Chapter 3

Bethany noticed his gait shifting with every movement, as he headed out to his vehicle.

"What's wrong with his leg?" Mel asked.

Bethany shrugged. "Looks like he's got a prosthetic."

"Oh, wow." Excitement filled her voice, as if she'd never seen anybody with such a thing. It just belied her age and inexperience, and that literally summed up what this had been, a failure on their part. Even if nobody else would acknowledge it, Bethany would because no way that dog should have been handed off without signatures and at least recognition that one specific person was here to pick him up.

Bethany had seen the dog multiple times, and they had a decent rapport, but she was still a vet, and he would not necessarily see her as his best buddy, which was too bad in a way, because she absolutely loved animals. She walked outside where Conall was getting into his vehicle and called out to him to wait. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize just how bad that all sounded, until I listened to my assistant. She's new. She's green and obviously inexperienced."

He asked, "There's just her?"

Bethany winced. "She's here almost full-time. I have a surgical assistant as needed, plus a part-time employee in the back right now, cleaning cages and feeding the animals. We're currently short-staffed, like everybody in town, with its dying economy. People working for us before just quit or decided to go do something else," she explained, with a sigh. "Staffing has been a huge issue."

He just nodded at that.

"Anyway, if we can come up with any more information, we'll definitely send it your way. I just don't know what else I can tell you."

"Just don't make up anything," Conall stated. "The truth is always the best answer."

"No need to tell me about the truth," she replied defensively. "If I don't have anything to give you,… there's nothing more I can do."

"Just tell me that you don't know anything about Bacchus," he said, "then I can carry on from here." He stopped and stared at her. "You look like Rosalind."

She flushed, then laughed. "She's my mother. I gather you were at the coffee shop."

He nodded. "And I gather that you were informed about my arrival." She lowered her head because he was certainly right about that. "What about this Jake character who keeps shaking them down for free coffee?"

A glint of anger slid into her expression and her tone, as she muttered, "There's three or four of them, and Jake's always been a bully. He's a user and a loser," she stated, "and they just keep targeting my mom's place."

"And Joe?"

She shrugged. "My mom and Old Joe have been an item for years." She smiled. "My father died when I was about eight, and Joe's just been there in the background. If they're happy, I don't have a problem with it." She hated the defensiveness that rose in her tone at the mention of her mother's relationship.

"Everybody is entitled to companionship and happiness," Conall stated. "It's nobody's place to judge where they find it."

She nodded. "I agree with you there, but not everybody is that open-minded."

He eyed her for a moment. "But what's the problem?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure there's a problem, as much as people just look down on him because they run the café, and, of course, he's black."

"Since when is having a little cafeteria a negative?" he asked in wonder. "I would have thought it was a fairly common profession all across the country. And black, white, yellow shouldn't make a damn bit of difference."

"Exactly, and my mom used to work for an insurance company, at least until she got fired a few years ago. That's when she started working with Old Joe."

"Why did your mom get fired?"

"According to the townsfolk, she'd been stealing money, but she hadn't," Bethany declared, glaring at him.

"Stealing?" He shook his head. "No, I can't see her doing that."

She stared at him in astonishment. "It's not as if you really know her. You had coffee at her shop for what, about five minutes?"

He shrugged. "I'm pretty good at judging character," he murmured, "which is also why I don't like those punks."

"You and the rest of the town, but Jake's daddy owns the mill. So Jake thinks he can get away with anything."

"He thinks it because he has gotten away with it." Conall shook his head. "Somebody needs to clean Jake's clock a time or two and make him realize he's not the big shot that he thinks he is."

"He's nothing," she agreed, "but nobody will buck him because of his father, because the mill is the biggest employer here, supporting most of the townsfolk. He owns the mill and, hell, most of the area, for that matter. Anyone who messes with Jake, the next thing you hear is,… they're fired," she shared, with loathing in her tone. "It's that easy."

"Any other industries coming in?" he asked, looking around.

"No, it's become more of a sleepy town than anything, and the mill is the last frontier in terms of work."

"And yet there's work not very far away, correct?"

"Sure, if you don't mind driving to the next town."

He looked down the road. "What is that, about half an hour?"

She smiled. "Yes, half an hour," she confirmed, "and a lot of people do work there. We're trying to stop everybody from moving away. Otherwise my business will go belly up too," she noted, turning to look back at the vet clinic.

"But you could also move to the next town and survive just fine if you had to, right?" he asked her.

"I could, and I might if it becomes necessary." She glanced back at him. "But that's hardly your issue, is it?"

"No, not my issue at all," he agreed, with a smile, "but I like problems, and this problem's right up my alley."

"What kind of problem is that?" she asked, frowning at him. "Revitalization?"

"Revitalization? Nope. Bullies." And, with that, he closed the door of his truck and started the engine.

She stepped back and watched as he pulled away. Something was unique about him, yet she was damn sure that Jake and his gang of ruffians would run all over him.

As Conall pulled the vehicle around to head toward the open road, she added, "You watch yourself. Those guys are bad news, and they'll stab you in the back, laughing while they do it."

He eyed her for a long moment. "Have they done something like that to anybody?"

"I don't know," she admitted, with a shrug. "A couple incidents happened not all that long ago, and we have no idea whether they were behind it or not."

"What about law enforcement?"

"We don't have any here in town anymore. We're not big enough," she said. "The nearest thing we have is a sheriff's office the next town over. Yet it doesn't matter, as Jake's father is a stereotypical deep-pocket friend of law enforcement."

"I don't care how friendly they are," Conall snapped. "Law enforcement can be dirty too."

She nodded. "But there again, most people aren't up for the fight."

"Yeah? If I get into a fight," Conall stated, "I make sure it's one I can win. Sometimes these fights are the kind you just can't lose because you've got to do what's right, no matter what. You've got to face yourself in the mirror every morning, and it doesn't matter what punks like these are doing with their lives. They've got to be stopped."

With that said, he drove off.

Conall wasn't exactlysure what made him declare such an interest in this issue, and he certainly wasn't of a mind to go down that pathway, but sometimes you just had to figure out the right and wrong of it, and he could see that Old Joe and Rosalind were ones who would take a hit here, all because these punks thought they had a right to cause trouble. That would never sit well in Conall's world. He understood bullies like them and had dealt with the type before. What Conall knew for certain was that the bullies wouldn't ever stop, not until somebody put a stop to it.

He headed to the only motel in town, registered for a couple nights, then drove toward Michael's place. As Conall got out and headed up to the front door, a younger male, who he assumed was the nephew, opened the door and glared at him. Conall silently waited.

The nephew, seeming almost unnerved, snapped, "What are you doing here?"

Conall raised his eyebrows. "Any idea who I am?" he asked.

"I thought you were somebody specific, but maybe you're not." He frowned. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

At the very chilly and even angry greeting, he shook his head. "I'm Conall, and I'm here about the War Dog that went missing."

"Oh." The nephew looked completely flabbergasted. "You seriously came here for a War Dog?"

Conall smiled and nodded. "Yes, I came for a War Dog."

"Jeez, don't you guys have anything better to do with your time?"

"Use of my time isn't something that concerns you," he stated, staring at the younger man. "I've got a question for you. If it wasn't you who went to pick up the War Dog, who did?"

"I don't know," he snapped. "I've got better things to do than worry about that dog."

"And what would those better things be?" Conall asked, studying the nephew. There wasn't any guile about him, but there also wasn't anything that made Conall think this guy was citizen-of-the-year-award material either.

"Look. My uncle has a lot of health issues, so I'm constantly looking after him. Don't have time for babysitting a dog too."

"Your uncle might have some health issues," Conall noted, "but I highly doubt that he needs twenty-four-hour care. Otherwise he would be in a place where they could give it to him."

"Maybe he doesn't want that," he declared, staring at him. "What do you know about it anyway?"

"I don't know anything… yet," Conall replied, with a lazy smile. "Some of you guys were pissing me off today, and I can't decide how involved I want to get."

"Don't get involved with anybody here," he declared. "You'll end up in battles you can't afford to win."

"Hmm, maybe it will be more of a case of battles I can't afford to lose," he clarified, studying him. "So, where is your uncle now?"

"He's resting."

"I would like to talk to him."

"You can't, at least not now. He's resting."

"Okay, and when will he not be resting?" Somehow, Conall knew the answer would be one he wouldn't like.

"That's not happening."

Conall nodded. "That's very interesting," he noted, with a smirk, "but that's the expected answer, isn't it?"

"Look. We don't want any trouble."

At that, with a searching gaze, Conall looked around, then at the nephew. "Trouble from whom?"

He flushed. "You've come with a bit of trouble already, and we don't need any of that."

"What kind of trouble did I come with?"

"We heard about your argument at Joe's Diner," he shared, red in the face, "and we can't afford to get involved with trouble like that."

"What kind of trouble do you think I got into?" he asked in amazement.

The nephew didn't say anything, but he now looked around nervously.

From inside the house, a man called out, "Page, let him in, damn it. You know I need to talk to him."

Page glared back and called out, "No, he'll just cause trouble."

"Sounds to me that you've already got trouble," Conall stated. "Are you really thinking I'll bring more in?"

"Yeah, you already have," Page snapped.

"I didn't tell anybody I was coming here. I didn't even tell anybody but Rosalind and Old Joe what I was doing in town."

"No, but then you went to the animal clinic and talked to Mel and Bethany."

"Ah, don't tell me," Conall said, understanding the hesitation and resistance now. "You're sweet on Melanie, huh?"

Page flushed. "She's my girl, okay?"

"So, as soon as I left there, she called you, is that it?"

His face turned bright red. "You can't get her in trouble for that."

"I'm not so sure," Conall noted, with an unnerving smile. "It will be interesting to see how her boss feels about that."

"Oh, no you don't," he roared. "That's not fair."

"Neither is broadcasting information that's not your business." Conall brushed past the nephew and stepped into the living room.

"I didn't say you could go in there."

"You didn't need to. Your uncle told me that I could come in here." He walked through until he saw an old man sitting in the living room in a wheelchair, a blanket thrown over his legs. Conall smiled and said, "Hi, my name's Conall."

The old man eyed him with a shrewd gaze. "Which division?"

He smiled. "Navy SEALs."

The old man's scowl disappeared. "I was Navy too." Then he provided his credentials.

Conall nodded. "Very pleased to meet you, sir."

"Damn, it's good to see somebody who knows something. Pull up a chair, son. We've got to talk."

"So, what are we talking about?" Conall asked, as he pulled up a chair and glanced back over at Page, standing in the doorway, clearly disgruntled. "Your nephew doesn't want me here."

"Of course not, he doesn't want any trouble, and his girlfriend already called to let us know you were coming," Michael confirmed, with a laugh. "As if that'll make a damn bit of difference. I told him that we wouldn't shake you."

"Of course not," Conall agreed. "I wouldn't be doing the job then, would I?"

"No, you sure wouldn't be." Michael gave a big sigh of satisfaction and smiled. "So, I was right."

"Sounds like it."

"You want a beer?" he offered.

Conall shrugged. "No thanks."

At that, the nephew turned, as if understanding that the uncle would insist on it anyway. When Page came back, he brought Conall a lukewarm can.

With a shrug, he popped the top and sat here and sipped it with the old man. "Now, you tell me. What the hell is going on here?"

Michael groaned. "I'm not sure." He gave Conall a shrewd look. "Ever since my nephew came to stay with me, Bacchus started to disappear more and more in the daytime."

Michael gave his nephew a calculating look. "For a while there I thought maybe my nephew was having problems with him. Sometimes dogs just take a dislike to somebody in particular, and I didn't really understand what was going on," Michael admitted, waving his hands, "but I watched them together, and there didn't seem to be any issue. Yet, every damn time Bacchus went outside, he came back a little bit later and later."

"Any injuries?"

"He always came back in good shape, so it's not as if anybody was abusing him. He always seemed to be happy enough. I just didn't have any explanation, but neither could I really get out there and track him down. I did ask Page here to follow him a couple times, and he always lost him, as if the dog were deliberately trying to avoid him."

At that, knowing his disbelief showed in his expression, Conall glanced over at the nephew, who was flushing bright red. "Right. That'll be an interesting conversation to have with your nephew."

Page immediately blustered, "I didn't do anything to that damn dog."

"Neither did you track him down, as you said you would," Conall countered in a monotone. "You just lied to your uncle here and figured it was just a dog. Who gave a crap, right?"

Michael frowned at his nephew, then cried out to Conall, "What?"

Conall looked over at the nephew. "You want to tell Michael the truth for a change, or do you think that the old man doesn't deserve even that much respect?"

"I didn't say that," Page roared. "Don't you go putting words in my mouth."

Michael turned and looked at his nephew in disbelief. "Did you lie to me? Did you not even go looking for my dog?"

"Look. You didn't need the dog anyway, and he kept walking away. I mean, if he doesn't want to be here, he doesn't want to be here."

"Damn." Michael stared at his nephew in consternation. "And when were you gonna tell me that?"

"I wasn't," he snapped. "That damn dog was missing. He was happy to be missing, so whatever. Nobody knows what the hell has happened to it now, and nobody's seen it, so what do you care?"

"I care," Michael bellowed, almost roaring himself now, "because he is my responsibility." Michael immediately started fretting, lifting and dropping the blanket in front of him, as if trying to figure out his next course of action.

Conall reached out a hand, patting his. "I'll go look for him. That's what I'm here for."

Michael stilled and looked up at him, peering in closer to see if he could really trust him, and then nodded. "I need to know that I can trust you."

"I'm here for the dog. I'm not here for you," he stated pointedly. "But, if I can help you while I'm here, I'm okay to do that too." Reaching out, he shook Michael's hand. "I have no time to clear anyone's conscience, but rest assured. I'm here for Bacchus."

"Good," Michael muttered, settling down. "Good, that's what's important." Then he turned and glared at his nephew. "We need to have a talk, boy."

His nephew just shrugged.

"Seems a complete lack of respect is here," Conall muttered to the older man, as he faced Michael. "Are you sure you want him here living with you?"

Michael frowned at him, his gaze shrewd. "Not always a whole lot of choice when you get old."

"Ah." Conall nodded. Then he glanced back at the nephew, who walked out, slamming the door behind him.

"So, is he getting room and board to look after you or just free room and board until you die?"

The old man winced. "You call a spade a spade," he declared, with a chuckle. "I've got to respect that. As for Page, well,… I think you're probably right."

"He's got a girlfriend, you know?… And it doesn't look to me as if they're planning on sticking around for all that long."

Michael nodded, as he stared off in the distance, "Really ain't a whole lot left for people like me, when you get old. I was hoping Page would be a companion, hoping he would be there for me a little more," he admitted. "But he's a young man, with his life to live, and I guess looking after his old uncle isn't exactly the kind of life he was expecting."

"No, I don't imagine it was. Did he think you had money?"

Michael stared at him and swallowed. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if he suspected that, but I don't," he replied. "I've got my pension, and that's it."

"Are you keeping the pension for yourself or are you sharing it with him?"

He flushed. "He has asked a couple times for some money.… I'm not paying him to be here, so I kind of feel bad when he doesn't have much of a life and…"

Michael fumbled to explain, and Conall could see that. "Yeah, but he could still get a job and be here for you too."

Michael nodded. "I did suggest that, but he's not big on the idea."

"Why is that?"

Michael gave a crack of laughter. "The same reason all these other young'uns don't want to get a job—because work is required. At the end of the day, you don't get a paycheck for doing nothing."

Conall nodded. "Seems to be a blight on a lot of people these days."

"Isn't that the truth? I don't know.… I did talk to my sister about him, and Page got into trouble where he was, you know. He dipped his hand into the cash register, where he was working. They recovered the money, so they didn't press charges and just opted to get rid of him."

"So, she got rid of him too, by sending him off to you."

"Yeah, yeah," he agreed glumly.

"So, we already know who got the worst part of that deal." Conall smiled. "Yet you're not completely alone, and maybe it's worth it to you."

"I don't know," he muttered. "Maybe. I really have no idea. I keep thinking about it, but it's hardly turned out the way I'd hoped. Especially now that Bacchus is missing. And damn that boy for not looking for the dog as he was supposed to."

"You don't have any other family? Nobody you could stay with?"

"No, no other family, just a sister, and she's…" He stopped, as if searching for right words. "She's kind of a mess."

"And she's dealing with him too, isn't she?"

"Yeah, and that's part of the mess," Michael confirmed, with a smile. "She hasn't had a husband for a while, and the boy didn't have a strong upbringing. Of course I tend to think that I'm still a strong influence, but I'm sure all they see is the cripple in the wheelchair. So, for whatever reason, any respect goes right out the window."

"Maybe so, but it shouldn't," Conall stated. "That's got absolutely nothing to do with it, but, because you also feel as if you've got nothing left to give, it comes across that way."

"It sure does," he said, with a nod. "I got cornered in the parking lot by that stupid punk kid," he shared, shaking his head, "and I haven't really been out much since."

Conall frowned. "You mean Jake and his cohorts?"

"Oh, you've already met them, have you?" Michael cackled. "They're just no damn good."

"Yeah, I got that impression, and they sure as hell shouldn't be harassing our veterans."

"Yeah, but nobody has any respect anymore. They think you went to war because you were some sort of fool, whom everybody else has to pay the price for," he muttered. "Nobody cares, and it's a sad, lonely world at this stage." His voice had dropped so low, and Michael had looked so lost, it was almost as if he were talking to himself.

Conall didn't know what to say to that, though he was in the same boat, just younger. Yet there were so many similarities that he could certainly relate to. "So, this War Dog," he asked, "what is his temperament like?"

"He's a big baby and loves everybody," Michael shared, with a chuckle.

"So, there is a chance then that somebody may have picked him up on the road and just taken him along because he was a big teddy bear?"

"It's possible, but everybody local knew he was mine," Michael said, "but now that I hear what my nephew apparently didn't say, maybe he knows more than he's telling me."

"It sounds like he definitely knows more than he's telling," Conall confirmed. "What will it take to get him to tell the truth?"

Michael looked over at him. "I just need a bit of time, and he'll probably come clean," he muttered, "but I can't guarantee it. I would hope so because I would like to think we have a better relationship than what he's demonstrating right now. It does break my heart to think that Bacchus might be with somebody he doesn't like."

"And, if he was with somebody he did like, how would you feel?"

"I would be okay with it, if he didn't want to be with me," he shared, with a sad smile. "Obviously I'm lonely but okay. Been there, done that, I guess. I just never really expected to have a War Dog who didn't get along with me."

"Of course not," Conall replied, "and I'm not saying he didn't. I'm just saying that maybe something else may have appealed or somebody else may have appealed, and maybe Page was enough of a reason for Bacchus to not want to stay with you. Or maybe staying with you was something Bacchus felt he needed to do while you were alone, and then, once you weren't alone anymore, maybe that changed."

"Huh." Michael stared at him. "I hadn't considered any of that, and I honestly had believed Bacchus had a great relationship with my nephew."

Conall looked at him with half a smile. "And now that you can see that your nephew lied to you about not following the dog, you can see that there wouldn't likely be any kind of relationship there."

"And that's wrong too," he muttered, with a nod. "Just as Page doesn't respect my days of military service, he also doesn't respect any that the War Dog put in either, and that's a damn shame."

Conall silently agreed with him. "What about Bethany, the veterinarian? How do you feel about her?"

"She's always been good to see to the dog. I'm not sure what else to say because that's where his girlfriend works, Melanie or something like that. If my nephew had been there, she would have seen him, and they would have probably been making eyes at each other, before he picked up the dog and brought him home."

"Apparently some chaos happened at the vet clinic at the time, so Bacchus had been out near the reception area, waiting for your nephew to pick him up. There was a letter saying that he was picking him up. So, are you saying that you sent your nephew?"

"He told me that he couldn't go, but now I don't know what to say."

"Sounds to me as if a lot of lies and some BS is going on. Page went down there and either handed him off to somebody else, or maybe he just didn't pick up Bacchus, and the dog got loose. I can totally imagine Page trying to cover it up, and it seems maybe the girlfriend was probably spending way more time focused on Page instead of her job. So, who knows? Maybe that's how Bacchus got loose."

Michael stared at him. "It's a damn shame, but it's quite likely to have happened that way or close to it," he admitted. "The question is, what do we do about it now?"

"That's the trick, isn't it? Because now I've got to find a dog that either got ushered out the door into the big world on his own and may or may not have decided not to return to you. It may boil down to just your nephew, who didn't want to bring Bacchus home. And the most important question is, where is the dog now?"

"Wouldn't we all like to know?" Michael said, as he stared at the doorway, where his nephew had disappeared through. "Now I've got to figure out what to do about Page."

"Send him back to his mother," Conall stated, without even having to think about it. "He's not your problem, and, if he won't respect you, then he won't respect her either."

"Yeah, but he needs a firm hand."

Conall studied Michael intently. "And is that your job?"

"No, it's not my job. I'm not sure it's anybody's job now. Page is an adult, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore." He rubbed his temples. "He was a good kid at one time. He's still a good kid. He's just lost right now."

As he stood up, Conall said, "Sometimes people need to find their own way, or they stay lost forever." He put his empty beer can on the coffee table beside him and reached out to shake Michael's hand. "Thanks for the beer."

"Are you coming back?"

"I'll come back," he stated, with a smile, "but I've got to find out some things first."

"What's that?"

"I've got to get to the bottom of the lies," he replied.

"That's a good start."

"After that, I'm not too sure," Conall admitted. "No relevant security camera footage remains at the clinic because it was all overwritten."

"You think the girl at that clinic did that?"

"I'm not sure," he replied. "Melanie acted very scattered, blaming it on a busy day."

"Yeah? I guess she is a good match for Page," he muttered, with a groan. "Too bad because what he needs is somebody level-headed who'll kick his butt out to get to work."

"That's not likely to happen," Conall noted, with a smile. "You and I both know that."

"And yet I was kind of hoping it would be a good match."

"I'm not saying it isn't a good match, but a good match starts with honesty."

And, on that note, he got up and walked out.