Lt. Carter Blake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lieutenantantichrist) wrote2016-07-21 05:59 pm
lieutenantantichrist) wrote2016-07-21 05:59 pm
[epilogue] "Well, Put It Back. It Doesn't Belong To You."
The place sounded like pandemonium and smelled like dog.
After ten seconds or so it died down some to just woofs, growls, and whimpers as they walked through the lines of cages. A German Shepherd pawed at the door of his. Maybe, Blake thought. Might be too big.
"They always get excited," the animal shelter guy said. He had a ring through his eyebrow and the kind of red in his eyes you could describe as 'chronic.'
"Dogs do that," Blake said, looking over at a chihuahua that yapped in a constant, squeaky rhythm you could set a metronome to. Hell no. Those were those things that couldn't figure out how to live without making noise all the time.
"Hey," said the shelter guy, who might've had something in common there, "So what got you coming by looking for one?"
"Dunno," Blake said, distracted into being honest. One that looked half terrier and half swamp rat was chasing itself in circles. Nope. "I haven't had a dog since I was a little kid, and he always liked my brother better. Always kinda wanted one of my own, but I never got around to it."
It was the weather that'd put him in a weird mood lately. Grey, never quite getting around to raining, a quiet to the air. It had him thinking too much and looking at the guys at the precinct like they were strangers. He'd been keeping to himself, going to his favorite Chinese place like it was the first time in years, digging through the paper for blurbs about how the Mars family was moving on, with a grainy picture of the shy kid holding his dad's hand and looking even younger than Blake remembered. There wasn't much about it in the news anymore, now that the talk about the book had died down. The case was a long time ago. Everybody'd moved on.
One cage was quiet as he passed by, and for a second Blake thought it was empty. When he took a second look, there was a little sandy-colored dog there. It was sitting on its haunches, ears flagged up, looking up at him with quiet optimism.
"You good?" the guy called from up ahead.
Blake looked down into her steady gaze.
Yeah.
At the counter, the guy dug through a drawer.
"Sorry," he said, holding up a collar, "Pink's all we got left."
Blake grunted, "I don't give a shit."
The dog stood on the counter and patiently let Blake fix it around her neck as the guy pulled out the paperwork.
"What do you want me to put for breed? Something mix." He gave her a glance over, like that would help. "Looks like some kind of bulldog."
"If you're gonna be honest," Blake said, scratching between her ears where the fur was short and soft, "she looks kinda like Steve Buscemi."
After ten seconds or so it died down some to just woofs, growls, and whimpers as they walked through the lines of cages. A German Shepherd pawed at the door of his. Maybe, Blake thought. Might be too big.
"They always get excited," the animal shelter guy said. He had a ring through his eyebrow and the kind of red in his eyes you could describe as 'chronic.'
"Dogs do that," Blake said, looking over at a chihuahua that yapped in a constant, squeaky rhythm you could set a metronome to. Hell no. Those were those things that couldn't figure out how to live without making noise all the time.
"Hey," said the shelter guy, who might've had something in common there, "So what got you coming by looking for one?"
"Dunno," Blake said, distracted into being honest. One that looked half terrier and half swamp rat was chasing itself in circles. Nope. "I haven't had a dog since I was a little kid, and he always liked my brother better. Always kinda wanted one of my own, but I never got around to it."
It was the weather that'd put him in a weird mood lately. Grey, never quite getting around to raining, a quiet to the air. It had him thinking too much and looking at the guys at the precinct like they were strangers. He'd been keeping to himself, going to his favorite Chinese place like it was the first time in years, digging through the paper for blurbs about how the Mars family was moving on, with a grainy picture of the shy kid holding his dad's hand and looking even younger than Blake remembered. There wasn't much about it in the news anymore, now that the talk about the book had died down. The case was a long time ago. Everybody'd moved on.
One cage was quiet as he passed by, and for a second Blake thought it was empty. When he took a second look, there was a little sandy-colored dog there. It was sitting on its haunches, ears flagged up, looking up at him with quiet optimism.
"You good?" the guy called from up ahead.
Blake looked down into her steady gaze.
Yeah.
At the counter, the guy dug through a drawer.
"Sorry," he said, holding up a collar, "Pink's all we got left."
Blake grunted, "I don't give a shit."
The dog stood on the counter and patiently let Blake fix it around her neck as the guy pulled out the paperwork.
"What do you want me to put for breed? Something mix." He gave her a glance over, like that would help. "Looks like some kind of bulldog."
"If you're gonna be honest," Blake said, scratching between her ears where the fur was short and soft, "she looks kinda like Steve Buscemi."