Dog Meet Dog

Bear's easy-going, friendly personality meant that he got along with every dog Finch selected for him to play with. Finch didn't have to perform background checks on the dogs. The owners, however, had all signed up on a new social network (that Finch happened to be the creator of) called 'Dog Meet Dog'—the name could have been better, but at the time of network creation he was trying to direct Mr Reese in a high-speed car chase and was rather preoccupied.

Using his own network meant he could do thorough background checks on anyone who showed an interest in meeting him and Bear for a 'doggy date', as those using the site so endearingly put it. The humans' usual carelessness with personal information meant Finch even knew what particular internet meme they preferred when he arranged a meeting.

But even with all of this caution, there was one problem that Finch didn't consider. And that was that he had an uncanny knack for attracting unusual people and situations. Perhaps it was the fault of the people closest to him, or perhaps he should buy a new pair of glasses. Glasses said a lot about a person.

Their second ever 'doggy date' hadn't gotten off to the best of starts; the dogs got along swimmingly, but there was something about the woman—Stacey—that Finch couldn't quite put his finger on. Bear had sensed his agitation, too, and he rumbled a growl in the woman's direction. Finch dismissed his uneasiness for the moment and let Bear off the leash, willing Bear to relax.

Instead of running off to play with Stacey's terrier, Bear had wandered over to Stacey. Stacey's dog jumped and yipped around Bear, attempting to begin a play-chase, but Bear didn't seem interested. Bear sniffed the woman's pocket. Finch was about to apologise for Bear's behaviour when he noticed how shaken the woman looked.

Bear growled deep in his chest and started to bark, glancing back at Finch to make sure he was still there and watching. That he was receiving the message. Stacey was looking around the park like a frightened deer; Bear's barking was catching a lot of attention. She made up her mind and threw the bag of cocaine at Finch—it bounced off his chest before it fell to the ground. Stacey sprinted off in the other direction. Her terrier—Bobby, as far as Finch could remember—was hot on her heels, enjoying the new game. Bear was about to give chase as well, but Finch had called him back. He had shoved the drugs into a trashcan when no one was looking and headed back to the library. The NYPD was due to receive an anonymous tip.

Obviously his background checks hadn't been sufficiently thorough on this occasion.

Finch and Bear managed to have two blessedly uneventful 'doggy dates' before the next disaster.

She was nice—quiet, but Finch could relate to that. Her dog was a border collie called Tessa, the opposite of her owner, chasing Bear around in circles relentlessly, making excited little noises. Finch bought coffee for Tara and tea for himself and they sat down on a bench to watch the dogs. Bear was getting a serious workout but it was clear he was enjoying every minute. Finch and Tara sat in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

After the coffee and tea was finished, Tara threw the empty paper cups into the trash and said, "Could you throw the ball, please, Mr Drake?"

Finch obliged with a nod and a small smile. The dogs had scrambled after the—grenade? There was no better word than panic for what Finch suddenly felt. Finch did a lightning-fast search of his pockets, and after a moment he pulled out the actual tennis ball.

How the grenade had gotten into his pocket, Finch had no idea, but he was certain of who to blame—Mr Reese's collection of weaponry was growing larger and more unruly with every new Number.

Tessa, as light on her feet as she was, reached the grenade first. She returned and obediently dropped the grenade into Tara's cupped hands. "Hmm," she said quietly, and Finch had expected the screaming to begin any second now, "that's an interesting ball, Mr Drake. Where did you get it?"

The pin, much to Finch's relief, had remained in place. "I, uh, got it online," he explained hurriedly, standing now, too alert to sit still—it was, after all, a grenade. Tara brought her arm back, ready to throw the grenade again. "No!" She looked around at him in surprise at his sudden outburst. "You can only use it the once. It's too heavy to throw too often." Tara didn't appear convinced, even as Finch deployed his most trustworthy smile, so before she could do anything else Finch threw the tennis ball for the two dogs.

Tara gave him 'his' grenade back and he managed to hide his grimace of disgust as he slipped it into his pocket. He was careful not to jiggle the pin, and he was constantly aware that he had a grenade in his pocket. He was going to have some words with Mr Reese later, though he was pretty sure it wouldn't change anything. Reese would probably just laugh at him.

"I like the design, really authentic," Tara had said.

Finch had only grunted as Bear dropped the slobbery tennis ball into his hand.

Today's 'date', by contrast, was going really well. Finch had used the usual ice-breaker of buying hot drinks from a street stall to build up a relationship. Sadie Lyons worked with computers and so Finch was able to engage in a cautious conversation—Harold Drake didn't know how to use a computer as well as Sadie Lyons did; she'd had to explain to him what coding was.

While they drank, Bear and his latest friend, a whippet called Patch, fetched the ball back and forth. At the beginning of the 'date' Finch had worried that Bear would knock Patch over, but what he lacked in muscle mass he made up for in speed and daintiness. More often than not he beat Bear to the ball—and it was a ball, Finch had double-checked.

After forty-five minutes the dogs were starting to wear out. Finch and Sadie clipped Bear and Patch onto their respective leashes and decided to go for a short stroll. They stuck to the path that ran around the perimeter of the park. Sadie adjusted her walking pace so Finch didn't have to rush—he was grateful but didn't comment on it.

It wasn't a particularly warm day, cloudy, but that did nothing to stop the seasoned runners. As one ran past them, Finch noted that he wasn't wearing the usual shorts and bright top—he was wearing heavy boots, cargo pants and a utility jacket. Before Finch had the time to further process this information, someone behind Finch and Sadie suddenly shouted, "Slechterik—grijp hem!"

Bad guy—get him: Reese's idea of a joke.

Bear suddenly lunged forwards in response to the command and it was all Finch could do to drop the leash before Bear pulled him off his feet altogether. Leash trailing behind him, Bear tore after the man in the cargo pants. At the same time Reese sprinted past Finch and Sadie, not even acknowledging their presence—he was on the hunt as much as Bear was.

Finch had left Mr Reese on surveillance of their latest Number, but clearly that operation had gone downhill.

Bear caught up with the strange man in less than a minute and latched on to his arm. The man stumbled, twisted with the sudden extra weight he'd have to pull if he was to keep up his escape plan. In any other situation the look of surprise on the man's face would have been comical. Finch's stomach lurched when he caught sight of the sliver gun slipped into his belt. Reese caught up with man and dog just as the man reached for the gun. Reese was faster—he had his own gun pointed at the man's head already.

Finch from this distance couldn't make out what Reese said to the man but he stopped trying to run. He shook his arm, irritated, but Reese didn't command Bear to release him. Finch cringed at the number of onlookers—this was going to be difficult to cover up.

Suddenly Finch saw Detective Carter, gun raised, run over to Reese, Bear and the man they'd captured. Only a moment later, a breathless Detective Fusco caught up with his partner. He also had his gun out, but he swapped it for a set of handcuffs. Reese gave Bear a sharp command and he loosened his grip on the man's arm. He sat down in front of Reese and wagged his tail. Reese obligingly patted him on the head, told him something that was probably, "Good dog."

Reese and Bear watched as Carter and Fusco dragged the man away. Then Reese calmly picked up Bear's leash as if he hadn't just held a man at gunpoint, and led him back to Finch. Finch's stiff shoulder was hurting and he didn't feel entirely comfortable walking Bear all the way back to the library now. He experimentally moved his arm and immediately decided it was a bad idea.

Sadie had an unreadable expression on her face. "It was, uh, nice to meet you," Finch said to break her stunned silence—it wasn't a lie.

She turned her head to look at him. "Your dog... he's very... good..." she managed to say.

Reese joined them, knew to hold onto Bear without Finch asking him to. "Hello," he said to Sadie, sounding friendly enough—harmless, even.

"Hi," she replied with a forced smile. "I have to get back to work." She scurried off, Patch easily keeping pace beside her. "Bye." She didn't wave, didn't look back.

Finch sighed. "I think I'm going to have to retire my Harold Drake alias for some time," he thought aloud. He turned to Reese, back to business. "Is our client safe?"

Reese nodded. "A small gang was after him—it's under control," he said simply. "That was the last man standing." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the two detectives who were shoving the man wearing cargo pants into the back seat of a car.

"Good." He flexed his fingers but didn't move the arm. Finch sat down at a nearby bench and Reese followed his example. He let Bear off his leash and reached into his pocket. He pulled out something that Finch took a moment to place. By that time he'd already thrown it and Bear was dashing off to fetch it.

"Mr Reese, is that a grenade?" There was a warning in his tone, and it was easy to imagine him saying, 'Are you insane?' in that same voice.

Bear picked it up and ran towards them with the grenade, tail wagging—it made squeaky noises as he went. He dropped the grenade into Reese's hand.

"Relax, Finch—it's just a toy," Reese said; the smirk in his voice rather than on his face. He squeezed the grenade twice, it squeaked, and threw it for Bear to fetch back.

THE END