Five o'clock was the usual shutting time, or so it had been for the past three months. Robert liked to stay after and wipe the counter until he could see a perfect reflection of himself. Tim stood like a statue, looking at the many awards and achievements they acclaimed through the past months. Tim gave a smile and turned to Robert, who was concentrated on his current task.
"It'll be exactly four months next Tuesday," Tim said joyfully. At first, he didn't think Robert heard him, but after giving a small sigh, the man spun on his heels. He walked over next to his partner.
"We've gotten all these awards, all these honors, and yet you don't seek to expand our franchise. We can be a multi-millionaire corporation with franchises scattered around the U.S. and Europe."
Tim rolled his eyes. He had a feeling Robert would bring this up again, but he was going to explain it yet again.
"Let's not get carried away for the hundredth time, Robert," Tim said exhaustingly. "We are only in the beginning of this business and we have to use our money wisely and contently. In case you haven't realized, the entire world is culminated in a wide financial crisis where money is scarce and businesses are competing to the last penny to stay alive. We spend foolishly and we'll end up like most folks nowadays, begging for a bowl of cereal and a glass of water every mornin'."
Robert leaned on the counter and rolled his eyes. He forgot how many times he asked Tim this question and how many times he got the same exact answer.
"We make good money, Tim, and with your history of accounting it will suit us well. We won't get scammed." He glanced at the old and dusty grandfather clock sitting in the corner, then turned his eyes to the entrance and observed the day's evening sun.
"It's almost five thirty. You gonna lock up today or still going to polish?" Tim asked. Robert didn't reply.
"Well then, I'll be heading out," Tim said, giving a hesitant nod. He flashed a small smile and walked out into the evening breeze.
It was a warm day and the spring air welcomed him from hours of busy service. He rejuvenated as the sunlight danced across his spin and reflected off of his majestic gold fur.
Abbeville was a small community and everyone knew everyone, so Tim was used to not seeing any new faces to wave to or say "hello." It would actually be a blessing if he could talk to someone he'd never seen before.
This community only consisted of around forty people, and the other people were just merchants and vagabonds searching for work or coming to fuel up.
Tim walked to his shabby little shelter at the end of town, but to Tim, it seemed like the end of the world. His little shelter was made out of trashcans and broken awnings made of tin. He also had filthy blankets covered with holes and a half-eaten pillow with settlements of termites in the cotton. Tim lied on his "bed" and pondered.
This life ain't no good. I'm as rich as he is. I shouldn't have to be living in these conditions. I have the money, but it's just… just in case.
Tim didn't have anything to do; that's why he depended so much staying at work and talking with Robert. After work he would just sit there and stare into emptiness.
He wanted to ask Robert if he could move in with him, but that would make it look like the fabulous Tim Johnson, once a world-famous accountant and financial agent, could not take care of himself and only invested his money instead of spending it.
It would make it look like Tim was just like any other dog and could not take care of himself.
But he wasn't, and he knew it, and Robert knew it, and every person he had ever met knew it.
Tim lied on the blanket and folded his arms, staring at the tin as it began to rust. He sat there and found himself slowly drifting off to sleep. He closed his eyes and began to doze when he heard footsteps and loud chatter. Tim slowly lifted his head and saw two shadows advance towards him.
Tim wasn't scared; he could take on anyone. Once, someone a few weeks back attempted to rob the bakery, and Tim was able to stop them with one glare straight in the burglar's eyes.
The chattering grew louder and louder until the voices suddenly vanished. He then spotted two shadows hovering over his shelter.
Suddenly, a face popped in and Tim gave a little shiver, not because he was scared, but because it wasn't the prettiest face in the world to look at.
"Why, it's a dog!" the woman said. She was black and had wrinkles scattered across her face and looked middle age. "Oh, Harry I knew we's find one!"
A man in a black suit with a red tie bent down. He had a few spots on his forehead as he removed his fedora.
"By golly, it is!"
Tim was about to shoo them away with his growl when Harry reached his hand out to touch him, then he settled his temper.
"What is the meaning of this exorcise?" Tim asked profoundly. The two recoiled back in fear and awe.
"He… you... but, you… talked," the woman stammered.
Tim rolled his eyes in annoyance, but he had to remember it wasn't everyday someone met a talking dog.
"Pardon us, but we're from the North. Illinois, actually," the man said. "It's not everyday a normal couple like us would find a talking dog."
"Yes, I know you're from the North. You definitely ain't southern, cause your fatuity and absurdity would get you killed out here," Tim said, trying to not sound so threatening and cruel but attempting to get the point across.
"We're sorry, Mister, uh, dog, but I just found out a few months ago I cannot give birth, so my husband and I have been going from state to state in search of work, and also a companion like a dog. Whenever we see a tramp on the loose we immediately want to take it, but it returns happily to its owner. Looking at your conditions, I 'spect you ain't belonging to no one," the woman said.
"Ah, yes, assuming I live in this kind of hospitality makes me a 'tramp.' I do indeed know a lot of people, Miss. Tomfoolery, and I don't need your Northern adamancy to intrude on me or my reputation. I work with Robert Neville, and technically if I were a pet, he would be my owner," Tim explained.
The two jumped back.
"Robert Neville? I used to go medical school with him in Trenton!" Harry said.
"Are you, by chance, that famous dog accountant, Jim Thompson?" the woman asked.
"Tim Johnson," sighed Tim.
"Tim Johnson. Yes, sorry. I am very horrible with remembering names, please forgive me," the woman said. "But anyways, we're in Abbeville, Harry! Remember that famous bakery is here!"
"Yes, this is Abbeville. And the last time I checked, there was a sign like right over there saying that in case you missed it," Tim pointed.
Harry chuckled. "You are a very humorous dog, Mr. Johnson. I'm Harry Johnson, and this is my wife, Marcy."
"Is it somewhat a coincidence our last names are the same?" Tim asked.
"Oh, not at all! Up North, most of the people have the same last name. Adams, Smith, Johnson, etc. Anyways, to the point, would you like to live with us?" Harry asked.
Tim thought for a minute, but in his world it seemed like hours.
A life with these people… it's a better luxury than living here I must say… but will Robert ever forgive me? We built this corporation together and I stand to fall with it, if that's even proper.
Tim closed his eyes and inhaled the air. "I'm sorry, but I have a duty to commit for my business and I plan to stick with it."
Harry and Marcy exchanged glances.
"The dog admires his owner. I never imagined the day a dog could finally prove himself to be a man's best friend," Harry said.
"Well, I have an idea. Why don't we just live here and you can stay with your Robert. We can be your new owners and get that heavy burden off of poor Robert's shoulders," Marcy suggested.
"Okay, lady, first of all, no one is my owner, got it?" Tim said. "I only said Robert was, but it was hypothetical. And second, if you do wish to live here, you will have to provide yourselves with your own supplies and jobs."
"Well, why can't we just work for you?" Harry asked.
"You made it this far to Mississippi, you can do the rest," Tim winked.