Echo

with a very stylized contemporary décor; quite sparse, but elegant.
    “Hey, Jose, come on in.” Peter stepped back from the doorway, admitting him into a two story foyer with twin walls flanked by giant fiberglass Siamese cats, backs arched and faux painted so artistically they looked ready to pounce. Peter looked like he just rolled out of bed, his sandy brown hair plastered in three different directions. Removing his frameless eyeglasses he stood, cleaning them on his shirt, his owl like eyes not blinking, as Jose made himself comfortable on the baby blue Natuzzi leather sofa in Peter’s minimalist living room.
    “I would like to get to Short Hills as soon as possible. Can you drop me at the Sarasota airport? I’ll be ready to leave late tomorrow afternoon.”
    “Sure, buddy, just let me know what time, unless you want me to make your flight reservation for you?”
    “No, I just need to talk to Scotty first; I’ll catch up to you later, thanks.” Leaving Peter’s house he headed to the docks to inform Captain Cobby.

Chapter 28
    Scotty spread out the newspapers that Jose left on the kitchen table, noting with a laugh the story of the manatee. He looked up upon hearing the French door to the terrace open with Echo hanging on to the doorknob for dear life as it swung into the kitchen. She hung off the floor, her tiny leather hands wrapped around the knob while her scrawny feet dangled in the air. Barney looked up from the terrace where he played tag with the rest of the posse. In a jiffy, Barney scooted under Echo, enabling her to drop down on his back, where she slipped down to the floor and ran over to Scotty.
    “I would have opened the door for you, girl.”
    “Yes, thank you, Brother Scotty, but I wanted to do it myself.”
    Scotty shook his head, turning back to the newspaper. Leafing through, he slowly searched the pages for a lead for their next rescue. Their missions made his life more meaningful. Creatures never turned on him or called him names or tormented him. They enchanted him, becoming his friends. Very often, they needed protection. Now, with Echo’s prompting, he found a way to give his life a purpose; hermit by day, hero by night.
    Stopping to read a story about recently discovered brutalized dog carcasses that led authorities to suspect the whereabouts of a sophisticated dog fighting ring, he noticed Echo on high alert, her golden eyes locked on him like a drunk walking out of unsuccessful rehab spotting an unattended liquor store. How did she know he found a story that interested him? Her aura filled his mind.
    “I think we will be busy tonight, Brother Scotty.”
    “Oh, you do? It says here the cops don’t know where the gang is warehousing the dogs. So how do you think we can help?”
    “Brother Scotty, can I tell you a secret?” Scotty nodded, intensely interested.
    “I know where they are.”
    “No.”
    “Yes.”
    “You can’t.”
    “I can.”
    “Son of a gun.”
    “Son of a gum?”
    “No. Gun.”
    “You have no gun?”
    “No, Echo, I said son—never mind.”
    “Are you okay Brother Scotty?” Shaking his head with amusement, Scotty realized Echo could frustrate the heck out of him. But—time to get their fly on!
    “I’m fine, little dude. Midnight; and you’re sure where to go?” Rainbows flashed their aura as Echo ran out to the terrace with Barney, trailing tentacles of light.
    “Trust me, my Brother.”
    ###
    At half past midnight they were on University Blvd., heading inland. They passed over the Sarasota border to Bradenton five minutes ago and Scotty had no idea where they were. This move made him nervous. Abby and Jose would kill him if they knew he went off the island. Clouds covered the sky, no stars, no moon. The further east they drove, the more the traffic thinned.
    “You sure about this, Echo?”
    “Yes, Brother, the Womb is never wrong.” Oh, yeah, the great mysterious Womb. Scotty decided to let that pass. He contemplated the plan. Echo claimed she knew where the dogs were being housed. Once they located the spot, they planned to reconnoiter, then heal any dogs that needed medical care. They aimed to tip off the cops about the location, letting the experts take it from there.
    The newspaper said tourists stumbled over the dumpsite. Over two hundred dogs, in various stages of decay, lay discarded. All of the fighters’ skulls were bashed in by baseball bats and something heavier. It only took one blow with the heavy weapon, multiples