5
The author does not own the characters from Human Target and makes no claim there-to. She is humbly grateful for the opportunity to play with them.
…AND A HAPPY MEAL TO GO
"I have a real problem boarding Carmine," Christopher Chance said to the woman seated beside him on the dog-park bench. "He hates being left in a kennel. And after last time…."
After the last time, word of the big, gentle Rotty's aversion to being confined in a run, no matter how luxurious that run right be, quickly spread to other kennel owners. Along with what the dog did to demonstrate his displeasure. Little things, really. Like shredding his sleeping box. Scaling an eight-foot high fence to escape. Releasing five other dogs. Chewing through a storage cabinet door to raid the pet food. Although it was probably the Jack Russell terrier who did that. But Carmine helped rip open and eat all the Blue Buffalo, the Canine Caviar, and the TimberWolf Platinum they could lay paws on. Not the Purina, though. Too plebian. And then the diarrhea set in…. Now, not a single vacancy in the Bay Area kennels existed when he called to inquire.
"Oh," the woman said. "He's that Carmine."
Chance cringed inwardly. It was even worse than he had believed if the story had spread from kennel owners to ordinary users of the dog-park.
"Yes, he's that Carmine." His shoulders slumped. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I have to go out of town for a few days and everyone I might leave him with has reasons they can't take him."
"Gee, I wonder why." She gave him a wry grin, which he found utterly charming.
"Yeah. He behaves himself in people's homes, but no one wants to risk him going bonkers. I can't really blame them."
"I suppose you've considered a dog-sitter. Someone who'd come to your home and keep him company. Is he okay with strangers in the house?"
"He's a couch potato at home. But I live where I work and there's some pretty sensitive equipment on site. I can't just pick someone from Angie's List."
"Then you've already checked for a sitter with security clearance?"
Chance wasn't sure if she was teasing him or serious. He didn't know the lady well enough to tell. They seemed to arrive at the dog park at about the same time two or three days a week, and had fallen into the habit of sharing the same bench while her dog and Carmine played.
"Thing is, Carmine doesn't take to just anyone. If he doesn't like someone, he…mopes. Won't eat. Won't play." Gets constipated.
"He and Suzette get along nicely."
Suzette, a snow white standard poodle with pink bows and toe-nail polish, was tearing wildly around the park, Carmine's rubber bone in her teeth. Carmine galumphed behind in hot pursuit.
"Yeah. He likes you, too, I think."
"What gave you the first clue? Maybe when he stole my shoe?"
She'd been ridding her sandal of a pebble when Carmine snatched it from her hand and raced off with it. By the time Chance recovered it, the sandal was soaked with dog-slobber and punctured heel to toe with tooth-marks.
The woman extended her foot to display the mutilated sandal. She wore the same color toe-nail polish as Suzette, Chance noted. On very dainty feet.
"Hey, I'm really sorry about that. Buy yourself a new pair and send me the bill." He produced a business card - BAY SECURITY SPECIALISTS, Christopher Chance, Consultant - and handed it to her.
The woman laughed, a charming, throaty chuckle. "That won't be necessary. They're an old pair. But I think Mr.-" she glanced at his card. "Mr. Chance, we may have stumbled onto a solution for your problem. Now I'll understand completely if you say no, because we don't know each other very well. But I would be happy to keep Carmine for a few days. I work at home so he won't be left alone long enough to get into mischief."
Apparently she hadn't heard the part about Carmine instigating the food cabinet raid.
"I have a fenced yard, and with Suzette to keep him company, I think he'd be perfectly content."
"I don't know what to say." How lucky can a man get? was what he wanted to say. Please, please tell me you're not joking.
"Then say you'll drop by with Carmine and have a look. See if you think he'd be happy staying with me."
"Would tonight be too soon?" Chance asked. "I'll take you to dinner for your trouble."
"It's no trouble, but you've got a deal for dinner. Let me give you my address. I'm Millie Parkhurst, by the way."
"My friends call me Christopher."
... ... ... ... ...
Millie Parkhurst lived a few blocks from the dog-park on a street lined cheek-by-jowl with refurbished Victorian dwellings converted into two- and three-family homes. Unlike most of the others that were divided one family to a floor, hers was split down the middle. Each tenant enjoyed a ground floor, second story, and one of two twin turret rooms another flight up. Each had the use of half the large, shady back yard.
Millie welcomed Chance and Carmine with a sunny smile and a liver treat. She led them through a tiny foyer with a bay window and a coat-closet, and from which a gracefully curving staircase climbed to the second floor. They followed her down a long hallway, with doors opening from it to a living area with a massive fireplace, a kitchen, a bathroom, and at the end, what might have been intended as a den. Millie had outfitted it as a doggy playroom complete with a Lilliputian obstacle course and a scattering of dog toys. Suzette bounced with excitement behind a mahogany pet gate.
Chance eyed the pet gate with some misgiving. A dog who scaled eight-foot fences would laugh at a four-foot pet gate. Suzette, too, could easily jump it, but showed no inclination to escape.
"Upstairs are bedrooms and my library," Millie told Chance, as she let Carmine into the playroom. "And above those, in the turret, is my office."
"You mentioned you work at home. What kind of work do you do?" Chance asked. And what's that perfume you're wearing?
"I'm a copy editor for Golden Gateway Books."
"No kidding?" This was just too good to be true. A woman in the book industry and someone Carmine approved of, all rolled into one.
They chatted about favorite books while Suzette and Carmine carried out a canine getting reacquainted ceremony, rumps in the air, tail and tail-stub wagging. When they began a spirited tug-of-war with a desperate squeaky-toy, Millie led Chance back down the hall to an alcove off the kitchen where a silver coffee service gleamed on a side-table.
After half an hour had passed and the dogs still seemed delighted with each other's company, Chance and Millie quietly left the house.
Chance drove them to Aliola's on Fisherman's Wharf for a hearty seafood dinner. Two hours later they started back to Millie's home. As they drove past a shopping center with several fast food restaurants, Chance abruptly pulled into the parking lot and headed for the McDonald's.
"I hope you don't mind a quick stop," he said. "I need to pick up a Happy Meal."
"I don't mind at all, but… A Happy Meal? You can't possibly be hungry again."
Chance laughed as he joined the drive-through line. "No, no, it's not for me. It's for Carmine."
"Are you serious?"
"I am. If I eat out and don't bring something back for him, he…."
"Mopes?"
"No, it's more of a sulk than a mope. So, if I don't bring home left-overs, I stop and get him a Happy Meal. He devours them-even the apple slices."
"I hope you don't let him have the toy, too."
"Oh, no. I save those for a friend of mine. His kid loves 'em. He's trying to get the complete Batman collection. Do you want to get one for Suzette?"
"I think we'll pass, thank you just the same."
Minutes later, the aroma of burger and fries wafting from a white paper bag, they were again en route to Millie's home. When they arrived, much to Chance's dismay, there wasn't a parking place to be found on her street.
"I forgot how this street fills up when everyone gets home from work," Millie said. "There just isn't room for everyone to park. I have my own space so it doesn't affect me. I'm afraid we'll have to park a couple of blocks away."
"Not a problem," Chance said, patting his pleasantly full stomach. "I need to work off some of tonight's dinner."
"Did I tell you how much I've enjoyed myself? I've been meaning to try Aliola's, but just haven't found the time."
As they neared Millie's home, they heard barking. "That's Suzette," Millie said, fishing in her purse for keys. "Something's wrong!"
Chance felt for his pistol as they began to run. They raced up the porch together, but he seized the keys before she could unlock the door.
"Wait outside," he ordered.
In a blur of fluid motion, Chance yanked the door open and dropped to a crouch. He found himself nose-to-nose with a snarling Suzette, who stood protectively over Carmine, a limp black heap on the floor.
TO BE CONTINUED