CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
On day four of his retraining, James had decoy duty. After three intense days of class work and technique workshops, he and Bogart had already passed the agility, area-search, and building-search tests. This morning Bogart got to rest while his handler did some of the work. After dark, they would be tested on the night obstacle course.
Dressed in a well-padded bite suit that made him look like the Pillsbury Doughboy’s blue brother, James lumbered across the grass to get ready for the next attack.
The dog, a bitch, came at him at full speed from thirty feet away.
A spurt of adrenaline gave James suspect-alert status as he turned to run.
The dog’s lunge knocked him back a step and he turned with the impact to deflect the direct force of the hit.
He took the full-mouth bite high on the inside of the upper arm, shouting, “Fuck! Fuck this shit!” He hit at the dog but without a lot of force.
The shouts and slaps were intended to intimidate, the kind of frightened, angry responses the dog could expect from a real suspect high on drugs. If the dog flinched and released then there was a problem.
The dog growled deep in her throat but did not relax her bite.
He dragged her along in the grass, hind legs on the ground as she tugged hard to try to bring him down. Then suddenly he planted his feet and used his arm to swing the dog up off the ground, the bite the only thing holding her to the suit. He grabbed her under the belly and heaved her hind legs first over his shoulder as he continued to slowly spin around. Well trained, she growled louder, escalating as her prey did, fully engaged in getting and maintaining control.
Officer Matt Spurlock came up to claim his dog. When he had attached the leash, he gave the command to release.
James nodded in approval. “Good work. She’s tenacious.”
Matt grinned. “Yeah. My wife says I tend to bring that out in females.”
James leaned forward, placing his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath.
Fully protected by a bite suit, he wasn’t getting beat up or abused, but he was getting exhausted. The incredible force of a K-9’s grab-and-hold was nothing to take for granted. His shoulders and thighs ached from taking the repeated attacks from sixty-five- to ninety-five-pound dogs. He needed his full concentration or, even in his cushioned bite suit, he could be injured.
To truly understand the power and commitment to purpose of a K-9 there was no better way than to suit up and experience it firsthand. He didn’t do it often but each time he came away with a new respect and admiration for these wonderful creatures.
A hand landed hard on his shoulder. “Good work, Cannon. You’re done for the day. Anyway, there’s someone looking for you.”
James straightened and looked back in the direction his trainer pointed. Near the entrance to the training hut a deputy sheriff stood waiting. His first thought was Shay. He took off at a sprint toward the visitor. Well, a lumber. Sprinting was impossible in his suit.
James held out his hand when he got close. “I’m James Cannon. What’s up, Deputy?”
“Howdy, Mr. Cannon.” After he shook James’s hand, he pulled out an envelope. “I got something with your name on it. Looks important.”
James recognized a summons when he saw one. “Shit.”
The deputy smiled. “Have a nice day.”
*
“What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Jaylynn?” James palmed his cell as he eyed the locker room where he’d gone to change out of his decoy suit to make certain he was not being overheard.
“Hello, Jimmy.” Jaylynn’s voice was all cane-sugar sweet. “I’m hanging up now. My attorney says I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
“You can talk to me over the phone or you can talk to me in person. You decide.”
There was a pause. “What do you want?”
“What are you trying to do by suing Shay Appleton?”
“I’m trying to keep my career from being derailed.”
“You did that all by yourself.”
He thought he heard her yawn. “Did you really think I was going to stand by and let you ruin my career? Over a dog? I’m not stupid, James. I sought legal counsel. My attorney advised me to not wait for charges to be filed against me but to take an aggressive approach.”
“He can’t change the fact that you stole Bogart and lied about it to the police. That’s going to stick.”
“I don’t know about that. My attorney says there were miti—minta—er, extenuating circumstances which led to my actions.”
“Like what?”
“Like, I was ashamed your dog got away from me. And I thought the police would act faster if I said he was stolen. And that nobody would care about how he got away when he turned up again.”