Page 9 of Cannon

“Erm, I’m not too sure what she’s just told me now that you’re here, in the flesh, as it were.” I let Jeannie go and take a seat at the table before I pass out.

“Whisky dropped dead in the garden. I told her not to stress him out and let him go in peace, but no, she had to try to push him too hard. She’ll be the death of me like that, one day, I swear.”

“Well, Matt, I’m sure you’ll recognize the signs when she sits on you and tries to shove pills down your throat so you’re no longer Mr. Floppy!” I can’t help but feel a wave of relief wash over me, followed by a lightbulb moment.

“What are you guys going to do with Whisky now?” I must sound so creepy when I ask that, as they both look at me like I’m some kind of degenerate weirdo.

“I’ll bury him in the garden, I guess. Why do you ask?” Matt looks very suspicious.

“Well, I’ve got a friend who owns a pet crem and they haven’t been open long. I wondered if you’d let me get Whisky cremated. It would be good practice for my friend, and it would be better to have a small casket of ashes buried in the garden rather than an actual decomposing dog’s body. What do you say? It will be a proper service and everything. You could attend if you’d like? I’ll cover any costs involved.” I have to rein myself in here because I could sound too keen to burn their dog.

“Ooh, yes. Let’s do that.” Jeannie perks right up at the mention of me paying for the dog's cremation. “We could have a proper, full-on funeral for him and have snacks and drinks. Maybe do a wake-up-type of thing. People could bring their pets, and we could hand out business cards for your friends' auditorium.”

“Crematorium, Jeannie. Not auditorium. And it’s a wake, not a wake-up.” I can see this being fun. I wonder what the invitations will look like!

“I’m sure they are very similar. Come on, Matt. We have a wake to arrange. When do you want to pick up the star of the show, Babs?”

“Hang on to him for now and I’ll call later to arrange collection. How’s that?” I give her a smile, but I’m sure it must look like a grimace as Matt gives me an odd look in return.

Now running late, I drive like I’m on a NASCAR track to get to work. How I don’t get involved in a traffic stop, I don’t know, but thankfully I arrive just before my shift is due to start. Molly is hovering in the reception area as I dash inside, panting and flustered.

“Barbara! What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

“Sorry I’m late, Molly. Minor crisis with one of my neighbors this morning. Her dog passed away, and she came around to share the sad news.” Taking a deep breath, I continue, “If it’s okay with you, I need to nip over to the Pet Crematorium during my lunch break to speak to Cannon. I’ve offered to cover the cost of the cremation, and they are going to have a pet wake for their beloved Whisky.”

“Go now, Barbara. I can cover the reception until you get back. Go on, it’s fine.” Molly slips into the receptionist's chair, and I feel a pang of guilt. I haven’t lied or been deceitful, but I don’t feel I’ve been one hundred percent upfront either with my secret agenda. “If you’re sure you don’t mind? I’ll call and pick up the carcass, erm, I mean body, on the way.” Don’t want Mr. Floppy to get stiff with rigor mortis before I have to handle him, I think to myself.

Stopping by Jeannie’s, Matt put Mr. Floppy, I mean Whisky, into my trunk all wrapped up in his favorite blanket. Driving at every speed limit and being overcautious at every junction, I finally make it to the pet crem. I give myself a thorough checking over before I head to their reception area and my unannounced date with my hunk of a man, Cannon.

Walking through the main doors, I’m surprised by how pleasant it all looks. Not that I really knew what to expect, but by association I was expecting a crematorium to be a dismal place. A door opens and I steel myself as I wait for my man to appear.

“Hi. How may I be of service today?” He asks, and I’m running through ways that he can service me when I realize it’s Prophet and not Cannon standing there.

“I was hoping to speak to Cannon about having a dog cremated.”

“Unfortunately, Cannon won’t be in until lunchtime. He has other commitments this morning. Perhaps I could be of assistance?” Prophet smiles, and I don’t think he recognizes me.

We have only met in passing, so I’m not surprised. I don’t know everyone at the club by name, or even by sight. Without their cuts, I probably wouldn’t know half of the guys there.

“I’ll call back later, thanks, but could I leave my dog here? I don’t really want to drive around with him stinking, I mean lying, in the trunk.”

“Of course. Give me a moment and I’ll get a gurney to put him on.” Once Prophet has Mr. Floppy, I mean Whisky, I have to stop thinking of him like that, on the gurney, I thank him and head back to the practice.

Just my luck. I must have killed a robin, or broken a mirror, or walked under a ladder, or any one of the many things that bring bad luck. He had to be off doing something else this morning of all days. I’m beginning to think there may be a higher power at work here trying to spoil my happy ever after!

Chapter 6

*~* Cannon *~*

Cruising around town on my trusty hog, I was beginning to feel I was ignoring her since I got the truck, I’m enjoying the breeze and the throbbing of the engine. Bull is working his tech magic to find out who Santos’s boss could be, but I’m more of a hands-on guy than a techy, so I thought I’d get eyes on the streets and go old-school. I’m pleasantly surprised by the number of smiles I get as I cruise, and more than one kid has given me a wave.

I suppose we hardened bikers should expect people to be afraid of us, but honestly, I think that any club that has that mentality these days isn’t old-school, more like outdated. Seeing a coffee shop with tables and parking out front, I pull over and let my hog sit in the middle spot of three. No one is going to open a door and bang her paintwork where she is at the moment.

Walking into the shop, the smell of coffee and food is just divine, there’s no other word for it, and I take a deep lungful to fully appreciate it. Ordering a large black coffee and a breakfast sandwich with extra bacon and sausage, I take one of the outside tables and watch the world go by.

Having sat and relaxed for thirty minutes, I’m about to make tracks when an SUV squeals into one of the spots by my hog. The passenger door swings open and makes contact with my handlebars, fortunately not my gas tank. A foot drops to the ground, followed a moment later by another, then a crutch. The door swings closed, and there, I kid you not, stands Santos.

A thought flashes in my mind like a shooting star on a dark, cloudless night. All this time I’d been going around town I’d been looking for him on a bike, I forgot he wouldn’t be riding with his broken leg. What an idiot! Walking quickly to him, before he gets a chance to recognize me, I push him against the side of the vehicle.