“You heard him!” What sounded like a wrecking ball striking metal scared the shit out both of them, jarring them apart and allowing Jesse a second to get free. “Back off, Baron.”
The momentum that Jesse had been using to get loose caused him to fall to his ass, but he didn’t stay down as he quickly leapt to his feet and took off as fast as his long legs would allow. He didn’t even stick around to see who’d tried to save him—maybe it was the vet. Jesse weaved his way around a few people without stomping on them as he cleared the park in no time. He was breathing like he’d run a triathlon when he turned to see the face of a hunched-over man with sad, brown eyes that seemed to have seen too much. He was glaring hotly at Jesse’s assaulter, an aluminum bat clutched tightly in both fists.
It wasn’t the vet; it was someone else. A stranger. Jesus. Where the hell had he left home and come to?
Jesse needed to find Worm and now.
Mason
Mason got home a little after three in the morning. He was exhausted, but as he trudged toward his bedroom, the sound of a dog barking jerked him out of stupor. Ugh. Mason groaned at the untimely reminder of his recent nightly obligation. Why in the hell did I agree to do this? “Because it’s the neighborly thing to do, that’s why.” And his neighbor Jim had blocked him at the end of their driveway on his way back from his late-night run.
He’d been surprised to see anyone out at that ungodly hour, but it was obvious it’d been intentional. Jim first asked Mason how his Braves were doing—at three thirty in the morning—then quickly segued into asking him if he could check in on his dog after his shift while he and his wife were away visiting family for a couple weeks.
Mason ignored the strong pull of his king-size bed positioned directly in front of his sixty-five inch flat-screen television and continued into his small walk-in closet. He wasn’t much into fashion, so the minimal space didn’t bother him, but he sometimes found himself wondering if he’d meet a guy who was. A man that wore suits for business and designer jeans and blazers on the weekend. Mason found himself smiling as he changed into a pair of sweatpants and a thick Atlanta PD hoodie.
The security lights activated, and Mason made himself well-known as he let himself into his neighbor’s yard through the side gate like he’d been doing the last week and a half. “Pixie.” He whistled. “Where are you, girl? It’s too late to be playing hide-and-seek.”
No sooner did he finish the sentence than the big German Shepherd bolted out the doggy door of the large screened-in patio and barreled toward him with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. Mason chuckled, bracing himself for what was about to happen. He stumbled backward a few steps, a rushed “oomph” escaping his lungs as the seventy-pound dog dove into his midsection. She angled her head up to lick his face, but he craned his neck to the side to avoid the tongue bath. He scratched her playfully behind her pointed ears as she ate up the late-night attention.
“I don’t feel up to running today, Pixie. It’s been a rough night, girl. So, how about a leisurely stroll around the block and I’ll tell you all about it?” He rambled as he got Pixie’s harness and leash on. This spoiled dog had a sitter during the day and most of the evening, but Jim said his wife would feel even better if Pixie was also checked on overnight. Mason secured the leash around his wrist, then tucked his hands in his coat pocket to protect them from the cold. He and Pixie rounded the corner onto the main street, and Mason inhaled a deep breath of frigid air, relishing the dark silence of the earliest part of morning.
Four a.m. was his favorite time of the day. He was off work, the city was in its deepest stages of slumber, and when he moved through the quiet streets, he felt as if he owned it all and could turn off the chaos of the city at will.
He paused in the middle of telling Pixie about the fight he and Clark had to break up between a waiter and a customer over a so-called insulting tip to dig a couple of five-dollar bills out of his wallet. He nudged the homeless man’s shoulder, who was asleep against the side of a closed convenience store, and slid the money into his hand.
“Hey, Mason,” the older man croaked.
“How you doing, Arnie? You alright?” Mason asked as he held Pixie at a safe distance since she seemed wary of the stranger. “How come you’re not at St. Lutheran’s tonight? It’s getting colder. Did you go to the clinic about that cough?”