Part 2
Baines ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket.
“You can explain yourself to them.”
“That’s what I’m hoping to do.”
The manager’s expression hardened at the answer. He retreated behind the counter, but not far enough to stop watching Caleb.
Caleb stayed beside Rook. When a customer approached with an empty paper cup, he asked her to leave it on the counter instead. She hesitated, looked at Baines, and set it down with an offended little tap.
A siren became audible over the kitchen exhaust fan. Red and blue reflections passed across the front windows, then stopped. Through the glass, Caleb saw a gray patrol car angled into the space nearest the doors.
The officer who got out was broad through the shoulders, with a shaved head and a uniform pulled close across his chest. He adjusted his belt before entering.
Baines was already moving to meet him.
“That one, Officer. By the trash can. I told him more than once.”
The officer’s eyes went directly to Caleb. He didn’t look behind the counter or down the other aisle. Caleb noticed the omission before the man had taken three steps.
“Outside,” the officer said. “Bring the dog.”
Caleb read Dwyer on the officer’s nameplate.
“Officer Dwyer, we need to empty the building. There’s a possible explosive in this bin. My dog has located the scent.”
Dwyer glanced toward Baines, who rolled his eyes.
“Bombs,” the manager said. “That’s what he’s been carrying on about.”
Dwyer turned back to Caleb.
“You’ve got a dog sniffing restaurant garbage. Congratulations. Now let’s go.”
“He’s a military working dog. Explosives detection is part of his job.” Caleb moved his open hand a few inches toward the container, without touching it. “Call your supervisor. Get a bomb team coming. Move the customers away from here.”
The officer stopped smiling.
“What you’re going to do is listen while I talk.”
A phone appeared above a booth divider. Then another. Caleb could see one customer holding his screen sideways, trying to get both men in the frame.
Dwyer noticed, too. He squared his shoulders and spoke more loudly.
“The owner wants you off the premises. You’ve been told. You’re still here. We can do this the easy way or I can remove you.”
“Don’t move the container,” Caleb said. “And keep your radio away from it until a technician tells us it’s safe.”
“You giving me instructions now?”
“I’m giving you information you need.”
Dwyer stepped close enough that Caleb could smell mint on his breath.
“Let’s see some identification.”
“My wallet’s in my right rear pocket.” Caleb kept his hands still. “I’m not reaching behind me while you’re standing on top of me. You can take it.”
“So now you won’t identify yourself.”
“I just told you where it is.”
“I heard you.” Dwyer’s right hand settled on his holster. “Take the dog outside. Right now.”
Rook moved before Caleb could answer. It was a small adjustment, half a step across his handler’s leg, accompanied by a low growl.
Dwyer jerked backward. His thumb worked the retention on the holster.
“Get control of him. He comes at me, I put him down.”
The mother in the front booth pulled her boy against her and ducked below the table edge. Someone near the kitchen said, “Oh, no,” in a thin voice.
Caleb’s mouth went dry.
“Rook. Steady.”
The dog stopped advancing. The growl remained, quiet and deep.
Caleb watched the officer’s hand. He knew exactly how far it had to travel. He also knew what would happen to Rook if this became a fight.
“Give us some room,” he said. “He’ll stay with me.”
Dwyer’s jaw bunched.
“You ought to have thought about him before you brought him in here.”
He reached with his left hand and caught a fistful of Caleb’s shirt. The pull was abrupt, meant to drag him forward.
Caleb braced without thinking. His boots stayed where they were.
Dwyer pulled again. A seam tightened across Caleb’s shoulder, and the officer’s face changed when he realized he hadn’t moved him.
“I’m not abandoning that bin,” Caleb said.
From the back of the room, a man called, “Just go with him, for heaven’s sake.”
A woman answered from another table. “Why won’t he at least hear him out?”
Loretta had come out of the kitchen with clean silverware. A spoon slipped from the bundle and struck the tile. Several people flinched.
Caleb felt Rook gather himself beside his leg.
There was no room left for another hard pull. If Dwyer stumbled, if Rook lunged, if someone bolted through the narrow gap beside the trash can, Caleb couldn’t control where any of them would land.
He loosened his stance.
The officer mistook it for success.
“Turn around.”
“Keep everyone back from the container.”
Dwyer seized his shoulder and drove him toward the register counter. Caleb let the movement carry him, catching his balance before his ribs met the rounded wooden edge. He turned his face away from the cash drawer.
“Hands behind you.”
Caleb brought them back slowly. As the officer took his right wrist, he let the leash loop slip free. The leather settled on the floor beside Rook’s forepaws.
“Rook. Steady.”
The first cuff closed hard. Dwyer pulled Caleb’s other arm into position and tightened the second one until the metal pressed against bone.
“There. You’re under arrest. Trespassing, resisting, and causing a disturbance.”
Baines stepped aside with a satisfied look. Several customers lowered their phones, as though the closing of the handcuffs had settled the question of who was right.
Caleb turned his head enough to find Rook.
The shepherd had not gone for Dwyer. His eyes moved between the officer’s hands and Caleb’s face, and a low warning continued in his chest.
“Don’t,” Caleb told him softly. “Stay.”
Dwyer pushed him closer to the counter.
“You’re done talking.”
“My credentials are in the wallet. Check them.”
“I know how to search a prisoner.”
The pat-down was rough and hurried. Dwyer pulled out the wallet, flipped it open, and held it below his own chest. Caleb couldn’t see what he was reading.
The officer looked at the driver’s license first. Behind it lay Caleb’s military identification.
“You see it?” Caleb asked.
Dwyer shut the wallet.
“I see somebody who should’ve left when he was told.”
He tossed it onto the counter. It skidded into a display of wrapped mints.
Caleb could feel the pulse in his wrists against the cuffs. He looked from the wallet to the dog, then to the people still clustered close enough to be killed if his warning was right.
Dwyer lifted his shoulder microphone.
“Dispatch, I’ve got the male in custody at Orlena. Send animal control. Large dog, acting aggressive. I’m not transporting it.”
The reply broke through a wash of static.
“Animal control advised. Approximately fourteen minutes out…”
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