Noah led Harley through the crowded infield where the Texas sun ricocheted off the surfaces of more than two thousand candy-colored, chrome-plated vehicles. Just as he had predicted, the day had warmed quickly. He was beginning to sweat where the neckline of his collared shirt chafed his neck. It was going to be a long-ass day.
The display was open to 1972 & older models, street rods, custom vehicles, muscle cars, trucks, and classics all lined up for display to the delight of the attendees. The event also featured more than a hundred vendor exhibits, a Giant Swap Meet & Auto Trader Classics Cars 4 Sale Corral, the ultra-intense Goodguys AutoCross timed racing competition, a model car show, a free Kids Zone, and live music entertainment! All in all, it was a logistics headache for security.
Noah and Harley’s job was to make certain the fun was not interrupted by anyone setting off anything incendiary or explosive. A couple of numb nuts with fireworks could do a lot of damage. Forget the ever-present threat of terrorism.
In his work harness and on the leash, Harley moved through crowds of automotive enthusiasts pushing strollers and carrying backpacks, diaper bags, small children, Texas-sized portions of vendor food, and oversized bags of purchased merchandise. Harley sniffed it all, head from side to side as he explored every passing pants leg and purse with the purpose of finding something interesting so that he would get a reward. He’d smelled the liver treats in a utility pocket of Noah’s cargo pants before they left home. Liver treats were his favorite, second only to duck and sweet potato. He wanted every liver treat in Noah’s pocket. The game was on!
He paused every so often to sneeze hard, deliberately blowing out the accumulation of smells in his sensory passages that could overwhelm a less well-trained dog. The sheer numbers of human smells, mingled with the odors of gasoline, motor oil, tires, leather, dust, not to mention food odors from the many vendors, made the job an ordeal even for the most experienced professional K9.
Noah, too, felt the tension of working the large crowded environment. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” blasted from the overhead speakers and was giving him a headache. Vintage rock for vintage cars, he supposed. But, damn, they were well into the second decade of the twenty-first century. How about some Sam Hunt or Beyoncé?
Most times, he could forget about everything else but the job, and how to stay safe. But today, it was more difficult to pack everything else away and focus. What if the man who’d tried to end his life were here, watching him and knowing he wouldn’t be able to identify him? The place between his shoulder blades itched just thinking about that possibility.
“Get your act together, Glover.” He muttered the words under his breath as his gaze swung from scouring the way ahead to watching intently as Harley paused to assess a smell.
Festivals like this were often a place where a person’s trash could be a dog’s poison. Aside from the main reason they were hired, there were constant and possibly fatal hazards of working a K9 around cars. The drips and drops of sweet-tasting antifreeze, as well as other acids and alkalis spilled by careless car owners were toxic to dogs. Then there was the possibility that if Noah wasn’t alert, Harley might scarf up a discarded piece of sugar-free gum or candy, both of which contained xylitol, another toxin for dogs. Added to this were the temptations of remains of vendors’ offerings, many of which included mushrooms, grapes, onions, garlic, or chocolate. Harley was obedient and an excellent explosives K9, but he was still a dog. Noah’s job was to keep Harley on track and out of harm’s way while the K9 did his job.
After an hour on the crowded infield, Noah pulled Harley off the job and took him inside to let him explore behind the scenes in the corridors that ran beneath the arena seating. Here, at least, the floor was clear of clutter and spills. The fiercest gauntlet was the one where Noah would come face to face with a colleague.
“See you drew the easy shift.”
Noah looked around to find fellow arson investigator Mike Wayne coming up behind them, half suited up in his firefighting gear. He also noted three female Motocross workers standing in the corridor giving Mike’s impressive torso lustful looks.
“You caught a flame?”
Mike nodded. “In the parking lot. Some idiot’s hot rod overheated.” He looked down at Harley, who had nudged him in greeting, and patted his head. “Hey there, Harley. Didn’t expect you two would be working today.”
Noah shrugged. “I can use the extra cash, same as the next guy.” He eyed Harley, who was obviously happy to see Mike. Harley had been taught not to be friendly to anyone when on the job, unless given the command by his handler. But they saw Mike at the office on a regular basis. Sometimes Mike even hid things for Harley to sniff out. “You hear anything I should know about?”
Mike slapped a fireproof glove against the palm of his hand. “You know we can’t talk about anything connected to the ongoing investigation. A friend wouldn’t ask.”
Noah met his gaze and the accusation in it. “A friend wouldn’t need to be asked.”
Mike grunted. “See you around.”