Dr. Clovis thanked me, and I rushed out before he had a chance to talk my ear off some more. I got the room sanitized and prepared and went to the front lobby about twenty minutes later.
“Brian Young?” I said.
“That’s me.”
He spoke from around the corner, and when he rose from the seat, I could see two things.
One, the man who I thought might have Lucky was not LeCharles. My ex was not in here.
And two, Dr. Clovis might have actually underestimated the man’s size. I conservatively put the bald man at about six and a half feet tall, weighing at least two hundred and fifty pounds, and with a beard of equal size.
“Hi, I’m Rose, I’ll be your puppy’s vet tech,” I said. “Follow me, please.”
“Of course.”
He sounded friendly enough. I certainly didn’t think I was about to get dragged into something violent. But still, a man of that size was a man that one would’ve been wise to keep some distance from, if for no other reason than that someone like him probably didn’t know his own strength.
I didn’t even see the dog at first, so massive was the man before me. It wasn’t until we got into the room, and Brian unfolded his arms that I realized he had the dog cradled in them all along.
“Well, hello, Lucky,” I said in a sweet voice.
The dog was nervous about being there, panting and wide-eyed, but his anxiety and nervousness did not manifest themselves in biting or other aggressive behavior.
“Good old Lucky here, I think she’s suffering from a cold,” Brian said. “The sweet little thing has trouble breathing and keeping up on walks now, and I just want to make sure things are fine.”
“Of course,” I said.
I started to ask my questions, but because curiosity also got the best of me, I looked at the man’s jacket. It had many insignias and patches on it, including one that said “SOA” on it. I wished that I could see the back of his jacket because it felt like that also would have patches on it, but I couldn’t tell anything other than figuring he must have been a biker.
Maybe one in LeCharles’ group. The Grim Reapers, I think they were called?
“By the way, out of curiosity,” I said, nodding to his jacket. “Is that a... Grim Reapers jacket?”
Brian looked down at his jacket, held it out, and gave a polite but deferential chuckle.
“It’s a club jacket. But it’s nothing important. I just wear it because it’s comfortable.”
“Oh, cool, I have a friend in your group, I think.”
Bold lie. You better hope that it pays off.
“Really?” Brian said, friendly enough.
“Yep, name is LeCharles Williamson. Black guy, probably mid-to-late thirties—”
“Oh, yes, I know him,” Brian said.
At least his voice is friendly enough.
I wanted to press more, to ask if Brian could pass on a message, if he could say anything to LeCharles, but knowing that Dr. Clovis would wonder what was taking so long, I decided to just keep my mouth shut for now. I would be the one to walk Brian out, so I decided that would be the point I’d do it.
When I did get Dr. Clovis in, I was struck by how friendly Brian was. He was a guy that could have crushed both of our necks at once or just made people piss themselves with his size, but he really was the epitome of a gentle teddy bear. He talked to Lucky the same way I talked to Shiloh, and the faces he made were like that of a teenager. I had no idea what he was like in the club, but here, he was strangely endearing.
When Dr. Clovis finished, I finally had my chance. I went through the procedures of follow-up and made small talk about how I had just moved here, just enough to make it so that when I made the ask, it would seem more natural.
And it came just before we left.
“By the way, I’m having some trouble reaching out to LeCharles, can you pass him a message?”
