few dogs barking, alerted to my arrival by the sound of my car’s tires on the crushed shell drive.

“Hey man, been too long.” Lamar took my hand and pulled me in for a quick bro hug. He was a six-foot-plus-tall man with a barrel chest. He looked like a fighter but moved with economy and spoke with a softness you didn’t often see in type-A alpha males. I attributed his disposition to his time working with the dogs.

“Last time was what, six months ago? That private party on Star Island?” I cocked my head, squinting into the early morning sun.

“Yep, that was one hell of a house. It must be nice to have that kind of cash. Oh well. John said you’re looking for a rental dog?” He looked skeptical.

I paused. In my head, this plan sounded awesome. Right now, standing here looking at Lamar, listening to his pack barking, I wasn’t so sure. I proceeded with care and hoped I didn’t sound insane.

“Yeah, I was thinking Bolt, the one you had at Star Island. I’d like to take him out to a place that does Schutzhund training and run a course…”

“An IGP course?” Lamar didn’t bother to disguise the laughter in his deep voice.

“Um, sure, an IGP course.” I shrugged like I wasn’t asking to borrow a thirty-thousand-dollar dog that could rip out my jugular to participate in a sport I didn’t know the proper name for.

“What do you know about working dogs?”

“Bolt liked me.”

“Derek, dogs aren’t like a handgun. I can’t just load it and show you how to pull the trigger. Dogs must trust their handler, especially a high-strung breed like a Malinois. Bolt can be unpredictable and lose focus if you aren’t monitoring him closely.”

“I get that.” I sighed and tucked my hands in my back pockets. Bad idea, really bad idea.

Lamar looked at me, considering. “Aw shit, you want to borrow a highly trained, dangerous animal on a whim. No, wait, it’s not a whim. This is about trying to impress a woman, right?” A massive grin transformed his face, and he clapped me on the back.

I started to shake my head but stopped. There was no way to lie to Lamar. That calm demeanor that influenced all his canine charges to behave also worked on me.

“Yes. It’s about a woman.” I was like a dog rolling over to show off my belly.

“Then trust me, it’s not a job for Bolt. He’s an ass. First chance he got, he’d embarrass you. He’s done it to me a million times. Peed on some pop star’s prize orchids once. Total dick move. No, you need a solid wingman, er, wing-dog.”

“Okay. So, you have a dog I can do the course with?”

“Come this way. What you need is Betty. She’ll get you laid every time.” He led me toward the kennel building.

It was a small cinder block affair right next to his house, nothing fancy, but it had AC and was immaculately clean. Rows of large pens lined either side of the aisleway. The dogs were scary protection breeds like German shepherds, Dobermans, and Malinois. They all looked happy to see Lamar, but I wasn’t about to reach in and pet any of them. Face to face with the teeth on these dogs, I realized how dumb my idea had been.

At the end of the row of kennels, he opened the door to an office. Inside, curled on an old, worn leather couch, was a seventy-pound pile of golden blond hair.

“Betty, come say hello.” Lamar patted his thigh.

The dog yawned and lumbered off the couch. It was a fucking golden retriever. A fluffy, adorable golden. She moseyed over and nuzzled Lamar’s hand before sitting and holding up her paw for me to shake.

I took her paw and chuckled. “Nice to meet you, Betty.”

Her tongue lapped the back of my hand, and my heart melted. She was a living, breathing canine ball of happiness. I’d be proud to take her anywhere.

“Don’t let Betty’s pretty face fool you. She’s saved lives. Sniffed out ten people trapped in that condo building that collapsed in Miami Beach a few years ago. She and I were the first dog team allowed on the site.”

“Impressive.”

---