Private Paris (Private 10)

Surprised by the pain, I rolled off the guy below me, and tried to defend myself. But the dog was in a frenzy, making these satanic throat noises that had me convinced a pit bull or something like it was attacking me.

“Napoleon!” a man shouted. “Napoleon, no!”

As soon as he yelled, the biting stopped, and I sat up, feeling blood drip from my ear and from wounds to my neck. The Nose was gone, and a twenty-two-pound wirehaired Jack Russell terrier sat about two feet from me, tongue hanging from his bloody muzzle as he panted through what looked like a smile.

A tanned man in jeans and a black leather jacket was running across the street, looking mortified. “Napoleon, what have you done?”

The dog was wagging its tail but barked when Louis pulled up, gasping and looking at my wounds in disbelief.

“I am so sorry, monsieur,” the man said. He was in his early forties, carried a leash, and was built robustly for a Parisian. “I’ve never seen him do anything remotely like that! Bad dog, Napoleon! You are a little terrorist!”

The dog cringed and lay flat on the sidewalk.

“Are you all right?” the man asked me.

“Does he look all right?” Louis asked, handing me a handkerchief.

“My God, you’ll need stitches,” the man said.

“And a rabies shot,” Louis said.

“Napoleon is up to date on all his shots,” his owner said.

“It’s all right,” I said. “I just need to see a doctor.”

“Of course,” the man said. “There’s one nearby, I’m sure.”

“We’ll take you to Private Paris’s contracted doctor, Jack,” Louis said.

“Private Paris?” the man said, sounding surprised.

“We both work for the company,” I said, gingerly touching my ear.

“This makes it all the worse, then,” the man said. “Again, I am so sorry for my little terrorist’s activities, and…”

“You have a name, sir?” Louis asked. “Somewhere we can contact you with the bill?”

He hesitated, but then reached into his coat and handed Louis a business card. “My name is Rivier, Phillipe Rivier. I’m just up here from Nice on business.”

Louis glanced at the card as I got up, and the dog came up off its belly and growled. Rivier took a quick step toward the dog and it lay down fast.

“Be quiet now,” he growled. “You’re in big trouble when you get home.”

“How about you put the emperor on his leash?” Louis said.

“Oh,” Rivier said, looking chagrined. “It’s just that he’s usually spot-on with his voice commands and—”

“The leash,” Louis said.

“Right,” Rivier said, and clipped the lead on the little dog’s collar.

Louis’s cell rang, and he turned to answer it.

Rivier smiled weakly at me. “Again, I couldn’t be more sorry. And please, I’m more than happy to pay for all medical expenses—and dinner. Let me buy you dinner, Monsieur…?”

“Morgan. Jack Morgan,” I said.

“Please. We are here for another day or two. Call me if you think of it. You have the number there.”