Chapter 7

Joe pulled into the parking lot of his hotel. It was going on five p.m. and he was hungry. Breakfast had been hours ago and lunch had been skipped in order to do interviews. And yet, there was work to be done. Dinner would have to wait. He lifted his phone and punched in the office number.

Nancy answered after two rings. "Endeavor Detective Agency, how may I help you?"

"It's me, Nan. Guess you didn't see the caller ID."

"Oh! Hi, Joe. Sorry, I wasn't looking at the caller ID. I was finishing a report and getting ready to shutdown my computer for the day. How are things with you? Making any progress on your case?"

"Yeah, I've made some progress. Not sure it's good progress and not sure I like where it's headed."

"Sounds ominous. By the way, I have the contract ready for Mr. Banyan's signature."

"Wayne," Joe corrected. "Sounds weird to hear him called Mister Banyan."

"Sorry, force of habit." Joe felt the smile in Nancy's voice. "Would you like me to fax a copy of the contract to your hotel? I can do that now if you'd like."

"Yeah, that would be great. I just pulled into the hotel parking lot. Haven't even gotten out of the truck."

Nancy chuckled. "Been a long day, I guess. Okay, consider the contract on its way. Should take about five minutes at the most."

"Thanks, Nan. Is my brother around?"

"No, he's out finishing up a case and then he's picking up dinner for us and Vanessa. She's coming over at six-thirty."

The mention of Vanessa stirred Joe's heart and he felt an overwhelming desire to hold her. To kiss her and run his hands through her honey-blonde hair. If she were with him tonight, he'd never let her go. He'd press her to him and hold her tight .. all night long. And kiss her. And tell her how much he loved her.

"Joe? You there?"

"Um, yeah. Sorry, kinda spaced out there for a minute."

"No problem. The contract is on its way to the hotel."

"Great. Thanks. Hey, tell Vanessa I miss her and I'll call later tonight. Probably around eight."

"I'll let her know. She'll be happy to hear that. She misses you something crazy." The warmth in Nancy's voice traveled through the phone and straight to Joe's heart.

"She does? She tell you that?"

Nancy laughed softly. "She didn't have to. I can see it in her eyes. I can tell you miss her just as much."

"Well, she is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"I hope you tell her that," Nancy said quietly.

"I-I'm pretty sure I have. But I'll tell her again."

"You do that." Nancy paused a beat and then said, "Okay, the contract is there and it's officially quitting time here. If you don't need anything else I'm going to freshen up before Frank and Vanessa arrive."

"I'm good. Thanks again, Nancy. You're very efficient. Our office wouldn't run half as smoothly without you."

"Oh, you and Frank do your fair share. I like to think the three of us make a good team and work well together."

"Yeah, we do. Tell my brother I might need his help on this case."

"That will definitely make his night. He's been dying to hear that."

Joe chuckled to himself. "I bet he has. Tell him I'll call him later, after I talk to Vanessa."

"Will do. Take care, Joe. And by the way, I miss you, too."

Joe couldn't deny that was nice to hear. He ended the call and got out of his truck. He was happy Nancy and Frank were getting married the same day as him and Vanessa. Nancy was a good match for his brother. She was quiet and intelligent – like his brother – and the two of them could analyze the heck out of a case or suspect.

Nancy had been a detective for the Chicago Police Department before partnering with Joe and Frank. She was a formidable detective in her own right and, in the short time the three detectives had worked together, she had proven her mettle, both with a gun and in physical altercations.

She was currently working with Vanessa, teaching her some martial arts moves and how to shoot a handgun. Joe had casually mentioned the idea one day and both women had jumped at it. Joe figured it couldn't hurt for Vanessa to have some rudimental training. You never knew what life might throw at you, especially when dating a detective. Best to be prepared for anything, and he did mean anything.

He entered the hotel, greeted the nice, older woman behind the counter, and soon had Wayne's contract in hand. Now, all he had to do was get Wayne's signature. No problem, he planned to meet with Wayne tonight and discuss the case. He'd also like a few answers to some nagging questions. Such as, why didn't Wayne mention Bulka at dinner? Why did he come back to Healy? Had to be other places he could've gone. And the big question, why had he wanted to kill his stepfather? Joe was pretty sure he knew the answer to that one, but it would be nice to hear it from Wayne's own mouth.

Joe headed to his room with Wayne's contract and the bag of cookies in one hand and his keycard in the other. The cookies were calling his name. Loudly.

"I have to call Wayne first," he told them as he slid the keycard in the door. "Then I'll take care of you." He smiled. They smelled heavenly.

He laid the contract and cookies on the bed and called Wayne.

Wayne answered after one ring, "What's up?"

"I've been busy today," Joe said. "Got lots I'd like to discuss with you, maybe over dinner?"

There was a slight hesitation before Wayne said, "Sure. Um, tonight's pizza night. I pick up my order at five-thirty and bring it home. You interested in pizza? We can eat at my house."

"Am I interested in pizza? You even have to ask?"

"Okay, stupid question. I usually get two pizzas. One with pepperoni and extra cheese and one with everything, no anchovies."

"Sounds fantastic. I'm starving."

"Okay, I eat at six. My house is on .."

"I know where you live. I'll be there by six. I'll pick up some Cokes on my way. You like Coke, right?"

"Yeah. You know where I live?"

"You're my client. It's my business to know where you live. See you shortly." Joe hung up before Wayne could ask any questions.

# # # #

Wayne stared at his phone. Joe knew where he lived? It shouldn't surprise him. Joe was a trained policeman. A decorated, military policeman. He and Joe had hunted insurgents in a filthy country halfway around the world. They'd managed to find quite a few. It had taken balls of steel to creep up to thatched houses and bang on doors, rifles in their hands, ready to fire. Wayne had trusted Joe with his life then and never regretted it. Not once. In the heat of battle, when he was hunkered down behind an Armored Personnel Carrier, questioning why he'd joined the army, he and Joe had been there for each other. Joe was the real deal. The only person in their platoon who'd shown Wayne any sort of friendship. Made him feel part of the team.

Wayne sat at his dining room table. Bulka came over and laid her head on his thigh. Absently, he stroked her fur. He and Bulka were in tune with each other. Able to read the other's mood and emotions.

"We're going to have company for dinner," he told the dog. "Sergeant Hardy's coming over." He looked down at Bulka and she looked up at him. "Remember Sergeant Hardy?"

No indication she knew what he was saying. That was okay. Wayne was sure she'd recognize Joe when he got there. The three of them had done a ton of patrols together. No way would she forget Joe, the fun loving soldier who'd played endless games of fetch with her.

Wayne ruffled Bulka's fur. "Joe's going to be real surprised to see you. Not sure how he'll feel about .. about me not telling him .."

The pressure gripped him. Squeezed him like a vise grip. It started in his chest and spread out .. growing in intensity … He fought for air. Strained to breathe.

Tension and stress. Both triggers. Bulka whined and put a paw on his thigh. Her brow knit together in a way that said she was worried for her owner.

Count to ten, the doctor had said. Count to ten!

Wayne started counting. One, two, three … Pictured a sunny day on a beach. Palm trees swaying in the breeze. Four, five, six … Bulka barking at the waves. Having fun chasing crabs. Seven, eight, nine …

Gradually, his heart-rate slowed and he took a deep, satisfying breath. "I'm okay, girl. I'm okay."

He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. Wiped his glasses on his shirt hem and pushed to his feet. He was shaking. The clock on the wall told him it was time to get the pizzas. Yeah, do that. Good change of scenery. He dug a dog biscuit out of a box on the counter and gave it to Bulka, his hand trembling.

His breathe still came in gasps. "There. Good. Girl. I'll .. I'll be back soon."

# # # #

Joe knocked on Wayne's door at six o'clock on the dot. A plastic bag dangled from his left hand.

Wayne opened the door and said, "Hey."

Joe held up the plastic bag. "Got a six-pack of Coke."

Wayne could see there was something else in the bag, but didn't ask about it. "Great. Come in. Dining room's straight ahead and to the right."

Joe entered and scanned the room. They were in the living room. It was small, neat, and orderly. Not much stuff. Wayne lived frugally. An old sofa, big TV, and an end table with a lamp.

A few steps brought the men to the dining room-slash-kitchen. Another neat, clean, organized room. The dining room table was the old metal Formica kind with two chairs. Plates were laid out on the table. Napkins and two steaming pizza boxes sat on the kitchen counter. Joe set his plastic bag on the counter next to the pizza boxes. He looked out the window over the kitchen sink. It was a casual gesture. Joe was looking for Bulka. He didn't see her.

Wayne was behind him. Joe could feel the tension radiating off the man. Joe turned to him and said, "Nice place. How long you lived here?"

The question seem to catch Wayne off guard, like he was expecting a completely different question, something harder to answer. Wayne adjusted his glasses and said, "Oh, um, two years, there about."

"It's better than where I live." Joe was making light conversation. "I have a small bedroom on the main floor of our office. There's a full apartment upstairs over the office. My brother, Frank, lives up there. I share the kitchen space with him and the living room. In a few months, after he's married, the place'll be mine. He and his girlfriend plan on moving out. They've been apartment hunting for the past month."

Wayne nodded showing that he'd heard what Joe said, but gave no reply. Joe wasn't surprised or offended by the lack of a response. He knew Wayne wasn't interested in other people or their lives.

"I have something to tell you," Wayne said.

Joe's brows lifted in interest.

"I have a dog. You okay with a dog?" Wayne said it fast, all in one breath.

Joe grinned a little. "I know about the dog. I was here last night."

"What? Why?" The words came out slow and cautious.

"Wanted to see for myself how easy it was to throw a pair of bloody gloves over your fence. Found out, throwing them over would be easy. What puzzles me, is why Bulka didn't find them before the police did." Joe leaned his hips against the counter and stared hard at his old army partner. "Care to explain that? Explain to me why Bulka didn't alert to a pair of bloody gloves."

Wayne ran a hand over his chin and swallowed hard. "Wow. Didn't expect that. You coming by, checking the place out. Well, um, Bulka didn't alert because she wasn't in the yard that night. She was sick. Nearly died the day before."

Joe saw the aguish on Wayne's face. The absolute gut punch of emotion. The look a soldier had when he saw a fallen comrade. Joe lowered his head and gave Wayne a few seconds to get his emotions under control.

After a second or two, Joe lifted his head, saw Wayne's lingering pain and felt it. "Damn," Joe said, his tone heartfelt and sympathetic. "What happened?"

Wayne glanced at the clock on the stove. "Hey, can I let her in. She's used to being in at this time."

Joe smiled broadly. "Hell yeah, get her in here. I want to see her again and give her a hug."

Wayne didn't appear completely pleased with that last comment. Joe figured Wayne was a little bit jealous and a whole lot protective of the dog. Just the way it should be.

"I'm not going to steal your girl from you," Joe joked. "Just wanna give her a hug and a treat. I got her a chew bone." He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the plastic bag.

"She'll love that," Wayne said, nodding. He went to the back door and opened it.

Bulka was standing there, waiting to come in. She leaped inside and froze when she realized someone else was in the room. Her hackles came up and she bared her teeth. A low, menacing growl rumbled up from her chest.

Joe dropped to a knee and spoke softly, calmly, "Hey, it's me, girl. It's Joe."

He saw the indecision in the dog's eyes. She checked with her master, looking for guidance.

"It's okay," Wayne said. "You remember Joe." With a wave of his hand, the hackles came down and the growl morphed into an excited bark.

Joe approached on bended knee, a hand outstretched. "Can I pet ya, girl?"

The reunion was as happy and as joyous as their previous one. Joe got a face full of licks and an ear full of happy barks. All the while, he got in as many pets and rubs as he could.

Finally, the dog calmed down and Joe gave her the treat he'd brought. Bulka was ecstatic. Her tail wagged so hard, Joe wondered if it hurt. She hefted the big chew bone in her mouth, retreated to a corner, laid down, and began gnawing.

The men dished themselves slices of pizza and grabbed cans of Coke. They sat at the chipped Formica table and inhaled their first slice of pizza. Neither spoke until the second slices were half eaten.

Joe washed his pizza down with a gulp of Coke and said, "So, tell me about Bulka being sick. You said she nearly died."

Wayne swallowed a piece of pizza and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Yeah, best I can figure, she was poisoned the day before the gloves were discovered in my yard."

"Poisoned? You sure?" Joe's jaw tightened.

"I came home that morning and found her lying in the yard, foaming at the mouth. Twitching like she was having a seizure. I-I was terrified. All I could think was, I'd bought her all the way from Afghanistan and ... and I didn't want her dying here. Not like that. I scooped her up, got her in here, laid her on the floor and called the vet's emergency number. Told them it looked like she'd been poisoned. She was seizing. They said to bring her in stat.

"It was four-thirty in the morning and I raced to the clinic. Ran every red light between here and there getting her there. I didn't care. The police could give me a ticket. I knew I had to get her there. Her life depended on it. I had no idea how long she'd lain in the backyard drooling and seizing. I-I was afraid she was going to die before I got her to the clinic. Damn, I've never been so afraid."

He paused and took a breath. Gathered the strength to continue.

"They were ready when I pulled up at the vet's. Two medics were outside with a gurney. They climbed in the back of my truck without even asking and got her. One of them started an IV and they wheeled her into the clinic. I-I stumbled in behind them, praying. Praying I'd got her there in time."

Joe sat very still and listened. He could feel Wayne's aguish and pain. It was like a bleeding wound, still fresh.

"I sat in the clinic and waited. Spent the whole morning sitting there. It was about two hours before a doctor came out and told me she was going to be okay." Wayne took off his glasses and ran a hand over his moist eyes.

"Damn," Joe hissed. "I can't imagine how hard that was for you. Man, I'm sorry. Really sorry. Did the doctor say what happened to her? Was it poison?"

"Yep." Wayne nodded miserably. "They ran all kinds of blood work and found traces of a poison, an over-the-counter insecticide they think. Doctor said he pumped her stomach and found some raw meat. He figured that's how the poison was introduced."

"Bastard." Joe snarled. "Whoever did this needs to pay."

Wayne nodded. "My thoughts exactly. I believe, whoever killed Dan Sagget, poisoned
Bulka first."

The angles of Joe's face hardened. "Because they wanted to plant the gloves in your backyard, but they didn't want the dog discovering them and you disposing of them. The killer had it all planned out, how they were going to set you up for the murder."

Wayne took another slice of pizza from a box and laid it on his plate. "That's how I see it. I just don't know who – other than me – wanted Dan dead."

Joe snagged another slice of pizza and said, "I talked to your mom and sister today. They indicated to me that Dan didn't get along well with his co-workers. According to your sister, Dan was frequently angry with someone at work. I'm wondering if there might've been a longstanding grudge between Dan and someone and that someone finally decided to take their revenge."

Wayne shrugged. "With Dan, it's hard to say. My mom and sister would know more about his work life than I would. Back then, I was young and didn't pay attention to that stuff. I was .. Well, it was a long time ago."

You were beaten, Joe thought. You had other things on your mind. But we'll discuss that later.

Joe took a bite of pizza and chewed. He looked over at the corner. Bulka was still going to town on the bone. Joe smiled then shifted his focus back to Wayne.

"How'd you wind up with Bulka? I didn't think she was that close to being retired."

Wayne sipped some of his Coke and placed the can carefully on the table. Joe got the impression this was going to be a tough story to tell.

"Yeah, she was given a medical discharge." Wayne looked at Joe, but his gaze went off to some middle distance. "We got hit hard after you left. A pair of insurgents crashed through the gate and started shooting. One of them had an effing RPG (rocket propelled grenade). It was a … it was bad. Real bad. Elmendorf got it in the head. Never had a chance."

"Yeah, I heard about Elms," Joe's voice was thick with emotion. Every soldier hated hearing about the death of a fellow soldier. Joe wished he'd been there, been part of the fight. Would his presence have made a difference? Probably not, but the universal feeling was, he'd let his buddies down by not being there.

Joe's time in the Army was coming to an end. His discharge was a month away when the Army transferred him back to the States so he could out-process. Leaving Afghanistan had been a blessing and a curse. Joe remembered being happy to put the war behind him, but he hated – absolutely hated – leaving his buddies behind. They were a team, a fighting, kick-ass team.

Wayne was still talking, "We laid down suppressing fire. Everybody was hammering at those guys. M16s and M4s on full auto. Finally, Landers showed up with a LAW (light anti-tank weapon) and took out the guy with the RPG. That put an end to the fight and we all cheered."

"Damn, sounds bad." Joe's throat was tight, his heart thumping like he'd been there.

"Yeah, and then we noticed Bulka. She was with Elmendorf, guarding him. She'd been shot herself, but wouldn't let anybody near her or Elms. He's on the ground bleeding, not moving, and she's going crazy, growling at everyone. I think she kinda lost it."

"Damn. How'd you finally get to her?"

"Doc Bates came out and tried to talk her down. When that didn't work someone said we might have to shoot her. Doc said before we did that we should try coaxing her with a familiar item. I said I'd get her blanket, the one you and me bought for her, the one she always slept on. I got that, brought it back, and showed it to her. Doc and I talked to her, real calm and gentle. Finally she limped over and laid on the blanket. Everyone was happy and saying, 'Good, girl. Good, girl.' She was hurt bad, we could see that. She didn't fight when Doc gave her a sedative."

"She was shot?" Joe wore a pained expression.

"Upper right chest." He touched his chest to indicate the approximate spot. "Her bulletproof vest saved her life. The bullet missed her lung, thank God, but she'd lost a lot of blood."

"Looks like she healed up fine."

"Yeah, Doc fixed her up. Physically, she was good as new." Wayne paused a beat and swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. "Mentally, she wasn't so good. She'd growled and flinch at just about everyone who went to see her. Sometimes, she'd cower and whine. It was hard to see her like that. A lot of the guys stopped visiting her. Not me. I kept going. I'd bring her stuff – her favorite ball, those dog biscuits she liked; you know, stuff like that – and eventually, she warmed up to me again. Best day of my life was when she let me pet her."

"That's good man, real good." Joe was beginning to understand just how important Bulka was to Wayne, to this broken man.

"Doc Bates told me her war was over. She'd seen one too many dead soldiers. He said he'd wait until her wounds healed and see how she reacted, but he didn't hold out much hope. None of us did. We could see the fear in her eyes. She was a different dog."

"She's not like that now," Joe said. "She was real friendly to me once she knew who I was."

"I've spent the last two years working with her. The vet here's been a big help. He's done a lot of research on PTSD in dogs. We've been doing behavior modification with her and its working. She's come a long way."

"That's good. Bulka deserves the best. She's earned it."

Bulka, tired of her bone, left it in the corner and walked over to investigate the men's dinner. She lifted her nose and sniffed the edge of the table. Joe reached out and scratched behind her ear.

"I went to Doc," Wayne said. "Told him I was getting out in four months. Asked, what were the chances I could adopt Bulka? Doc was happy to hear that. Said it would be the best solution for her. He didn't think she'd transition well to civilian life if she wasn't with someone she knew and trusted. Doc started the paperwork and some of the guys got jealous. I heard the talk. Why was I so special? Why'd I get to have Bulka?"

Wayne's eyes sought Joe's. "I know what people called me behind my back. Insane Wayne." He saw Joe's stunned expression. "Yeah, I knew all of that. I know they said other things, too. I never heard you say anything bad about anyone and I admired that. I admired you."

Joe was humbled. No, he'd never said a derogatory word about any member of their team. He didn't believe in disparaging another soldier. They were a team and every member was valuable in one way or another. It was the leader's job to discover each soldier's strength and use it to the team's advantage.

"That's nice to hear," Joe said. "I admired you, too. You're probably the best soldier I served with. I tell people that. You were top-notch. I think you could've gone far in the army. Why'd you get out? Why'd you come back here, to Healy?"

Wayne took a bite of his pizza and considered his answer. Joe ate, too, waiting for Wayne's response.

At last, Wayne finished his pizza and wiped his hands and mouth with his napkin. "Why'd I get out? I'd had enough. Bulka'd had enough. I didn't want to lose her. When Doc said he would do the paperwork so I could adopt her, I never looked back. I looked forward, forward to getting her. Doc said she needed a quiet, stable home. She wouldn't adjust well to a lot of moving around." Wayne nodded at the dog sitting next to the table, waiting patiently for a scrap of pizza. "She became my life. Everything I did was for her. I came here partly because it was my Home of Record and partly because it's the only place I knew." He gave a helpless shrug. "My Uncle Mike helped me get this place. His wife's a realtor. She got me a good deal and she had the place ready for me and Bulka when we arrived. I can't thank her enough for that."

"That was nice of your Aunt. You see her and your Uncle often?"

"Nah, I'm not close with any of my family. I was grateful my Aunt and Uncle did that much for me. I think they did it because my Aunt made some money outta the deal. She got a percentage on the sale of the house. Something like that."

"Your Uncle, he's .."

"My mom's brother. Didn't see him much growing up. Just at Christmases. My mom and her brother weren't tight. None of my family is. I live my life and they live theirs."

In this family, that was probably for the best, Joe thought.


A/N: Thanks to those nice people who left reviews on the previous chapter. I always enjoy reading your thoughts and opinions. Hopefully, this chapter answered some of your questions. The next chapter will answer more questions.

To Guest Reviewer: Well, thought-out review and you pretty much hit on everything I was trying to convey in that chapter. Some people rise above their circumstances and, sadly, some people do not. Speaking as a mom, we never tire of hearing our children said they love us and appreciate us. :)