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“How’d you get roped into this?”
“I was petting Stella’s dog, and we started talking.” Back when I was in the teams, I couldn’t have a dog. We had to be up and gone on a moment’s notice. “She sent me out to Santa Barbara Dog Training Academy yesterday. They got a new crop of K-9 dogs, and she was curious about Arrow procuring one. But I got there too late. By the time I made it past reception, a police officer was negotiating a purchase of two of the successful graduates. Millie trotted up to me as I was talking to Steph, the owner of the training center. I commented on what a beauty she was, and Steph said she was looking for a home.”
“So, she’s Arrow’s dog?”
“No. As an obedience school dropout, she doesn’t meet their qualifications.” As if to underscore the point, Millie licks my hand. At least she doesn’t jump on people.
“Wife and kids gonna be around the corner.”
I flip him my middle finger. Leaving the teams hadn’t been an easy decision, but family desires didn’t factor in, and Max knew it.
Special operations isn’t for the aged. Thanks to an explosion a couple of years back, my hearing took a hit. And the kind of shit we do on a regular basis takes a toll on knees and shoulders. In a lot of careers, thirty-five’s still young. Special Ops isn’t one of those careers. I could’ve stayed. Moved into a different functional area. My dad spent his entire career in the military. But when I didn’t pass the last medical review, it felt like a good time to go through with a medical retirement. Get the benefits and move on.
Going private offered better pay and a mix of action and strategy. Plus, Arrow Tactical has a stellar reputation among the guys.
“Come to think of it. You better get back home. That woman on your stoop could be the future Mrs. Williams.” He chuckles when I glare. “You coming to the barbecue tonight?”
That question has me grimacing. I read through the invitation list. All couples.
I like that our new company is all about fostering camaraderie, and getting to know the families of those I work with is a part of that. But there are other things I’d rather do on a Friday night than bond with co-workers’ families.
“You going?”
Max shrugs noncommittally and picks up his bike. “You heading back now?”
“Yeah. Gonna get this one back. Ran four miles, and I’m not sure she’s used to it.”
“You need me to come back with you? Just in case you need assistance?”
“How big was this woman sitting on my front step that I might need backup?”
“Wee little thing. A bit curvy.” Max flashes a shit-eating grin and attempts to wiggle his eyebrows.
He’s a big guy with Ken doll blond highlights and blue eyes that reel in the ladies. Even my mom swoons when he’s nearby. She calls him a big lovable goof and ships him care packages every time she ships me something.
“But, you know, crazy’s got more strength. Might need a witness.”
“She’s not there for me. She’s at the wrong address.” Besides, about the only people who have my new address are my military buds, Arrow folks, and my folks.
“’Kay, man.” He slings a meaty leg over his bike seat. His loose shorts bunch, and he readjusts himself.
“No bike shorts?”
He just grins. “I told you, I rushed to find you. Now I’m here, might as well go down the beach a bit.”
“All right. Text me if you decide to go to the thing tonight.”
With a two-fingered salute, he’s off, and I head back home. Millie pads along beside me with slack on the leash like a well-trained dog. Along the way, I hold the frisbee out for her to sniff, but she doesn’t care for it much.
Cars line our street, taking up every inch of parking space. The North Carolina plate on a Ford Bronco catches my eye. One of the many states I’ve lived in. A plate from that far away means it’s probably a rental, but the tag is expired. The vehicle needs a good wash. Soot covers the car. The rims are nearly black. There’s an NPR sticker on the left side of the bumper and a Co-Exist sticker on the right. Possibly a college student, but we don’t have too many of those near us. The college campus is about ten minutes away by car.
We’re a thirteen-minute drive to the airport, a nine-minute walk to the harbor, and minutes away from the pier. Restaurants, bars, and small shops abound. The location of the place Arrow set me up in couldn’t be better.
The terracotta tile roof, off-white stucco walls, and blue trim make for a nice welcome home. Mom calls it idyllic. But Mom and Dad haven’t been out yet to see it in person. Not that it’s worth a trip out west for. Arrow owns the building.
The leash tightens as Millie tugs. A young woman sits on the tiled step. She’s leaning against the off-white stucco wall. Her hands are in her lap and her eyes are closed.
Millie tugs harder, and I let out a sharp, “Heel.” The line loosens, but her tail flips and flops, intrigued by the stranger on the steps.
