A Cold White Fear by R.J. Harlick Page A

knew it was in the woodshed. With no one in the kitchen, he could make a run for it and take the puppy with him.
    â€œOkay?”
    He nodded and mumbled, “Okay.”
    Stepping back, I said out loud, “Take Shoni. She needs to go to the bathroom.”
    â€œThe dog stays with me.” Professor pulled the whimpering puppy from the boy’s arms.
    Jid tried desperately to hang on to her, but when Shoni cried out in pain, he let go.
    â€œThe dog has to go outside. I don’t want her making a mess on the carpet,” I persisted.
    â€œYou telling me what to do? The dog stays with me.” He clumsily grabbed her leg as she struggled to leave his grasp. She yelped.
    â€œLet go, you’re hurting her.”
    â€œThe only one I’m going to hurt is you.” Locking his eyes on mine, he ran his long fingers with a surprisingly gentle touch along the puppy’s back and behind her ears. She quieted down.
    Jid remained standing, unsure of what to do, until the man shouted, “Go!” and off he ran, his face twisted in apprehension. I prayed he understood that he had to leave right away.
    As I listened to his footsteps fade into the kitchen, I knew I had to distract the tattooed man to take his mind away from the boy. But my thoughts were in a whirl. All I could think to say was, “So you like dogs.”
    He buried his face in her silky coat, and then, sitting back up, he said, “Nothing like a puppy.” He tickled her under the chin. “Yes, you could say I’m a big fan of the canine species. Once I settle into my own place, I plan to get one. Maybe I’ll take Shoni. She does rather like me, don’t you think?”
    Over my dead body , I thought, and then shuddered when I realized it might come to that.
    â€œI had a dog in prison. A rescue dog. A Rottweiler/German Shepherd mix, not a refined specimen like Shoni.” He ran his fingers through the soft fur.
    At least the distraction seemed to be working. “I didn’t think they allowed dogs in jail.”
    â€œHe wasn’t allowed in my cell. They didn’t trust us. Though I did manage to sneak him in once. He had his own personal cell, a crate. Poor bugger had to be incarcerated like the rest of us.
    â€œIt was one of those do-gooder programs that are supposed to make us nice people.” He sniggered. “They teach us dog training techniques, and we in turn transform these badass dogs into pussycats to make them more adoptable. Yeah, right. They hadn’t bargained on us liking the aggression in our dogs. We had some terrific dog fights, and mine usually came out on top.” He growled at Shoni.
    â€œYou’d better not give her any ideas.”
    â€œNah, she’s a sweetie, just the way I like my women, docile and submissive. That’s right, eh, Larry?”
    He stared so pointedly at the injured man, who beamed back at him, that I began to wonder about his definition of “women.” “Since you like dogs so much, I’m surprised you’d want to leave him behind.”
    â€œThe dog’s dead. He got sick one day and was gone the next. I figured he’d been poisoned.”
    â€œI’m sorry.”
    â€œAs they say, easy come, easy go. I figured my cellie did it. He hated Mom.”
    â€œYeah, Hammer probably done it,” Larry added. “I liked Mom. I used to play fetch with him, remember?”
    â€œMom would’ve made some kid a terrific dog. I had him expertly trained.”
    â€œMom?” I asked.
    â€œAfter Mom O’Reilly, the biggest boss biker of all time.”
    Not another one. “Are you a member of the Black Devils too?”
    â€œNope, I’m an independent. I prefer to work on my own. But you have to admire a man who transformed the biker gangs in Quebec and made them into a major player. Too bad he’s doing time.”
    â€œMom’s in SHU at Saint Anne’s,” Larry added. “That’s