This is a double post with chapter 2, so if you haven't read it yet, please go back and do so! Enjoy!
Amazingly enough, Harvey's next encounter with the so-called psychic was entirely accidental.
The blond was biking down the street looking like an idiot with his ridiculous helmet, when Harvey was distracted from his (totally in no way leering or lecherous) spying. He turned his head toward the loud and abrupt barking.
The dog was some kind of Rottweiler and German Sheppard mix, if he had to guess. It had a bunch of faded scars on its face, as well as one particularly ugly cut that looked somewhat fresher. Its owner was a shady looking kid with way too many visible tattoos that Harvey was certain identified him as some sort of criminal.
The man was kicking the barking dog, trying to get it to shut up, and it made Harvey's blood boil. He was about to stand in preparation to interfere when he heard a soft crash and a shout.
Mike had apparently thrown his bike to the pavement, startling the surrounding pedestrians and patrons of the coffee shop where Harvey was stationed, and was now screaming furiously at the gang member to leave the poor animal alone.
Harvey once again admired the guts that this kid had, but realized that he must be severely lacking in brains to go shouting to someone who probably could and would kill him.
Harvey stood hastily and took quick steps over to the two, all the time hoping the argument wouldn't escalate into a knife-fight.
"You're scum, you know that?" Mike was shouting at the gang member, who, to Harvey's surprise, looked shocked that anyone dared to talk that way to him. "You have no right to treat Oscar that way!" Harvey glanced back at the still-barking dog only to find no tag or indication that he had a name. Had Mike just made it up? He was good, Harvey had to admit. He also looked incredibly delicious when he was angry.
"Get the fuck away from me, you little—" the gang member threatened.
Harvey interrupted before Mike could get himself killed. "Hey!" They both looked at Harvey and the dog growled.
"Mr. Specter?" Mike asked, and Harvey ignored the heady feeling flooding his brain at the fact that Mike remembered his name.
"How much for the dog?" he asked, not entirely sure what he was doing. His mouth was moving on its own and Harvey pointedly avoided looking at Mike.
The gang kid stared at Harvey like he was mad. "He's myfuckin' dog, dickhead. Get your own."
Harvey pulled out his cell phone. "How much? Or I could call the police and they could settle this dispute for us. I'm sure, as his owner, you have all the necessary licenses and papers needed to prove ownership. And I'm sure there's a logical explanation for those scars." He waved the phone at the kid, a frightening smile upon his face.
The gang kid paled slightly, but Harvey quickly saw anger flood his cheeks. They were in trouble, and this kid probably had a knife or a gun somewhere hidden in those baggy clothes. Not to mention the growling dog that was now baring its teeth at Harvey, saliva dripping from its jaw.
"You mother—" the kid began and flipped a pocket knife out as he stepped menacingly toward Harvey.
But suddenly Mike was shouting "Now!" and the dog that had been so convincingly threatening Harvey had now latched its sharp teeth into the flesh of the gang kid's wrist, forcing him to drop the knife and scream in pain. The kid shook the dog off of him, kicking desperately at it until it let go, and ran away clutching his bloody arm.
Harvey warily stepped away from the dog and watched in horror as it lunged at Mike.
But instead of a sharp cry of pain and flailing bloody limbs, there was slobbery tongue and leaping, begging paws against Mike's face and chest. They looked as happy as those dogs in the commercials and Harvey resisted the urge to throw up even as his brain memorized the image of the smiling blue-eyed Mike laughing in glee.
"Thanks Oscar!" Mike shouted happily to the mutt. "But you know, Mr. Specter also helped. You should thank him, too."
And suddenly the dog was leaping onto Harvey, who was desperately attempting to dodge. He ended up more drenched in slime and slobber than if he'd simply stood there. Mike was laughing though—it was a nice sound.
When the dog was done, it looked again at Mike and panted happily, tail wagging. Harvey glared over after examining his suit.
"This suit cost two thousand dollars," Harvey said miserably.
Mike looked at him, confused smile on his face. It fell slowly as he realized Harvey wasn't joking.
"Oh. Well, considering you never actually paid me for the other day, let's call it even."
Harvey ignored the guilt he felt as he realized Mike was right. He'd assumed Donna would have taken care of it, actually. "You're services cost two thousand dollars?" he said skeptically.
Mike coughed and instead changed the subject. "Thanks for helping with that…with Oscar and all. He's really grateful."
Harvey looked at the dog, wondering if maybe Mike had set all of this up. But that blood hadlooked amazingly real…
"He says his owner made him fight other dogs and beat him all the time. He didn't like you at first, but he knows you'll make a good owner," Mike said, face beaming nervously at Harvey.
Harvey nodded until he processed that last sentence. "Wait, what?"
Mike picked up the trailing end of Oscar's leash and handed it to Harvey. "He says to tell you he needs to go to the bathroom before you guys go home."
"No way," Harvey said, and shoved the leash back at Mike. There was no way he was accepting this dog. He had a cat and that was good enough. Mr. Whiskers—Stuart!—would probably kill him if he brought a dog home, anyways. He sometimes wondered if his cat wasn't actually somehow a robot controlled by Donna.
"But you offered to buy him!" Mike argued.
Harvey stuffed his hands in his pockets, refusing to allow them near the end of that leash. "For you!" he argued back. There was an awkward silence and Harvey could see Mike trying to work out the implications of that sentence. "Look, I was just trying to help. I was just going to threaten that kid into not hurting the mutt when you got yourself into trouble."
"Me? I was helping Oscar. And I can take care of myself."
"Good, then you can take care of a dog, too," Harvey said smugly.
Mike frowned at him. "He wants to go with you."
"Is your psychic ability telling you that?" Harvey mocked.
"Look, I can't…my building doesn't allow pets. I have to go." Mike shoved the leash through the gap between Harvey's arm and his side and stalked off towards his bike. He came to a jarring halt as he noticed it missing.
Harvey gave a chuckle. "Lose something, kid?"
Mike didn't turn back, just continued trudging down the street. Harvey appreciatively watched the way his ass moved as he walked until Mike disappeared from view. It wasn't until he turned to hail a cab that he realized the dog was still there, staring at him.
Stuart was not going to be happy.