Icould have taken the subway and the bus to and from the animal shelter. It would have been a lot slower than going by car—the bus didn’t travel on the highway—but I wouldn’t have minded that much. It wasn’t as though I had anything better to do, except sleep in. But my mother insisted on driving me and picking me up on the days that she could swing it, probably because she worked long hours and felt bad that we didn’t have a lot of time together. On the days that she couldn’t manage it, she’d say, “Call your father. He’ll drive you.” The next day was one of those days.

“I can take you this morning, but I have a meeting this afternoon,” my mother said when I came down for breakfast. “I won’t be home until seven. Call your father and ask him to pick you up.”

My father asked why my mother wasn’t picking me up. I told him. My mother frowned as she listened to me. I was ignoring her prime directive. I was telling my father something about her. My father said okay, he’d be there, no problem.

I was sitting in my broom closet of an office a little later, giving Kathy an update on my progress, when I happened to glance up. By now I knew that the RAD program ran four days a week, Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. This was Wednesday, so I was surprised to see a familiar figure stroll past my door. So surprised that I said, “What’s he doing here?”

“Who?” Kathy said. She looked over her shoulder at the door, but by then he was gone.

“Nick D’Angelo,” I said.

“Oh,” Kathy said. “He volunteers here on Wednesdays.” Volunteering? Nick? I guess I looked surprised because Kathy said, “Nick was a volunteer here long before he enrolled in the RAD program. He’s been volunteering with us for, let’s see, almost a year and a half now, I think. Despite everything else that’s going on in his life, he’s stuck with it. He’s been here every Wednesday all summer. He’s a good kid.”

“But he’s—” I stopped myself. I had been going to say that he was in the RAD program because he’d been in serious trouble. But I realized that I didn’t actually know what he had done to end up in the program.

“He’s what?” Kathy said.

I shook my head and looked back at the files we had been reviewing, but I still felt Kathy’s eyes on me. “You shouldn’t judge people too quickly, Robyn” she said. “Especially young people. Just because someone does a couple of stupid things, that doesn’t mean his life’s course is set and can’t be changed.”

I wasn’t sure what she was referring to. Did she mean whatever Nick had done to end up in the RAD program? Or did she mean something else?

“Nick told me what happened when you two were at school together,” Kathy said.

“He did?” I would have thought that was something he’d want to keep to himself.

She nodded. “A couple of days after you started here. I’ve gotten to know Nick fairly well. I know he’s not perfect—who is? But he tries. I think he wanted to be the one to tell me.” She looked me in the eye. “He also told me he didn’t touch any of the money we collected at the mall,” she said. “And I believe him. Okay?”

Everything I’d sensed had been right. Kathy liked Nick. She was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Okay,” I said. Then, mostly to change the subject, I said, “When you first told me about RAD, you said that the kids in the program were each paired with a dog and that it was up to them to train the dogs and to teach them the right kind of behavior so that they’d have a chance of being adopted,” I said. “You said if the kids in the RAD program didn’t succeed, if the dogs didn’t learn how to behave properly, then the dogs might, well . . . You said you might have to put the dogs down.” Kathy waited for me to get to the point. “But the first week I was here, I saw Mr. Schuster working with Nick’s dog.”

Kathy eyed me speculatively and then shook her head. “Mr. Schuster has his own ideas about how things should work,” she said. “He’s interested in adopting Orion. So if I don’t pay close attention, he’ll give Orion extra training to hurry along his progress. I’ve asked him not to, but . . . ” She shrugged. “He’s promised not to do it again.”

 

. . .

At noon, I took my sandwich, my drink, and a book outside, as usual. I was settling in at the picnic table when I saw Nick come out of the Adoption Center with a man, a woman, and a small girl. Nick’s hands gestured toward the animal wing, the dog-training area, and the clinic. It looked like he was giving them a tour of the place. Maybe he was going to show them the animals that were up for adoption. I turned my attention back to my book.

I had finished two chapters and was on my way back inside when I heard a shriek. I spun around. The same little girl I had seen earlier was standing on the grass behind me, shaking her head frantically as she clung to her mother’s hand. And no wonder. Right in front of the very small girl was a very big dog—Orion. The little girl was obviously unfamiliar with the principles of dog-bite avoidance. She was staring, wide-eyed and terrified, right at Orion. Fortunately, Nick had a firm grip on Orion’s leash.

Nick dropped to his knees in front of the girl and slipped an arm around Orion’s neck.

“You don’t have to be afraid of this guy, Laura,” he said.

Laura kept shaking her head. No way was she going to buy that. She may have been young, but she clearly had good instincts.

“I’m going to show you something,” Nick said. He stood up. “Watch this.”

Curious, I watched too.

“Sit,” Nick said. Orion plunked his rear end down on the ground. “Good sit,” Nick said. He slipped a treat into the big dog’s mouth. “Lie down,” Nick said. Orion dropped the front of his body down onto the grass. “Up,” Nick said.

The little girl, who had been watching closely when Orion sat and then lay down, pressed herself against her mother when Orion got to his feet again. Nick smiled at her before making Orion sit once more.

“Shake a paw,” he said.

Orion extended one of his paws. Nick turned to the little girl and asked her if she wanted to shake it. At first she said no. Her mother shook Orion’s paw instead. When nothing bad happened to her, the little girl tried. After Orion had dropped his paw, she pressed up against her mother again. Nick explained to her that dogs are different from people. He said that people recognize other people by what they look like—the shape of their face, the color of their eyes, the size of their nose—but that dogs remember things by smell.

“That’s why they’re always sniffing each other,” he said, “and why they’ve always got their noses to the ground. They can smell if other dogs have been around. They can even tell which dogs.” He extended a hand to Orion’s nose. “That’s how they remember people too. By smell. You want to meet Orion, Laura?”

Laura looked up at her mother and then over at Nick. She hesitated but finally nodded.

“Give me your hand,” Nick said. Again, Laura looked up at her mother, and then over at Nick. He gently took her hand in his. Slowly he brought both hands closer to Orion. Laura looked from Nick to Orion and back again. Nick smiled at her. “He’ll smell you and then next time you see him, he’ll know you,” he said.

Nick guided her hand again, and Laura patted Orion on the head.

“See his tail wagging?” he said. “He likes you.”

A smile lit the little girl’s face, like sunshine breaking through a cloudy sky. She looked up at her mother, beaming.

“I know you’re going to take a kitten home with you,” Nick said to her. “And I think that’s great. But dogs are pretty cool too. They’re loyal. They like to be around people. They’re smart. You can teach them all kinds of things. Who knows? Maybe one day you’ll decide to get a dog, too.” He stood up again. “It’s been nice meeting you, Laura. Good luck with your kitten.”

Laura reached out, slowly but confidently, and patted Orion again. She and her mother headed back toward the adoption center. Nick smiled and scratched Orion behind one ear, but when he looked over at me, his expression changed. I opened the door and went inside.

 

. . .

My father’s car was in the parking lot when I finished work. He leaned against it, talking to Mr. Jarvis. He grinned when he saw me. My father is a serious grinner. My mother says he does it to look charming. She says once you get to know him, you realize that charm is more than just an expression on a person’s face. Personally, I like his grin. It makes him look like a big, goofy kid.

“How’s it going, Robbie?” he said. “Have you met Ed Jarvis?” Before I could answer, he said to Mr. Jarvis, “This is my daughter, Ed. She just narrowly escaped falling into your clutches.”

“Oh?” Mr. Jarvis said. He regarded me with new interest. He was probably reevaluating me.

“If her mother hadn’t intervened, Robbie could have wound up with a record,” my father said.

Oh, great. He was going to tell Mr. Jarvis the so-called ironic story of how I had ended up volunteering at the animal shelter.

“Dad,” I said, hoping to hurry him along to the car before he could get started.

“If an ex-police officer and a lawyer can’t raise a law-abiding citizen, what hope is there?” my father said, oblivious to my tugs on his arm.

“Dad, we should go.”

But it was too late. My father launched into his story. I turned around to head for the car and found myself face-to-face with Nick. Like Mr. Jarvis, he was looking at me with new interest. His eyes moved from me to my father’s ebony Porsche and back to me.

“Nick,” Mr. Jarvis said. “My car is over there. I’ll be with you in a minute.” He tossed Nick a set of keys.

Nick caught the keys easily, even though his eyes were fixed on me. What was that expression on his face? A smirk? A sneer? I circled my father’s car, yanked open the passenger-side door, got inside, and slammed the door as hard as I could. That got my father’s attention. He hates it when people slam the doors of his precious car. He shot me a look—no charm visible now—said good-bye to Mr. Jarvis.

“Someone’s in a bad mood,” he said.

“Someone doesn’t appreciate her father discussing her personal life with a complete stranger,” I said.

“Ed isn’t a stranger. I’ve known him for years. He works with probation cases.”

I gave him a look that I had learned from my mother—narrowed eyes, taut mouth, head tilted slightly to one side. It was a look that said, Who do you think you’re kidding?

“He’s a stranger to me,” I said.

“Okay,” my father said. “I’m sorry. Tell you what? How about if I make it up to you by taking you out for dinner?”

I glanced at the bouquet of flowers on the back seat, their stems carefully wrapped in a layer of damp newspaper surrounded by a protective sheet of plastic.

“It looks like you have other plans,” I said.

“The only plan I have,” he said, “is to spend some quality time with my daughter.”

Hmmm. August. Flowers in the back seat. A declared interest in quality time with me. And the fact that my mother wouldn’t be pulling into her driveway until around seven—about the same time my father would be dropping me off if he took me out to dinner first.

“Forget it, Dad,” I said.

He turned the key in the ignition. “Forget what?” His face was pure innocence—if you overlooked the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Forget that it’s the anniversary of when you met Mom or the anniversary of your first actual date with her or whatever.” I could never remember exactly which it was. “If you show up at the house with flowers, she’s only going to get angry.”

Most people would take divorce as the final rejection. Not my father. He still acted as if my mother were playing hard to get. He gazed out the Porsche’s tinted windshield as if he were peering into a happier past.

“That first night we had dinner together, I knew she was the one for me,” he said. “She still is.”

“She divorced you, Dad.”

“Temporary setback,” he said.

See what I mean?

“Four years of not living together doesn’t sound temporary to me, Dad.”

“You’re young,” he said as he backed up the Porsche. “Four years is nothing. Things have been going really well for me, Robbie. Your mother was right. Quitting the police force was a smart thing to do.”

Too bad he had done it only after my mother had kicked him out of the house. I think that had made her even angrier. When my father was a police officer, he was never home. When my mother went back to school to get her law degree, she complained that she might as well be a single parent. She wanted him to be there for her the way she had been there for him. They fought all the time.

“She asked me if you could stay with me this weekend instead of next weekend,” he said, oh-so-casually. “You have any idea why?”

“I think she’s going on a business trip,” I said. Actually, I knew she was. I also knew it was a business trip of Ted’s, but I didn’t tell him that.

He glanced at me and smiled, but he didn’t fool me. He was wondering if he could push a little more. He decided to give it a shot.

“What kind of business trip?”

“Lawyer stuff, I guess,” I said. “To be honest, Dad,” which, to be honest, I wasn’t being, “I sort of tune out when she starts talking about work.”

I looked directly at him when I said that. Ex-cops are the same as cops—they think they can read you by reading your eyes. And maybe they can, if they’re not your father and they don’t blatantly dote on you and they can’t imagine that you would ever be less than truthful with them. My father stopped quizzing me, we went out for dinner, and then he drove me home. Of course he pulled right into the driveway and followed me up to the front door. Of course he didn’t stay on the porch like he should have, given that he wasn’t supposed to enter unless my mother invited him. And of course, when he heard dishes rattling in the kitchen, he pushed past me and strode in, bouquet first.

“Is that you, Robyn?” my mother said, except that her voice didn’t come from the kitchen. It came from the door to her study. I took a deep breath and told her the last thing she wanted to hear.

“Dad’s here.”

I couldn’t have made her smile disappear any faster if it had been chalk and my words were an eraser. She glanced around, trying to figure out exactly where he was. I nodded toward the kitchen. She marched down the hall and through the kitchen door. I followed her.

My father was standing face-to-face with Ted Gold. Well, actually, it was more like face to chest—Ted’s face to my father’s chest. My father is taller than average. Ted is more on the height-challenged side. My father was giving him the famous Mac Hunter once-over. What started as a look of disapproving surprise changed to one of frank amusement as he inventoried Ted’s attributes: short, slightly paunchy (Ted loves to cook—and eat), thinning hair, apron around his waist, shirtsleeves pushed up, pot scrubber in his hand. Ted was the diametric opposite of my father.

“Mac,” my mother said sternly.

My father tore his eyes away from Ted. When he swung around to face my mother, he was grinning confidently.

“Patti,” he said, his voice full of affection. “How are you?”

“Patricia,” My mother corrected—again.

“These are for you,” my father said, thrusting the bouquet of flowers at her.

My mother’s hands remained at her sides. Her face was decidedly lacking in affection. “You’re not supposed to be here, Mac,” she said.

If my father caught the chill in her voice, he gave no sign of it. If anything, his grin broadened. He reached up into the cupboard above the fridge and grabbed a vase, which he carried to the sink and filled with water. Ted, of course, stepped aside for him, which earned him a blast of my mother’s frigid expression. That was my father for you. My mother used to say that when he was young, he was one of those kids who got everyone else in trouble while he sailed through the world on a sea of innocent charm.

My father plunked the flowers into the vase and set it on the table.

“Memories, Patti,” he said. “What would we be without them?”

“Happy,” my mother said.

My father had the ability to overlook or ignore anything that didn’t fit into his plans. He acted as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I was just getting acquainted with Ted,” he said.

“Good-bye, Mac,” my mother said.

“Did Patti ever tell you how we met?” my father said to Ted.

“Good-bye, Mac,” my mother said again. She moved toward the kitchen door, signaling him that he should do likewise.

My father glanced at me. I shrugged.

“Well,” my father said. He was still smiling. “I guess I’d better run along.”

My mother waited in stony silence for him to do just that. My father dropped a kiss onto the top of my head before he left the room. My mother stared at me. Together we heard the front door open and close again, then a car door open and close, and an engine turn over. I know exactly what my mother was thinking: How could you, Robyn? As if I had any more control over my father than she did.

“So that’s the infamous Mackenzie Hunter,”Ted said. “He seems like a charming fellow.” He sounded sincere. I figured this was a good time to make myself scarce.

 

. . .

My father’s unexpected visit put my mother in a bad mood. Two days later she was still railing against him. Who did he think he was, she said as she drove me to the shelter, barging into her house like that (even though he hadn’t actually barged—it had been more like a saunter)? Who did he think he was, interrogating her like that (even though he hadn’t really interrogated—the only thing he had asked was how she was, and he had done that while offering her a bouquet of flowers)? Who did he think he was, intimidating Ted like that (even though Ted had seemed more charmed than intimidated)?

“Relax, Mom,” I said. “You’re going away this afternoon, remember?” She was looking forward to her weekend with Ted. “Have you packed?”

She nodded. “You are not to tell your father about this, Robyn. Understand?”

“But he’s already met Ted,” I said. In fact, if I knew my father, he’d probably done a thorough background check on Ted. He probably knew more about Ted than Ted’s own mother did.

“Robyn.” She drew out the two syllables of my name so that it was a plea and a warning all in one. I raised my left hand and laid my right hand over my heart.

“I swear I won’t say a thing, Mom.”

Later, while I checked and entered names, I thought about the weekend. Billy had already told me he was busy—the activist camp counselors were all going to an activist conference. Morgan was still up in cottage country. Which left . . .well, I wasn’t sure what it left. Probably another dull weekend. I was feeling sorry for myself when Kathy appeared with a thick envelope.

“Can you do me a favor, Robyn?” she said. “I’m just going into a meeting and Janet’s off today. Ed—Mr. Jarvis—was supposed to have signed these grant applications, but I guess he forgot. He should be out behind the animal wing, getting ready for the group. Can you find him and get his signature? Then seal the envelope and call a courier. If these applications aren’t sent out right away, we’re going to miss the deadline. Okay?”

“No problem,” I said.

Mr. Jarvis was exactly where Kathy had said he would be. He pulled the sheaf of papers out the envelope, signed all the documents where Kathy had indicated with yellow sticky notes, shoved everything back into the envelope and handed it to me. I started back to the office. As I was rounding the side of the building, I heard a yelp. I turned the corner to see Antoine holding a leash and kicking the dog at the other end of it. The dog yelped again and strained on the leash, trying to get away from Antoine.

“Hey!” I said. “Stop that!”

The dog, which had been cringing, sprang to attention when it saw me. It continued to pull on its leash, except that now it was pulling toward me, snarling. Antoine seemed to enjoy that.

“Looks like the dog and me agree on one thing,” he said. “We agree that you should get lost.”

“You’re supposed to be training that dog so that it can get adopted,” I said, seething. “You’re not supposed to be kicking it, as I’m sure Kathy and Mr. Jarvis would agree.”

While I was talking, Antoine was gathering in the dog’s leash until, finally, he had the dog by its collar.

“You threatening me?” he said. “You gonna get me into trouble?”

The dog that I had taken pity on was growling now and pulling even harder to get free of Antoine. The only thing that kept it from hurtling at me was Antoine’s hand, and Antoine was slowly but surely loosening his grip. I watched as one finger came away from the collar and then another. My legs started to shake. I tried to hide what I was feeling, but I must not have been doing a very good job because Antoine smiled.

“You know how the RAD dogs ended up here, right?” he said. “Same way the RAD guys did. They hurt people. And you know what they told us when we started with this program? That not all these dogs were gonna make it. They said they were giving the dogs a second chance but that sometimes a second chance isn’t enough.” He removed another finger from the dog’s collar so that now there was only one finger and one thumb restraining the animal. “This dog here, maybe he’s not going to make it. Maybe this is his big chance, right now, to prove himself. And maybe he’s going to fail.”

His index finger slid away from the dog’s collar. The dog-bite rules kicked in and I backed up slowly, careful not to meet the dog’s eyes, careful not to challenge it.

“Knock it off, Antoine,” a voice behind me said. “And get a grip on that dog. Now.”

Someone—Nick—strode past me, grabbed the dog’s leash, and thrust it into Antoine’s hand.

“Are you crazy?” he said to Antoine. “You know what she’s going to do?” He nodded stiffly in my direction. “She’s going to run inside and tell on you. Is that what you want? You want to screw this up?” He sounded disgusted. He grabbed Antoine’s shoulder and shoved him. “Get out of here,” he said. “Get to group.”

Antoine scowled at me, but he tightened his hand on the leash and led the dog toward the animal wing. Nick waited until he was almost there before turning to me.

“Everything’s okay now, right?” he said.“You weren’t hurt, so there’s no problem, right?” There was an angry bite to his voice.

“Everything’s not okay,” I said. “He was hurting that dog. He kicked it. Twice.”

Nick shook his head. Was that disappointment I saw on his face?

“Look,” he said, “I’ll keep an eye on him, okay? I’ll make sure he doesn’t do it again. So you don’t have to say anything, okay?”

Not okay, I thought. I started back toward my office. When I got there, I was going to report Antoine. He didn’t deserve to be in the RAD program.

Nick grabbed my arm.

“Hey!” I said. I spun around to face him.

He let go of me.

“Give him one more chance,” he said. “That’s all I’m asking. Just one more chance.”

“Why should I?” I said. “The RAD program is supposed to help dogs behave better so that they can be adopted. Abusing a dog isn’t going to make it more people-friendly. In fact, I don’t think somebody who abuses animals should be allowed to stay in the program. So if you think I’m going to close my eyes and pretend I didn’t see what I saw, you’re wrong.”

“That figures,” he muttered.

Jerk, I thought. I started back to the office again. He stepped in front of me, blocking my way.

“Wait,” he said.

“What for?”

“I know what you think,” he said.

I seriously doubted that.

“You think we’re a bunch of losers,” he said. “I bet you’re not even all that surprised that Antoine kicked his dog. You probably think we all do the same thing the minute Ed’s back is turned.”

Okay, so maybe he did have a pretty good idea what I thought. Well, mostly. I had seen him with Orion enough times to know—well, maybe to believe—that he would never hurt a dog.

We stood there, staring at each other, not trusting each other, Nick’s glare making it clear that he didn’t like me. Then he stepped back and looked down at the ground for a moment.

“Okay,” he said finally.“Maybe Antoine’s been having some problems.” His tone was marginally softer.

“Maybe?”

“If you knew him, you’d know he was making progress.”

“Kicking a dog is progress?”

He looked at me the way you’d look at a tourist. Like I was someone with a tenuous grasp of the local language and customs.

“He gets frustrated,” he said. “He’s used to working out his frustrations physically. That’s why he’s here.”

“Oh,” I said. “So what you’re saying is, it’s okay if he kicks a dog because it’s not his fault. It’s what he’s used to. Is that it?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not it,” he said, his voice patient now, as if he had decided it was worth the effort to attempt to explain to this tourist how things worked. “I’m just trying to tell you about Antoine. Because if he gets kicked out of this program, it’s not going to be good for him.”

It might be good for his dog, I thought. But I didn’t say that. Instead, I said, “Fine,” and crossed my arms over my chest. “So tell me.”

He looked at me for a moment, frowning a little, as if he was trying to figure out where to start.

“Antoine lives with his mother and his kid brother, who’s seven,” he said finally. “And with whatever boyfriend his mom happens to bring home. The latest boyfriend”—he made the word sound like an insult—“when he gets mad, he likes to take it out on other people. Mostly smaller people. I bet you don’t know any guys like that, do you?”

I didn’t, but I didn’t tell Nick that. I didn’t say anything.

“Besides being a bully, the guy’s an idiot. Took a swing at a cop who pulled him over for speeding. When Antoine got his sentence, the boyfriend was in lockup. Antoine’s in open custody now, in a group home. The boyfriend, though, he just got out. He’s back at Antoine’s house, with Antoine’s mother and Antoine’s brother. Antoine only found out this morning when his kid brother called him, crying.”

Oh.

“That still doesn’t make it okay for Antoine to kick his dog,” I said. “Or to threaten me.”

“No kidding,” Nick said. His face was grim. He glanced around, checking to see if anyone could hear us. “But he’s not what you think,” he said. “He’s not a bad guy. He deserves another chance.”

He sounded just like Kathy when she had described the RAD dogs.

“And you want me to give him that chance?” I said.

“I know it’s not your style. But would it kill you?”

I stared at him. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t as bad as Antoine. Maybe he wouldn’t take his frustration out on a dog. And maybe Kathy liked him and believed him when he said he hadn’t taken any money. But he was still the person I had caught back in junior high running out of the office with charity money. He’d just taken it. Taken it and spent it. He was here at the animal shelter now because he had been charged and convicted of some kind of violent crime. And what about the roll of bills that I had seen him slip through the fence to his friend Joey? Kathy saw one side of him—the side that he chose to show her. I saw another side. For all I knew, he could be making up a sob story about his friend just so I wouldn’t report him.

“If Antoine’s not really a bad guy, what’s he doing here?” I said.

“He volunteered to be here, same as me,” he said, looking hard at me. “Same as you.” I felt heat in my cheeks. So he had heard what my father had told Mr. Jarvis. “Even good girls can slip up, huh?”

“That’s different,” I said.

“Yeah. I bet it is.”

Boy, even when he wanted something from me, he couldn’t help sneering at me.

“I mean, what was Antoine charged with?” I said, trying to stay calm. “What did he do?”

“What difference does it make?”

“You want me to give him a break. So I think I have the right to know.”

“I can’t tell you.”

Right. I started to move around him. He stepped in front of me again.

“Okay,” he said. “He warned the guy—the boyfriend—to leave his brother alone.”

“Warned him?”

“Okay, so maybe he kind of threatened him,” Nick said. I waited. Nick watched me for a moment. “Maybe with a knife.”

“Maybe?”

“He was looking out for his kid brother,” Nick said. “Things got a little out of hand. The boyfriend got nicked.”

“Got nicked? Like, oops, the knife jumped out of Antoine’s hand?”

“Antoine nicked him,” Nick said, sounding exasperated. “The guy took five stitches.”

“And Antoine got charged?”

“Yeah, he got charged. The boyfriend made sure of that. The day before they sent Antoine to the group home, the boyfriend messed up and got arrested. He didn’t make bail. He got sentenced to eight months, so Antoine relaxed a little. He knew the guy wasn’t going to mess with his brother. But now the guy’s out and he’s back living with Antoine’s mother.”

“And that’s why Antoine kicked his dog? He was taking out his anger on him?”

“Yeah,” Nick said. “And yeah, I know he has to stop acting the way he does. But if you ask me, the boyfriend has to stop taking things out on little kids. And Antoine’s mother has to maybe think about the guys she’s spending time with.” He shook his head in frustration. “Look, I promise he’ll never hurt the dog again. If he does, I’ll report him. Hell, you can report me too if you want. I don’t care. All I’m asking is that you give him one more chance.”

Give one more chance to a guy who had attacked another guy with a knife? This really was foreign territory. And it sure made me wonder.

“What about you?” I said.

“What about me?”

“What are you doing here?”

Nick’s eyes turned to ice, and there was a chill in his voice when he answered.

“We’re not talking about me,” he said.“We’re talking about Antoine. Are you going to tell on him or what?”

I met his cold eyes and told him exactly what I was thinking. “I don’t know,” I said.

He shook his head in disgust. “Yeah, well, whatever, princess,” he said. “I’m not going to get down on my knees and beg.”

As if I had asked him to.

He started to turn away.

“Hey, Nick?”

He looked over his shoulder at me.

“Where did you get the money you gave your friend Joey?”

For a second he almost looked hurt.Then he wheeled around and stalked away.