Page 16

“Interesting.” Beowolf lumbered beside him as Nutsbe moved down the steps to stand beside Bob.
“One thing with the bullmastiff, though, Nutsbe, is they’re super smart. What I want you to do when you’re working with Beowolf is not to tell him ‘no.’ Only tell him what you want him to do. It’s not ‘Don’t bark.’ It’s, ‘Quiet.’ It’s not, ‘Don’t jump’—not that he would but as an example—it’s, “Sit.’ Otherwise, with Beowolf, he’ll think, ‘Well, you took that off the table, but look at all these other choices I have.’ And Beowolf is clever.”
“And slobbery.”
“That goes without saying with these dogs.” Bob handed out the terrycloth hand towel he had tucked into his belt. “Just keep the slobber off the judge’s robes, and you’ll make a great team.”
“Hear that Beowolf? No slavering on the judge.”
Beowolf raised his brow and gave him a look that Nutsbe read as, are you kidding me right now? Nutsbe chuckled and turned back to Bob. “How long are we going to be at this meet and greet?”
“Half-hour, forty-five minutes. We’re not settling in for the evening.” Bob checked his watch. “You’ll be back at Iniquus before nineteen hundred hours.”
“And you don’t know anything about this case?”
“What I know is that it’s an Olivia Gladstone case—which means that it involves the worst of society’s worst—that you are providing a ‘last-minute dog,’ as she calls it, and that I’m grateful that you’re willing to pit yourself against your kryptonite.”
Chapter Seven
Nutsbe
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.”