After Love (17 page)

“What did you do to chase her off?” was the first question Grammy asked when he and the boys arrived at her house on Sunday.

“I told you we weren't dating.” Nick was feeling a little defensive after fielding almost the same question from his sons. The fact that she still hadn't returned his calls was also adding to his grumpy mood. “She's Harley's trainer….That's all.”

“Too bad. I liked her.” Grammy had a bowl of potatoes on her lap, and she peeled as she talked. Brad and Brent were busy making roads and hills in the dirt under the big oak tree for an epic Matchbox off-road rally. It was difficult to grow grass in that spot because of the deep shade, which made it perfect for everything from a racetrack to a ranch to a prehistoric world. Three generations of male Archers had played in that dirt, building anything they could imagine with twigs and stones. Buried in the dirt and under layers of leaves in the nooks and crannies of the gnarly oak roots, the young boys had even discovered some old, rusted Matchbox cars that had once belonged to their dad and uncles.

Luke was still tied up in DC, and Justin arrived late, all excited about a big gang arrest he'd made the week before. Nick was glad his brother had lots to talk about, because Nick had nothing. He would have finished off the entire twelve-pack of beer if he hadn't had his kids with him and known he had to drive them home. Instead he nursed a single can of beer before dinner and another during the meal.

He cut the day short, leaving soon after he and Justin helped Grammy clean up. To make up for the abbreviated visit, he stopped at a Dairy Queen and bought his boys ice cream cones and shared a dish of vanilla with Harley. After he dropped them off at their mother's house, he stopped at his place to change clothes, then headed downtown.

Not much happened in the drug trade before late afternoon, so going out too early would have been a waste of time. It was after nine p.m. when he and Harley finally hit the streets.

It was unusual to see drugs in plain sight in the more touristy areas of downtown, but the dealers were there. Usually they hid out in the alleys or in the bars, ready to make a deal if one of their runners sent them a text. If someone was looking for drugs, they were easy to find.

Nick locked the truck after getting Harley out. Dressed in the same tattered jeans, a Nine Inch Nails T-shirt, and an old Cowboys ball cap, he snapped a multicolored macramé leash to the dog's collar. He had ear buds in, hooked to a walkie-talkie with the volume controlled by a thumb wheel on the line to his right ear. It was a look designed to de-cop the pair as they worked their way through the crowds of students, locals, and tourists.

Nick got plenty of smiles from passing girls, and some stopped and struck up a conversation. He knew he wasn't Bradley Cooper in the looks department, but he'd never had trouble attracting women. Apparently Harley added several layers of hotness, an advantage Nick wished he'd had earlier in his life, when he was a little more wild and crazy.

“Hey,” a petite and very pretty redhead said as she smiled at Nick. “What's his name?”

Nick stopped and tightened the leash. “Harley.”

“Like the bike?”

“Yeah, like the bike.”

She knelt down, petted Harley on the head, and scratched his neck vigorously.

He leaned into the attention, and Nick was surprised at how easily his dog could be befriended.

“Hey, Harley, you like this?” she continued.

She was in the appropriate age group, so Nick decided to go fishing. “You live on campus?”

“Me?” She acted insulted. “I did my time. I live in a sorority house…president, actually.”

She continued to pet Harley and crooned soft words to the dog that Nick could not hear. Like water in a stream with a rock in the middle, people on the crowded sidewalk had to split to go around them, then rejoin their group on the other side.

“Cool…Of course you are.”

“Why did you say that?” she asked.

“You're hot and confident and easy to talk to, so I figured you were in charge.”

She stood up. “I'm Emily.”

“Nick…Nice to meet you, Emily.”

“Expensive dog. You live around here?” she asked, tilting her head to look up at him.

“Couple of streets over. I like to take Harley out for a long walk every day…to tire him out. He's cooped up a lot while I'm in class. How do you know he's expensive?”

“My uncle owns a kennel, and he boards a lot of dogs. I can tell when one is a purebred. I help out every summer for spending money during the school year. It's a job, but I love dogs.”

“You don't look like you need money….I bet your parents insist you work…to get life experience, right?”

Emily laughed. “You know my parents?”

“No.” Nick chuckled. “When I went to UT before I joined the Marines, I had to work my way through.”

“Want to grab a drink?” Emily stood and wiped her hands on her khaki shorts.

“Sure…where?”

“How about the Jackalope?” she asked.

“Cool.”

“Can your dog go in there?”

“Yeah, I tell everyone he's my service dog. Who's going to argue?”

Nick and Emily walked the half block to the Jackalope and grabbed a table near the back on the right side.

A server stopped and smiled at Nick. “Don't I know you?”

“Maybe. I come here a couple times a week,” Nick told her. He usually sat at the bar and Gina took care of him, so he never had much interaction with the servers.

“Dogs aren't allowed in here, unless they're service dogs,” the waitress said.

“You got it,” Nick assured her.

“Is he…is he friendly?” The server was definitely nervous around the dog.

“He's very well trained. Down, Harley,” Nick ordered, and the dog immediately obeyed.

She didn't seem totally convinced, so she kept the table between her and Harley. “What can I get you guys?”

“Draft light beer for me,” Emily said.

“Same.”

“Be right back.”

“You come here twice a week?” Emily tossed her long hair over her shoulder, openly flirting with Nick.

“Yeah, they have good food, and it's convenient. But it gets really crowded with tourists this time of year, and I don't dig that. I'm more low-key, you know?”

Emily smiled. “Yeah. I'm kind of on my own tonight. My boyfriend is all pissed at me for partying the other night, so I told him to go fuck himself. It was just my sisters. We did some drugs and stuff…nothing heavy, you know. There were no guys there.”

“Sounds like he's insecure.”

“Right. That's exactly it…insecure. He's a third-year vet student, and they're very straight. He won't touch a joint or binge.” She slid Nick a meaningful look. “Sometimes he's so boring.”

The server dropped off the beers. “Are you going to eat?”

“I'm good,” Nick said, then looked at Emily. “You?”

“Nothing for me.”

“Enjoy.” The server looked at Nick and added, “The bartender over there wants to talk with you.” She jerked her head toward the bar, where Gina stood, then moved on to the next table to take their order.

“This will only take a minute.” Nick slid out, then stopped. He'd almost forgotten Harley. He couldn't just leave him here with this stranger. Nick reached down, grabbed Harley's undercover rope leash, and headed to the bar.

“Hot date?” Gina laughed. “Or is it your daughter?”

“Ha-ha. No, I'm working.”

“Who's that with you?”

“This is Harley…my service dog to help with my PTSD.” Nick leaned on the bar. “You got a problem with that, darlin'?”

Gina smiled. “That's cool. But I meant the girl. She's classier than your usual babes.”

“Her name is Emily, and we're just chatting.” Nick gave Gina a wink and turned, and he and Harley returned to the table.

“She a friend of yours?” Emily asked.

“Business acquaintance…She sells me beer.”

Emily laughed. “What do you do for a living?”

“I'm going back to school….GI Bill. TV and film studies.”

“Really? That sounds like fun. And the dog?”

“He's not doing so well. He has trouble taking notes and most movies except Disney bore him.”

Emily laughed and took a drink of her beer. “Is Harley really a service dog?”

“That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.” Nick lifted his own glass to his lips.

Emily nodded her acceptance of the explanation.

Nick leaned forward. “Look, since you mentioned you party, I'm trying to score some loosies. My regular guy is out of town. Do you have a connection around here?”

Emily glanced around, then studied Nick's face intently before answering. “Yeah. A bunch of us use a guy named Leo.”

“Leo? Where do I find him? It's my turn to supply the party tomorrow night.”

“You must be rich…giving away loosies.”

Nick shrugged. “We all trade out, so it doesn't hit any of us too hard….Know what I mean?”

“Got it. Leo's usually stocked up. He's in the alleys around here, probably between Sixth and Seventh. Can't miss him. He walks with a limp, is about five feet tall and skinny as a stick. Oh, and he always wears a stocking cap…no matter how hot it is.”

Harley began to squirm at Nick's feet, then sat up abruptly.

“It's okay, Harley.” Nick reached down and stroked the dog's head. “Good boy.”

“Maybe he needs to go…uh…pee?”

“That could be.” Before Nick could stand, Harley jumped to his feet, his nose in the air and his ears perked. He was projecting all the signs of a drug alert, but Nick was confused. He hadn't given him any scent cues or commands.

A young bar-back, doing what he did twenty times a night in his job of assisting the bartenders, walked past their table carrying a large cardboard box of scraps on his shoulder. Red juice from whatever they had been cutting up at the bar was soaking through the bottom of the container and dripping on his shirt. The young man hadn't gotten more than five feet away when Harley bolted out from under the table, lifting it up in the process and hurling their beers onto them and the floor. Unfortunately for the bar-back, Harley's starting speed was far faster than Nick's reaction time, and within two seconds the dog had jumped on top of the kid's shoulders and ridden him to the floor like a cowboy bulldogs a steer. Nick leaped to his feet and lunged for the trailing leash.

The cardboard box full of bar garbage sailed through the air another three feet before it crashed against the rear wall and dumped bits of fruit and other scraps all over the floor. The bar-back, in spite of being a skinny kid, bounced after it. “Shit!” the young man yelled as he flailed his arms wildly, trying to fend off Harley, but it was too late. His black Jackalope T-shirt was ripped in three places by Harley's claws as he used the kid like a starting block at a track meet to get to the scattered garbage.

“Harley!” Nick yelled as he scrambled past the kid on the floor, tapping him on his head to keep him down and out of the way. “Sorry. Harley!”

But the dog paid no attention. By the time Nick reached him, Harley's face was buried in the busted cardboard box. Nick grabbed the dog's leash and yanked him back. Strawberry juice dripped from the dog's muzzle. Strawberry leaves were stuck to his fur, which was stained red. Even as Harley lowered his eyes, knowing he'd screwed up, he swallowed a last mouthful. “What the fuck, Harley!”

“Looks like he's crazy about strawberries.” Emily had caught up to the spill area.

The bar-back finally scrambled to his feet after slipping several times on the bits of wet fruit on the floor. “Hey, man, you're going to hear from my lawyer.” He headed back toward the bar, angrily pulling his tee over his head and exposing Harley's claw marks on his shoulder blades.

“Harley fucked him up pretty bad,” Emily said.

“Thanks, I didn't know,” Nick answered sarcastically. He was so totally pissed at his dog that he'd forgotten his mission to charm the girl.

“Well, don't get mad at me. He's your dog….Forget it.” She stomped off and out the front door just as two Austin police officers pushed their way in.

They threaded through the growing crowd until they reached Nick and Harley. “Is this your dog?” one of the officers asked.

“Yeah, sort of.”

“What happened here, sir?”

Nick smiled sheepishly. “I don't know.” He jerked Harley away from the strawberry pieces the dog was eyeing with longing. “Can we talk outside?”

“That's exactly what I was going to suggest,” the officer agreed. He led the way, with Nick and Harley close behind and the other officer following.

Once outside, the officer indicated the patrol car and said, “Hands on the vehicle and spread your legs.”

Nick did as he was told, but when the officer leaned close to pat him down, Nick whispered, “I'm Nick Archer, DEA. My badge is in my pocket, and I have a gun in my waistband. We're looking for a loosie dealer, but my dog went nuts on those strawberries in there.”

The cop found Nick's gun and removed it. He then found Nick's badge in his pocket. The cop knew better than to flash it around, but it clearly validated Nick's story. He turned to the crowd on the sidewalk. “Nothing to see here, folks. Move along.” Then he motioned his partner to come closer. “Hey, Vinny, wasn't Archer the name of the guy who arrested the congressman's son?”

The other officer laughed. “Shit, dude, this isn't your month, is it?”

Nick whispered, “Put me in the car and drive off, would you? I've got a reputation to protect.”

“Fuck, I don't think you have any reputation left.” Vinny slapped a pair of cuffs on Nick, opened the back door, and put his hand on Nick's head to guide him into the backseat. Harley hopped in after his master, a little confused by the vehicle but always excited to go for a ride. Vinny slammed the door and got into the driver's side while the other officer went to the opposite side.