Chapter Seven
With Beowolf loaded in the back of the vehicle, the two men seatbelted in, and the motor purring, Bob handed Nutsbe a small binder. "Here, refresh your memory on the protocols." Bob backed them out of their space. "You'll keep it with you tomorrow in your EDC pack in case you need to reference our decision-making policies." Bob referred to the Everyday Carry pack, a small one-armed backpack with the things normally stored in the pockets of the operator's tactical pants—pockets missing from the Iniquus suits. Though, every set of clothing issued by Iniquus was tactically structured. If things got wild and hairy, the operators could move with ease.
Of course, from his EDC pack tomorrow, Nutsbe would have to leave his multi-tool and cell phone in the car along with anything else that wouldn't get through the metal detector and security check at the federal courthouse. And there would be the addition of slobber rags.
"Is the judge going to quiz me on this stuff?"
"There haven't been any challenges to our presence so far. We go in before the jury, get in place where the dog is out of the jury's view, offer unintrusive support, and walk out with the witness. Typically, the judge will call a recess so that the jury exits and never sees that a dog is there." Bob flipped the cover open. "Better to be prepared and not need it than to need it but be unprepared." He tapped an envelope in the jacket pocket, shifted to drive, and started out of the parking area. "I've put your certification and Beowolf's certification here. Again, you have it if anyone asks. That might happen as you go through security. Most importantly, that's got the judge's order that Olivia obtained last night."
Nutsbe slid the envelope out and opened the papers to get eyes on. It was an Iniquus mantra that you never trusted a weapon, whether it was a gun or a paper shield, until you tested it yourself.
"Tomorrow," Bob said, "Beowolf will wear an Iniquus K9 work vest. That should preempt some questions, and it should keep most people from running up for a snuggle." Bob shot Nutsbe a glance before he turned onto the main drive, taking a left toward the exit.
"This beast?" Nutsbe threw an arm over the seat to rub behind Beowolf's ears. "His size will deter that, wouldn't you say?" he asked as Bob's phone rang, and Bob snapped it up.
Nutsbe turned to find himself face to face with Beowolf and the warmth coming from the doggo's liquid brown eyes. "Are people going to run up on you, buddy? Are they going to try to give you some lovin'?"
Thinking back to his arrival at the airport in Estonia, Nutsbe remembered walking Max toward his handler, Halo, when a stranger crouched with her hand out, looking wistfully like there was nothing she would like better than to get over to Max and pet him. Max sure did want to comply. That woman ended up working with the Panther Force team in an emergency. Her showing up turned out to be one of those magical encounters that could make even the biggest atheist believe that there was a hand that directed the universe. But surely, the story of Max, Flagpole Mary, and Halo was an aberration.
Nutsbe assumed that everyone got at least one miracle handed to them at birth.
It was Nutsbe's portion to get a double dip. He survived the Afghanistan convoy explosion. Then, when the PJs flew him to the field hospital, there was a group of researchers there taking a tour. They got Nutsbe involved in their robotic prosthetics research project, which Nutsbe found fascinating.
While he didn't have a Mary—or a Max, for that matter—he lived a satisfying life. Well, a gratifying life with a side order of loneliness if he were being honest.
Nutsbe was happy for Halo and all his brothers, who had found love over the years.
But now that forty was on the horizon—distant horizon—at his age, Nutsbe figured that just wasn't for him. He dated. He had some good fun. He might even have felt enough of a connection to call it love a time or two. But eventually, as a couple, they'd come to the conclusion that it wasn't a good fit for the long haul, and they'd moved on.
Not a good fit, Nutsbe mused.
That happened with people as well as dogs. How many times had he seen that with the K9 handlers? A good handler could work with any old pooch. But for them to make a great team, things had to click. It had to be the right one.
"Sorry about that." Bob set his phone in the holder. "You were asking about Beowolf's size being a deterrent. You can't count on that. Some people just like big dogs," Bob swiveled to smile at Beowolf, then back to look out the front window. "The bigger, the better. You need to keep an awareness." Bob slowed to salute the guard at his guard station as they lifted the exit arm. "It's easiest if you can get your body between Beowolf's and theirs before they're on the ground and wrapped around his ribs." Bob turned right out of the Iniquus campus. "Once they"re locked into place, if you stop them, the public will look at you like you're snatching candy from a baby. And in my experience, it is a long-winded explanation that sometimes needs some physical action. Your job is to keep the public safe from any mishaps and to keep Beowolf safe from the public. It's usually good to just block, smile, and say, ‘Sorry, working dog.' And if they press with word or action, don't respond. Start walking. The speed of the walk is directly correlated to their frustration that they didn't get a hug."
Beowolf shook his head, and a string of slobber flew over the seat and wrapped Nutsbe's arm.
Bob lifted a cloth from the pile, resting between the two men, and handed it to him. "Slobber rags—you'll want to keep them handy."
The rest of the way to the witness's house flew by.
Dread will do that to a clock.
"Here we are," Bob said as he pulled into a drive. "No other cars. Let's wait here until Olivia pulls up so she can make the introduction."
"I'm surprised that the prosecutor's showing up for this," Nutsbe said. "What's that about?"
"She likes to see the dog and witness together." Bob put the vehicle into park and turned off the engine. "She doesn't want any chaos in the courts." He let his seat belt go, then swiveled around to face Nutsbe. "She needs to know that the support will be provided seamlessly. And I guess she wants to make sure that the dog, especially a dog Beowolf's size, isn't going to make the witness even more anxious."
"The judge knows Beowolf is a bullmastiff, right?" Nutsbe turned in the direction of an approaching car, but it drove on by. "And they were okay with it?"
"Olivia said the judge mentioned having had facility dogs in his courtroom before. Seemed like he was pretty jazzed to have Beowolf there."
"Which is great. It'll be interesting to see this go down—just as long as there are no women crying." Nutsbe could feel the aversion growing in his shoulders and buttocks—like he was priming himself to run and fight.
"So I should send a support dog along with you, too?" Bob chuckled. "You know, I think my wife would let you take Jingles. Granted, he's a teacup chihuahua. But he'd fit in your suit coat pocket. And you know it's the little dogs that are the fiercest. Jingles could protect you from the tears." Bob sent Nutsbe a grin. "Say the word, man, and I've got you covered."
"Yeah, I hear you." Nutsbe turned his head to the passenger window. "Here she comes."
The car was far off, but this one felt right.
"I don't think there will be crying tonight," Bob said. "Possibly at court, but you may dodge the bullet altogether. Some people just don't cry."
When Bob popped his door open, Beowolf gave another shake of his head.
"Put it this way, crying or no crying, with Beowolf, I can guarantee you"re gonna get damp."
Nutsbe wiped himself off, stuck a clean cloth into his belt, and then climbed from the car.
Bob stood at the back hatch. "Hey, Nutsbe, you need to command Beowolf so he knows who's in charge of this excursion."
Nutsbe felt sweat form on his lip and swiped at it with the clean edge of the beast cloth. "You sure you don't want to go in?"
Bob fobbed the hatch open. "It's more than just Beowolf's confusion at the courthouse that keeps me from holding your hand, sunshine. In a group, we tend to gravitate to the people who make us most comfortable. I don't want the witness to gravitate to me, and then I'm not able to show up for her."
"Are you taking a jab?" Nutsbe reached into the back and picked up the lead. "Come on, Beowolf. Get dressed." It was the Iniquus command for stand still while I put something on you—anything from a leash to a vest to doggy goggles for a parachute jump.
The blue sedan pulled into the driveway. The woman driving was younger and smaller than Nutsbe had anticipated. He caught a brief glance of long blond hair.
"Just saying you're a bit stiff. I get it. This isn't your natural habitat. But you might want to do a Beowolf and shake some of that off before you look the witness in the eyes. You're here for her support." He sent out a backhanded slap across Nutsbe's chest. "Cowboy up."
"Message received. Wilco." Nutsbe let go of Beowolf's lead to wipe the double line of slobber from his doggy chin.
"Come on, let me introduce you."