we pull up at an abandoned, dilapidated building, with an old sign identifying it as once having been called the Haledon Kennels.
"Come on," Willie says, and gets out of the car before I have the chance to tell him that this would not be a good investment, and I wouldn't want to run a kennel even if it were.
Willie lets Tara and Cash out of the car, and they walk toward the door with us. It's locked, which is not a problem for Willie because he takes out a key and opens it.
"You have a key?" is my perceptive question.
"I should. I own the damn place. We own the damn place." This shows signs of being a disaster.
We enter and I'm not surprised to discover that inside the dilapidated kennel is a dilapidated kennel.
"What do you think?" Willie asks, positively beaming.
I decide to be direct. "I think you're out of your mind."
He's surprised and wounded. "Why? I thought you love dogs."
"I do. But I don't want to take money from people to stuff their dogs in cages while they go on vacation."
He laughs. "Is that what you think this is?" He points at Tara and Cash. "Look at them, man. Tara was gonna be killed in the animal shelter, and Cash would have been history if they caught him."
I'm not understanding. "So?"
"So we're the shelter," he says. "Come on, man. We rescue dogs from the other shelter, from the street, whatever, and we take care of 'em until we can find them homes. It'll be one of those nonprofit things, like a foundation or something."
He's finally getting through to me. "Damn," I say in wonderment and admiration.
"And I'm gonna run the place," he says. "That's gonna be my job."
I put out my hand and shake his. "And I'm gonna be your partner."
Willie and I spend the next couple of hours talking about our upcoming partnership. We discuss things like what we're going to do to the place, how we'll take care of the dogs, the need to get veterinary care, etc.
I've spent the better part of a year looking for a charity to call my own, and Willie comes up with one a week after getting his money. I'm not about to abandon the needy otters, but I'm genuinely excited to have this project. I'm even more excited that Willie has agreed that we can call it the Tara Foundation. Cash doesn't seem to mind.
I get home and call Laurie to tell her about the venture, but she's not home and I leave a message on her machine for her to call me. Tonight being Thursday, I won't be seeing her. I have no idea where she is. I'm not jealous or insecure, but I wonder how she'd feel about wearing an ankle bracelet so I can monitor her activities.
I call Danny Rollins for the first time in months and place a bet on the Mets against the Braves. I order a pizza, grab a beer, sit with Tara on the couch, and start watching the game. Life is back to normal, and the last thing I remember before falling asleep is a Mike Piazza home run in the fourth inning.
When I wake up, the television is off, but so are all the lights. My first reaction is to assume it's a summer power failure, due to overuse of air-conditioning in the hot weather. However, I can see a streetlight on outside, so the outage must be within the house.
I'm annoyed as I stand, ready to grope around for my flashlight. I hear Tara barking near the back of the house. It is unusual for Tara to bark, and there is always a reason. The last time it was a head being buried on my property. In an instant I go from annoyed to scared, because I know that there is no way Tara would consider a blown circuit breaker a reason to bark.
On a gut instinct level, I know what is going on.
Darrin Hobbs.
I make my way to the phone, but I'm not surprised to discover it has been shut off along with the power. My cell phone is in my car, and I don't think my chances of getting to it are very good.
I hear Tara come into the room, moving toward the other side of the house. I can use her in this fashion as a sentry, but I know that Hobbs would not hesitate to shoot her.
"Here, girl. Come here," I whisper.
She comes to me, and