that little mutt, and I promised him I’d look for you and see if you’d sell him.”
“I can’t sell him. He’s too valuable.” Beano started away.
“I couldn’t help but overhear you on the phone there. … You got problems, from what I heard. That’s rough. I could go maybe two thousand for the mutt, just ‘cause I never saw my kid go so goofy for a dog like that before.”
Beano thought Texaco was a terrible liar; the deceit was all over his face. “That dog is priceless. I wouldn’t sell him for twice that.”
“Okay. Twice that, then. Four thousand.” Now avarice and a low IQ were cooking the deal. Texaco’s eyes were lit with greed.
Beano let himself look torn for a moment.
“My little girl has leukemia. They need to do a bone marrow transplant.” He started to cry again and pulled out his handkerchief. He struggled to control himself. “I’m sorry, I gotta go,” he said. “My car’s double parked.”
“Okay, I’ll go forty-five. Top offer. That’s half what you said you need. Okay? You go sell your car or something, then you got the whole bone.”
Beano looked at him for a long moment. “How would you pay?” he said, readying Texaco for the sting.
“We take my Visa card over to that machine there and run it through, then I give you cash,” he said.
Texaco knew he could make a clean forty-five hundred when he sold the dog to the gray-haired asshole who wrote articles for a fucking kennel magazine. “If it was my kid dyin’,” he pressed, “I wouldn’t put no dog in line ahead a’her.”
“You’re right,” Beano sniffed. “You’re absolutely right.”
They went to the cash machine and got the money. Texaco counted it out for Beano, but wouldn’t let him have it yet. As they went back into the bar to get Roger-the-Dodger, they could see Victoria still reading, and Paper Collar John sitting by Gate 16, waiting for the flight to Dallas. In the bar, Roger-the-Dodger had drawn quite a crowd. Three flight attendants were petting and scratching him under the ears. Beano opened his wallet and took one of his American Kennel Club certificates out. “This verifies his pedigree,” he said, handing the worthless Xerox over to Texaco, who now released the money. Beano handed the leash to Texaco, then he kissed Roger good-bye. “So long, old friend. I’m sorry, but you’re probably saving Cindy’s life.” Roger licked his face. “His name is Sir Anthony of Aquitaine,” Beano said sadly. “He likes Pedigree Dog Chow, the beef with liver and chicken. I get him the Doggie Cookie Treats from Alpo if he’s been good.”
“Whatever,” Texaco said and, in a hurry to complete the transaction, walked out of the bar holding the leash.
Roger-the-Dodger bounced right after him. The dog was well trained. Each time Texaco thought he would have to tug on the leash, he found Sir Anthony of Aquitaine right on his heels.
He went to find the man with the gray hair who had the crisp hundred-dollar bills in his briefcase. He went directly to Gate 16, the flight to Dallas. But the man wasn’t there, and Texaco started to panic. The man had been there just seconds ago. And then the flight to Miami was called. Victoria got up and walked to the gate, showed her original ticket, and put her purse through the Security check. Then she walked through and down the ramp. Beano followed her. Texaco turned and, with panic in his eyes, watched them go. Then, once they were through Security, Beano turned, stuck two fingers in his mouth, and whistled for Roger-the-Dodger. The dog took off running.
“No, you don’t,” Texaco said and yanked back on the leash, now discovering why Roger had heeled so precisely … the dog was wearing a tear-away Velcro collar. Roger zipped out and away, leaving Texaco dumbfounded, holding a leash and an empty collar.
Roger ran right through the Security check area and jumped up into Beano’s arms. Beano and Victoria took off running down the ramp. Texaco Phillips went after them. He tried to crash the gate at Security, but two airport cops grabbed him and tried to hold him down. What happened next was not pretty. The ex-Patriot linebacker threw a meaty left hook and knocked one of the cops out. … He hit the ground unconscious. All that was missing was the Tweety Birds over his head. Texaco Phillips was now loping down the corridor, a team of angry airport cops trailing behind him like