Noah gave Harley the command to “walk on.”
As they moved along the backstage corridor, available only to personnel wearing the appropriate badges hanging from a lanyard, Noah gave those he recognized a chin-up motion in greeting. Some responded enthusiastically. Others merely nodded in return. As an arson investigator, he walked a fine line in the first responder world. He was seen as a firefighter by police. Having the authority to wear a gun and arrest people, he was seen as a cop by firefighters. It was a dual existence he shared with exactly thirteen other arson investigators in Fort Worth. Not a large pool of colleagues. Even so, they were sorely missed today as he and Harley went about their job as security forces.
Noah gave Harley water from one the bottles he always carried. After the dog had drunk, he carefully checked Harley’s paws, especially between the toes and the pads to make certain he hadn’t picked up a small stone or sliver of glass or burr on their rounds. Satisfied his partner was okay, he fed him a few liver treats as Noah watched the crowd from the edge of the infield.
The beefed-up security used by the Motocross came from all over Fort Worth and the surrounding towns in several counties. Noah recognized several other K9 handlers, both law enforcement and private security. They paused to trade information about the day and to show off their K9s. Then it was back to work—this time, the parking lot.
After another hour of inspecting cars, Noah turned Harley back toward the restricted area to rest. Parking lot paving was harder on a dog’s footpads than grass.
“Well, well. If it ain’t the prof.”
Noah turned toward the voice. A man in a Village Creek Motocross T-shirt revealing full sleeves of tats was grinning as he came toward him. Beneath a gimme cap with a beer brand emblazoned on it, dirty blond hair curved away like wings above his ears.
Noah nodded in recognition of one of his former students. “J.W. You working today?”
“No. I’m here helping my cousin Don Lee. He’s got a seventy Mustang he’s been rebuilding.” J.W. reached down to pet Harley, but the K9 growled in warning.
J.W. hopped back, hands lifted in fake horror. “Say now. We’re friends. Or have things changed? What’s your boss been saying about me behind my back?”
“Harley’s on the job,” Noah said in defense of his dog. They were both feeling edgy since the fire. “He knows it’s not playtime.”
“Well, pardon the hell outta me.” J.W. looked back at Noah. “You want to come by the lot and see what Don Lee’s done? We’re over in the muscle car section.”
“Might do that. Got to rest and water Harley first.” Noah realized that J.W. wasn’t treating him any different than usual. And, more important, he was someone he’d seen Friday night.
“You were at Murtry’s party Friday night, right?”
J.W. shrugged. “More like happened to be at the place where it was going on. Some of your buddies don’t allow us volunteer guys the same respect.”
Noah shrugged. It was an ongoing issue among some firefighters. “Professional versus amateur” was how many full-time employed men and women felt about volunteers. Others, who’d come from the volunteer world, felt differently. J.W. had the rare honor of being respected by most of Fort Worth’s firefighters.
“A fire’s a fire, J.W. We put it out the same.”
“Wet stuff on the red stuff.” J.W. laughed and grabbed his crotch as he imitated urinating. “You right there.”
A woman with a child in a stroller and holding the hand of another glared at him as she passed. “This is supposed to a child-friendly event.”
“Sorry, ma’am.” Noah shook his head. “That’s real classy, J.W.”
He snorted and then pulled up his tee’s short sleeve to reveal an angry-looking four-inch-long burn on his upper right shoulder. “Got that putting out a fence fire last night. You tell me we don’t fry the same.”
Noah nodded, debating whether or not J.W. would be on Durvan’s Don’t Ask potential witness list. What the hell. “You remember anything special about me Friday night?”
J.W. looked surprised. “Special? Uh, you’re sorta cute, and all. But you don’t have tits, so I wasn’t paying much attention.”
Noah laughed. “Screw you.”
“Why the question?”
“I sort of lost track of the events of the evening.”
J.W. grinned. “I can see how that can happen on a Friday night. But you were drinking Dr Pepper because you were working the next morning.”
Noah’s senses went on alert. “You remember me saying that?”
“I remember Jeb Nelson calling you a pussy over it.” J.W. reached up to scratch under his cap. “You two got a beef?”
“Jeb likes to jerk everyone’s chain.”